Which Kingdom Really Is in the Middle?

When we arrived in China we were surprised to see a world map that looked like this:

With China smack dab in the middle.

(China has ethnocentrically always called themselves the Middle Kingdom ... the Chinese name for China is Zhongguo, or quite literally middle country.)

But peek at what American's would argue is a normal looking world map:

... and it's not too difficult to figure out which "kingdom" we see in the literal middle of it all.

Not to pick only at Americans (collectively North and South Americans), consider what a European version looks like:

The world, after all is a sphere. And as any middle schooler can tell you, there is a great challenge presented when you try to take that 3D globe into 2D. Representations are off. The Chinese processed map is skewed. The US and European ones are as well. None are expressly right or wrong... they simply differ from each other.

(This is the kind of information that swirls around in our heads as we process how we fit back into a country we haven't been intrinsically a part of for while. For our children, those great students of the 'global classroom,' with friends from many continents and an interest in the world, whether flat or spherical, we think it's important to keep these topics alive as well.)

Home {Another Five Minute Friday}

My kind of Home

When I saw this week's prompt I was overwhelmed. It is the one word that hovers in the back of my mind and sometimes sits in the end of my fingertips, waiting to be blogged. And yet, I hold back. For nearly six months I have been wrestling with this word called home. Rolling it around on my tongue, trying to define a concept that seems intangible.

{This post should be five minutes, but it could go on so much longer.}

Defining home has become simple. So simple that it's definition is obvious. Home is wherever the four other immediately members of my family are.

When the five of us are together, we are home.

But home then is not just a place, but can be many places.

I wrestle with this, this idea that we have left where we were, and to returned to where we came from, and that we were home both places. Yes we love the sturdy familiarity of life in The Bungalow. But the structure, the address, the yard alone are no longer the definition of home for me.

When people ask how it feels to be home, I always reply, "We are happy to be back."

Because, in my mind, we've been my kind of home all along.

For other blogger's thoughts on home, visit the Gypsy Momma, where this week's Five Minute Friday Prompt is: Home.
http://thegypsymama.com/2011/06/five-minute-friday-home/

On Forgetting {Another Five Minute Friday}

Sometimes I forget to pack someone's lunch {and then I scramble to throw something together for the kid who refuses to eat the All-American hot dog lunch with the rest of her class on Field Day}.

Sometimes I forget that she's only 12. {or she's only nine. or she's only six.}

Sometimes I forget what baby noises, and sounds, and faces look like until I hold a borrowed baby in my arms and all the memories come flooding back.

Sometimes, back in this land, where I lived for 17 years before moving away for five, I forget how to get somewhere and need to use a map. {Usually, it's only when I'm thinking about where I need to go, often once I'm actually behind the wheel I enter auto-pilot mode and remember the way after all. Which is not to say that I don't heavily rely on map apps and google!}

Sometimes I forget that we've only been here five months, and that boxes and longing, and a still-not-yet-completely-settled feeling is normal. Sometimes I just need to be reminded of that.

Sometimes when I talk to one of my sisters on the phone we say the exact same thing at the exact same time, and I forget that we are eight years and miles apart....

Linked up, again this Friday to the Gypsy Momma, who's prompt for this week's Five Minute Friday was: On Forgetting. Read more at: http://thegypsymama.com/2011/05/five-minute-friday-on-forgetting/

Weekend Chinese School

When we moved home mid-school year, one of the ideals we were most committed to was keeping the girls in a Chinese learning environment. We lucked out to move within 45 minutes of a weekend Chinese school run by a group of Chinese Americans keen on keeping their kids' Mandarin skills sharp too.

Ten days after we landed, still living in the hotel out of our ten suitcases, we went for the first session. The older girls audited a couple of classes to figure out where they should be placed. They tested too high for the Chinese as a second language classes, so they were placed in Chinese as a first language classes. MGJ was placed in 2nd grade, and EHJ in 1st. Because they were studying with first language kids most of their classmates were actually 1st and 2nd graders (with a few exceptions, they do both have a few other classmates close to their ages .... Conversely, Bei Bei, who is doing the second language track, has a range of ages in her intro class from five to 11 years.)

The mention of Weekend Chinese School was often met with moans and protests this last semester. They each had a short lesson to prepare for, with about 45 minutes of homework a week. They probably could have studied more, and we could have pushed more, but the big girls ended up with high 80% on their final exams, which isn't bad considering there was no way I could help or coach them. Their teachers would email me their lessons (in Chinese characters) I would run the email and any attachments through Google Translate, and then we would try to make out the sometimes gibberish translation that came through. Working through backwards sentence structure, they would figure out their individual assignments and work through them.

It is the policy of the school that each family spend a session or two assisting with administrative tasks and helping out in the classrooms. This helps keep their costs low, and I'm sure that the lion's share of the tuition fee goes directly to renting the large junior high facility each week. The administrators and teachers are nearly volunteers (although the teachers receive a small stipend).

At my last volunteer session, I was photocopying some lessons, and one of the heads of the school approached me, and asked how our girls like Chinese classes. (Most of the students in the weekend school are Asian, and so when our three tow heads show up in qipaos ready to study zhongwen we are sometimes as much as a curiosity here as we were in China.)

"Mai ban fa," I answered her. (Literally "there is no way out," but often used in Chinese conversation the way we might say, 'it is what it is.')

"It's not their favorite," I continued, "but we don't want them to lose five years of Chinese language skills."

She leaned forward and whispered, "My daughter hates it."

With this confession, we delved more deeply into a conversation that swirled around our desire for the best possible for our kids in the long term, while in the short term they might not see it that way. (That conversation could probably be a whole other blog post, and probably will become one.)

My daughters too sometimes hated it. About the time Amy Chua started showing up in editorials as the "Tiger Mom" (shortly after the release of her book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother), I stood in a handicapped stall of the junior high girls bathroom at Weekend Chinese School debating the merits of studying Chinese, with my oldest (then 11) who was strongly reacting against the idea of sitting all semester in desks alongside eight-year-olds.

I didn't yet have the word "tiger mom" in my vernacular, (and I'm not sure if that's what I was trying to evoke), but I reached for another image MGJ and I could both relate to.

"I'm going to go 'Korean Mom' on you here, " I said, "And tell you this is non-negotiable. I want the best for you. I understand that it's uncomfortable to be with kids younger that you, but please consider that you have just tested into Chinese as a first language."

MGJ's Korean BFF in China had taken Chinese and Violin classes outside of school, and studied every Saturday afternoon at a Korean Academy meant to keep her up to date with her Korean classmates in Seoul. Her BFF got off pretty easily, compared to many other Korean expat kids, and her mom was trying her best to let her have a childhood along with her studies.

MGJ got it. Which is not to say that every week went smoothly with The Three. One two-hour a lesson doesn't compare to the five a week that they got in China at an international school with a program that was more fresh. We don't have Mandarin swirling around us, except for the hours we spend at Chinese school on Sunday afternoons, and our occasional jaunts into Chinatown. Still, I think they have at least maintained their language level.

We finished up Chinese classes for this term last Sunday. There were trophies handed out in the first language classrooms, and medals awarded to second language students. Considering way the semester went for us, the clip of Bei Bei receiving her award, and especially her teacher's comments, brought smiles to all of our faces!

Mother's Day in America

The Johnson Girls - May 2005

The last Mother's Day I spent in America, my kids were this size.

I had no idea when we dined out that Mom's Day in 2005 (at a time conducive to breastfeeding and nap schedules) that it would be my last Mother's Day in America for ages. We had no idea that an offer to live in China would come just a few months later, and that a few months after that we would agree to to take the plunge. I don't remember many specifics of the day, except that it was warm and sunny, and that I was tired, and we were still working out the system of buckling three kids into their respective boosters, car seats and infant car carriers.

I had fabulous Mother's Days in China... Spent with our family of five and sometimes friends. We ate, almost every year, at the Shangri la Qingdao. We had long leisurely lunches and took seaside walks afterwards. May was one of the finest months in QD, with blue skies and roses spilling over the walls. At least one year my mom was with us on Mother's Day in China... Parenting abroad certainly had it's perks when it came to Mother's Day!

It's Friday, and we are rounding out the week that began with Mother's Day.

It was my first Mother's Day back Stateside.

On that Sunday devoted to moms, I had a cup of French pressed coffee in bed; received thoughtfully planned out, homemade cards; and, triplet clay pots of pansies hand-potted by hands that are growing every more graceful and further and further from the chubby, sticky ones of just a few years ago. There was a lovely chain bearing three simple monograms from The Vintage Pearl (there may have been some not-so-subtle hints towards my desire for this gift), and a totally un-nudged gift from Mr Johnson of a leather bound journal and some nice writing pens: a nod/encouragement/gesture that explains, again, how sometimes he just 'gets me'.

Our morning then included Mother's Day morning at church, followed by brunch at a Midwestern style steakhouse with Mr Johnson's brothers, wives, and parents. In a welcome break from the wet and cold weather we've had so far this spring, the day was absolutely lovely .... making moms merry and their aggie husbands anxiously itching to get into the fields that had been too wet, as of then, to get into.

It has interested us to watch how the girls react to various parts of our transition. Restaurants in the US have not received rave reviews from girlies, who have complex palates for their ages. The Three have sampled the wares of street food vendors in China, Malaysia, and Thailand ... they have wiped the fatty grease drips of cumin laced lamb kebabs off their chins, sampled savory fresh curries from roadside stands (well, not EHJ, but she has tried, every style of Asian rice) and garlic naan in ramshackle vegetarian holes-in-the-wall .... But they have also eaten at five star restaurants where gastronomy and decor are superior to many American chain eateries. So, it was no surprise when we pulled into the parking lot of this establishment (one that a review I later read described as 'folksy') that our oldest let out a small sigh. "I didn't know it was going to be this kind of place" she she muttered from the back seat, as we pulled our import into an angled parking space next to a one-ton Detroit made diesel pick-up with modified smoke stacks.

"This kind of place" was a restaurant that, when I called about an earlier reservation time, and inquired if they were yet taking Mother's Day reservations the husky voice on the other end (I kid you not) replied, "Hell, yah."

The food was the good, down home kind. Meat, meat and meat on one side of the buffet with pastries and fruit on the other side. It was a brunch pretty enough for a mom, but hearty enough for the dads who had carved out an hour or so from their day, before heading to the fields to plant seed corn and soybeans in straight, GPS guided rows.

Bei Bei, confident in the buffet line on her own, came back with a plate of an Adkins dieter. "I got meat, because they didn't have any vegetables." (It's not a joke, given the chance, Bei Bei-- who routinely takes avocados, seaweed or oranges for her morning snack at school-- would choose a cucumber over just about anything else.)

And it was then, as so many other times in our days back in the States, that we realize anew how much life has changed for our kiddos. They are gradually (and [mostly] gracefully) transitioning into a new country and culture. And handling themselves in a way that makes us proud.

What better Mother's Day gift could a mom of TCKs want?

Meloncholy Moments

I originally wrote this several weeks ago. But, I couldn't hit post. It seemed yet again whiney. I was concerned that my feelings would be misconstrued to those around me who read my blog.

But I know there is another readership out there too... my friends and former fellow expats who ask what repatriation is really like.

It's busy. And things are both new and old at the same time. It's often mundane, this life of ease in North America. It's wonderful to be around friends and family. It's challenging after being entirely independent, to come back to a sense of corporate community where people belong to clubs and communities and churches, and there is an expectation that you will do the same. We loved the autonomy of being 'just the five of us'. And we are experimenting with where we belong what our level of involvement will be. We are still moving slowly. We are just 13 or so weeks in.

With the loss of our dog this week there is the opportunity again to cry. To mourn. To show outwardly what we are feeling inside. In so many ways we are mourning more than just a faithful pet. (But she really was a sweet old gentle soul.) She was also an anchor of familiarity throughout this move. And, although she only joined us in China for a semester, she was there for the girlies as they prepared for a transition they were hesitant about.

We are a little over three months into our move. Month Four is usually the low mark. There is a sine curve we expect to follow... of highs and lows as we adjust to a culture and surrounding. There are going to be melancholy moments. And although I was reluctant to share this a few weeks ago, I share it now anyway, because it's on my heart, and a part of our life, and I've committed to saying what I need to say.

From late March

A friend in QD recently emailed and said that after reading our blog she thought I seemed melancholy.

And she's probably right. (Although whiney might have been another good descriptive for my drivel about the suitcases ... Of course we will travel again, just not every three months ... I can't wait to come visit my friends all over the globe!!)

There is a certain level of melancholy hanging over us. We're slogging our way through it. Anxious for spring and green. For a new season, a new phase, a new time in our lives.

A quick google search yielded this definition of the noun:

n.

1. depression, grief, sadness

Another read this way:

–noun

1.

a gloomy state of mind

2.

sober thoughtfulness; pensiveness.

Melancholy allows for a time for reflection. For ruminating.

I think I like description 'somber thoughtfulness' the best.

(But there are days when 'grief' and 'sadness' must each run their course too.)

And so melancholy it is.

And yet we know, this Lenten season will wane ... and life will become new and fresh and perhaps we will even gain a quiet strength that is developing even now, through these melancholy moments ...

Learning to Live in the Middle ...

Last fall I clicked on a new option available in the blogger template: Monetize. Nothing materialized from it, other than ads in my sidebar and below my most recent entry ... ads that would periodically change and sometimes reflect something of the content of my most recent post. When I wrote about copious choices in the dish soap aisle at the grocery store, a friend reported that an ad, including no less than seven dish soap brands popped up. I'm not sure I'll continue with the monetization... To date, I learned today, I've earned $14 which is yet unclaimed as I need to share my tax info with google to collect my payment.

Presently, and for the last little while, there has been an ad for a storage company. The words 'Pack Rat' blaze across our homepage, and make me cringe. I am in the midst of sorting 'stuff'. I've been in this midst for months. On the China side, we organized 'stuff', on the US side we are now 'processing' the same stuff. All of our major thing are unwrapped, placed and in use. We are left with the untidy and unwanted bits at the bottom of boxes I can hardly stand seeing anymore.

Am I a pack rat? That’s the sense google is getting.

This is part of the weariness of a huge move. There are jokes abounding in the expat community about boxes that never really get unpacked. They sit in store rooms, and basements, garages and attics ... tidily contained in the same moving container, cardboard or box they were packed into several years and moves earlier. I am tempted to take those last bits, those dreaded dregs and stick them away, or better yet dump them!

When we were sitting in our empty near house, waiting for our shipment … When we had five chairs and a dining room table, three mattresses, and still lived out of suitcases (because, despite being in our home, we didn't have dressers) … When we had only a loveseat in the living room and a TV on the floor (and I think we all were thinking the dog’s bed was looking better and better each time we crammed five bums onto the seat and arms of the tired, dingy slip covered Ektorp we had kept in our basement) I came across a quote in a magazine that I tore out and hung on the fridge.

It’s a Finnish proverb.

It reads:

“Happiness is a place between too little, and too much”

With this move, and throughout this repatriation process, we are trying to find that middle place.

Back to the Blog ....

"Lisbon Rocks!" our resident Kindergartener announced this morning, after EHJ informed her that not only can they wear nail polish, they can also wear accessories at their new school.

"Are you going to put that in your blog?" EHJ asked. Noting the cuteness of Bei Bei's response, and perhaps also the paradox between their old and new school. (Which is not to say that their old school did not, in the words of my Nickolodean inspired five-year old 'rock', but that their dress code was much stricter, limiting jewelery to stud earrings and requiring hair to be pulled tidily back with red or black ribbons. Nail polish, as MGJ learned the hard way last fall, was strictly forbidden.)

But alas, I have not blogged. For weeks. February posts were meager. But here we are, thanks to spurring on by my middle (who often would ask for something NOT to be revealed in blogland), getting back on the proverbial horse ... preparing to ride this into the sunset.

I have composed hundreds of blogs in my head. Comparisons I, like The Three, could make. Thoughts about repatriation and the United States and our family and how all these things roll together. There are moments, like this fun and spontaneous one to share. And moments that can't be shared now, when emotions are still fresh, and when tears over where we are in our journey still fall more frequently than we would like.

We are not necessarily unhappy to be here, but we carry so many people and places in our hearts that the reality of settling down and settling in ... the permanence of it .... the putting down roots and putting away suitcases carries a sort of sadness. There is nothing easy about this part of the repatriation process.

And there is a house in disarray. Smaller in someways than we remembered. Tired in ways we had not anticipated. But our house none-the-less, and slowly warming back into a home. There is a mountain of cardboard in our garage, proof that we have gotten somewhere, made some progress, not been swallowed up, by the contents of a forty-foot high cube that arrived on the back of a semi trailer last Tuesday. Five men worked for seven hours unloading our possessions-- books, bicycles, beds, long lost toys and our raiments. On Thursday my parents arrived and with box cutters in hand, to help us unpack and unearth treasures from another land. They helped us organize book shelves and place Ming inspired furniture in our 1920s Arts and Crafts inspired bungalow. They pulled books off the shelves they had dusted and read to The Three, asked about their school, and encouraged three little hearts.

This morning, my parents are gone, The Three are at school. Mr Johnson is at his alternate office working on projects that are steadily picking up (the fact that the program we originally returned to the US for was 'suspended' in January his second day on the job is fodder for other posts with labels like 'stress', 'boredom' and 'you've got to be kidding me'). Outside the sky is dreary. It is raining, a slow drizzly rain. But, as MGJ announced as she stepped out the door and pulled up her hood, "it smells like spring." And indeed a new season is waiting for us ...

On 'Not Making it on Our Own"

As I've oft confessed, I love lyrics.

And I love Bono.

And I, so very clearly, cannot "make it on my own".

In this whole complicated process of packing up and moving 'home' there have been SO MANY PEOPLE, who have come along side us and helped us out. People who have emailed from other continents. People who cried with us. People who were there to answer the phone when I ended up in tears. People who walked us through what to expect. People who were honest about how they felt when they'd been in the same situation, giving us the freedom to realize it was OKAY to feel convoluted.

I am behind in emails, and thank you cards. (And so I blog?) I have been overwhelmed and humbled by so many people who have said the right thing at the right time. People who weren't afraid to ask how we were 'really doing' (My Russian friend, who I bumped into in Starbucks in our fleeting weeks in QD, said in blunt, and thoughtful honesty, 'You don't look good .... what's going on?' So I sat down and had the latte I didn't think I had time for, and had a chat that will always stay with me.)

When Shiraz and Tylenol PMs were no longer doing the trick. ("Kudos on combining wine with the Tylenol" my sister quipped, "I'm doing it for my liver," I retorted), I would climb out of bed in Qingdao and look at the sea, overwhelmed by the speed at which life was moving, but also by the tenacity of frienships that held tight, despite everything else. In the morning, with a strong cup of coffee to counter the effects of insomnia, I would play Bono's words loudly over the blow dryer :

Tough, you think you've got the stuff

You're telling me and anyone

You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight

You don't have to always be right

Let me take some of the punches

For you tonight

I knew then, what I know now. It was okay to feel weak. There were friends who cared and let us know. And often, it seemed, at EXACTLY the right moment.

For all of you who have reached out, sent notes, FB comments, emails or called. Know how much I appreciate your friendship. Know just how thankful I am for you.

Xie Xie NI!

Shipment Update

Our shipment has gone by rail from California. It's unclear whether or not it was actually 'physically inspected'. I guess we will know for sure when it finally arrives.

We are still finishing up reno's in the basement, so we are taking the moving company up on their offer to store our shipment for another week. We've scheduled delivery for the 22nd, which gives our contractor a day's cushion plus a weekend, and then, because the 21st is President's Day and the girlies will be home, we decided to push it back one more day.

I'm so excited for my fun 'China dishes', my newly framed art and some more soft seating to arrive. I'm a little less excited about cumbersome pieces and boxes of "misc" that will no doubt be the bane of our existence for the coming months.

I'm fortunate to have the helpful advice of friends who have done this before. Going on their tips, we have declined the 'unpacking service' the moving company offers. Which is described below. The following is what the moving company has told us:

I have scheduled the delivery of your sea shipment on Tuesday, February 22. I also want to check and see if you are going to want unpacking done on February 23. When the crew arrives, they will unload the container and put the furniture where you want it and unwrap it. They will assemble what was disassembled and if there is something they cannot get assembled, I will contact a 3^rd party that will assist us. They will then put all of the cartons in the appropriate rooms.

The unpacking consists of the contents of the cartons unpacked and laid on a flat surface like the counter, table or the floor. They will not put anything away.

Unpacking sounds like permanent purgatory. I might never find my 'flat surfaces' again. Thanks Carla, Camby and Gwen for your wisdom. You are some knowledgeable tai tai men!

Update on the Slow Boat

The slow boat from China arrived earlier that we expected, to US shores at least. It sat in a queue in Long Beach for nearly a week waiting for it's x-ray inspection. And then, lucky us, it was selected for a manual (physical) inspection. No further update on where we are at in that queue. Only some pondering on our part of when our forty-foot high cube will ride the rails to Chi-towne, be released from customs, and trucked out to The Bungalow; and why it was selected for physical inspection at all.

packing up in QD
(DAY 1 of 3)

Things We've Noticed

When we moved to Asia, my grandmother sagely advised that we note things that seemed unusual to us, because after a while they might seem routine.

It seemed impossible at the time.

But we duly noted:

• the grandma catching a ride in her husband's wheel barrow
• the small motorcycle/tricycles piled impossibly high with Styrofoam for recycling
• and the men who would ride up and down the street playing a recorded message from the megaphone dangling from their handle bars, seeking old appliances: computers/air conditioners/refrigerators... their plea for appliances droning loudly from tinny speakers.

So now, as we return to this land and set up our life here again, we note the things that seem unusual ....

When did ...

Every label start having both Spanish and English?

I love it! It's like having flashcards everywhere. (This was a technique some of my friends employed when learning Mandarin, carefully labeling light switches, and appliances with their name in pin yin.) Even in our little white bread community, pages from the Mathematics workbooks are coming home with English on one side and Spanish on the other. In an odd way it makes me feel more settled, our world is remaining somewhat diverse. And, I'm hoping with a little time and effort the 'Spanish flashcards' on everything from my dish soap to Math homework, will help me brush up on my rusty skills from High School Spanish. It's like a free language lesson!!

High School basketball begin to require three referees?

Menard's start selling groceries?

Grocery carts get so big?

When did Everything (everyone?) get bigger?

I have seen baseball sized garlic (aptly named elephant garlic... but does it taste like garlic or elephants?), unusually large (and presumably tasteless) cucumbers ...

Bei Bei commented the other day about the number of kiddos who wear 'pants like pajamas' to school. Is this a dumbing down of dress or, as MGJ suggested (in whispered tones -- which I found thoughtful and discrete, not demeaning) Are some kids unable to fit into pants with zippers? (And before you get up in my grill, I do realize there is a need to insert an "Hello Pot, I'm Kettle, you're black" here. To that end, and in an effort at full disclosure, I will also share here that I outfitted myself with a pair of dashing grey sweatpants for our painting endeavors at The Bungalow, and promised Mr Johnson, before he had time to express any chagrin, that under no circumstance would I leave the house clad in elephant toned, elastic waist pants!!)

And speaking of grills, have you seen the size of vehicle grills in Middle America? Hiding, not so discretely, engines with names like Hemi and Allison, with seating for eight and gas mileage in the single digits. I now completely understand why there was an outcry about Obama's kabash on off shore drilling ... nobody wants to pay more at the pump when they are fueling up 30 gallons (114 L) at a time.

When did said vehicles start prominently displaying so many slogans and vinyl decals?

I have a moderate toleration for bumper stickers, as growing up my father loved to embellish the family 'grocery getter' with nuggets like 'I heart my gas hog' or the little fake switch inside, next to the headlight knob that read, 'activate rocket launcher.' I can even respect a subtle campaign sticker ... candidates name and election year.

However, I married into a family without an affinity for car stickers. Mr Johnson distinctly recalls going out to the carpark in the Wisconsin Dells after watching the Tommy Barlett show, only to discover that the clever marketing people at the Dells had plastered a Tommy sticker to every bumper in the lot. My father-in-law, the senior Mr Johnson, spent the better part of 30 minutes removing the adhesive ad. And I have to say I kind of agree... after spending a good chunk of your annual wage on a vehicle, it doesn't make a lot of sense to 'bling it up' with a $2 sticker.

So we have never had an "support the troops" ribbon magnet, "Can you imagine what that does to the paint color, it doesn't fade along at the same rate as the other paint," Mr Johnson carefully explained. No bumper stickers for us either. So, as I'm sure you've guessed, we're not going to add vinyl stickers of our family as stick figures to our back window, even if we go to Disney World or get six cats.

Yes... I shamelessly stood in a Target parking lot and took this picture.

Click below to see a witty shot on a blog I follow:

http://jedsmommy.blogspot.com/2010/10/oy.html

Repatriation Thought {two}

{two: move slowly}

The way I see it ... three weeks in ... is you need to take your time, and not rush into anything. As in, don't commit to volunteer, join a club the requires something of you, a church, or the PTO. There will be a time and a place for these things. And quite possibly joining will help create the sense of community we presently lack. But for now we need time to mourn our old community, and suss out where we might best fit into a new community. We have what could possibly be a lifetime ahead of us in this area, and for now everything seems a little different from what we are used to.

Everything seems to take a little longer anyway for us these days. We take ages to get up and out the door. I am paralyzed by choices at the store. Homework that should be done in a jiffy somehow seems to drag out. We are moving ahead at a snail's pace. But: we are moving ahead.

There is much to be said in favor of a slow pace. We focus more inward, on our family. We share our experiences and really take time to listen ... which might be what is slowing us down, but in the end what just might put us ahead.

I don't specifically remember this 'move slowly' nugget from any of my repatriation research ... although Robin Pascoe strongly urges the unassigned spouse not to jump immediately back into work, and she adds... don't get a puppy.

Two Weeks @ the Express

We've just logged two weeks at the Holiday Inn Express, where we share two adjoining rooms and our "view" is of the Menard's lumberyard next door. We vacillate between being 'so-over-it' and 'okay-with-it'.

I am tired of looking at the laminate furniture and Styrofoam plates. The pancake machine in the "hot breakfast area", where you hit a button and moments later a hot cake rolls out the end conveyor belt style, has lost it's novelty. Yesterday morning I sneaked pop tarts down for the girls, and I don't even believe a.) poptarts should be considered a breakfast food or b.) that they should be consumed on weekdays.

But upstairs in our adjoining rooms, where we've converted our bedroom into the dining area, and the girls bedroom into the laundry/play/children and dog area, there is a small semblance of home. I bought a Chinese style drying rack, which has perhaps already paid for itself with the money I've saved by not feeding five quarters into the dubious looking dryer at the end of the hall for each load of wash I've completed. I bought an orchid, a plant I learned to love and care for in Asia. We pulled out the coffee press and our IKEA children's ware sets from our packed boxes, and in a wise, impulsive moment, splurged on stemware and ceramic mugs for exclusive use in the hotel. (I cannot bear disposable items, both for their lack of environmental friendliness and the sterile feeling they evoke.) I am loving the simple order of owning six plates and four wine glasses, five mugs and a cache of children's silverware. I love the tidiness of washing up these items with grease fighting Dawn dish soap, that was available, but out of reach in China with a price tag of nearly $10. When Mr Johnson went to collect a small number of necessary items on one of our first days here, he came home and regaled me the story of his selection process.... so many choices. In Qingdao, we simply gravitated to the bottle that had a picture of ginger (our favorite 'scent' for Chinese dish soap) prominently displayed on the label.

So we gather around a desk/table with two roller office chairs and a pull-out couch pulled up to create a dining suite. The girls pour over their American homework there with cups of hot chocolate, and later we clear it and reset it with brightly coloured plastic plates and eat regrettable microwave meals, but also sample some fun choices... fresh greens with feta and marinated olives. And, even though Bei Bei pesters us all with her constant swiveling on her non-stationary chair, and Mr Johnson and I squish, though not uncomfortably, with MGJ betwixt us on the sofa, those are perhaps our sweetest moments so far.

The events of the day are hashed out, and details shared, those intimate ones that perhaps only the five of us will appreciate or understand ....

• How EHJ's teacher detects an accent (we hadn't noticed),
• or How MGJ's teachers consider her well read for books she devours simply for pleasure
• Bei Bei, ever the humour provider, in all sincerity (on her second day of American Kindergarten) shared how she already had a BFF, although when pressed, she couldn't come up with her name, simply, "my friend".

looking forward {how it's going to work}

I'm going to continue blogging. I've been asked by several friends to keep it up, and I feel an urge to do so.

But I'm facing a couple of obstacles...

Firstly... quite obviously... we are no longer in China and I dubbed this blog "The Johnson's in China"

My original plan was to document our remaining months in China, which when I first started blogging was going to be less than a year. Enter the recession and our renewed commitment and interest in the region and things changed. So whether or not the name was short sighted, it does present some problems.

Secondly... since we are no longer in China, much of the context of our blog, which was loosely defined as a documentation of our time in the Middle Kingdom, will be noticeably absent.

I am not keen to start a 'mommy blog', there are already a number of great and well read ones going. (And people probably won't be that interested in the great deal I found on boots at Target and what we're having for dinner, anyway!)

However, I do want to keep documenting our family's transition, and how our time in China has changed us and made us into the people we are today.

We are documenting a new culture -- our own.

Even if we are passport holding, amendment proud Americans, there are parts of our home culture we are no longer familiar with. (And this is certainly true for our children who left here so young.) It is important for our readers to remember that this documentation process is not meant to be offensive. We simply will note differences that we see after being abroad.We will sometimes quote conversations we've had, or misunderstandings that generate from our cultural gaps.

There are also issues that are concerning. American's are not often held in high regard in international circles, and if you consider the view points from outside it's sometimes not hard to understand why. Sometimes we will address those issues here too.

Because our focus is changing, there is a good chance our audience will too.

When we were living in China, the blog served as a great way for family and friends to keep up with our growing children and learn a little bit about the language and culture we were learning about. As we come "home", our emphasis will change to documenting repatriation issues, which may prove a little boring to readers who live in the US and don't find the presence of toilet tissue in public restrooms in this country amazing, or the amount of disposable items available here appalling.

And, that, in a nutshell, dear readers, is how it's going to work ....

looking back {saying good-bye}

There is great emphasis (in almost all the literature we've read about leaving and international post) about the importance of saying good-bye.

It helps form closure ... for kids and adults.

It helps validate and justify the experience.

We did our good-byes corporately and privately, as a family and as individuals.

Bei Bei and I took one last trip to Polar Ocean World where we said goodbye to all the polar creatures (and I grimaced, for the last time, at animals performing to Micheal Jackson tunes).

We said goodbye to favorite restaurants, haunts, neighbors and friends.

We had last coffees and last dinners. Last conversations. One such evening was so hard to end that we ended up walking home together just to prolong the last moments. Our private sayings of good bye were more intimate, but the corporate ones ended up being equally emotional.

We held a party for (as my friend Dr Julie described) "75 of our closest friends" (She, amused that it could reach that number, teased me for being a social butterfly.) But I reminded her: we've been here five years, and we have three kids with sweet friends ...

It was a special afternoon with a simple meal of pizza and Greek salads, a keg of Tsingtao and made replete with a misspelled cake. We had friends from Russia, The Netherlands, France, England, Korea, Australia, Denmark, China, Taiwan, Italy and the US. We took pictures of each family who came (except, unfortunately, our own) to insert in the album they all signed.

Dr Julie hosted a luncheon for ladies I've known and loved in Qingdao, and her neighbor, and our friend Q, a stay-at-home dad, fearlessly joined the estrogen energy.

Mr Johnson's co-workers held a going away party at work with cheese cakes and speeches and very few dry eyes.

At school MGJ brought in Taiwanese bubble teas to share with her Jr High classmates at their break, and the left over misspelled cake for after lunch.

True to her original request, EHJ opted for an early birthday party instead of a going away shin dig. She used the Shrek party plates she picked last summer and brought in sugar cookies for her class to decorate as a sort of craft cum snack.

On the same day in Bei Bei's classroom I brought in our giant mitten, read and re-read Jan Brett's The Mitten whilst her classmates took turns being the various animals that climbed into the mitten like the creatures in the story. She gave a pair of tiny mittens to each friend. Her friend from the Czech Republic had earlier told me that he loved to kiss Bei Bei on the playground (and her guilty grin assured me it was true.) At her going away party her little Italian friend showed his amore as well.

Each of the The Three passed out their own photo with their US mailing address, our family's Skype handle and their email addresses. It wasn't just saying good-bye, after all, but also the promise of continued communication. This the bitter sweet part of the expat experience. Saying good bye, but always with the promise to stay in touch. And there is great satisfaction in knowing that we now have friends scattered all over the globe, from the bottom of Australia to the Western coast of Canada ... postcards and emails and phone calls still come.

looking back {december in qd}

The last month has been a whirl wind...

packing up,

moving out,

long sad good-byes

Then ....

five days together as a family,

on the beach,

away from it all

Before heading out...

arriving for the last time @ Qingdao Luiting International Fei Ji Chang

lingering over our last meal in the Sailing City... from the our 21F vantage point above the harbor where in 2008 the world's best sailors convened for the Summer Games, and where later our Sailing Sisters learned the ropes (literally) of this aquatic sport

The last morning...

5:30 wake up call

Pick up by our "entourage" which included our former and current drivers and another colleague of their's that we have known from the beginning

Caravanning from the InterContinental to our home, one last time, to collect our remaining boxes ... then on to the home of our sweet Dutch friends who kept Miss Guinness for us in the final weeks ... and finally arriving at the airport with one way tickets to Chicago via Seoul .... Watching Mr Johnson and our three driver friends check in a mountain of luggage whilst the girls and I were joined by our sweet Saturday night ayi who created French braids down that back of each of head while dabbing away tears.