The World According to Children, Part 1

I really don't think I'm biased in saying my kids are extraordinarily funny. I have so many good quotes, I had to divide them into a blog series.

JULIANA, 5 YEARS

While pregnant with Nadia.

Me: Right now, baby is the size of a carrot.

Juliana: A carrot?? I've never seen a carrot come out of someone's belly.

Me: No, that's just how big it is.

J: The carrot's brother or sister?

Me: No, the baby.

J: The baby carrot?

Me: No! carrots grow in the ground. I'm just talking about the size of the baby.

J: So it's a person baby?

Me: Yes!

J: Oh...I knew it was a person baby. I just thought its name was carrot.

 

JULIANA, 4 YEARS

Juliana: I will marry God and then I will be a princess.

Me: You mean a nun?

Juliana: I will marry daddy and then I will be a princess.

Kevin: I'm already married to mama.

Juliana: It's okay. You can stop being married to her and then you can marry me.

(a few minutes later) How will I know if someone loves me? I think you and mama can find someone for me to marry.

Kevin: You might change your mind about an arranged marriage, but we can help you to know if someone really loves you.

Juliana: EVERYONE loves me.

 

JULIANA, 3 YEARS

Juliana: Moo, moo, moo.

Mama: Are you a cow?

Juliana: No, I'm a girl who says 'moo.' 

 

JULIANA, 4 YEARS

Juliana, struggling with her clothes: "I'm trying to get my shirt tucked into my pants, but it just won't LISTEN to me! "'

 

JULIANA, 3 YEARS 

Juliana: Yaya! I'm making your stairs beautiful!

(as she puts Mickey Mouse stickers on the stairs)  

Me: The stairs might not be the best place for stickers.

Juliana with shocked expression: You don't want beautiful stairs? Yes you do!

 

JULIANA, 5 YEARS

Did you know you can eat ice that's clean? Did you know that? I ate ice once. But it was a long time ago. #thirdculturekid

 

NADIA, 5 YEARS

Nadia to Adalyn: 

How do you spell mama? 

How do you spell dada?

How do you spell stop? 

How do you spell George Washington?

 

NADIA, 2 YEARS 

Desert book: "What do you think of when you think of the desert?"

Nadia: "Um...Pandas!!"

Desert book: "desert, desert, desert..."

Nadia: "Where's the pandas?"

 

NADIA, 3 YEARS 

Finishing Nadia's birthday cake.

Me: My arm is so sore from mixing.

Nadia: My arm is so sore from tasting.

 

ADALYN, 8 YEARS

Adalyn, whispering to mama: The secret message is "Valentine’s card break."

Nadia: I heard you! You said valentines. And you said break. "

Adalyn: No, I was talking about something else. I said Barack. I said I wonder what Barack Obama is doing for Valentines Day.

 

JULIANA, 8 YEARS

Driving to the store with just Juliana.

Juliana: It's pretty nice to have only one kid in the car. It's much calmer, isn't it? I can hear the songs on the radio. I like that. It's nice to have some peace and quiet." ... [talks continuously the rest of the way]

NADIA, 3 YEARS

When our plane was taking off to fly back to China, I suggested Nadia say goodbye to America. She said, "Bye bye America! Bye bye America! [perturbed] It's not saying goodbye back to me!!"

 

NADIA, 5 YEARS 

Me: "There's no place like home."

Nadia: That's not true. There are SOME places like home.

Me: It means that home is the best place to be.

Nadia: Well, I think Chuck-E-Cheese is the best place to be.

 

JULIANA, 3 YEARS 

Juliana outside on the swing: "Hi shadow, how are you today? I'm fine. Shadow, what did you do beautiful today?"

 

ADALYN, 7 YEARS

There is a pop song the girls like that says, "I like me better when I'm with you."

Today Adalyn was singing, "I like everyone better when I'm alone." 

She has a point.

 

ADALYN, 1.5 YEARS

Adalyn standing next to me as I was cutting up a banana for her oatmeal: "I'm sorry 'nana!"

 

ADALYN, 8 YEARS 

I just found the best thing in my life - this wrapping paper roll!

 

JULIANA, 3 YEARS

Juliana at lunch: I was glabroabua...

Me: We can't understand you when your mouth is full.

(A few minutes later)

Me: Juliana, I need you to sit back down and finish eating.

Juliana: I can't understand you because my mouth is full.

 

NADIA, 5 YEARS

Nadia: What's this?

Me: It's a card from a friend, saying they are sorry that Anna died.

Nadia: Why are they sorry? They didn't kill her.

 

JULIANA, 7 YEARS

Packing to move, the girls discovered a bag of throwaways.

Juliana: You can’t get rid of this! I’ve been looking for it! It’s my favorite!!

Me: It’s a hanger.

 

JULIANA, 4 YEARS

Juliana, looking at her Barbie backpack: Who is that?

Me: Maybe Cinderella?

Juliana: NO! it's Barb...eque.

 

ADALYN, AGE 6

Adalyn: Barbies are different from people. Because Barbies can turn their heads all the way around.

 

JULIANA, 2.5 YEARS 

Juliana's expert travel advice: "You ride on an airplane. You ride on a train. You drive on a bus. If you touch trash you get sick. If you don't sit in your seat you go CRASH fall down. And then you go waa-waa!"

 

ADALYN, 8 YEARS

You know the best time to kiss someone (on the lips)? When your lips are dry. 

 

NADIA, 4 YEARS 

Nadia: Do we have a xylophone here?

Me: I think so. It's a little different from the one in China though.

Nadia: WE DIDN'T BRING OUR XYLOPHONE??

 

ADALYN, 8 YEARS

Today we didn't wear masks to church for the first time in a long time, so I put on some lipstick in the car. As I was blotting it with a tissue, Adalyn said, "Oh no, do you have a bloody nose?" I guess it's been a while. 

 

JULIANA, 2.5 YEARS

Me: Do you want banana in your Chex (cereal)?

Juliana: I want...I want a CAKE in my Chex.

 

 

NADIA, 3 YEARS; ADALYN, 5 YEARS 

(jetlagged) 

4:30am trying to get Nadia to go back to sleep:

N, screaming at the top of her lungs, "IT'S BORING TO SLEEP!!"

 

9:30am trying to get Adalyn to put clothes on:

A, lying on the stairs wailing dramatically, "I hate paaaaaants!!"

 

JULIANA, 2 YEARS 

Juliana has taken to asking and answering the questions she thinks we should be asking her. In her imaginary world we give her everything she wants.

Juliana: "Do you want another cracker? Okay! Another cracker!!"

 

JULIANA, 5 YEARS 

Kevin: I have ancestors from Sweden, and Norway, and Netherlands.

Juliana: NEVERLAND??

 

 

I Used to Have That in China

Five months and nine days after we entrusted our most important belongings to the postal service, our final package arrived!

When we unwittingly left China in January 2020, planning to be back in a few weeks, we brought beach clothes. We left an entire house set up and waiting, perfectly preserved as a moment in time: Beds made, clothes folded in drawers, shoes by the doors.

Once we realized we were settling in America and would not be able to return to China anytime in the near future, we started looking into options for shipping a few of our most important possessions back from China.

It was a long and arduous process including months of planning and frustration, and incredibly helpful friends who spent hours and hours gathering and packing and repacking on the China side. On June 6^th, five boxes and one bass guitar finally left Yinchuan. Due to the nightmarish shipping delays, they sat in Shanghai for three months.

Finally in mid-October, the first boxes started arriving! A month later we were still waiting for the final package. The last tracking update was June, and I was starting to lose hope. But yesterday, our shipping saga concluded; all our belongings have safely made their way across the ocean!!

We were all so excited to be reunited with our things again. The girls exulted over Barbies, stuffed animals, and seemingly random “treasure collections.” I was thrilled to see the handmade afghans and stockings and embroidered pictures, the little books I had filled with baby memories, and old journals that told the inner story of years in China.  Practical things like favorite winter clothes arrived just in time for cool weather, with a big jumble of jewelry and electronics.

I was very happy to see all these things after nearly two years. But emotions are rarely pure and uncomplicated. In the midst of the happiness, I felt letdown. I found myself picturing where each of these things were in our apartment. The recipe cards in the pantry, my jewelry on a hook in my wardrobe, the Little People overflowing their milk-box-turned-toy-storage.

For a whole year, I pictured my China home set up and waiting. I thought about all the special and useful things I wished I had with me. Now, I am faced with the reality that the home we never said goodbye to is gone forever.  I already knew that. Knowing that brought a bit of closure, a sense that I could start to move on. 

But now it is real in a new way. My hair-tie inexplicably smells like our apartment, a familiar scent of chalky walls. The physical evidence of our presence in China is gone, as if we never lived there. The last tangible connection to our past life is severed.

The dismantling of our apartment symbolizes the unraveling of our whole lives in China. Even if we did go back to China, everything would be different. Our dear friends and the sweet community we formed would be gone. Our students would have graduated and moved on.  Who knows which of our favorite shops and restaurants actually survived the pandemic. The China we miss no longer exists.

These five boxes encompass 15 years of life. Most of our things are more recent, post-children possessions, but they also hold reminders of years past, the early days when China was such a different world. A handmade “wish jar” from my very first class in Yangzhou now sits on my dresser. I loved them so dearly, and they were enamored with me, their 22 year old teacher, the first foreigner many of them had ever seen.

We shipped another wish jar, full of intricate hand-folded paper hearts, from two shy students in Weinan, ones who said they were so touched by Kevin’s teaching because they had never before been complimented.

An angel figurine that was once on our bookshelf now rests on the mantel, a memorial of our first pregnancy that ended in miscarriage in a Chinese hospital. The paper IKEA gift tags that Kevin and I used to decorate our first Christmas tree wait with the handmade stockings my mom sewed for each new addition to the family.

I look at my painting, now torn, and remember the painting class I took with friends. The mug from my favorite coffee shop reminds me of quiet moments alone, deep connections with friends, and the best ever hugs from the owner. The terra cotta warrior figurines remind us of bargaining down the ridiculous price quoted at a stall outside this historical landmark. I remember where we got every single one of these items and why they are important.

And now we have them back. These tangible reminders of our lives in China are scattered around the house, slipped between newer items of this newer life.  Our past and present lives blend together a little more. While it sometimes seems like a dream, like another world entirely, China will always always be inextricably woven into the rest of our lives. We look at these treasures and remember who we are.

Chinaversary

One year ago I rushed around uplugging appliances and zipping suitcases, making sure everything was ready for our vacation. We bundled up in down coats against the frigid January morning. I took one last look around, and we left our apartment. We left Yinchuan. We left China. And it was no big deal.

Never in a million years would we have imagined that a year later we would still not be back, we might never be back. We kept thinking we could return later in February, in March, in April, later in the spring, at the end of summer, the beginning of 2021, maybe briefly next summer...never.

I miss so many things about China.

We had such a close community, a small group of friends we saw multiple times a week for shared meals, play-dates, meetings, walks, and home school co-op. We had the kind of friends that shared their left-overs and library cards and watched your kids at the last minute.

We had a sweet ayi (house helper/babysitter) who had been with us since Adalyn was a baby. She was used to our weird foreign ways: our kids who wouldn’t wear socks on cold tile floors and the amount of peanut butter we consumed. She knew far too much about us and loved us anyway.

I miss bumping down the road in our san lun che, bundled against the cold (in a mask, because we were doing that long before the virus). I miss driving past the steaming baozi (breaded dumplings), old women dancing in the park, and the local mosque. I miss driving the “wrong way” down the bike lane, because is there really a wrong way? (No.)

Obviously I’m not fully accustomed to living in a detached house, because I still hear phantom chopping noises. In a Chinese apartment, it seems you hear someone whacking away with a cleaver at any given time of day. I imagine the scratch of straw brooms on pavement, the calls of students walking by outside our window, and the loudspeakers at the fruit stalls croaking out, “San jin shi kuai! San jin shi kuai! (3lb for $1.50). My past self would find it strange, but I actually miss knowing there are people all around.

I miss the feeling of safety. I could walk down a dark street at night, take the bus across the city, or leave my kids in an open vehicle on the side of the road while I ran into a store. I have to continually remind myself I’m not allowed to do that here. Schools had earthquake drills, yes, but never ever mass shooter drills.

I could send my kids down to the nearby shop to pick up some vinegar. It was on our campus, only about 3 minutes away, but I literally sent an 8, 5, and 3 year old off to run an errand alone. And that was fine. Everyone around knew who they were, and anyone around would help them if they needed it.

I miss Chinese food. The hand-pulled Hui noodles, preferably eaten at a rickety metal table in a crowded restaurant. Our ayi’s jiaozi (Chinese dumplings) which everyone agreed were the best ever. Anything our ayi cooked. Our favorite restaurants, like the one by the mosque with the good eggplant, the one with the excellent tofu that we’ve gone to for 6 years, and the one with my favorite onion dish that is truly 90% cooked onion. Oh, and north-eastern food! And Xingjiang food! So many good things you just can’t find here.

Every time I go shopping, I think wistfully of China prices. Vegetables were the least expensive food you could buy – 30c/lb, maybe 70c/lb for the pricier things. Apples, oranges, and seasonal fruits were traditionally 3lbs for $1.50. I miss Taobao, a sort of Chinese Amazon that has everything, including $15 winter coats, $6 knock-off Lego sets, and the weirdest things you’ve ever seen.

I mostly avoided the supermarkets, but I still miss the vats of oil and giant bags of rice and the whole aisle of instant noodles. A walk through the market would show half a dozen types of tofu, slabs of hanging meat, buckets of live fish, and beautiful assortments of vegetables.

I miss the seasons in China – the flowering trees of spring, the giant trucks full of watermelon in summer, the baked sweet potato sellers on the side of the road in fall, the frozen lake in winter.

I miss students and friends coming to our house, bringing giant bags of fruit as gifts. We would talk or play games and the girls would go crazy. The students took lots of pictures with the girls, admired all their toys, and inevitably got roped into a game of hide-and-seek. You had to make sure every single part of the house was clean before someone came over!

One of my friends used to come to my office hours, then to my book club. She was my Chinese tutor for a while. Last year we started going on walk around campus once a week, arm in arm. She was smart and deep and we had many good talks.

I can picture every room in our apartment: my faded IKEA chair on the laundry porch, where I would sit under wet laundry catching the sun; the living room rug and bedspread and kitchen curtains I carefully picked out; the view from the large kitchen window where each morning I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the mountains. I know how the light fell at different times of the day. I rarely turned on overhead lights, as our 5^th floor apartment was bright enough without them.

Some things were so familiar – carried through half a dozen moves or passed on from other foreigners who had moved on. Others were new – the curtains we gave Adalyn for when we moved her into the office, still folded and waiting; the electric train set Nadia got for her birthday two days before we left.

It hurts to think about all the things we will never see and hear and taste again. It also stings a little to realize how hard it would be to go back to that, after settling here.

I enjoy pulling into the garage (in my enclosed, temperature controlled van) instead of carting loads of groceries up all those stairs. It would be hard to go back to Saturday morning Skype calls with my family in place of in-person visits. I love sitting on my quiet porch in the summer and by the cozy fire in the winter. We have adjusted to living in a house twice the size of our apartment – with two bathrooms – and closets – and a dishwasher.

There are so many things I miss about our lives in China, but I know it was far from rosy. It was a much harder place to live. Harder practically - making every meal from scratch, enduring the many smoggy days, and oh my word, the medical stress!

Harder culturally - all the attention we drew, all the interactions we decoded, all the language we learned and forgot, all of the tiny things that wore you out even after 15 years.

Harder in more nebulous ways - the unseen weightiness, the self-expectations, feeling so visible yet so unseen, a constant feeling of instability. Really we could have seen this coming. Not a pandemic, of course, but something that unexpectedly ripped us away.

I had considered what were the most important things I would pack if we had to leave suddenly. I had a three day plan and a few hour plan (as did most of the foreign families). I just didn’t have a plan for unknowingly leaving everything behind forever without a chance to look back.

I have no resolution or closure for this post, just like there was none for our leaving. I have just been thinking, especially today, about all the things I miss.

One year ago we left that whole life behind. Just. Like. That.

We Bought a House

We bought a house.

In America.

Well, we are in the process of buying a house. One Saturday in June, on our third morning of house-hunting, our realtor got a call that one of our prospects - 24 hours on the market - already had five offers. If we thought it was a strong contender, we’d need to rush over and make a quick decision. We rushed over to take a look, and we liked it enough to make ours offer number six. Three hours after we saw the house, our offer was accepted.

In the months of waiting and wondering and knowing nothing about the future, it’s hard to believe that we are suddenly moving forward so quickly. No time for indecision.

You could say it all started on January 21^st, when we left China planning to return a few weeks later. As Covid spread, February 12^th became March 10^th, became April 15^th, became “surely this summer,” and finally “Maybe Spring of 2021?” Now we think,“Maybe at least at some point we can get back to pack a few things? Maybe?”

I keep thinking, “We left for vacation and we can’t go back. How does that happen?” I can’t imagine that happening in the US, but actually a number of our friends have been in similar situations, even pre-Covid.

I can't say it was Covid or even our temporary homelessness that caused us to buy a home in America.

After 15 years, we have decided to move back to the US.

That decision brings a cosmic shift in our lives. Our lives will now be sliced into three pieces: before China, during China, post-China. Because really, no matter where we are, China is now forever a part of our lives. It has been our girls’ entire childhood, plus my entire adult life and most of Kevin’s. It has been our jobs, our home, our way of life, and our identity.

It was a hard decision, and it’s hard to describe the process that led us there.  It slowly became clear to us that China was no longer the healthy place for our family. I am naturally skeptical about the idea that “America will fix our problems.” In case you’ve noticed, a few people in America deal with depression, anxiety, or burnout, and shockingly some even yell at their kids. But we realized that some of these struggles were specifically linked to China. Schooling, language, uncertainty, a slight (entirely reasonable) paranoia, pollution, unrelenting heaviness in the atmosphere, and just feeling out of place all the time, even after all these years – it was all taking its toll.

Kevin and I each started to wonder, “Are we just staying in China because we have lived there so long?” One day we voiced it aloud. We realized the answer might be yes. At this point in our lives, staying in China really would have been the easier decision. Uprooting ourselves from everything familiar is nearly as hard as deciding to move to China 15 years ago. We know how to live in China. Coming back to the US means starting all over again with jobs, housing, cars, schools, friends, furniture, dishes…  It is like the 20-something figuring out adulthood – except we are 40ish with three kids!  We are nearly two decades “behind".

We feel confident it is a good decision for us. I am happy to be close to my family. We will be in the next town over from where I grew up. My friend and I talked about how we went from the extreme of the other side of the world to living 5 minutes from each other. It’s hard to believe that I will be one of those people who lives where I grew up, with family around. I have never been that person before.

We will have our own house with everything I dreamed of in China: a backyard, a dishwasher, a front porch and a back screened porch, a bedroom big enough to walk all the way around the bed, TWO bathrooms, hot water in all the sinks, closets, and a whole room for laundry, a huge yard with tall trees - and did I mention A/C!! Some of those are pretty standard in typical American homes, but it is all so exciting for us.

It is ironic to say "we are moving back to America" when actually we are already here. Technically we still live in China, except we can’t go back there. Most of our belongings are still there. Our clothes, my computer, even Kevin’s wedding ring! (he misplaced it the day before we flew to Thailand and didn’t have time to find it). The girls left their new Christmas presents and Nadia’s birthday presents from just the week before.

Many of our closest friendships were made in China. We are still committed to return temporarily if the doors reopen, even though we are now 11 days from owning a home. I guess what has changed is we are moving from unplanned, “what the heck is going on in life,” to purposefully moving forward with American lives and all the American things. House, furniture, car, jobs, schools, all the insurances we never needed in China.

This was not the way we were supposed to leave. We left on vacation and can’t go back. We haven’t said goodbye to any of our Chinese friends yet, because we can’t really. There’s still that chance we could return for a few months or weeks next spring, maybe even to teach a final semester, but more likely next summer, just to pack and say goodbyes. Our hope of return diminishes with each Covid case and accusation lobbed China’s way.

Now we have a beautiful American home to come back to if that chance materializes. And a home to stay in if it doesn’t. I still can’t get over that. Some days it feels like whiplash, some days like grief, and sometimes I want to laugh at the sheer absurdity.  It is the beginning and end of a dream.

We bought a house. In two weeks we will move in, unpack the random belongings we do have, arrange the new (used) furniture, and buy a mop. We will be all in, “buy a mop” kind of settled.  I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

If you need me, I’ll be sitting on my back porch in my rocking chair, drinking coffee and trying to figure it all out.

When I Don't Feel the Right Things

Contrary to all previous experiences, I am strangely optimistic about health concerns. I said, “You should get it checked out, but surely it is nothing.”  It wasn’t nothing, and Kevin was admitted to the hospital. As I sat in the ER with him, I was worried. But should I be more worried?  What if he dies – then I will feel bad about not worrying enough.  Should I be crying right now or wringing my hands?  At the moment I am just thinking about how strange the ER looks and how strange we look in it.

I was worried about Kevin, but I was also stressed about our first Chinese hospitalization.  You know what attracts more attention than a foreigner?  A foreigner in the hospital.  Once admitted, we actually had a private room; everyone else was three to a room.  I felt immensely relieved and also a little bad about special foreigner privilege.

I was worried, but what really troubled me were the little metal boxes that traveled slowly down the hallway ceilings on jerky tracks.  Why were they moving so slowly?  Why do metal boxes feel so creepy?  I asked a friend if she ever feels anxious about things that don’t make sense.  She laughed at me heartily. “Do I ever worry about things that don’t make sense?  I think that is the definition of anxiety.”

The hospital was new and pretty clean; the doctors seemed to be doing a good job.  The Chinese hospital provides medical care, but you are on your own for everything else – food, TP, soap. It’s hard to complain when the “bed fee” is $5 a night.  Kevin was not supposed to move, so he really couldn’t do anything.  Our friends graciously added our three kids to their three kids for a “double sleepover” so I could stay at the hospital. (The kids decided a double sleepover was too much; the parents decided six kids was definitely too much).

Even in a private room, we got a number of people peering in through the door.  Whenever I left the room, people stared at me in astonishment.. I’m glad we could liven up their hospital stay.  I stood in line in the very noisy, crowded cafeteria pretending like I was totally normal.  It was a hard sell, with a hundred faces swiveling in my direction.

A lady tried to weasel in front of me in the noodle line, and I blocked her with my elbow while closing in the remaining two inches between me and the person in front of me.  There, now I felt more like I fit in.

The nurses are busy enough that they hand over responsibility for anything they can.  “See this tourniquet on his leg?  You need to leave it on for 30 minutes, then take it off for 10.  Don’t leave it on for longer or his foot might die.  Have a good night!”  That was the general gist anyway.

So I re-set my timer every 30 minutes all night long.  I got very good tourniqueting and did not kill Kevin’s foot.  I also got very good at 30 minute naps.  I could even have a full dream during the 10 minutes before I had to put the tourniquet back on.  Adrenaline was running high, carrying me through the two days – and two nights of tourniquets – in the Chinese hospital.

Our medical assistance/evacuation service decided to fly Kevin to Korea for further treatment, just to be safe.  Medical evacuation to another country is kind of a big deal, right?  But Kevin looked okay.  He really wasn’t even feeling bad.  Should I feel worried or reassured?

We were faced with the question of where I should be – in Korea with my husband or in China with my children.  Neither of us felt great about leaving the kids in another country for in undetermined amount of time.  I didn’t feel great about him being hospitalized in a different country without anyone he knew either.  Who has to decide these things??  Other friends we know, apparently, who live the same kind of ridiculous lives.  We were both glad when his parents said they could fly to meet him in Korea.

I did worry about Kevin flying, even if he was accompanied by medical staff.  After he texted pictures of the air ambulance learjet, I didn’t hear from him for hours after he should have arrived.  I was increasingly worried.  “What if he died on the way and they are trying to figure out how to tell me?”  Logically I knew that he probably didn’t die and probably didn’t have internet access.  Eventually I contacted our medical service to confirmed he had arrived at the hospital, alive.

Now I was less worried and more tired.  I was back at home with the girls and the adrenaline was wearing off.  The first night instead of falling asleep, they cried because daddy wasn’t here.  “When will he come home?” they wailed.  “That is yet to be determined,” I said comfortingly.  “Now go to sleep!!” I said less comfortingly.

As the days wore on, Kevin got increasingly better and was released from the hospital.  I got increasingly more tired.  Nadia was waking up at 1-2am trying to come into bed with me.  She was already doing this pretty much every night, but not always so early on, and it was not always so hot.  I did not need a little body smushed against me, radiating a surprising amount of heat.  Speaking of heat, the temperatures were creeping up to the mid-90’s and our one A/C unit wasn’t working.

The kids felt stressed, though of course they didn’t say, “I feel stressed.”  Instead they just screamed about random things, and cried because someone looked at them the wrong way.  There were many shoves given, tongues stuck out, names called, and toys commandeered; mysteriously nobody was responsible for any of it.

In some ways, it is easier when only one person is responsible for everything.  There are no unmet expectations that someone else would do this or that; if something didn’t happen it is all on you.  The house has stayed unusually clean and bedtime has gone unusually quickly, because order helps me feel like life is under control.  There is less laundry and nobody really cares what we eat.  In fact, they would rather not eat real meals, pizza excluded.

The disadvantage is that one person is responsible for everything and has to make everything happen, and that person is me.  It really wears down your resolve.  The girls wake me up before I want to be awake and I say, “Go look at books.”  When they come back two minutes later, I say, “Go watch TV.”  The girls beg for ice cream and I say, “No.  I’ll think about it.  Okay fine.”  When Juliana asked to have a sleepover and Adalyn asked for another baby, I said, “No.  No, no, no.  Not happening.”

Daily life may feel under control but my mind is much less ordered.  I think, “This whole thing is ridiculous and stressful.”  I think, “But really things are going okay. I feel a little bad that everyone is so worried about us.” I think, “I should feel more worried.  Why don’t I feel more worried?  I am not very empathetic.”  I think, “But Kevin is staying at a hotel by himself, and exploring Seoul, and eating at Taco Bell!!  I want to be hospitalized.”

I am good in crisis, and I have lots of experience with survival mode. I am not so good at making space for the long-term effects of stress and taking the opportunity to process and feel things once the crisis is past.  I’m ready to move on and pretend it didn’t happen.  That has worked so well for us in the past.

I feel like I am doing okay.  I feel like I will fall apart.  I feel angry at belligerent children, at the doctors who tell us nothing, at the A/C repair guy who never comes.  I feel gratitude toward our friends who feed us and take the kids and let us hang out in their A/C.  I feel more disturbed by the things that don't make sense (little metal boxes, the craziness inside) than by the serious things (hospitalization in another country). I feel everything and nothing, and I am waiting for someone to tell me how to feel the right things.

Signs You've Got a TCK

The paparazzi

 The other day Juliana’s 7 year old friend was over.  As I was trying to get the internet to work so I could play a video for them, she asked, “What VPN do you use?”  I thought, “What kid in America would ever ask that?”  Our kids are very familiar with VPNs because they are necessary to watch people cut up squishies on YouTube (Because that's a thing??).

A third culture kid (TCK) is a kid who has spent a significant portion of their formative years in a country or countries other than the one on their passport.  Their experience with life is different from friends in their passport country and friends in their country of residence – they are just...different.  (But mostly different good!) For example…

You know you have a TCK if they…

1. gather with their friends to play “look at time zones” on the phone.

2. have ever confused the Chinese flag with the American flag.

3. obsessively play traveling, airplanes, or stamping passports.

4. have ever done homeschool at the entry-exit bureau.

5. Have stopped moving for a moment and been mobbed by onlookers.

6. have been called “foreign doll” or compared to a Barbie doll.

7. talk about our “China home” and “America home,” or tried to figure out where home really is.

8. has ever horrified a Chinese person by combining Chinese and western food, like cheese + rice.

9. has eaten something really unusual like fish brains.

10. burst into a Chinese rhyme or song you have never heard before.

11. have gotten scolded for playing in puddles or wearing shorts before July.

12. are scandalized when people wear shoes in the house, and have in fact worried that Santa might leave his shoes on when he comes.

13. can point out out several countries on the map where they have lived or regularly visit.

14. can point out multiple countries around the world where their friends live.

15. ask for cereal for Christmas

16. have the tell-tale arm scar from the TB vaccination.

17. love 12 hour flights.

18. went on 12+ flights in their first 12 months.

19. ever traveled across the country for immunizations.

20. primarily travel by bus, bike, motorbike, or some form of cart.

21. were born in a country other than their passport country.

22. had a passport before one month old.

23. had the doctor or nurse take pictures with them during a check-up.

24. have been passed around a restaurant as a baby.

25. have seen pictures of themselves on the internet, put up by strangers.

26. are photographed by strangers pretty much everyday.

27. love dried seaweed snacks.

28. learned to walk in a different country than they learned to crawl.

29. primarily see extended family is over Skype.

30. make collages of old passport photos

My Little Ponies meet Angkor Wat

A 4 year old's interpretation of travel.  The circles are all our bags... 😂😮

Winter travel in an unsealed vehicle

The Month of Goodbyes

The purple cabbage I used to demonstrate layers of grief

This month’s calendar is filled with notes of all the people who are leaving.  June 12, 17, 18, 25, and 27th. July 3rd, and 5th.  Five families and five single will move away for good.  One family has lived in China for 25+ years.  Another family for 10+ years.  Considering the size of our foreign friend group in this city, it is a significant portion.  Many others are returning to the US for the summer.  This is the month of goodbyes.

This month in our homeschool co-op, I have been teaching emotional intelligence.  Last week’s lesson was about loss and saying goodbyes.   We talked about what grief can look like, about layers of grief, and about how to deal with grief.  I think it is timely for our kids who have had so many goodbyes this year and are getting ready for more.

While we were back in America this past year, our friends still here in our city walked a road of continual goodbyes. The expat community is always fluid (or you could say unstable), but last year was like a mass exodus, triggered by changes in our area.  Sometimes our friends had months to prepare for these goodbyes, sometimes weeks or days.

We experienced the grief from afar, through messages and emails and secondhand news.  Each new loss seemed like another stab at our hearts.  Those friends are leaving too?  Will there be anyone left when we return?  Our friends were from all over the country and world.  We didn’t have the chance to say goodbye, and realistically, we will not see most of them again.

I see the effects of these losses on my children, especially on Juliana.  She has had a lot of questions.  “Why do they have to leave?  Will we see them again?  Will my best friend come back to China? Will we have to leave?”  During the middle of the “mass exodus,” her 7 year old friend wrote letters to all her friends saying, “I will miss you if I have to leave.”  Imagine the grief and uncertainty our kids experience.  We can only offer so much reassurance because the future is unsure.

Adalyn doesn't show a lot of sadness at the surface.  She is quiet and doesn't cry.  She doesn't cry, that is, until her all out meltdowns.  These have become more common during these last weeks.

Juliana responds with anger.  I have tried to help her understand this – grief doesn’t always look like sadness.  She felt so much anger when we returned to China. After goodbyes to all our friends and family in America, and she came back to China to face the reality of all the friends and classmates who were no longer here.  Just in the past week, as she prepares for more goodbyes, we have seen this anger reappear.  I remind myself be patient when she huffs or yells about the smallest things.

I try to guide her into healthier emotional expression.  It usually looks less like, “Dearest daughter, let’s sit down and talk about your feelings” and more like, “JULIANA, stop yelling!  Go sit on your bed and write in your journal!”  I also need to work on healthy emotional expression.  Juliana’s journal is probably full of diatribes against me and her sisters and the unfairness of life...and the friends that she misses.

Goodbyes are a part of everyone’s life.  Three of our friends in the US are making major moves this summer to different regions of the US.  They are saying goodbyes to family, longtime friends, all the familiar places. They will be experiencing their own “cultural” changes – West Coast to East Coast, South to North, Non-Texas to Texas, which as we all know is a culture unto itself. Our world is so transient.

For our kids, their goodbyes are two-fold.  Sometimes they are the ones leaving. They say goodbyes to all their friends and family when they leave the US, both in Georgia and California.  They leave friends from church and school and friends they have known since birth.  We return to China and the goodbyes continue. Their classmates and playmates, the ones they played with as toddlers, the ones they biked with in the neighborhood courtyard – our kids are now the ones left behind.

They are becoming experts at saying goodbyes, although that doesn’t make it easy.  The girls exchange friendship bracelets, cards, and secret handshakes.  We say we will Skype, and sometimes it happens.

Later, when we look at the globe, we talk about their friends in this state, in that country, on that continent. The world map above our dining table is not just for geography.  Nadia can recognize China and America, our own countries.  Adalyn points out California and Georgia.  Juliana first finds Norway, home of her best friend in the whole world.

We move on to different parts of America and the world.  “See, your friends are moving to Florida.  This is Oregon, Kentucky, Alabama...where we visited friends last year.  This is Australia, where your past classmates live."  Wherever we look, we find friends all over the world.

The Truth about Homeschool

I have a picture in my head of what homeschool should look like.  You know, that picture on the front of textbooks or homeschool websites.  I sit on the couch with my children crowded peacefully yet eagerly around me.  We all look in rapt attention at a book.  Later the girls sit at different tables, diligently working on math or writing, while Nadia plays contentedly with puzzles on the floor.

I know this will come as a shock, but homeschooling doesn’t actually look like that.  Not around here, anyway. Several years ago I wrote a post about what school looks like for us, but I didn’t get into the nitty-gritty of every day. This post is a peek at a “typical” homeschool morning in our house.

8:50am – Things are looking good for our 9am start goal.  The girls are dressed and breakfasted – oh wait, Juliana still has on her pjs.   I remember to give the girls their allergy medicine, and take my own medicine.  I remind Adalyn and Nadia to clear off their breakfast dishes.

8:59am – I throw in a load of laundry while calling, “We are going to start school in one minute!”  Juliana complains, “What?  We have to do school AGAIN today?”  It is a daily shock and disappointment.  After remembering to make the girls brush their teeth and finding a book I left in the other room, I call again, “Come into the living room!  We are about to start school!”

9:04am -  The girls do all their last minute, “But I just need to organize my toys so they can start school too.  I just need to put my doll to bed.  I can’t find my waterbottle!  Can I please pack my books in a backpack?  Where is the other chair?  I’m hungry!”

Nadia boycotts Adalyn's morning show and does her own show in her tent

9:09am - The morning show is something we added after the girls’ stint in public school this year.  They take turns standing at the front of the living room to lead the pledge.  Today it is Adalyn’s turn.
“Stand up Juliana.  Look Mama, Juliana’s not standing up all the way!  ‘I pledge allegiance’ – Juliana, look at the flag!! (Juliana: I AM!!) - ‘to the flag’...”

“We will now reserve a moment of silence.”  I honestly have no idea what this is about, something they picked up at school.  It sounds like a good idea to me, but sadly that it is 10 seconds, and it is not silent.

Next Adalyn looks outside to determine the weather.  “It is partly sunny, partly cloudy,” she pronounces, finding the appropriate picture.  (“There are no clouds - it’s sunny!” Juliana protests.)  I help Adalyn through today’s month, day, and year.  Nadia points to the spring picture on the “seasons” paper.  “It is flower.  Are there flowers blooming, mama?”
“Okay,” I prod, “let’s move on.  You choose a song Adalyn.”  Everyone gives their input on what Adalyn should choose.  She settles on O Holy Night, a year-round classic.

The girls stand together to practice reciting part of Psalm 139 for a homeschool performance. Juliana adds enthusiastic motions, which I taper down from a full-on dance performance.
In unison: “O Lord you have searched me and know me -”  
Juliana: “Mooo-mmm!  Adalyn isn’t doing the motion right.  It is supposed to be like this.” 
Me: “It doesn’t matter, it’s close enough.  Just keep going!”
In unison: “You know when I sit and when I rise”
Nadia: “I don’t want to do it anymore!” (“...you perceive my thoughts from afar”)
Me: “Okay, that’s fine.” (“you know my going out...”)
We finally make it through.
Juliana: What if we forget the end?
Adalyn, self righteously: “I will remember it.  I will remind you.”

9:22am – The morning show is finally over.  I get ready to read from the Bible while the girls color.  Juliana listens and intersperses comments when she feels appropriate.  She feels the appropriate time is every other minute.  Nadia and Adalyn abandon their coloring books to run back and forth on the couch.

9:30am – I look at the clock and consider what we should do next.  Since everyone is gathered, I decide to start on history.  We read a chapter in A Child’s History of the World about the explorers, and then look at some illustrated information from the Usborne Book of History.  Adalyn runs over to look at the pictures, and everyone fights about who can see the best.  Juliana takes after me educationally.  She is interested in history, loves to read, and finds math and spelling unreasonably boring.

The girls paint watercolors on the tile bathroom wall while I read aloud.  It has no real educational purpose except to keep Nadia entertained.  Warning: it is harder to clean off than you would think.

9:45am – We move on to our latest read-aloud, Strawberry Girl by Lois Lensky.  I am enjoying it as well as the girls, which is always nice.  Adalyn especially likes the periodic illustrations.  She actually settles down to draw, and Nadia has wandered away for some authentic imaginative play (aka playing dollies).  Juliana curls up on the couch, and I enjoy the moment of reading aloud in relative quiet.
Nadia reappears with her dollies in a squeaky stroller:  “I don’t want to do school!  I don’t like school.”
Me: “You aren’t doing school.  You are playing.”
Nadia starts to wail, “I’m bored!  I’m hungry!  I didn’t have juice!” 
Adalyn pipes up, “I’m hungry too!  Can I have a snack??” 
Juliana yells, “I can’t hear!!  They keep talking!!”

10:05am - After some more shushing and reading over everyone, we reach the end of the chapter. 
Juliana: Read some more!
Adalyn: But I’m so huuuuuungry!
Me: It’s not snack time yet. Why don’t you play?
Nadia: I don’t want to play!!  I want to do something else!
Me: You could do puzzles! (NO!) You could play with your dollies? (NO!)  Why don’t you do playdough? (Nooooo!)  Okay those are all my ideas.  You can choose between one of them. (Nooooooo!!).

10:10am - We have snack time.  “But we haven’t HAD a candy snack today!”  “You don’t need a candy snack every day!  You could have...an apple, peanut butter cracker?”  “But I WANT a candy snack!”
I cut up an apple for Adalyn, spread peanut butter for Nadia while Juliana looks disconsolately at the pantry, hoping something more interesting will appear.  I reheat my coffee and look disconsolately at the pantry, hoping an inspiration for dinner will appear.  We are both disappointed.

10:15am – I set my coffee down somewhere to be rediscovered 3 hours later.  It’s like a fun game.  While the girls snack, I hang up a load of laundry to dry and am rewarded by a bed heaped with dried clothes to be sorted and put away.  Laundry is a vicious cycle.  I contemplate whether I should make the girls put their clothes away now or later/tomorrow.

10:20am – I go back to the living room to make them put away clothes and see that Juliana is reading a book to her sisters on the couch.  This is a wonderful stage of development.  She has the ability to entertain and educate her sisters without any help from me!  Everyone is sitting together quietly.  Nobody is fighting.  Quick, take a picture!

A moment of peace and harmony - I didn't even stage this picture.  I'm saving it as proof that this is possible.

10:35am – Much as I enjoy the spontaneous reading time, I know Juliana could read all morning if it means avoiding math. I send an unwilling Juliana to the other room with her math book.  Adalyn sits down to work on her computer math games.  She has just finished the kindergarten level and is starting the first grade level!  She certainly does not get her math skills from me.  Juliana pauses to “help” Adalyn every other minute, so 35 minutes later she finally finishes her one section of math problems.

11:10am – Juliana works on writing about a trip she has taken.  She talks about it for 5 minutes, then writes down one sentence. 
Me: “See all these lines on the page?  They are there because you are supposed to write on them.”

11:25am – While Juliana works on writing and spelling words, Adalyn climbs on my bed to read aloud to me.  She is so proud of being able to read her own little books. I haven’t actually taught her to read.  Somehow she has just picked it up. 
Nadia climbs up beside us and peers at the page.  “Those two words are the same,” she says, pointing at two words that are in fact the same.  I am super surprised and impressed.  “They are!  Which word is the same as this one?  What about this one?”  She easily identifies them.  It’s possible she is a child genius.
Adalyn gets annoyed at Nadia interrupting her.  Juliana comes in to remind me how boring spelling is and does she really have to do it?

We have since bought a portable desk for Juliana, and the little girls use a small table.  Or the floor, the couch, my bed, the kitchen table...We don't really have a designated homeschool space.

11:45am – Nadia has started her pre-lunch meltdown but I am determined to squeeze in science.  Today we are learning about hearing.  The girls are all interested in science because the book has lots of colorful pictures.   I didn’t feel like doing the proposed experiment using a balloon, so I quickly throw together my own activity.  For some reason I don’t understand, that seems easier than getting out a balloon.
I give the girls each a little “hearing test” by tapping a xylophone. Despite their claims about not hearing whenever I call them for clean-up or bedtime, they all appear to have good hearing.  The girls close their eyes and guess the noises I am making with different objects.  They all think this is a fun game.

12:10pm – Nadia starts crying again, and the girls decide on which version of bread and peanut butter to eat for lunch.   I look over my plan for the day to check how far we have gotten.  Never quite as much as I hoped but not too bad either.

I think the girls actually learned something this morning.  I definitely wonder at times.  My brain feels fried after all the chaos and divided attention. But then Juliana spends an hour reading on the couch, or Adalyn starts solving multiplication problems (who is this child??), or Nadia does an uncanny imitation of my teacher voice.

Being solely responsible for my children’s education can be daunting at times, but apparently my efforts plus their brains equals learning.  Some days, we all even enjoy it.