Well, I got my cookie in the end. Surprisingly, nobody asked why they didn’t get one; they just all asked for a taste, which was fine since after the first couple of mouthfuls I’d had enough. I actually preferred E’s chocolate chip pancakes.
We did some reasonable school work in the morning, including some writing practice. After lunch I announced a little field trip to the seamstress. We spent two hours designing and ordering clothes, including a pair of dress pants and a dress shirt for N, made of something soft and stretchy (which I hope means he’ll actually wear it.) I’ve also ordered a copy of my favourite cozy dress in a pretty colour.
Then I came home and crashed. I lay down to read for a bit—I think it was 4:00—and when I woke up it was dark outside and Mr. December and the kids were just getting out of the pool. I keep hoping the extra sleep will help my legs hurt less, but so far that hasn’t happened.
Shabbat dinner was chocolate-chip pancakes for some and pizza for others. I’ve given up on getting everyone to order from one place: the magic of Grab is that we can order from two or more restaurants at the same time, and it’s pretty cheap here. I have a feeling when we get to Japan we’ll suffer from major sticker shock—we’ll probably make rice in the rice cooker for every meal.
We have five full days left in Hoi An. We had to delay some of our tours because K and E were sick, so now I’m cramming them in wherever I can. Sunday afternoon we’re doing a sunset kayak tour; Monday we’re aiming for a tour of the Ancient City, followed by a lantern-making workshop. Sometime in the next few days I need to buy a suitcase.
Despite the fact that everyone here seems to be moody today (maybe I’m just projecting,) some of us managed to have a nice time together after dinner. N brought his roll-up keyboard up to the roof, E brought her flute, and I took out my guitar. We faked our way through Riptide and Sweet Caroline before things fell apart. Tonight the evening mostly feels like a fail, but in three years I’ll look at these photos and think, “Looks like such a nice evening.” I guess that’s the magic of photographic evidence.