The Drill

The day started out as any other. The sun beat down hard, strong and hot. The Wyatt and I rode the bike towards our destination under the pretense that we would arrive there as we had the day before.  Riding along, the air seemed to still and you could have heard a pin drop. A pin drop you ask? A busy city and pins dropping do not correlate you may say. Today however was, as we would soon find out, not like any other. There were no cars on the road. There were no people crossing the street. I noticed in fact, that there were really no people milling about or walking on the sidewalk. What the crap?  Two-fifteen in the afternoon no cars, no sounds, no movement? Again I said, What the crap? I stopped the bike at our "normal"corner and suddenly noticed that there were cops on nearly every corner of the intersection. Red, Yellow, Green...lights changing, green men signaling us to move....yet we were stopped- roadblocked. I signaled to the officer and asked(motioned actually) if we could go. No. No we could not.  Not until 2:30 pm. This statement was punctuated by a loud sigh from the young man sitting a mere 2 inches from me, followed by a "C'MON.....I'M GONNA BE LATE FOR CLASS!!!!............."After calming my young man down we proceeded on our freakishly bizarre journey. Finding a crosswalk unmanned by police, I suddenly went rogue and daringly crossed and ducked down side streets. More pins dropping. That is, until we were stopped by a friendly English speaking Taiwanese man who commented that we would not be able to continue down the street. Why I asked? Because of the drill. Drill? I pressed forward, pedaling tentatively towards our destination...until a cop blew us off the street with his whistle. He was unhumored by our brazen attempt. The Wyatt was going to be late for class.
Two-thirty is when I finally heard it. "It" being the siren(for a siren, you'd think it'd be a bit louder). My confusion continued to grow until I reached Wyatt's school. Drill. Drill. What kind of drill could they possibly have been doing. Chinese fire drill? I began laughing to myself like a crazy person. Of course not. People were not running around their cars. No...it had to be something BIGGER.  Reaching the school, covered in perspiration, face riddled with concern and confusion, I spoke to the director. The drill in question was in fact an air raid drill. She commented that there had not been one in quite some time?! OOOOK. Wow. The good news? It was just a drill.

*Side note-Curiosity got the better of me and I googled 'Taiwan air raid drills' and pasted the links below. Apparently next time I am to go into the basement of a nearby building, stay at home or anything other than crossing the road on my bike and remaining on the sidewalk. Awesome.


http://www.haoyah.com/English/news/e_asia24.asp

http://www.straitstimes.com/BreakingNews/Asia/Story/STIStory_669866.html

The Many Faces of Wyatt

There's no denying the kid has a, uh.... "look." *Sigh* Now, what that look is trying to say? Well, I guess that's a matter of interpretation. Let's just say I try not to hinder his creativity when it comes to "accessorizing."

Rock Concerts and Cooking Class

I love my kid but there was no way I was going to wake up at an ungodly hour to stand in line for summer camp classes. It's not like it was Black Friday or Dave Matthews Band, I mean C'mon. It's SUMMER CAMP!!!!
Let me fill you in on how I have come to understand it works here. The American School is a big deal here. (I told you Wyatt passed the "test" right? That "test" for Pre-K that is. Being that he didn't maim anyone, drink a beer or have a smoke during the observed play hour, I really didn't have anything to worry about....). SO yeah, it's a big deal. Despite being called The American School (TAS) the majority of kids who go there, again from my understanding, are Taiwanese. The percentage of Americans is pretty small. This being said, whenever there is the opportunity to sign up kids for classes or camps, people jump on it. One of my girlfriends said that she had a friend come somewhere between 4-5 am to get her number...and she wasn't the first person.  When someone likened it to a rock concert, I thought they were kidding. I mean, that's a little hard core to me. It's not just summer camp either. I'm still trying to figure it all out, but there is also the extra-curricular classes through TYPA (Taipei Youth Program Association) which parents go nuts for in order to ensure their kids get into the most awesome of classes.These are the classes that are held at TAS after school. Classes like theater, sketching, tap, extreme Lego building....There are TONS of activities. It's mind blowing. It gives new meaning to if you snooze you lose for sure, I mean the cool classes fill up quick. Comparatively, what was Wyatt doing in Front Royal before we got here? Uhhhhhhhhh yeah, catch my drift? ALL the classes seemed cool to me, I snoozed.
In addition to TYPA classes, there are also classes though Tiger Tots the daycare center which is not connected to TAS? Oh , I don't know...I picked a bunch of classes, had a list of "seconds" and knew whatever he got into was where he needed to be.
So the end result? Wyatt got into summer camp 3 out of 4 weeks beginning in June and is on the waiting list for the one week. Beginning in the fall he has cooking class on Tuesdays, Mandarin Story Time on Friday, Hip Hop on Saturdays and soccer on Saturdays beginning in November.
Sweet......and completely worth my extra 3 hours of sleep. Everybody wins.

Mercy

Anyone remember that "game" when you were a kid? The one where you grab your friend/opponents arm and twist it behind their back until they scream mercy or uncle like a 5 year old on helium?  Or how about conjuring up images of mafia gangsters, dark alleys and dimly lit basements......Yeah, welcome to my paid hour of torture. It was my own fault...Will wanted me to make that quite clear when I retold this story; that it was not his mother's day gift to me, it was my own horrid gift to myself. In my defense I could have sworn it said acupuncture and massage NOT accupressure massage. I have never. I mean...there are no words. (I mean this figuratively obviously... I ALWAYS have words.) 
Hmm. How to describe.....It's as if this man took a balpein hammer and ground it into my flesh, hard enough to ensure he was "massaging" muscle, tissue AND bone. Ridiculous. Thankfully a girlfriend went with me, but it sounded as if her masseuse was a lot more "gentle" (I use this term loosely) with her than me. She commented that she heard a lot of slapping and beating coming from my direction, but didn't want to say anything because she didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to herself for fear that she was going to get similar treatment. I told her thanks.
There's a reason they have you lay on your stomach first and stick your head through the big donut hole apparatus. I'm pretty sure it's to muffle the screams. With eyes bulging, I prayed he would just stop massaging my back and move to my leg- until he moved to my leg. At this point I started laughing, I couldn't help it. Perhaps my body was going into survival mode- he eased up a bit, laughed himself and went back to his task....after belching. EEEWWWW. Dude, seriously?? And as Wyatt would say, Mom, did you just say dude? Ughhh the shame.
So why didn't you just tell him to stop or ease up you ask? Proving a point to myself I guess...I'm tough. I'm strong. I was also stupidly over thinking that perhaps the end result would be worth it..that this guy who is bending my leg back in an impossible direction knows what he's doing?!?!.....
Mercy.

The "rules" Good to know.

Whoa Momma.

There was never a shadow of doubt that I would be the crappiest mother ever. I'd never been a big lover of babies (*gasp*) and my maternal instincts and the maternal bone that all women are supposedly born with, was I thought, mysteriously missing in me.
There are so many cliches when it comes to parenthood...what being a mother does to a person, how it changes you. I hate cliches. Motherhood does change you though. To the core. I was never a stay at home mom. I was in the beginning of grad school when I got pregnant, was working and continued to do both after Wyatt was born. I never stopped. Wyatt spent his time with his daddy while I went to night classes, went to Bebe n' family during the day while I went to my internship and worked at the Assisted Living. Wyatt loves his dad and he loves his BeBe n family. I knew he loved me and I definitely cherished the days I spent with my baby boy when I was not working or at school. Yet, on those days, was I really with my baby? I was pulled in a million different directions and I never really stopped. I NEVER STOPPED. When I graduated, I got a job closer to home, closer to my boy but continued to go a million miles a minute. I loved my job. I loved working, I felt that working made me sane, made me a good mom. I mean, with my lack of a maternal bone, would I really make it with Wyatt at home, meaning, would he still be alive at the end of the day? Could I do it? And...... I wanted to be a working mom...right? Let's not get into maternal guilt right now. Thanks.
Fast Forward- I'm in Taiwan aka stay at home mom land.
This had to be the worst week ever. Wyatt was excruciatingly disobedient and painfully annoying. He knows each and every one of my buttons and pushed them at will randomly and......daily. Delightful wouldn't you say? During these button-pushing moments, tantrums reminiscent of Wyatt circa 2008 and lies about brushing teeth?....I found myself almost wishing that a butterfly would pass us on a bike ride and land on his head. Seemingly a sweet and innocuous statement, given the exception that my kid is terrified of butterflies and runs in the other direction with a speed that would defy Iron Man. I mean butterflies? C'mon. Wow. Awesome mom you say. I dare any one of you to tell me that you don't have secret thoughts that plague you when your kid tweaks you.
Fast Forward to Saturday morning.
I had not yet had coffee and I was getting Wyatt's breakfast when I stubbed my toe. I yelled. My son sweetly came over and kissed my foot. No hesitation. Nothing was in it for him, it was not manipulative, he was not trying to get me to turn on Batman or even because he wanted another Pop-Tart.- He did it because he knew I was hurt. My sweet boy.
*Cue hated cliches.
Wyatt and I ride the bike together every day. You know what I love the best? I love that he has his seat and handlebars right in front of me so I can wrap my one arm around his chest as we pedal with our pretend jet-packs on as I hold him tightly to me. My boy is precious.
The point amidst all of this sappy drivel? I've slowed down. I am enjoying my son. I am reveling in our horrid moments and my not-so proud moments as a mother and the sweet tender moments when my baby says all he wants to do is snuggle. Wyatt is creative and imaginative. He is sensitive and theatrical with an amazing sense of comedic timing.  His sarcastic wit is unparalleled by any other 4 year old. I state this firmly, as I have traveled the globe and have yet to find a suitable challenger. He is this amazing little product, a gift that God has given Will and I. I look at him with a sense of awe and wonder. Every day. Wyatt asks to cuddle with me now. He gives me frequent kisses and hugs. He asks to play with ME, not just Will. We've bonded because I've stopped. I've missed my boy and I feel like I'm making up for lost time and am taking advantage of this opportunity. Don't get me wrong. I am not getting on a motherhood soapbox by any means. I'm certainly not saying that I won't go back to work when we go back to the States-but for the here and now, I'm just trying not to lose site of what's important. I'm finally coming to the realization that sometimes you just have to slow down, take it in and stop. Huh.

And the Moral of the Story is.......

Monday-For those of you who hadn't heard, both my bike and Will's were stolen at the MRT station by our house. My dad and I made this disappointing discovery upon our return from the Taipei Zoo. It didn't help that my dad asked prior to our departure to the zoo "shouldn't we lock these up?" "No dad"-, I stupidly replied. "I haven't locked them up in 3 months- they're fine."
OOOOHHHHHHH that's what the saying "hindsight is 20/20" means.
We circled the area and I am confronted with a number of feelings. First, I'm pissed. Obviously. I was also kind of sad. I mean, I was naively under the impression that we were in a safer, more honest community. And Wyatt - well he refused to take the thefts lying down- he insisted upon becoming the Incredible Hulk and taking matters into his own hands.  Naturally the fact that they took his helmet and bike pads didn't help and only further incited the green that was rapidly emerging in my son.
I had no idea what to do.  I mean I didn't lock them up..so do I really go to the police? ehhhh.
Wyatt continued to talk about the stolen bikes all week. His 4 year old mind simply could not comprehend why someone took something that wasn't theirs. MY 32 year old mind also couldn't wrap around the concept that someone had taken something that wasn't theirs..I mean COME ON.
Thursday-We got new bikes AND bike locks. *Foreshadowing moment* One lock was a combination lock and the other had a key.....and a spare.
Friday-As Wyatt continued to threaten to take action against the thieves and engage in physical violence, I made the decision to go to the police. If anything, I thought it would be the best example for Wyatt to show him that he could not engage in combat (whether superhero or not) each time he was wronged..that there were other options, better choices available......it was also adventure Friday, and without a whole lot of other plans, why not? So off to the police station we went.
*Note* You may only speak in Mandarin Mr. Policeman, but uh, I know you're laughing at me.
The one English speaking cop was nice- he said it was his job to help us....but I can see you too!!! He was laughing as well....Now granted, he wanted to know why we waited so long to make the report-and what was I supposed to say? As a moral lesson for my son, I felt it imperative to come to the police station so that he doesn't become a He-Man vigilante? I think not. In the end I told them I was there for informative purposes- you know in case there was a rash of bike thefts or something. He said I could wait a couple of hours while investigative work and questioning was completed (looking over MRT tapes etc.) At first I said yes..then I said no. OOOOOOk. I didn't want to be wasteful of manpower and resources that could be directed toward capturing hardcore criminals. That, coupled with every time one of the cops heard the story and started snickering while looking in my direction?-Out the door I went.
Monday-Shall we move on to the bike locks I was talking about? Yeah. Let's talk about those bike locks.  I'm not what some would call....organized, thus the bike lock with a key seemed like a craptastic idea. In attempting to read the combination lock directions in Mandarin, I stuck with the standard 1234 combo that comes with the lock. Pretty simple right? Yeah. So I went to the gym, locked up the bike, finished up 45 minutes later in order to allow myself enough time to travel a few blocks over and pick up Wyatt from class. The problem was....the lock. It would not unlock. Apparently I inadvertently changed my combination. The irony that I could not unlock my own bike was not lost on me people.
I did a brisk speed walk over to Wyatt's school, picked him up, walked back over to the gym and promptly began to freak. I called Will, freaked, which he of course could do absolutely nothing about and then proceeded to freak to the front desk gym employees. They then asked if I wanted the lock cut off. UH YEAH!! And , as a side note...WHO does that? They came out with what looked like hedge cutters and promptly saved the day...well the afternoon, or at least calmed my freak out.
So I moved on to the lock with a key. And yeah.....I lost key #1 within the same week.
No judgements.