Juliana's Thailand swim

We bought a tube so Juliana could take a swim at the pool during our stay in Baan Grood, Thailand. Enjoy...

The Miracle of Flight (part 2)

(If you haven't already read part 1, you may want to start here: http://ruvin2007.blogspot.com/2011/02/miracle-of-flight-part-1.html 

China Eastern plane waiting to be boarded in Kunming, China.

 By Kevin

It was only the beginning. Fast forward three weeks to Feb. 16. With an 8:45 p.m. flight scheduled, we got to the airport around 6:30 just in case there might be any problems. When we bought Juliana's ticket in Kunming, they said that it would also cover the Chiang Mai-Kunming flight back, but we figured we should play it safe and get there early since, in the last-minute confusion, they didn't give us a receipt for either flight. For a tiny airport like this, more than two hours would be plenty, we figured, since they don't allow passengers to check in before that.

Five minutes later and we probably would have missed the flight.

Here's what happened this time around: we got to the front of the check-in line and the woman checking us in – wearing a purple Thai Airways uniform, I might add – told us that our flight wasn't at 8:45 as listed on our itinerary. It was now at 8 p.m. Good thing we came early. This was the third time the time had changed on the flight (originally it was at 1 p.m.). She then asked for the credit card we'd booked the flight with (which unfortunately we'd left in China, but hadn't needed it for any of the other flights). “I don't have the credit card with me. Isn't our passport enough proof that it is us who bought the ticket?”

“We can't confirm the ticket without the credit card number.”

Then she asked to see Juliana's ticket.

“We don't have her ticket. We paid for it when we bought the Kunming to Bangkok flight, but it was a strange situation and they didn't give us a receipt.”

“Why didn't they give it to you?”

“I don't know. They had some problems issuing the ticket and we barely made it onto the flight.”

“If you don't have a receipt, then you can't fly.”

Grr. Immediately, I went to God in prayer, pleading for softened hearts and open doors.

I looked at the passenger list in front of her. Our names were both listed, as was Juliana's. “Our daughter's name is listed on the itinerary,” I said, pointing. “Doesn't that mean we have purchased a ticket?”

“But there is no ticket number listed.”

Grrr. “What can we do?” I asked.

“Do you know the name of the ticket agent at the Kunming airport? Maybe you can try to contact the agent?”

“No, unfortunately, I don't.”

“Well, if she doesn't have a ticket, then she cannot fly.”

“I understand.” After a few minutes of wrangling with her, with the realization that it was now after 7 p.m., so time was starting to run short, I made a suggestion: “OK, how about if we purchase another ticket for her now? Is that possible?”

She confirmed that this should work and pointed us in the direction of a ticket agency in the airport. As we left, several other teachers from our organization, who had been at the company's annual conference with us for the last several days asked what was wrong. “We have to go buy another ticket for Juliana,” I explained as I hurried away. “I don't know if we're going to catch this flight.”

The ticket agency was closed. I ran back to the airport information desk. “Where can I buy a China Eastern ticket?”

I learned that there was no China Eastern ticket window in the Chiang Mai airport (and in fact, there are no China Eastern employees there – they only have one flight each day). They suggested we buy the ticket at the same travel agency.

“It's closed,” I told them.

“Perhaps you can wait until tomorrow...” they suggested.

“Our flight leaves in an hour.”

“In that case, perhaps you can buy it at the Thai Airways ticket counter. They are partners.”

Confused, since I knew that Thai Airways is mileage partners with United and Air China and the Star Alliance, and we were accruing miles for our China Eastern flights on Delta (part of the SkyTeam), I rushed to the Thai ticket window and explained our situation.

They asked the same questions and began making some calls. As the clock ticked, they suggested calling our travel agent – Expedia. Thankfully we still had some money on our Thai SIM cards, which offer inexpensive international calls, so Ruth called Expedia while I talked to her mother to ask for the credit card number (we'd left it with her to pay hospital bills a few months ago). Expedia told Ruth to call China Eastern directly, but the only phone number they offered was in Pasadena (I recognized the 626 area code from my days at the Star-News). That office was closed since it was the middle of the night in California. Not very helpful.

After making numerous calls, they sent me back to the check-in counter. Since there were no more passengers checking in, the woman at the counter scrambled to find a way to get us onto the flight.

“So you don't have a receipt?” She asked. “How about a boarding pass from the earlier flight?”

I dug through our papers and found the boarding pass for our flight from Kunming. Unfortunately, it didn't contain the information she needed.

“Here is the phone number for China Eastern's Kunming office, maybe you can call that,” she suggested.

Again, I explained our situation and asked if I could buy an infant ticket over the phone. “Can you call back tomorrow, during regular business hours?”

“Our flight leaves in less than an hour.”

“I'm sorry, it is not possible for us to sell you an infant ticket at this time.”

“How about a regular ticket?”

“That is also impossible.”

“So you're telling me that there is no way for us to buy a ticket to carry our baby onto the plane. That is absurd.”

“Yes.”

The check-in agent asked if she could talk with the China Eastern representative on the phone, but she got the same answer.

She hung up and scurried over to talk with a supervisor several times. 7:30....7:35. I noticed that she'd printed out boarding passes for the three of us.

“You have printed out boarding passes,” I said. “Can we please just use them and get onto the plane?”

“I'm sorry, unless she has a ticket, that is impossible,” she said, picking up the boarding passes.

The clock kept ticking. 7:40...Around 7:45, she confided to us: “If something doesn't happen in the next few minutes, you will have to take another flight.”

The prospect of spending a night in an airport with a screaming tired baby was beginning to look inevitable. But we hung onto a thread of hope and asked for God to intercede.

Then suddenly, at 7:50, she hurried over to us and handed me a boarding pass for Juliana. She said that if we hurry to the Thai Airways ticketing counter, they would sell us a ticket. I sprinted a couple hundred yards to the ticket counter. A half-dozen people were in line. My stomach sank. I anxiously tried to make eye contact with the ticket agent I'd talked with earlier, praying that God would clear a path. She waved for me to come to the front and I handed her the boarding pass.

“We can sell you a ticket. It will cost 1,150 baht (about $40)”

I frantically scanned my wallet. I counted the baht – 874. Not enough. The rest was with Ruth in the backpack. “Can I pay with a credit card?”

“We need cash.”

Then I remembered a separate stash of money I'd put with our passports. Two crisp 1000 baht bills. “Ok, I have it. Here.”

She asked for Juliana's passport and wrote out some information. Then she made a phone call. 7:55. “Ok, we have issued a ticket for the baby. Now go back to the check-in counter.”

I sprinted.

By the time I got there, Ruth already had our boarding passes in hand and was approaching the stairway, hands filled with the baby, backpack, daiper bag and styrofoam ice chest (for Juliana's vaccinations).

We hurried up the escalator and made a b-line for the security check. An airport official, apparently aware of our predicament, offered to take the styrofoam ice chest through security for us. “It's medicine,” I explained, when she asked about the strange container, hoping that the vaccinations wouldn't cause any problems. Thankfully, there was nobody in line. Nobody asked any questions. A clear path.

Then we had to go through the Thai border inspection. Again no line, a clear path.

We were through. 8 p.m. Flight time. We frantically looked for our gate. “Where is it? I don't see it.”

Then we saw several hands raised. “Kevin and Ruth,” someone shouted. “Over here.” Several colleagues from our organization, who were on the same flight, were waiting near a gate. “We haven't boarded yet.”

“That's awesome.”

Inexplicably, they'd held the plane for us.

Briefly, we tried to explain what had happened to our colleagues, thanking them for their prayers. “I don't know how we got a ticket for her. They said it was impossible. It was a total God thing. I think He just worked a miracle for us.”

It probably helped that the airport is tiny and the plane only seated 50 – half of whom were returning home from the same conference as us, but it was a complete answer to prayer.

A few minutes after 8, they began the boarding process for the plane, insisting that those with children board first. They looked at us and held the line. We were the first to board. We sat down, smiled, and took a deep breath. “We made it.”

My heart was racing from adrenaline and excitement. God had made a way for us.

Lesson learned. In the future, we won't even attempt to buy an infant plane ticket for international travel at the airport. Probably the best bet is for us not to buy our plane tickets unless we are allowed to buy one for our daughter at the same time. In the meantime, we praise the one to whom all praise is due.

Some will scoff at my suggestion that God cared enough for our situation to answer our prayers. “It's just circumstantial,” some might say. “You would have made it anyway. What about those other times you prayed and God didn't seem answer?” Perhaps He did, but I wasn't willing to hear Him say “no, you need to go through this trial.” Perhaps I didn't paint the picture clearly enough – we had no business getting onto either of these planes. God showed up and made a way. It is only because of His mercy and grace that the hearts of the airport officials were moved upon our behalf.

As I wrote this today, I noticed a quote in a free kindle book, which I've working through a few pages at a time, called “Answers to Prayer From George Müller's Narratives.” I echo the sentiments of Müller , who wrote about God's last-minute provision for orphanages in 19^th century England when circumstances looked dour: “it was from the beginning in the heart of God to help us; but because He delights in the prayers of His children, He had allowed us to pray so long; also to try our faith, and to make the answer so much the sweeter. It is indeed a precious deliverance.”

What Happens When We Disappear

 by Ruth
You may be wondering about the month of silence followed by a barrage of blog posts.  Our communication silence is not due to any lack of fondness on our part but is rather because we have been busy traveling.  We have just returned from our annual jaunt to Thailand for our conference and a bit of relaxation during Spring Festival (Chinese New Year).  You usually miss out on this part of our lives since we are too busy traveling around to tell you about it, but this year I will fill you in on a few of the highlights (and "low-lights") of the past month.

Well traveled

We'll start with the bad parts:
*The travel: Each leg of our travel was fraught with frustration and difficulty, which you can read more about in Kevin's posts.  Suffice it to say, we almost didn't make it out of China, and then we almost didn't make it back into China.  But in the end, we got there and back and only aged a few years in the process.

*The sickness: Kevin and I (along with about half of the other teachers at conference) were taken down by a nasty 24-hr stomach bug.  Fortunately, we were not sick at the same time, so someone could take care of the baby, and extra fortunately Juliana stayed well!  Yay for nursing-produced immunities!

*The travel: I already said that, didn't I?  For the most part, Juliana handled the travel very well (her 5-9th flights), but all the upheaval did lead to a crankier, crazier baby.  She definitely cried a lot more than she had been at home, poor thing.  And boy does she have a strong voice...

Going for a swim

Most of the parts were good, though:
*We got to spend five days at a beautiful Thai beach with my good friends Mallary and Chip. It was great to relax in the warm, sunny weather since conference itself is usually a busy time. 

*It was also wonderful to actually hang out with friends!  I loved having a really good friend around - someone you can say anything to without having to explain or justify because they already know you so well.  One day something was bothering me and I thought, "I really want to email someone about this."  Then I realized, "Wait a minute, I have a friend right here!  I could actually talk to her about it!"  I did, and it was very satisfying.

*We got to eat pizza, burritos, hummus, burgers, milkshakes, pad thai, and all number of delicious foods we miss in China.  I'm not going to lie..eating is always a highlight.

*The weather was warm.  The sky was blue with those little puffy clouds.  The people were all smiling and friendly.  These are a few of the reasons my friend calls Thailand, "The land of all good things."

*I got to be around other mothers!  It was so encouraging.  Nobody can commiserate about things like waking up all night long for months on end like someone else who has been there.  It's great to be around other people who can say, "My baby is/was like that too!  You're not doing anything wrong and it will get better!"  And this unique group has lots of practical advice for raising children in Asia.

*Our conference was good (the parts we actually made it to).  It's always nice to be around a lot of people "like us."  In China, it is glaringly apparent that we don't fit in.  Even in America, we're not exactly average.  But among this group of displaced persons, we find others who drink hot and cold water, wear three layers of long underwear and shorts (not at the same time), love dofu and cheese, and live otherwise convoluted lives.

Juliana gnaws on Mallary's finger

It was quite a month for Juliana as well:
*She put her feet in the sand and in the ocean and did a little swimming in the baby pool at the beach.  Did we tell you we bought one of those little neck inner-tubes?  Pretty fun.

*She enjoyed seeing so many new sights.  I could almost see her brain going crazy trying to process it all. Up to this point in China, she would usually fall asleep when we went out (being bundled up helped).  But when we walked down the street in Thailand, her head was constantly whipping back and forth trying to see everything at once.
 
*She loved being around lots of people.  She is a total extrovert (where did she get that from?).  We would get into the (usually crowded) elevator at our hotel and Juliana would excitedly look around for people to admire her.  She was friendly to other westerners, but she immediately beamed at Asians like they were her best friends.  And (no surprise) everyone loved her.

*Juliana was dedicated!  It was the first time they had done a baby dedication and I'm really glad they did.  It was very special, and we got to write our own prayer for Juliana.  Video to come!  Five other babies were also dedicated - including a three week old, born in Chiang Mai, and a set of twins born to a fifty year old!  There are now 120 children in our group, I think 14 born in the past year.  Juliana will have lots of friends!

*She went to childcare for the first time.  That was a new experience for both baby and parents, but Juliana had fun playing with new toys and even (gasp) fell asleep there once!

*She rolled over for the first time!  That was just a few days ago and already she is flipping over so fast I hardly have time to capture it on video.

*She has started drooling a lot and gnawing on everything she can get her mouth on.  I sincerely hope the teeth will hold off for a while longer!

Now we are back in Weinan, and though the nasty fog/smog/gloom is rather depressing, it's good to get re-settled.  I think Juliana will miss all the excitement and stimulation, but she is probably overdue for some calm time.  We still have two weeks before classes begin. 

Kevin is planning to start preparing for his classes because -for the first time ever- we actually got the class schedule before the holiday!  This means that two whole months before classes started they knew (1) what classes we would teach, (2) days and times for the classes, and in some cases even (3) room numbers!  We are still in shock.

I am planning to use this time to begin Operation Juliana Sleep.  You may hear more about this in the future.  Ideally, I will also go through some of our things and figure out what we can get rid of in anticipation of our move (still four months away).  But we'll see...this sleep thing might be pretty time consuming.  Juliana is a rather "high-needs"/resistant sleeper.

So that was our last month.  And now, back to reality. :)

The Miracle of Flight (part 1)

By Kevin

Rule Number One for flying with China Eastern: everybody on the plane must have a ticket. Including infants.

We knew the rule. In fact, when we bought our tickets, we asked both Expedia and the airline – China Eastern – whether or not we could purchase Juliana's ticket in advance. They both said that we could simply wait and buy the ticket at the airport when we arrived. This made sense, because we'd already done it several times in Juliana's young life. Typically, we plop down a fee amounting to 10% of the typical airfare and we're good to go, she gets to fly on our laps. Not today.

Rule Number Two for flying with China Eastern: At the Kunming airport, you can only buy domestic tickets. You cannot buy an infant ticket for an international flight at the Kunming Airport.

This was news to us. Every other airline we've been on with Juliana allowed us to purchase her tickets at the airport (at this point she'd been on five planes – LA to Guangzhou to Xi'an, Xi'an to Beijing, Xi'an to Kunming). So when we got to the Kunming airport just before it opened at 6 a.m. – about two hours before our flight, we didn't anticipate any trouble. But soon, we entered a maze of regulations and pleas for rule-bending in a desperate attempt to board our flight.

When we arrived at the airport on Jan. 27, we noticed that China Eastern only had a domestic ticketing counter, so we casually walked up to the check-in counter for our flight to ask where we should buy her a ticket. We figured we'd simply be directed to some place we'd overlooked and we'd be on our way. We got an unanticipated response. “No, you must go to the China Eastern ticket office in downtown Kunming to buy any international ticket.”

“What? Even to carry a baby on our lap?”

“Yes. For any international ticket. It is impossible to buy the ticket at the airport.”

This posed a problem. At this point there were about 90 minutes left until check-in for our flight would end and two hours until takeoff.

While bemoaning the absurdity that an airline offering an international flight doesn't sell international tickets at the airport, I briefly considered jumping into a cab and going to the downtown office. A round-trip journey into downtown Kumning and back would probably take most, if, not all that time with morning traffic, but . Not to mention that the office probably doesn't open at 6 or 7 a.m.

A foreigner behind us in line, who spoke better Chinese, tried to explain our situation to the ticket agents. This time, the agent said, “Wait a minute, we will see what we can do.” She made a phone call, then returned to her task of checking the other passengers into the flight. We waited several minutes, but since the clock was ticking, we decided to try our luck at China Eastern's domestic ticket counter. We hurried back through the customs gate and found the counter.

We explained our situation – that we needed to buy a ticket so we could carry the baby onto our flight to Bangkok.

Again, no luck. “I am sorry. We can only sell domestic tickets here. To buy an infant ticket, you must go to our office downtown.”

“We only have 90 minutes until our flight leaves,” I replied. “That is not enough time.”

“Why didn't you buy the baby ticket at the same time as the other tickets?”

“Actually, we tried to, but both Expedia and China Eastern told us that we could buy the baby ticket at the airport.”

“We cannot sell international tickets here at the airport,” he repeated. “Only at our office in downtown Kunming.”

“I understand,” I replied. “Surely there is a way for us to buy a baby ticket at the airport. I'm sure we're not the first people to try.”

“Perhaps you could try the international check-in counter,” the man offered. “Maybe they can help you.”

“We were just there. They said the same thing you said.” I tried to gain some composure.

“Surely people fly all the time with babies, so you have a way we can buy an infant ticket,” I repeated. “We can't be the first people to have a problem like this.”

The agent talked to a colleague. As they talked I watched as another ticket agent unplugged a telephone from the cord. Then, he moved the phone a few feet to the left and plugged the phone into a different phone line and began to dial. It was now 7:05 a.m. “Just a moment.”

Finally, they reached an agreement on how to proceed. Perhaps, I could call the China Eastern ticket sales office hotline. They unplugged the phone and moved it back in front of me. Fighting the loud echoes that filled the cavernous, glass-and-steel covered airport, I reached an agent and hastily explained our situation.

After a few minutes, she gave a slightly new response: “I am sorry, but there are no economy tickets left for your flight. However, you can buy a business class ticket.”

Flustered, I tried to explain the absurdity of this proposal. “But we don't need a seat. We will carry the baby with us in our arms. She is very small. She is only four months old. She weighs less than most carry-ons. Surely there is a way for us to buy an infant lap ticket. She won't fill up any seats. Can we just carry her onto the plane with no ticket?”

Briefly, my mind flashed to an image of security guards peering at an x-ray of a backpack, asking one another in Chinese, “Did you see that. I think it moved.”

“You are right. What is it, a little cat?”

“Was that a meow?”

“No I think it just giggled. Is it a baby?”

Then my mind snapped back to reality. “We can't sell you an infant ticket. There are no economy seats left.” She just wasn't understanding my argument. Unfortunately, she said there was no way to buy a baby ticket at the airport or over the phone. “Surely there has to be a way.”

But there was still a glimmer of hope: she asked if she could talk with the airport ticket agent, so I passed him the phone. It was now 7:15 a.m. Time was running short. After a few more minutes, he asked for our ticket number. About this time, they rolled a swivel chair out from behind the counter so Ruth and Juliana could sit down, right behind the ticket lines, in the middle of the airport. Ok, so maybe they're trying to imply that this might take awhile.

It was at this time that I began to pray in earnest that God would give us favor. Ashamed at my lack of faith, I asked forgiveness for attempting to do this all in my own and for not leaning upon the One who can do the impossible. I then pleaded that he would connect the airport officials with the right people and that He would make a way for the impossible to be done. This was the turning point. “Give them a desire to help us for the baby's sake, Lord.”

After a few minutes, they asked for Juliana's passport. Progress.

Again, they unplugged the phone, plugged it in again, and dialed another number. Apparently, there are several phone lines at the China Eastern ticketing window, but only two phones. Minutes passed. My heart went heavenward: “Please God, soften their hearts.”

They asked for my passport. Soon, the original agent who helped me, pulled out his cellphone and dialed, putting the phone up to his left ear. “Connect them with the right people, Lord.” Then, another agent held the land-line up to his right ear as he wrote numbers onto a paper. Then, after the calls, they unplugged and replugged the land-line yet again at another spot on the counter.

7:30 a.m. - 10 minutes before check-in for our flight would close, an agent sheepishly asked, “Do you have renmenbi (Chinese money)?”

“Does this mean they're going to sell us a ticket?” I asked God as the woman scurried back across the ticket booth. I flipped through my wallet to find out how much money I had. Thankfully, I had 700 left. Surely her ticket would cost less than $100, I thought. Xi'an to Kunming was only 110 RMB ($16).

Again, we waited. Then she came back at 7:33 – “It will cost 590 RMB ($90). We will issue a paper ticket for Kunming to Bangkok and for Chiang Mai to Kunming.”

I pulled out the bills and put them into her hand, grinning. “Is there still time for us to catch the flight?”

“Yes, but hurry.”

I thanked them profusely and we scurried off.

We shuffled back to the check-in desk. Since we'd already begun the process earlier, our boarding passes were already printed and our bags were already weighed. “Who told you to leave here and go to the ticket counter earlier?” The agent asked, sternly.

“Nobody. We just thought it might help to try the ticket window.”

She shook her head and handed us the boarding passes. “Ok, but next time, you should wait.”

“OK, we will.”

“You need to hurry.”

We rushed through security: 7:37. Then the Chinese border police: 7:42. Quickly we ran to the gate: 7:45.

We showed our boarding passes and entered the glass-covered ramp to the pane. We were last to board, but we still had several minutes before takeoff. We paused and took a deep breath, gasping at the brilliant sunrise that greeted us. I took out the camera and snapped a quick photo. 

We found our seats, surprised to notice several other empty seats on the flight. “So much for no seats being left on the flight.”

We were extremely grateful to catch the flight, yet perplexed about the spiderweb of misinformation that led to our near-miss . We were bathed in the presence of God's provision for us, yet unsure what our next couple flights might entail. I wish I could say that was the end of the story – and we flew happily ever after. But we were only halfway into our trip.

Chinese Car Culture

By Kevin

She owns a car, but she has no driver's license.

“It is a little bit strange, isn't it?” our colleague asked sheepishly.

What's even more unusual is that she's owned the car for six years and only now is she considering going through the long process of getting a driver's license. It's not an easy process, which is somewhat surprising given the hair-raising experiences we've had in taxis over the years here. Naturally, given the high emphasis the Chinese put on exams, she has to pass four written exams about driving regulations and a behind-the wheel test in order to get her license. But Chinese drivers don't need much actual behind-the-wheel practice to be licensed (Peter Hessler's excellent book “Country Driving” gives an interesting account of his experience of getting a Chinese license).

“Every week, I open the door of the car, put in the key and start the engine to keep it running,” she said, smiling.

I discovered that she had a car because she said that her parents were going to take the train up from Chengdu to visit during the holiday. Then, their plan is to drive back home together, likely stopping off in Hanzhong and another city. Her father is the only one in the family with a license.

I was particularly surprised because, although there are some inexpensive Chinese-made cars, the relative expense of buying a car is much higher than in the U.S. And most people seem to save up and pay cash for cars, rather than taking out loans. When you consider that the average teacher's salary is between $200-400 a month, it takes awhile to save up.

One of Ruth's students bragged that he earned his driver's license over the summer. But he rarely drives. After all, he doesn't have a car. That's the more common way of doing things – get the license to prepare for the future. But he's one of only two or three students I know of who has his license. Everyone else seems to be in awe of anyone with a license.

Another former student mentioned, when talking about buying an apartment with her fiance, that they would be sure to buy one with a garage. Did they have a car? Nope. Just planning for the future.

It's a sign of the times, though. Owning a car in China has become a definite status symbol. Recently, some same article quotes a candidate on a popular TV dating show, describing her ideal husband: have called it the “second most important status symbol” in China (after buying an apartment). The "I would rather weep in a BMW than smile on a bicycle.”

Car buying is such a status symbol in China that Beijing recently capped the number of cars it will license in a year. http://news.xinhuanet.com/english2010/china/2010-12/23/c_13661672.htm

When I first moved to China in 2005, there were two privately owned cars on the entire campus in Tonghua. Two. None of the apartment buildings housing teachers had room for parking because it wasn't necessary. When Ruth and I moved to Weinan, we were surprised that not only did each teacher apartment building have a dozen parking spaces, but that many of them were full. Now, every spot is taken. In fact, school officials have had to paint parking space lines on most campus side streets to accommodate the overflow. And both curbs of street outside the school gate are now constantly filled with cars (both from school and the new apartment buildings across the street, which recently opened).

There are an assortment of car manufacturers filling the parking lot. While many are Chinese brands you wouldn't recognize outside of China, like BYD (which plans to sell an electric car in America soon), Cherry, Dongfeng, Chang'an, Changhe, and Geely, others are American, Japanese or Korean (Honda, Hyundai, Toyota, Ford, Chevrolet, Nissan, Suzuki, Mitsubishi) or European brands like Volkswagon, Audi, BMW, and Peugeot-Citroën. While the Chinese brands are relatively inexpensive, it's a bit surprising that so many teachers here are able to afford the foreign brands.

The Many Names of Juliana

Tiger Baby

by Ruth
I read that sometime in the next few months, Juliana should be able to start recognizing her name.  I realized this could be a problem, though, because I hardly ever call her by her name.  I like her name a lot, obviously, having picked it out.  But to be honest, I probably only call Juliana by name about once or twice a day. 

About half of the time I just call her "Baby."  It sounds pretty generic in general, but it doesn't feel that way when I say it to Juliana.  It seems fitting and sentimental, like nobody else (or at least not like everybody else) gets to use the same name.  The other half the time, I use one of a couple dozen different nicknames. 

First we have the general animal variety - Froggie, Tiger (her Chinese birth year), Little Bear, Bunny.  Then there are the seasonal ones - Pumpkin, Sweet Potato, Little Elf...  We have the descriptive genre - Squeaky, Farty-pants, Chub-chub, Grumpy-Gus, and (maybe not exactly a name) "Spit-uping-est Baby Ever."  I even indulge those mushy "pet names," the kind that make you gag when used on anyone other than a miniature person in footie pajamas.  Lovey-dove.  Munchkin.  Cutie.  Snuggly.  Probably the ones I use most often are just random.  Little Bub, or Bub-bub.  No idea why, but it just seems to fit.

Grumpy-Gus

So I am afraid that when it comes time for Juliana to start recognizing her name, she will have no idea what it is!  Despite that problem, and the fact that she already has about 20 different nicknames, I have been considering whether we should give her an *official* nickname.  Juliana has several different possibilities - Julia, Julie, Jules...  I personally like Julia best, and I could picture calling Juliana that.  It seems like a happy, active, pretty kind of name, and Juliana is all those things.  It is kind of cool to have a somewhat common name (Julia) that you go by but then be able to tell people,

"But actually my name is Juliana." 
To which they will respond, "Oooh, how beautiful and graceful."
And Juliana will say, "Speaking of which, my middle name is Grace."
To which they will respond, "You have the most amazing name ever.  We can't believe we are so lucky as to know you."

Besides that, Julia is a little bit easier for a 4 year old to handle.  Does Juliana seem like too much name for a baby?  We have to think of the short-term and the long-term here.  If we did go with a nickname, she might be stuck with it for life, or at least until adolescence when she decides to change her name into something really 'cool' that we really hate.

But then, Juliana is really nice too and we could just stick with that.  Sometimes nicknames are overrated.  Hmm.  And I thought the naming dilemma was over when we chose her name before she was born.  Next up: finding a Chinese name!

Little Elf

Baby Swimming in China (with better music)

My first attempt at music for Juliana's swimming video was so-so. I found some better songs:



Or, if you're seeing this imported to Facebook rather than at http://ruvin2007.blogspot.com, here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXUCfLy92C0

Baby Exercises

Juliana enjoyed the exercises from swimming so much we decided to keep them up!

Swimming video

by Kevin

Here is video of Juliana's swimming debut. Enjoy...

Bobbing baby goes for a swim

By Kevin

Today we did the unthinkable. We took Juliana swimming. As we noted a few weeks ago, a student was telling us about the latest rage among parents in China – baby swimming. Since Juliana loves taking baths, we decided to give it a try, so we gave the student a call and asked her to come with us.

As we waited 20-30 minutes for the waist-high infant pool to fill with warm water, we watched one baby boy bobbling up and down in the water, supported only by a specially-designed innertube. In spite of warnings that you should wait 12 minutes after a bath before feeding a baby (I don't know why they were so precise), the boy sucked down an entire bottle of formula as he bobbed in the pool. Several more babies screamed at the top of their lungs during their after-swimming baths. Several of the parents whose children were bathing stopped to take a peek at the foreign baby. As we waited for Juliana's tub to fill, she napped.

Once we got into the pool room, they began by giving Juliana a personal exercise routine. The helper served as personal trainer, rotating her arms and legs in circles, stretching them back and forth, and moving them in a swimming motion. They said that we could have this personal trainer service every time as well if we liked (for an additional fee).

When her time came, we put Juliana's head into a specially designed infant inner-tube that wraps around her neck to hold her head above water. Then, we gently lowered her into the warm tub. She was a bit perplexed at first, but soon, she was wiggling her way in tiny circles, supported only by the head floatation device. Really it was more like wading in with a life preserver around her neck, but they still called it swimming. Thankfully, her head never even came close to getting wet. Eyes wide, Juliana slowly spun in circles. Before you knew it, her 12 minutes were up, so the helpers scooped her out and whisked her off to her bath. They scrubbed her and cleaned her and she smiled, seemingly unaware of the sensation she was causing. Undoubtedly, her photos will soon appear on billboards for baby swimming.

The room was like a sauna. Washcloths were spread over the radiators. Chinese people are terrified of the cold, so thankfully they made the room warm for the naked babies, but this was beyond warm. Unfortunately, Chinese people don't wear short sleeves ever in the winter, so the faces of most people in the room were glistening with sweat. Beads of sweat built on the nose of the helpers. Parents who insisted on leaving their coats on were wet. Ruth and I immediately whisked off our coats. I was wearing short sleeves underneath, to the astonishment of everyone in the room. A few minutes later, a 50-day old was unwrapped from two quilts, plus three layers of thick clothing, the helpers scolded us for allowing Juliana to come out in one thick layer of clothing plus a thick “baby bag.” “You should wrap her in a quilt too,” they insisted.

“It's good for their IQ and EQ,” our student interpreter said as she got into the water, weighing the benefits of weekly “swimming” sessions. I presume the latter is her equilibrium. Apparently a recent Norwegian study has linked infant swimming with improved balance. However, it seems that the infants in this study actually swam. Their heads weren't placed in flotation devices.

The helpers suggested that we'd nearly waited “too long” for Juliana's first trip to the pool. The babies who begin their weekly visits around seven days are better swimmers, according to the workers. Since Chinese babies aren't supposed to leave the house for the first couple months, I'd imagine that bringing your newborn to take a swim on a cold winter day might be frowned upon.

That said, apparently it's popular. In spite of a price tag of 50 RMB ($7.50) per session (you can also buy 6 sessions for 200 RMB or 13 for 400 RMB), a line of parents with tiny ones waited for their chance to take them swimming. It's a bit expensive for China. Granted, we did see one family pull up to the store in an Audi, so maybe this attracts a wealthier clientele. Our friend got them to knock 10 RMB off the price tag since it was our first time.

For more photos, go to www.flickr.com/kevsunblush. We hope to post a few videos soon as well.