And on the 6th day they rested ...

Six nights in the Central Time Zone and our bodies are finally no longer attuned to the Beijing Standard Time.

A look at Jet-lag
Our nights began around 9 pm, when we'd fall into our guest beds exhausted, only to wake four or five hours later... completely awake... and completely aware that the darkness outside would shroud the Illinois countryside for another five hours.

We would tip toe to the kitchen and refill water glasses, root around in the enormous stainless steel Amana for a protein based snack (string cheese reigned supreme in our jet-lag routine.) Tip toe back to the room Mr. Johnson and I share, and pile into the queen size bed and enter the next phase of our schedule. Dramimine doled out, the girls peeled their cheese into strings, listened to a book or two, emptied up and then headed back to their beds for a restless, Dramimine induced slumber.

The worst part of jet-lag is the way it renders you unable to focus. You can be carrying along without incident, and then suddenly hit the wall: words slur or don't come to mind. But rather than feeling drunk its more like a hang over... there is no euphoric sense of high, just a the overwhelming sense that packing up and moving three little people to the other side of the planet might not have us lining up for parents of the year.

Especially since, Bea recently bemoaned she doesn't like flying on airplanes, "all the time!"

Fortunately for us this dislike of airtravel is quickly forgotten when she arrives at the airports. She knows the routine, and wants to do it solo. With her passport (in it's Mickey Mouse cover... a freebie from her kids pack in one of her other international trips this year) in hand, she steps up to the customs officer alone. Lifts her roller case onto the belt, and marches in the direction of our gate.

Our girlies have become pros, and no longer seem frustrated by the travel/jet-lag process.

They just roll with it, knowing what will come next. Knowing the next night will be a little better, and then next night better still, until finally some night (this time it was the sixth night) everyone rests a natural drugless sleep, filled with normal dreams, and a true appreciation of the softness of an American mattress and the even heat of forced air.

Being in "America"
The girls LOVE being in "America" as Bea has dubbed it. They are not keen to hit the grocery stores or shopping malls, to visit the doctor or really go anywhere outside of the property line of their grandparent's country home.

They love the cozy confines of Grandma's ochre walls. They rise early and read by the light of the glowing Christmas tree. The love getting lost in the walk-in pantry and sampling Western foods they have gone months without sampling.

Bea sat at the counter and studied her grandparent's ample kitchen.

"This is a really nice space," she said to me. My four year old cum interior decorator, analyzing the working triangle of an American kitchen.

"Eliza says you can drink water out of the faucet," she later told me. Looking someone skeptical, but also assessing that in a land with a refrigerator larger than our two Asian ones combined, and a place where toilet tissue can be flushed rather than lodged in the waste paper basket, anything could be possible. She sought my confirmation.

"You can here," I agreed, and then quickly reminded her that we'd have to go back to our other routines when we were back in QD.

They ordered up a perfect dousing of snow for our arrival, enough to sustain sleds and to roll into a perfect snowman when the weather warmed enough make the white stuff perfect for packing. When we ran errands their mantra included: Can we just go back to Bopa and Mema's now? They've become reaquainted with their cute cousins, the Johnson grands that are even blonder than our girlies. They've enjoyed the antics of Little J who is clearly no longer a baby, but instead a force of nature. Bea has bonded with J, both delighted with their pierced ears and partners in crime to escape the little buddy! They've unearthed the Barbies they've stored in Mema's basement, they've unleashed the dog they yearn for from China, and the tumble pell mell down the snowy banks with their tri-color collie at their side, the naked trees silhouetted with snow.

This morning Millie snuck into our bedroom for the Nikon, to capture the the beautiful sight of the back yard that slopes toward the gently rushing creek in the fleeting moments before dawn. She snapped off a bunch, then wandered over to the pantry to choose her American breakfast cereal.