Sunny Sunday Morning

We had a rough night.

Bei Bei up in the night with croup.

The whole family with sore throats, itchy eyes and nagging coughs that don't seem to let up at this time of year in this dry, barren, late-autumn land.

This morning, after a cup of coffee, things seem brighter. In fact, they are so bright that EHJ and Bei Bei decided to bespectacle their faces with dark glasses while scrubbing six weeks of window markers off the windows.

It's sad to watch their master pieces streak down the pane.

Sad that tomorrow the "Moving Master" will come to assess our five years of accumulation, calculate how many days are needed to box it up, truck it out, and then put it on a slow boat from China.

Sad that I still have random piles. And stuff sitting out: The ant farm. The Elmer's school glue (see it there in the photo). Earrings I wore Thursday. The new credit cards Mr. Johnson is nagging me to activate. (And that's just on my computer desk!)

But for this morning, whilst I sit in my mis-matched pajamas, drinking the dregs of today's first cup of Sumatra extra bold, savoring the gritty bits that slipped passed in the French press, it's hard not to smile as I watch these two on a Sunny Sunday Morning.

** The blissful sweet moment just passed, as Bei Bei yelled from the other room, "Are we going to be ayi's all day long mom??

Repatriation

We're on the verge of it now. The vortex is sucking us closer and closer and whether or not we are fully prepared the reality is upon us.

Repatriation for us, it turns out, means heading back to exactly where we left. We will be taking up residence in The Bungalow again sometime in January.

The reality again of a proper yard, two-car garage, and vehicles we can drive is going to be ours. The girls can roll out of bed at 7:30 (about the time they get on the bus now), and will be done with their after school snack by 3:30 (or the time they presently are getting on the bus for their 30 minute ride home along a seaside route.)

So much is about to change for all of us.

Some of we are looking so forward to.

But, there are other parts that are challenging to think about.

And like I said... we now only have four-ish weeks.

I have a friend who is using her Facebook status to each day give a adoption tidbit. It's part personal experience and part education. I have a hard time committing to anything consistent right now, but I'd like to do a series on Repatriation that is, like my friend's, part personal experience, part education ... A way to help validate my own feelings and those of our girls (and possibly those of other expats who have gone through what we're on the brink of), and a way to help gently explain how it is possible to sometimes feel less than thrilled about going "home."

Remembering to Use it Wisely ...

Last week Mr Johnson sent me a link with the repatriation services provided by his company through a contracted, outside organization. The idea was the company wants the employee, his/her family and spouse to feel supported. I need to say at the very outset how fortunate we are that such a service is offered, especially when there is belt tightening at every level in most American companies. (Speaking of belt tightening... Mr Johnson also reports the pen cabinet at work has recently been padlocked... and every third bank of light bulbs is not being used... the Chinese are great at finding cost-saving measures!)

I called the hot-line number based in Illinois, spoke to the sleepy sounding man at the switch board (my mid-day was his midnight), and asked for a litany of information on repatriation, school transfer, family stress and anxiety and anything else they offer expats on their way "home." After five years here, we've seen the toll repatriation takes on families and couples. I want to have my arsenal full in advance. Our book shelves are already full of titles like, Raising Global Nomads and Homeward Bound.

I was hoping for something advocacy and a prophylactic. I got bland response that someone would call me back.

No one did.

So five days later, my hackles raised (this is also the emergency helpline for people under severe stress, who don't need someone to take their name and number, but need a counselor on the line stat... ) I called back. Rather than Mr Sleepy Switchboard, I got Mr Surly. No record of my call. Wasn't his problem. Why did I call this number?

................. small diversion that will eventually get back to my point.................

My younger sister got inked this weekend. Courtesy of the steady hand of a careful artist, her ribcage now reads, in 36 pt. courier font:

maintain the rage but use it wisely

For those of you who don't know me particularly well, I can get hot over issues of perceived injustice. Apparently, it's a bit of a family thing.

This weekend, half a globe away, while my sister was spending some quality time with Le tatouer, I was outside enjoying an unseasonably warm November Saturday, when our nouveau riche neighbor cruised into the dead-end spot in our shared drive way at an unnecessarily high speed.

To his surprise, I met him at the door of his swanky Mercedes sedan and asked him, quietly, to please, next time slow down. His eyes immediately reflected that he knew what I'd said, but to 'save face' he told me he couldn't understand what I was saying. Slowing way down ... I said in my toneless, but never-the-less understandable Mandarin, "Could you please drive more slowly? You drove too fast and there are kids here. My kids ... her kids," I said pointing to the countryside woman who serves with her family as caretaker for the common areas of complex in exchange for housing ... the most basic of housing ... they reside in an un-leased garage. (During our exchange, she was washing her clothes by hand and spreading them on the bushes to dry.)

Finally, exasperated with the Western woman bent on conversing with him, the driver turned to me and said, in English, "Sorry." Then walked away.

I'm not sure what, if anything I accomplished. I think the migrant mother heard what I said, and knew in some small way she had an advocate in the Western woman who understands, despite huge cultural and monetary divides, that kids are precious and deserve a safe place to play. (This was another tangent I went on with Mr. Mercedes, who argued it was okay to drive fast since he didn't see any kids in the area.)

I hope that the lead-foot driver will allow his foot to hover over the break instead of the accelerator the next time he pulls up and parks his expensive ride in front of my apartment home. Maybe he'll even conjure the sweet face of his cute niece that we enjoy playing with in the cement circle in the center of our apartment towers. Suǒyǒu de háizi shi baobei men (All kids are precious), I had reminded him.

Who knows ... maybe he'll stubbornly continue to drive in a careless manner, just to defy his nosy neighbor. (There is a definite sense of entitlement among Chinese men of a certain age. Especially those those who have money or power... this guy seemed to have both.) But there was something that registered in his eyes makes me think he'll think twice before hammering down next time.

Maintain the rage but use it wisely

My sister's now daily reminder is a quote from a social worker who's work she admires. Channel your frustration into action, and don't look like a jerk when you do it.

In retrospect, I probably toed the wrong side of the line with my neighbor. Mr Johnson is constantly encouraging me to "let some things go." And he has a point.

But neither of us thought it was worth letting our negative experience with the hotline and help for expats go. It was supposed to be a service. They were supposed to provide help.

There was no doubt that I maintained my frustration. I channeled it right into an email... one for the head of the department of the contracted agency, and one that was sent on to Mr Johnson's company to report the problem. To their credit, both organizations responded immediately. Our case was handed off to the head of the department, and the guy who was supposed to have followed up with us has been taken off of "The Johnson's in China" case file. After my plea for advocacy in via email, and again on the phone we got some response. I was taking it back for our family, and for all the other expats I've known here with no such number to call.

I was personally contacted by phone by the director. She will personally handle our case. Any questions? we should contact her. We've even got her mobile.

(The problem with making a stink, though, is I'm pretty sure there's a little star beside my name now. "Crazy" Tai Tai Johnson, over there in China. White glove treatment. Red carpet rolled out because they dropped the ball the first two times we called, and a little star for crazy.)

Details ...

Believe it or not, we still don't have any.

Only that Mr Johnson needs to be in the US by January 1.

HR is moving at a snails pace. (And with the huge time difference everything takes at least two days.)

I would like to get in touch with the movers. Set up plans for our temporary housing here and in the US ... in short, I'd like to be prepared.

Instead we wait. We read outdated material on repatriation, because sadly, that's all there is.

Milestones

It sound so cliche to say a picture is worth at 1000 words.

But to me, this one always will be.

It was shot at Chicago O'Hare in February 2006 shortly before we boarded and took our business class seats with three children, six and under, and with our one way tickets tucked into their newly minted passports.

They had all flown before. The breastfed Baby had even made the long trip to China with us on our Look/See visit about six weeks earlier. But this was a new step, a new phase, a milestone of international travel across time zones and cultures. We were hurtling headlong into our life as expats.

The Baby (9 mo.) is zonked. The Middle (4) is crying. The oldest (though it seems impossible to consider a gap-toothed six-year-old as "old") is pensive. She is wearing her purple cowboy boots with yoga pants because they took up too much space in our preciously allocated suitcases.

Speaking of suitcases, 20 or so are balanced precariously on the over-sized luggage cart. The two thrift store specials are featured prominently in this photo. One was quickly discarded when we arrived in our host country, and the other eventually became the storage space for our menagerie of oft-naked Barbie's.

I look at this photo and remember the uncertainty and emotion that accompanied that day and the days leading up to it. I just want to grab each one of those sweethearts and tell them it will be okay. You'll love it in China. You'll call it home. I want to tell those young parents on the other side of the camera, those exhausted looking, not quite thirty-somethings, who lean against the ticket counter, that they'll do okay too.

And, I'd like to tell them that one day they'll stand on the other side of that great precipice, and find themselves on the brink of yet another milestone. And the emotions they feel then might be vaguely familiar.

|This post is part of the View From Here Photo Challenge. Click over to gogovivi and check it out.|

Cue the Drum Roll . . .

Aurora, Illinois

January 2011

stay tuned ...

Waves

I'm finding that emotion comes in waves for me these days. Crashing and thunderous. Like the waves at high tide.

Sometimes I get welled up just seeing the beauty of the sun sparkling across the blue colored Yellow Sea. It's there again when I see the full display of fall colors against the backdrop of our limestone Laoshans.

This is the last season, for a long time (maybe ever), that I'll rise to the sound of the putting engine of an old wooden junk, motoring out for the morning catch; or the scratching sound of the simplest of brooms sweeping the sidewalk clear, before the morning rush of people will litter it again.

In momentary glimpses, I see the world around me differently. These sights, which threatened, during the longest days of expat experience, to become mundane, I am once again acutely aware of.

Listening to each syllable of a language that does not roll easily off my own tongue.

Noting each face.

Locking away in my mind the images.

The woman from the countryside sitting idly in the sunshine, the padded baby, sitting in her lap in quilted split crotch trousers and tugging at his momma's sweater for a drink.

A lorry laden with sweet potatoes, covered with homemade quilts to prevent distruction by frost, swaddled to prevent bruising.

Each image and sound byte tugs romanitcally at my heartstrings ... as if I am experiencing it for the first time. This wistful feeling rises and swells. Crests and crashes. And is whisked out to sea.

November 1 ...

Mr Johnson arrived home yesterday with Halloween cards for the girlies and my November issue of Real Simple. (Courtesy of my mother-in-law, who sends that fab mag each month.)

"Hey," my mister said, "Now you can 'feel organized for the holidays'!" (Which was the tagline emblazoned across the monochromatic array of fall gourds.)

Organized for the holidays?

I feel like a freight train is running straight through our calendar . . .

Countdown to the Unknown...

April 2006

Ti'an An Men Square, Beijing

Foreground: Mr Johnson & the Johnson girlies
(then aged 6, 4 and 11 mo.)

Background : Beijing Countdown Clock

When we moved here in 2006, every major plaza in China had a countdown clock marking the days, hours, minutes to the start of the Beijing Games on the auspicious date of 08.08.08 (@8:08). At that time we believed we would spend a little over two years in China, and those countdown clocks coincided almost exactly with our original departure date. An exit in 2008 was postponed to 2009 and then moved out again with the economic crisis to 2010. When we were in the "Doldrums Days" of early 2010, waiting and wondering which way the wind would blow, we eventually accepted an offer to extend again... for two years... an offer, which you all now know, was recently rescinded.

Ours is a relatively common expat story. In theory, our state of limbo should be excellent fodder for an expat blog. Almost every international service employee finds themselves in our shoes at some point. That it's such a normal part of the international experience should make it easy to blog about.

But its not. It involves uncertainty. (And nobody really likes to admit that they are scheduled to leave in a little over two months, but they STILL don't have a solid idea of where they are going or what the assignment will be.)

Our day-to-day routine seems to have changed little. There has been more motivation on my part to purge... things we've long since outgrown and no longer need (that never-the-less tend to linger in the bottom of dresser drawers and the corners of the garage). I have boxed these things up and shipped them off... to the used book bin, to be marked for the expat charity bazaar, passed on to friends who's child is a size smaller. Mr Johnson is finding his days exponentially longer when there is less to keep him busy. The girls still have their homework, and playdates, and footie and swimming. But my mind is racing of everthing we'll have to do once we we finally KNOW.

The Olympic countdown clocks have long ago been removed from the public squares in China. In cities like ours their will always be a reminder of the 2008 Summer Olympics, with logos and monuments to the Sailing Regatta held here that summer.

But, there is a new clock, silently ticking away, reminding us that time is slowly, steadily, running out.

We're at mid-term in the first semester @ school.

We're six weeks past Mr Johnson's program being cut.

We're ten weeks away from being out of here.

We're STILL not sure where we are headed, only that it's out of here.

(Which doesn't sound so significant, but its one decision we know for sure.)

We're in the fiscal fourth quarter.

It's been one week since my last blog post.

(This is beginning to sound a bit like a confession.)

| The Expat Exit | Installment One

Sweet John Mayer continues to croon in my sidebar. Urging me to "say what I need to say." Telling me I'll feel better in the end. And so with Mr Mayer's gentle nudge, I'll give you some feedback on how I'm feeling during this stage of our Expat Exit timeline.

Mr Johnson

Firstly, to clarify.

Mr Johnson is still employed.

He will have placement within his company. His project, which was somewhat controversial at the highest levels of this Fortune 500 (but seemed to him like a no-brainer, progressive opportunity here) was simply cut. I hadn't considered the need to post this basic status, until an seasoned expat friend on the ground here recently asked me thoughtfully, yet directly. So those unsure if this announcement meant an end to our time in China, or an end to his employment, it's probably good to clarify.

Encouraging Friends

It's also so good, I realize almost daily, to be here now. We are surrounded by people who understand how these kinds of things simply happen. It's a common expat tale. I have said sad good byes to friends in the same situation before. And quietly, in the back of my mind and heart, had steeled myself for this possibility. (Not that that necessary lessoned the blow when the words were said audibly.)

Our expat friends have said so many kind words. Asked thoughtfully about next opportunities. Been the balm that we needed and the support network we relied on. That in a nutshell is the secret treasure of expat life.

We were fearful five years ago as we prepared for our move here that we would be stepping off the edge of the earth, into an unknown, and hurtled headlong into a 30 month commitment to China that we would find someway to muddle through. We wondered "what kind of people move to China," and we were surrounded at home by people unsure of why we would want to.

As we arrived, we were met by expatriates who were like us and those who were not. On one end, intrepid, suitcase toting half-pats. On the other, stuffy container laden expats with sights on career advancement and import grocery items. We met people who loved it here. People who hated it. People who endured it. And people who sometimes scampered between love, hate and acceptance.

Expatriate Experience

We found a soft place to land somewhere in the middle. In short we found a place to fit in. We aligned ourselves with people positive about being here, but also along side those who were realistic about the challenges. We found a network of friends, and realized that often the people we met here would offer us friendship and guidance (if asked for or needed), but mostly (and perhaps most reassuringly) just the knowing look of shared experience.

In time you find that you are the one doing the buoying of new expats. It is you offering the shoulder on which to cry, or the doorstep on which to deposit the busy toddler of an expat friend preparing to move on. It is the cyclical, transient experience of expats. And despite the relatively short amount of time we might know someone here (four or more years is a lifetime in expat experience), the depth of the relationships I've formed here will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Because as we prepare to move on, I'm afraid not only of loosing those proximity to those friends, but also that ease of making friends is not easily replicated in our home culture. While our family would jump at the chance of another foreign assignment, we recognize that with the present economy repatriation seems most likely. Ironically, we are no longer terrified of hurdling headlong into the unknown, but we find ourselves anxious about a return to what is known.

"I have two and a half friends," a former expat friend emailed me. One full year after her repatriation. Her note full of blunt honesty.

The repatriation phase often takes longer than the initial adjustment to your foreign post. All the experts agree on this. And all agree that for each individual the process is different.

For now I am content to enjoy our remaining months here. Savoring the life we live in QD, with friends from all over the globe. Making the last memories. Drinking the last lattes. And being sure to keep the word "last" from dominating our conversations.