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.

24 hours to go

We're pretty much packed. The girls are done with their last week of school for 2009. We've doled out Christmas gifts to teachers, and charity gifts at school (this year was a great project matching up our international school with needy families in rural villages outside of QD... we were able to provide a winter kit for a 13 year old girl which included a new winter coat, hat, gloves, scarf, fleece sweatshirt (all of which she'll probably need to wear to school which is unheated, and at home which is also unheated.) For use in her home we got a blanket and food staples like rice, peanut oil, flour and laundry detergent for hand washing their clothes.) It was a great project for our girlies to participate in... and a good reminder of the many things we have to be thankful for... things we often overlook like central heating and warm cozy beds at night!

What is a TCK or 3CK?

I've gotten some interesting feedback from my post the other day. One thing I wanted to define for those not familiar with the term is that of a Third Culture Kid (abbreviated TCK or 3CK).

My cyber friend Global Gal pointed out that each of our daughters, after living abroad, could be considered TCKs. This is potential true for our older girls (MGJ has spent 2/5 of her life here and EHJ nearly 1/2) but certainly true at this point for our youngest who has celebrated all of her birthdays in Asia.

It's an interesting phenomenon that most people don't think about, but something we've found important to study up on after moving our kids outside of our culture.

Some authors now argue that it is not just children, but also their parents who live in this third culture which is neither the culture of their home country or the culture of the country they now live in. For more on this concept see the writings of Robin Pascoe over at the expatexpert.com.

Below is a literal a cut and paste from Wiki... but it seems pretty accurate.

Third Culture Kids or Trans-Culture Kids, (abbreviated TCKs or 3CKs,) whom are sometimes also called Global Nomads, "refers to someone who, as a child, has spent a significant period of time in one or more culture(s) other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture".^[1]

Since the term was coined by sociologist Ruth Hill Useem in the 1960s, TCKs have become a heavily studied global subculture. TCKs tend to have more in common with one another, regardless of nationality, than they do with non-TCKs from their own country.^[2][3]

The composition of American TCK sponsors (i.e. the organization that sends the family abroad) changed greatly after World War II. Prior to World War II, 66% of TCKs came from missionary families and 16% came from business families. After World War II, with the increase of international business and the rise of two International Superpowers, the composition of international families changed. Sponsors are generally broken down into five categories: Missionary (17%), Business (16%), Government (23%), Military (30%), and "Other" (14%).^[4]

Source:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_Culture_Kids

Five little girls

This morning at our breakfast table there were five little girls 10 years and under, three of them five and under. They were chatty and sweet, eating Mr. Johnson's "pamcakes" (the endearning name the three-year-old in the group calls pancakes.) Two girls with brown locks, joining our three tow heads.

They had spent the night... after their babysitter pulled out last minute... their mother, my friend, had called in a favor. (The same friend I routinely call in favors too... the kind it makes it so easy to say, "yes" to!)

Of course there are no pictures... we were scrambling to get everyone out the door this morning in time for our 10:00 International Fellowship. The house has the tell signs of the events ...the remnants of a sleep over... from four little girlies playing dress up, dollies, and making the kind of general mayhem, the kind Millie can so articulate describe. But, she goes easy on them, because these two extra little sisters adore her- they tell her she is the best and biggest sister of all. Not bad, when you're a tweenager to have a cute following of fans!!

Choices & Time

"You and Sean have lots of decisions to make, deciding what offer to accept, looking at what the offers might mean for your future locations, etc. etc. It's nice to have choices and time to make your decision!"

a friend recently wrote, in an e-mail.

"It's nice to have choices and time to make your decision."

I re-read that line, and decided she was right. Of course she's right. She's been through an international move twice, is married to an engineer, and is in the process of beginning life anew in the US after her own second repatriation. She's not offering empty advice. They've been where we're at. And the perspective was nice.

I've been frustrated with the "time" factor, the general ideas of where we head next without the specifics of where that will be. North America, yes. Illinois, yes. Which plant? What job? Do we move back into our sweet little home in our comfortable flag waving community, or do we look for something more diverse? Is it better to be closer the weekend Chinese schools we'll probably enroll the girls in? Can we find a place where we can, if we want, find a variety of ethnic foods, and grocery stores that carry the things we've become accustomed to buying?

In part, I think we're mourning our existence here. Mourning it before we leave. Considering how it has defined us, and how it will color our future experience.

I've been away from the blog, because we've been busy, because the girls have had sniffles and fevers, because we're packing and shopping for our weeks in the States at Christmas, but largely because I don't know what's coming next exactly, and it makes me feel frustrated. This blog, afterall, in the Johnson's in China... a retelling of our days spent in a country and culture different from our own. But in a way its also the tales of our newfound country, and a culture we are finding increasingly comfortable.

Bei Bei recently informed me we live in English China. There are two China's she said. Chinese China and English China. She was in essence defining the concept of a "third culture" in her own four-year-old terms. Our four-year-old (who has no memory of living in the US... only visiting there) is a Third Culture Kid. She lives in "English China," where her friends come from all corners of the world, she answers questions in two languages, and she has a palate adjusted to prefer international foods over Midwestern comfort ones. No PBJ sandwich in her lunch, no boring turkey on Thanksgiving. Blue cheese or Bree with her mini spreader and crackers, don't forget the olives, Mom, she reminds me and complains that she doesn't want to share the pomegranate she picked at the grocery with her sisters.

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My friend is right. We have choices, and time. Which for now means a certain level of uncertainty. It means when we land in Chicago for our Christmas holiday on the 13th we'll find ourselves reading from a script that goes something like this... "Yes next summer. No, not sure yet where. Probably, maybe, a little uncertainty. Yes we have time, and yes, we'll miss English China and Chinese China, more than anyone, besides maybe others who have had a similar experience, will ever understand."