Things we don’t tell our grandmothers

During one of our Skype conversations last week my mother mentioned that my grandmother had not enjoyed reading my post about our re-entry. Apparently, our re-entry tribulations were still costing my Nana sleep a week later.

“If you’re talking to Nana,” my Mum said, “tell her that good things are happening. Lie if you have to.”

My Mum laughed after she said this, but I’m not entirely sure that she was joking.

Well, at the moment if I were selective in what I relayed to my grandmother I wouldn’t have to lie. Some good things are happening. On Friday, for example, we had the best day we’ve had in the almost three weeks since we arrived.

Dominic ate breakfast. And lunch. And even some dinner. I moved my computer into my home office (the office itself is still in shambles, but it’s a start). I got a couple of hours of work done while our maebaan and driver played with the kids in the paddle pool around the side of the house. I was on top of things enough to have both kids fed and dinner cooked by 5:30. The weather was cool enough for us to eat on the back porch. Both children were in bed and asleep by 7:15. Mike and I actually had a conversation before we went to bed ourselves at the advanced hour of 8pm.

It definitely counted as a great day.

Perhaps when I next talk to Nana I’ll just stop there.

I won’t tell her that by the time Mike went to bed he was running a fever – as he has for the last three nights. We think he’s struggling to fight off the virus that gave Dominic four days of high fevers and two trips to the Australian embassy clinic last week.

I won’t tell her that Dominic was up soaking wet and screaming for Mama in the middle of the night. Again. Or that he woke up Alex, who then decided that it was playtime (for two hours). Again. I cannot remember the last time I’ve had anywhere near enough sleep in a night.

I won’t tell her about how Dominic is still clingy and unsettled, and how he’s started to throw epic tantrums when… oh, whenever, really. It’s impossible to predict what will set him off. This morning he screamed and cried for almost an hour because I took a shower when he didn’t want me to. I then compounded my misdeeds by changing his diaper.

I kid you not; that child lay on the change table screaming, “I like my diaper wet! I like this diaper on! NO NEW DIAPER!”

“Dominic,” I said, in my best calm Mama voice. “Let’s practice the word you learned last week. Repeat after me: Ridiculous. Now, let’s use it in a sentence: I am being ridiculous. Ready, set, go…”

Funnily enough he did not comply.

It’s hard to tell with him at the moment how much is being two, how much is the latest move, how much is having been sick for most of the last three weeks, and how much is just… Dominic.

After Dominic finally calmed down this morning I had a brief conversation with my maebaan. It went like this.

Me: “Oy, Dominic hetwiak lai muni.” (Dominic is hard work today).

Her: “Dominic hetwiak lai tok tok muur.” (Dominic is hard work every day).

There you have it, my friends, straight out of the mouth of someone whose culture is among the most polite and indirect I have ever encountered.

No. I won’t tell all of this to my grandmother. This time around I’ll stick to the good stuff. I’ll try to remember to tell her how Alex beams and flaps his arms whenever he sees his older brother. And how Dominic grins and nuzzles up to him, saying, “Hello, Baby Alex. You’re so cute.”

 I’ll tell her how Alex is, objectively speaking, the loveliest, snuggliest, and most edible baby on the planet (at least, between the hours of 7am and 7pm).

I’ll talk about how grateful I am to have house help here – what a difference it makes to have someone around most of the time to hold Alex while I’m wrangling his brother, and how much I love not cleaning bathrooms or doing our laundry. And how the wound on Mike’s foot seems to be healing just fine, despite the steamy tropics. And how I’ve been to a couple of Mama’s groups, and I already have half a dozen women I can call up for questions or playdates.

I’ll describe how it was rainy today and unexpectedly cool – cool enough for me to venture outside without melting – and how we navigated ourselves all the way downtown to the one public playground by the Mekong. (I probably won’t tell her, however, that the playground was in sad disrepair.)

Instead, I’ll just tell her how Dominic makes me laugh every day, and how walked in on yesterday while I was getting dressed, looked me up and down, and then said seriously, “Mama, you’re gorgeous.”

I’ll tell her that I’m optimistic the path before us is evening out.

Since my grandparents subscribe to this blog, by putting this up I’m actually not hiding any of this from them. I know better than to post anything online that I really want to keep from my family.  But I’d love to hear from you guys on this topic. What do you leave out when you talk to your loved ones?