Monday morning found us traipsing to the Korean clinic with a urine sample from home hidden in a Starbucks bag.
After nearly a week of irritability, the other symptoms started showing up... bed wetting, daytime accidents and Sunday night a fever.
Thankfully, the mystery is now solved. Thanks to Dr. Kim, Bea's on her way to being her old self!! (The usual Dr. Kim was not in but his colleague also named Kim was covering for him. Bea later stated that she likes "all the Kims!")
Monday's new highlight is our Afternoon Story Time. We meet with other pre-school aged expat kiddos in the library of YCIS (the school Millie & Eliza attend) and have a story, craft and outside playtime. I've been leading the "parent led" sessions (every-other-week) and my friend Vicki will teach the other Mondays. It's been a hit so far.
To help with continuity we sing the same little songs each week. One of these is the song: What's in the Bag? The book for the week is always hidden in a bag along with a little something that goes along with it. Last week we read Jan Brett's The Mitten, so a mitten was in the bag. This week we read Olivia so we had a little pig.
At bedtime Sean & I climbed into bed with Eliza and Bea. We were discussing the day's events- a nightly ritual with the Johnson's in China. Bea and I discussed how we sneaked the Starbucks bag into the clinic. Sean jokingly asked Bea if we sang "What's in the Bag" with Dr. Kim. And Bea... who is clearing bouncing back responded with an emphatic, "No," then added, "We didn't even tell Shu Shu!"
The Bag Song
What's in the Bag? What's in the bag?
I think there's something special in the bag.
17 March 2009
15 March 2009
Our last week . . .
Flying Monkeys, as in don't make me get mine, has been my mantra this week with our Baby. Bea has been out of sorts, not her self, moody, and the big girls, bless their hearts, have been on egg-shells, but mostly to no avail. Maybe it has to do with getting all the crabbiness out before she turns a more mature four in just a few weeks.
So, we've all tried to approach life with lao san (literally "old number three" which less formal Chinese way of saying third child) more gently. Because this week, as she told me during one of her time-outs, she didn't want to be nice. She just wanted to be crabby.
Last week found Sean heading off to GuiZhou province in SW China, fairly near the North Vietnamese boarder. We've never been to Southern China, so I pulled out the guidebook anticipating paragraphs on the beauty and great climate. He was heading to the capital city of GuiYang, which Lonely Planet painted in a rather unfavorable light. It read, "Guiyang has a reputation among Chinese as one of China's worst cities for theft..." their restaurant recommendations included the ambiguously named New Zealand restaurant, even the people at Lonely Planet couldn't really explain that one. I decided not to be jealous, although I felt bad that he wouldn't have time to see any of the surrounding area which LP describes beautifully:
"Once outside the modern capital Guiyang (where you watch your wallet and eat at a restaurant named for an obscure island at the bottom of the globe) the landscape appears almost otherworldly. Terraced fields creep up the sides of rolling mountains that eventually give way to wide electric green plateaus. Striking karst formations and crumbling stone punctuate the scenery and giant limestone caves stretch for miles beneath the earth. Dense green forests and cascading waterfalls appear unexpectedly and the overall impression leaves you wondering whether or not you've accidentally stumbled onto the set of a Peter Jackson movie." Parenthetical insertion mine.
By Friday we had Sean (and his wallet)home safely from GuiZhou, had steak with rocket and balsamic mushrooms for dinner, and played a round of Scrabble. (Sean and Millie rallied and beat Eliza and I with a small word loaded with points when they turned "fruit" into "fruity" by placing a "yea" down. It did not help that our team had no vowels in our tray!!) Millie's wine bottle won the most votes at school. The teacher sent the wine recipe home (I'll post it soon.) Eliza was excited for a friend's birthday party this weekend. Bea was still fractious, but not as fractious as earlier.
After the girls went to bed, Sean slipped out to play billiard's with some friends, and our tricky three year-old came sneaking down the stairs. I lit some candles, put on David Crowder and turned down the lights. And that baby girl, who was so disagreeable most of the week climbed into my lap very agreeably and eventually slipped off to sleep.
Hopefully next week we won't need the flying monkeys!
So, we've all tried to approach life with lao san (literally "old number three" which less formal Chinese way of saying third child) more gently. Because this week, as she told me during one of her time-outs, she didn't want to be nice. She just wanted to be crabby.
Last week found Sean heading off to GuiZhou province in SW China, fairly near the North Vietnamese boarder. We've never been to Southern China, so I pulled out the guidebook anticipating paragraphs on the beauty and great climate. He was heading to the capital city of GuiYang, which Lonely Planet painted in a rather unfavorable light. It read, "Guiyang has a reputation among Chinese as one of China's worst cities for theft..." their restaurant recommendations included the ambiguously named New Zealand restaurant, even the people at Lonely Planet couldn't really explain that one. I decided not to be jealous, although I felt bad that he wouldn't have time to see any of the surrounding area which LP describes beautifully:
"Once outside the modern capital Guiyang (where you watch your wallet and eat at a restaurant named for an obscure island at the bottom of the globe) the landscape appears almost otherworldly. Terraced fields creep up the sides of rolling mountains that eventually give way to wide electric green plateaus. Striking karst formations and crumbling stone punctuate the scenery and giant limestone caves stretch for miles beneath the earth. Dense green forests and cascading waterfalls appear unexpectedly and the overall impression leaves you wondering whether or not you've accidentally stumbled onto the set of a Peter Jackson movie." Parenthetical insertion mine.
By Friday we had Sean (and his wallet)home safely from GuiZhou, had steak with rocket and balsamic mushrooms for dinner, and played a round of Scrabble. (Sean and Millie rallied and beat Eliza and I with a small word loaded with points when they turned "fruit" into "fruity" by placing a "yea" down. It did not help that our team had no vowels in our tray!!) Millie's wine bottle won the most votes at school. The teacher sent the wine recipe home (I'll post it soon.) Eliza was excited for a friend's birthday party this weekend. Bea was still fractious, but not as fractious as earlier.
After the girls went to bed, Sean slipped out to play billiard's with some friends, and our tricky three year-old came sneaking down the stairs. I lit some candles, put on David Crowder and turned down the lights. And that baby girl, who was so disagreeable most of the week climbed into my lap very agreeably and eventually slipped off to sleep.
Hopefully next week we won't need the flying monkeys!
13 March 2009
11 March 2009
Holding up Half the Sky
Sunday was International Women's Day... a day I had never heard of until moving to China. Women in China are granted a half day off of work for Women's Day, and restaurants hand out roses to female guests.
Chairman Mao once declared, "Women hold up half the sky," which sounds like a lovely statement of equality until you realize what it also meant was that men and women should both don identical quilted Mao jackets made out of cheap blue cotton and toil together in the fields or where ever else the dear leader needed them. This fact is never lost on me when I watch sweet old Auntie's --who wore out their knees or hips doing hard labor and raising a family in the genderless age of communism-- struggle to climb into city buses.
At Bea's kindie on Friday they had a special performance for International Women's Day. They sang some songs and had a sweet little question and answer session about how their Mom's help them. (I was pleased because both Bea and I seemed to be able to keep up with the Chinese dialog!) I sat on a tiny plastic chair with Bea's classmates grandparents (their dads and moms of course were out holding up the sky.)
The grandparents and I smiled and nodded at each other politely. They would gesture towards Bea as if to ask is that your kid? And I would smile and then look at the remaining 18 Chinese kiddos on the blue and red plastic chairs and guess which one belonged to them. They seemed as pleased with the performance as I was, and took pictures with 35 mm film cameras, though Bao Bao, Bea's hao peng you (good friend's) Grandpa who sat beside me ran a handicam video for the entire length of the program.
Bea has chosen the Chinese name Bei Bei for herself. I think its nice she choose her own Chinese name. Millie and Eliza's Chinese language teachers named them, which creates a rather surreal environment at Parent Teacher Conferences when they sit discussing our children by names we don't call them at home.
Bea informed me today that there is a new student in her class also named Bei Bei.
But then our Bei Bei added, "But she has black hair."
Chairman Mao once declared, "Women hold up half the sky," which sounds like a lovely statement of equality until you realize what it also meant was that men and women should both don identical quilted Mao jackets made out of cheap blue cotton and toil together in the fields or where ever else the dear leader needed them. This fact is never lost on me when I watch sweet old Auntie's --who wore out their knees or hips doing hard labor and raising a family in the genderless age of communism-- struggle to climb into city buses.
At Bea's kindie on Friday they had a special performance for International Women's Day. They sang some songs and had a sweet little question and answer session about how their Mom's help them. (I was pleased because both Bea and I seemed to be able to keep up with the Chinese dialog!) I sat on a tiny plastic chair with Bea's classmates grandparents (their dads and moms of course were out holding up the sky.)
The grandparents and I smiled and nodded at each other politely. They would gesture towards Bea as if to ask is that your kid? And I would smile and then look at the remaining 18 Chinese kiddos on the blue and red plastic chairs and guess which one belonged to them. They seemed as pleased with the performance as I was, and took pictures with 35 mm film cameras, though Bao Bao, Bea's hao peng you (good friend's) Grandpa who sat beside me ran a handicam video for the entire length of the program.
Bea has chosen the Chinese name Bei Bei for herself. I think its nice she choose her own Chinese name. Millie and Eliza's Chinese language teachers named them, which creates a rather surreal environment at Parent Teacher Conferences when they sit discussing our children by names we don't call them at home.
Bea informed me today that there is a new student in her class also named Bei Bei.
But then our Bei Bei added, "But she has black hair."
09 March 2009
Blogworthy Art Projects
So... living in China yields some interesting fodder for blogging. Millie has recently had two assignments I thought people living outside of Asia might find as unique as I did.
First... a couple of weeks ago for Chinese Culture class Millie was asked to bring in a wine bottle for a project they've been working on. It turns out that for this assignment they are to design a wine bottle with a English and Chinese label. Millie created a product called Red Carpet Wine or Hong Se De Di Tan and used a pic of her favorite celebrity, Miley Cyrus dressed in red on a red carpet. (I thought it was appropriate for a wine label created by an minor to feature another underage person as a spokesperson for the vino!)
But, that, we just learned is the beginning. Millie came home this weekend and needed a cork, because what will fit the "Culture" criteria of this Chinese Culture project is making wine in the classroom! Yes, a group of 19 nine and 10-year-olds will be making grape moonshine under the direction of their Chinese culture teacher. TIC ... This is China.
Today when I was in for the pre-school After Noon Story time with Bea @ the big girls' school I saw the middle school art teacher and after chatting I told her I had a bone to pick with her. For her art assignment this week she wanted all the students to bring in a potato sized rock. What makes this blogworthy is that she had to clarify that she wanted a rock and not a hunk of concrete. Sadly, concrete is in greater supply in our host nation than good old fashioned rocks! Also, sadly, Millie didn't remember to find a rock over the weekend, so her kind father was out spelunking in our backyard this morning around 7 a.m. in search of the "potato rock. Fortunately for all of us, Bea has a penchant for collecting largish rocks on each of our trips to the beach. (It took me a while to figure out why our beach bag was so much heavier on the return trips from the beach, until I realized our Bea girl was slipping "potato size" rocks into the beach bag unbeknownst to mom!)Sean located one of Bea's rocks and we thought we were home free!
So... my bone to pick was that after great effort, and coming in with a specimen that was not concrete, the art teacher ruled that Millie's washed beach rock was too "pancakey" and we needed something more textured. So... since I'm pretty sure Millie didn't see to this again, I think you can guess where Sean or I will be tomorrow morning around 7 a.m.!
First... a couple of weeks ago for Chinese Culture class Millie was asked to bring in a wine bottle for a project they've been working on. It turns out that for this assignment they are to design a wine bottle with a English and Chinese label. Millie created a product called Red Carpet Wine or Hong Se De Di Tan and used a pic of her favorite celebrity, Miley Cyrus dressed in red on a red carpet. (I thought it was appropriate for a wine label created by an minor to feature another underage person as a spokesperson for the vino!)
But, that, we just learned is the beginning. Millie came home this weekend and needed a cork, because what will fit the "Culture" criteria of this Chinese Culture project is making wine in the classroom! Yes, a group of 19 nine and 10-year-olds will be making grape moonshine under the direction of their Chinese culture teacher. TIC ... This is China.
Today when I was in for the pre-school After Noon Story time with Bea @ the big girls' school I saw the middle school art teacher and after chatting I told her I had a bone to pick with her. For her art assignment this week she wanted all the students to bring in a potato sized rock. What makes this blogworthy is that she had to clarify that she wanted a rock and not a hunk of concrete. Sadly, concrete is in greater supply in our host nation than good old fashioned rocks! Also, sadly, Millie didn't remember to find a rock over the weekend, so her kind father was out spelunking in our backyard this morning around 7 a.m. in search of the "potato rock. Fortunately for all of us, Bea has a penchant for collecting largish rocks on each of our trips to the beach. (It took me a while to figure out why our beach bag was so much heavier on the return trips from the beach, until I realized our Bea girl was slipping "potato size" rocks into the beach bag unbeknownst to mom!)Sean located one of Bea's rocks and we thought we were home free!
So... my bone to pick was that after great effort, and coming in with a specimen that was not concrete, the art teacher ruled that Millie's washed beach rock was too "pancakey" and we needed something more textured. So... since I'm pretty sure Millie didn't see to this again, I think you can guess where Sean or I will be tomorrow morning around 7 a.m.!
05 March 2009
Speaking British
Our multilingual kiddos, are of course, fluent in English but can also conduct slow, simple conversations in Mandarin. How old are you? What grade are you in? What country do you come from? Are all queries they can handle in Chinese.
What we hadn't realized is that they are equally fluent in "British." They put their rubbish in the dust bin, write with marking pens, and pull their uniform jumpers on in the morning along with their trousers. (Pants are in fact "underpants" when speaking British, so they have those on as well!) I now much prefer to offer the girls a lollipop... or simply a lolly (the word sucker makes me cringe as it sounds somehow especially uncouth!) We take holidays (not vacations) and stand in queues instead of lines. We routinely find words like lovely, bit, and pardon sprinkled into our daily lexicon.
Last month, we were sitting on tiny child-sized chairs in Eliza's classroom for the Parent/Teacher Interview (or, what we from the Midwestern United States would call a good old fashioned conference.) In her lovely accented English the teacher introduced her self and then said, "And you are Eliza's mum and dad are you?" There was that sly little "u" that transforms plain old mom into something slightly more formal and far less colloquial. (That pesky "u" shows up other places when conversing in British: in colour and favourite for example.)
"Yes, Yes, Quite right, do pass the scones," we were tempted to say. It feels very nice in fact to carry on in proper Queen's English. How flash are we? Very high brow!
We talked about Literacy and Maths (it took sometime for us to recognize that Maths was in fact not a typo, but the preferred term for Mathematics when speaking British.) She discussed the marks (not grades) that Eliza had achieved in both.
"And her connected writing is coming along quite nicely," the teacher remarked. I believe I have a sample for you. Connected writing... I had yet to hear this British term, but proceeded to smile and nod. All British mums would for sure know this, I chided myself.
Out pops the writing sample and then it clicks in my mind, and I am proud of myself that I finally, though just now, understood her meaning. But just as I was priding myself on being as proper as a British mum, Sean has his, "aha" moment. The light bulb clicked in his mind just a moment too late.
"Oh..." he says, betraying our Americaness, "you mean cursive."
Connecting writing of course makes more sense... as the letters are of course connected. But cursive, that beautiful, fluid slanted writing that I can still remember my own primary teacher slowly and carefully creating on the blackboard with a flourish of chalk still seems the right name. And for all the wonderful terms the British like to fiddle with (fiddle I'm sure is never used in American English outside of the context of the musical instrument played in our nation's deep south)I'm not so willing to quickly part ways with cursive.
Blimey! It makes me cross. Connected writing then is rot. Into the rubbish bin you!
What we hadn't realized is that they are equally fluent in "British." They put their rubbish in the dust bin, write with marking pens, and pull their uniform jumpers on in the morning along with their trousers. (Pants are in fact "underpants" when speaking British, so they have those on as well!) I now much prefer to offer the girls a lollipop... or simply a lolly (the word sucker makes me cringe as it sounds somehow especially uncouth!) We take holidays (not vacations) and stand in queues instead of lines. We routinely find words like lovely, bit, and pardon sprinkled into our daily lexicon.
Last month, we were sitting on tiny child-sized chairs in Eliza's classroom for the Parent/Teacher Interview (or, what we from the Midwestern United States would call a good old fashioned conference.) In her lovely accented English the teacher introduced her self and then said, "And you are Eliza's mum and dad are you?" There was that sly little "u" that transforms plain old mom into something slightly more formal and far less colloquial. (That pesky "u" shows up other places when conversing in British: in colour and favourite for example.)
"Yes, Yes, Quite right, do pass the scones," we were tempted to say. It feels very nice in fact to carry on in proper Queen's English. How flash are we? Very high brow!
We talked about Literacy and Maths (it took sometime for us to recognize that Maths was in fact not a typo, but the preferred term for Mathematics when speaking British.) She discussed the marks (not grades) that Eliza had achieved in both.
"And her connected writing is coming along quite nicely," the teacher remarked. I believe I have a sample for you. Connected writing... I had yet to hear this British term, but proceeded to smile and nod. All British mums would for sure know this, I chided myself.
Out pops the writing sample and then it clicks in my mind, and I am proud of myself that I finally, though just now, understood her meaning. But just as I was priding myself on being as proper as a British mum, Sean has his, "aha" moment. The light bulb clicked in his mind just a moment too late.
"Oh..." he says, betraying our Americaness, "you mean cursive."
Connecting writing of course makes more sense... as the letters are of course connected. But cursive, that beautiful, fluid slanted writing that I can still remember my own primary teacher slowly and carefully creating on the blackboard with a flourish of chalk still seems the right name. And for all the wonderful terms the British like to fiddle with (fiddle I'm sure is never used in American English outside of the context of the musical instrument played in our nation's deep south)I'm not so willing to quickly part ways with cursive.
Blimey! It makes me cross. Connected writing then is rot. Into the rubbish bin you!
01 March 2009
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