Tropical Fevers

I can't promise such regular posting in the future. This one is actually a shameless attempt to solicit your sympathy. Caleb and Nathan and I are battling yet another round of viral fever. In the subtropics fevers are like ketchup. They come in "97 Varieties." The doctors never really bother to figure out which of the 97 is the current culprit since they all require the same basic treatment. (If I hear "Tylenol and fluids" one more time I think I'll scream.)

Since I can't boast of dengue or something impressive like that, let me describe the agony in detail. The fever creeps up slowly, a tenth of a degree at a time. When it passes 101 it feels like every muscle in my body is contracting at once. I start to shiver and can't find enough blankets in the house. (We don't have many since the temperature in HCMC almost never drops below 75 and is usually in the high 80s.) The fever peaks around 104 and hovers there for a while. I start wondering what songs I'd like sung at my funeral and whether I have anything suitable to wear in the coffin. (Remember the good old purple dress I wore when we left our wedding? That's at the top of the list. Ten-years-old but still faithful--you've got to love clothing like that. As an aside, can you tell I really need to do some shopping when we are back in the States. Does anyone know of good resale shops in the Wheaton area?) Finally the Tylenol or ibuprofen kicks in and the fever starts to relent leaving me sweaty and shaky and tired. For the next several hours I wander around in a fog trying to take care of the boys, fold laundry, etc. all the while feeling like a 90-year-old arthritic and wishing I had one of those clever walkers with the wheels on front. Just when I begin to hope that the fever is losing hold, it starts creeping up again. This goes on for a couple days. Then the fever peaks at lower and lower temperatures until finally it goes away leaving me wiped out for another week or two.

Unfortunately, this is my third round of viral fever in the past six months. In between fevers of unknown origin I also had two bouts of antibiotic resistant strep. (Thanks to all the streetside pharmacists who hand out antibiotics 3-4 pills at a time to any paying customer, antibiotic resistance is a big problem here.) At the risk of sounding really whiny, I'm sick of being sick. I suppose I should be grateful that the boys seem to have lower temperatures and bounce back more quickly, but it's really hard to care for a fussy infant and an ornery toddler when I'm fussy and ornery myself. Daniel helps out as much as he can, but he can't completely clear his schedule every time one of us gets sick. At this rate, he'd never get anything done.

Anyway, I think that's sufficient to evoke some sympathy. Sorry to whine and run, but I think it's time to take more ibuprofen. I will try to write again soon.

To Bare or Not to Bare?

I hope everyone has weathered the storm in Texas. Thanks for keeping us up-to-date, Jo. We made it back from our beach vacation (albeit a week ago) and I thought I would post some random thoughts related to that. I should preface this with a disclaimer, though. It is strictly intended to be descriptive not prescriptive. My musings are for your reading pleasure (assuming you are killing time while at work, sick of the evening line-up on TV, or otherwise desperate for diversion). This is not to propagandize the wearing of one-piece swimsuits. That said, let me continue...

We went to the beach last weekend and while I managed to remember our emergency first-aid kit, our portable DVD player with Bob the Builder DVD set on continuous play, and Nathan's inflatable boat, I completely forgot to pack my bathing suit. This proved to be a real dilemma. Several of the little mom and pop stores carried western style bathing suits, but not in western sizes. I know I am not a perfect eight by any means, but in the States I'm somewhere around average. In Vietnam, not so. The lady at the first shop gave me three or four of her biggest one-piece suits and I managed to wriggle into one that had XXXXL marked on the tag. I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself until I looked in the foggy mirror she had hanging on the garage wall. The suit was the right width, but not the right length. I was dismayed to discover that pulling the straps over my shoulders resulted in a very unattractive shortage on the other end. With no other solution in sight, I asked to look at the bikinis she had on display.

You all know me well enough to give the previous sentence it's due gasp without further explanation, but it has been a long time since we've seen each other. I should clarify that the last time I wore a bikini I was four years old and running through a sprinkler in my parents' backyard. Said bikini was a hand-me-down from my cousin.

As I huddled half-naked behind a piece of gauzy polyester fabric that separated the “dressing room” from the rest of the garage-turned-souvenir shop, I began to ponder this question: What is the fundamental difference between being a person of moral character and being a prude? And, practically speaking, do I feel completely embarrassed by this hot pink, strappy bikini because I am in the former category or the latter?

To further complicate matters, you may remember that I was reading The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins on our trip to the beach. Have you ever read a book and found yourself identifying much too closely with one of the unsympathetic characters? Well, Miss Clack and I hit it off from the start. She was earnest, upright, sensible, principled, committed, and a complete and utter prude. She lacked all ability to show compassion or to identify true goodness in others. Unfortunately, she got under my skin. For several days prior to my moment behind the gauze curtain, I had been scratching my head, trying to figure out the difference between goodness and prudery, and hoping that I didn't land in the Miss Clack camp. The bikini became my moment to shine—to prove once and for all that I wasn't a prude.

I handed over 130,000 dong (about eight dollars) and left with my pink bikini in a very small plastic bag. When I got back to the hotel room I immediately reeled Daniel into the situation. Poor guy. He was pleasantly surprised by the bikini within four walls, but was not so sure about its effect in the light of day. Thus ensued a very long conversation about character and wisdom and whether any action is morally neutral. I will spare you the details. In the end, Daniel said something about not gratifying even innocent impulses at the expense of others, and the mental lights finally flickered on for me. The way forward was written in neon at dusk.

The problem with Miss Clack was precisely the problem with the pink bikini. Miss Clack was so preoccupied with her own moral stature and her code of conduct that she couldn't respond genuinely and compassionately to the needs of others around her. Ditto for me and the bikini. I was so concerned with proving my own daring and my own moral perspicuity that I suddenly forgot to be concerned with the affect of my decision upon others. A prude is ultimately more committed to preserving or proving her moral identity than to loving and serving others. Therefore, only a prude would wear the pink bikini!

Phew, problem solved...except that I still had three days left at the beach, no bathing suit, and a toddler clamoring for me to go swimming with him. In the end, I managed to find a one-piece, jumbo-sized swimsuit that bore an unfortunate resemblance to a wrestling uniform. At least I could be confident that I was not remotely in danger of inspiring any lustful thoughts. This was confirmed later in the day when we happened upon a group of Vietnamese men covertly snapping cell phone pictures of all the foreign women in bikinis. I, on the other hand, flew safely under the radar in my wrestling uniform. Thank you, Miss Clack.

Gettin' on the Wagon

Hey Girls, I thought I would finally jump on the bloggin' wagon. I have followed “ApartmentFiveB” in fits and starts, but somehow I've never made the effort to post. I could invent some excuses, but I'm a miserable liar. The truth is I just never got around to it. Sorry for being so distant.

So what does one write in a debut post? What I'm doing--watching Caleb send Nathan skidding across the living room in his walker (can a nine-month-old get whiplash?). What I'm reading--The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins (I'm down to the dregs at the local bookstore). What I'm listening to--the construction crew next door taking down a concrete wall with hammers (“tink, tink, tink, tink, tink...” add about three thousand more “tinks” and you get the idea). Where I'm going--to the beach this weekend! (Imagine yourself in a desert clawing at sand and praying the palm trees aren't a mirage. That approaches how ready I am for a vacation.)

What I'm thinking about--hmm, that's more complicated. The bulk of my life at the moment is consumed (devoured?) by two little boys. The advent of parenthood has turned everything completely topsy turvy. I know I can be a bit of a drama queen (wink to Sarah), but who knew life could become so delicious and so draining in one fell swoop. I haven't been this tired since that dreadful, procrastination-enforced, triple all-nighter I pulled in an attempt to finish my senior seminar portfolio at Wheaton. (What was I thinking?!?) The trouble with the current situation is that there is no reprieve in sight, unless you consider kindergarten a light at the end of the tunnel.

Without minimizing the havoc these pint-sized imposters wreak on the system, parenting is also the most amazing endeavor I've yet undertaken. I am exhausted, but I've never enjoyed anything as much as I enjoy watching Caleb and Nathan grow and change. Children really are amazing. I am learning so much from the days I spend caring for them...but that topic probably deserves a post of it's own.

I'll draw this to a close, but by way of update, here are a few stats:

--Daniel and I celebrated our eighth anniversary in June.
--In July, we passed the five year mark in Vietnam.
--Caleb will be three in October.
--Nathan will have his first birthday in November.

And the big news is...(pause for effect)...we are planning to come back to Wheaton next summer. We are due for a one-year stint in the States, but we may take an extended time for study. Daniel is applying to Wheaton and to Trinity for their PhD programs. Our preference would be for him to do the Wheaton program (in large part because it's fully funded!), but it's pretty competitive. If he gets in, we'll be back for three years. Plenty of time to catch up with all of you in person.

I'll sign off for now. Hopefully it won't be another eight years before I post again.