Continuing on with our series, "The Glamorous Lifestyle of the Expatriate Family," you will recall, in our last installment we discussed air freight and sea shipments. Air freight, of course, is the small shipment that you* thoughtfully packed in order to get you through until the sea shipment arrives. Until then, you are - as my title suggests - camping. But camping with running water, electricity, and household appliances. And, in my case, a TV and an Xbox. We've put away all the pots and pans, stocked up (a bit) on groceries, and come up with some simple but necessary arrangements to get us through until July 14th (or the 21st, but I would appreciate it if those of you who are so inclined would pray for the 14th) when the sea shipment arrives.
Mr. Logical and the boys have quickly gotten the living room set up ideally for ultimate father-son bonding:
When they're all gathered together in the glow of the flickering screen, stalking each other around some post-apocalyptic city ruin while armed with improbably enormous futuristic weapons and committing acts of unspeakable violence, it's a heartwarming sight. However - I know, call me a party pooper - what I'm really interested in is some trash cans and an ironing board.
"But MsCaroline," you are saying, "Why don't you just trot yourself out to the local E-Mart and buy yourself some trash cans?"
I'll tell you why: because at this moment, somewhere in the Pacific ocean, a shipping container holding the Asia Vu family belongings in it is floating along, chock full of trash cans, recycling bins, ironing boards (ok, just one ironing board), clothes hangers, silverware, pillows, and a number of other household goods that I never fully appreciated when I had them at my disposal 24 hours a day. And if I go out and buy some trash cans now, when that sea shipment arrives, we will be up to our ears in them. Besides: I'm
You may ask why I am harping on about the trash cans. Well, I'll tell you: trash cans and recycling bins are something you never fully appreciate until your trash and recycling are lying about in random piles on the kitchen counter and the floor in spineless plastic shopping bags, spilling their contents every which way and causing you to wish that you could return to the evil days of the 1970s when no one except hippies knew about recycling and everything could be put in the trash with a clear conscience. Even worse, there is no way to label anything, and, while I - as the
*I did not.