Watch Out For Exploding Phones

After living in a country with such a grand tradition of piracy for eight years, it's good medicine for me to read a cautionary tale....

A 45-year-old man in south China was severely burned after his fake cell phone exploded in his pocket. Read about it here.

The moral: If you're ever in China and are tempted to go the cheaper route by buying a knockoff phone, think again.

(Now, if Aaron's knockoff Calvin Kleins start spontaneously combusting, we've got problems.)

WIP Wednesday: What WIP?

Work in Progress?

Do I have a Work in Progress?

Let's see. I have a son with pink eye. A teething baby. Two daughters with colds. A sore throat as raw as the hide of a freshly killed buffalo.

Need I say more?

Some weeks just aren't writing weeks, as depressing as that is to admit.

Silver Phoenix Contest

Did you know that when I was a little girl I wanted to be a kung fu princess on a Chinese soap opera?

It's true.

That dream died a long time ago, but maybe some strange cousin of that dream can rise like the phoenix in my imagination if I'm lucky enough to win a copy of Silver Phoenix by Cindy Pon. Actually, whether I win or not, I would really like to read this book.

You also have a chance to win an autographed copy! The competition is over at Hello Ello 2, so head over and take a look. One of the ways you can win is writing a haiku. Since I have a cold and my baby is teething, I will not be writing a haiku. This blog post was hard enough to pull off. Counting syllables and being creative is more than I can handle right now ... my WIP Wednesday will reflect that tomorrow, I'm afraid.

But double happiness to you all. And may one of you win a book.

The People in Our Neighborhood

Just to add to my original The People in Our Neighborhood post....

These are our wonderful, neighborhood vegetable sellers. Their stall is a two-minute walk from our front door, which makes it very convenient to run out and grab a cucumber.

A medium-sized bag of vegetables -- carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, green beans -- is usually under 10 kuai (about $1.30).

I'm really going to miss this convenience, this price, but most of all, this couple. They are genuinely kind. I enjoy buying my vegetables from friends.

Why I Love My Husband

Well, this is one of the many reasons I love my husband.

Yes, this is a five-kid pile on with one more ready to spring.

I kept asking, "Are you okay under there?"

He just answered me with a smile. What a guy.

Teletubbies in China

Whether you love or hate these four little people toddling around on fake grass in spacesuits is not the point of this blog post. Whether or not you think the purple one is gay is also not the point. Today I want to ask if anyone, besides me, has watched Teletubbies in Chinese.

I don't even know the names of the English-version Teletubbies. But I know them in Chinese: Ding Ding, Deci, La La, Xiao Bo.

We hadn't pulled out the Teletubbies DVD's in absolutely years. But yesterday, while choosing a coloring page off the internet, Anna saw a Teletubbies picture she had to have. So, this morning, when it was time for my shower and her usual morning show, she fished out the forgotten Teletubbies DVD.

I heaved a great sigh, but I put it in for her. Sophie loved it. She saw the sunshine baby and immediately clapped her hands. Although they're not my favorite, I have to admit that watching Teletubbies in Chinese is a great language-learning tool for those of us who aren't fluent. (I'm about at that preschool level in my language acquisition, I guess, as embarrassing as that is to admit ... after eight years!)

What amuses me most in this Chinese version is the rendition of the theme song. Not only does the singer miss his cue, coming in much too early on the second verse of the song, but he's completely off key.

I can only imagine what went on in the recording studio when the theme song was taped.

I think the singer is the same person who narrates the episodes. Maybe he's a big TV or radio personality and the people in the studio didn't want him to lose face by telling him he is TONE DEAF.

Or maybe the poor guy just couldn't hear the background music and didn't realize he was too early and that the second verse is in a different key than the first.

Either way, nobody seemed to care, so it's now on the DVD for all the Chinese-speaking world to hear, lending an even more bizarre quality to an already (let's face it) bizarre show. The kids love it, so we still watch it.

And I'm thankful for a little giggle on a rainy Thursday morning.

WIP Wednesday: Lessons in Self Doubt....

Look where self doubt will get you.

I made a pact with myself a month or two ago that I wouldn't query any more agents until after we got back to America. There were several interrelated reasons for this. Querying just throws me into a funk; I was getting obsessed with it. And when we have this HUGE move back to America in a month and a half, I can't afford to be in a funk or obsessed. Not to mention that if any agents show interest in my project, I'll probably become even more obsessed. In addition, there was the confusing question of my contact information: here, there, where am I? Last thing you want to do is confuse an agent off the bat -- right? (Someone say, "Right!")

I still let myself enter several contests. This is where my self doubt came in. I wasn't expecting them to go anywhere. They were good experiences; I could get critical feedback on my work. It didn't count as querying because it was just part of the learning process.

Well, surprise, surprise. After a discouraging start at the Secret Agent contest over at Miss Snark's First Victim, with lots of people telling me my first 250 words were confusing, they didn't like the description, they couldn't relate to the main character ... voila! The Secret Agent wrote that she liked it. It worked for her. She was curious to read more.

Talk about being floored. I've read that writers should expect success, but it's hard to actually do that when all that ever arrives in your inbox are form rejections. I think I mentioned before that I'd just rewritten the first chapter mainly to give the reader a better first impression of my main character, one that wasn't based on a difficult conversation with her mother. Well, apparently, this new approach worked for the Secret Agent, who turned out to be Kate Schafer Testerman from KT Literary.

I was awarded Honorable Mention for the contest, which meant I could submit my query and first three pages to Ms. Testerman. (Yes, I could've done that anyway, but the reward was that Ms. Testerman would be expecting my query. I wouldn't be part of the huge pile of slush.)

Oh dear. Queries. Back to the pact I'd made with myself. I was in a quandary about this. Should I just go ahead and query? Or should I wait? And the big question was, would Ms. Testerman wait for me. If she got the query in June, would she wonder what the heck had taken me so long?

Some of you might think I'm crazy and I wouldn't blame you. I wrote Ms. Testerman a note explaining why my query would be delayed. The whole time I was writing the note I wondered if I was shooting myself in the foot or doing myself a favor. Either way, the deed has been done. The note has been sent.

The silly self-doubting thought now on my mind is realizing that, from what I've heard from writing friends, Ms. Testerman is an extremely quick rejector. I might have a measure of too much self confidence thinking this might go anywhere. If I'd just sent the query, I might be reading the rejection right now in my inbox and that would be the end of that. No need for all this fuss.

On the other hand, maybe I've learned my lesson about self doubt. It's better to plan for success. It's better to be prepared, then to be caught with your pants down saying, "Uh, sorry. I really didn't think I'd win. This isn't exactly a good time...."

Ahh, live and learn, my friends. We live and learn.

In a fun side note, while perusing Ms. Testerman's very cool website, I came across this fun contest she's hosting on writing the world's worst query letter. Some of these are pretty funny. You can click here to read them (in the comments section). Enjoy!

Good Day

Today's my 32nd birthday.

So far, it's a great day.

My kids drew pictures for me before they went to school.

I opened the birthday present from my mom and dad, which included three Cadbury Cream Eggs, all for me and only me. YUM!

Gabe sat on my lap this morning and cuddled with me. We sat for five minutes without talking and he didn't even wiggle. It was wonderful! Nourishment for a mommy's soul.

Aaron had planned a big surprise for me this last weekend. He was going to take me away for two nights in Beijing. Unfortunately, Gabe came down with mumps, so we had to scrap the plans. I feel so thankful, though, for my husband's sweet intentions. And to be truthful, I've been so tired lately, I think I like the idea of going better than actually going. Call me weird. I guess maybe deep down I'm a little bit of a homebody.

Yesterday it rained all day. The day before, a lady with a bullhorn was walking around our apartment complex announcing that a big storm was coming. Today was supposed to be the worst day; stores were planning to close, people were recommending that we stock up on food and vegetables. Yesterday our living room ceiling leaked all day. Plaster was falling down in big, sloppy chunks.

In true Y2K fashion, Saturday's bullhorn hype fizzled to nothing. Today it's gray outside, but not even raining. The temperature is perfect. So, in the spirit of birthday thankfulness, I can be happy for pleasant weather, too.

And thankful that my ceiling has stopped leaking. At least for now.

China Kids

I'm having a stab of conscience about the post I wrote yesterday. I know it was negative. I'm going to leave it there, though, because when I look back at my blog in years to come, I want to have a balanced memory of what it was like living in China.

I'm afraid I'll move to the States and after a few months think, "China was the most wonderful place to live in the world. I wish I still lived there. My life was perfect," or I'll think, "Boy, how'd I ever live there for eight years? It's so good to be back in America!"

I don't want to be extreme; I want to remember the bad and the good. So, I'm leaving yesterday's post so when I'm in one of my China's-perfect moods, I can read it again and remember, "Oh yeah, that really bugged me."

And today I want to write about something wonderful, so when I'm remembering the uncomfortable things about living here, I can realize it was actually pretty great.

I generalized yesterday, so I'll generalize again today: Tianjin people love children.

My experience in America is that people are often indifferent to children. There are children everywhere. If they're in the "wrong" place at the "wrong" time, then they even annoy people. For instance, a child in an upscale, candle-lit restaurant is not welcome. Even the fact that there are such places as elderly communities where children are not allowed tells us something about our American culture's view of children.

But in China, children are precious.

I've never, in eight years of China motherhood, felt that my children were unwelcome anywhere. And that's saying something.

My children get attention. Sometimes it's overwhelming for them, but they are carted around, caressed, their cheeks are pinched, by total strangers. People are absolutely in love with children.

Even the lady who yelled at Aaron yesterday about Sophie not wearing socks, finished scolding, reached into her stroller, and picked her up, cuddling her and saying how adorable she was.

Granted, children are a rarer breed of human here in China. Married couples can only have one child, which means two sets of grandparents only get one grandchild between them to dote on and spoil. Maybe that's part of the reason children are so treasured.

And Chinese parents, grandparents, and helpers have the hover technique down pat. Small children are never allowed to forge out on their own. They're hovered over. Every minuscule need is met instantaneously.

Next to Chinese children, my children look like unkempt hooligans. No wonder I get scoldings!

You may ask, if children are so treasured, why are there so many abandoned children in China? Why are babies with even the smallest flaw carted off to orphanages and dumped there? When you can only have one child, there's a focus on perfection that's not there to the same degree when you can have as many children as you want. But those children that are kept are treasured.

Now that I'm actually writing all this down, I realize how complicated this subject is. Is treasuring children to this degree good for them? Is China turning into a nation made up solely of self-centered only children? I know I'm not the first person to pose that as a concern.

My positive point, however, remains. I have had nothing but good, positive interactions with the Tianjin people about my children. They are enthusiastic about them, patient with them, tender, kind, generous. It's not uncommon when we're eating at any restaurant for the serving staff to come and scoop up one or two of our children and cart them back to the kitchen to meet everyone. It's nice for a mom who hardly ever gets a bite of warm food to be able to sit down and chow down for a few minutes.

And it's safe here. Nobody's stealing my kids. When the waitress takes my six-month-old out of my arms and walks around the restaurant with her, I know she's coming back ... eventually.

China has been a loving environment for my kids. Moving to kid-indifferent America might come as kind of a shock.

Culture Clash

It's been warm these last few days. Blue sky. A bite of spring in the air, but temperate.

Gabe's running around in his flip-flops and shorts. Anna's similarly dressed. Olivia's decked out for summer, but since she's been dressing that way all winter, that's not saying much.

And Sophie, sweet little Sophie in her long pants, her little fleece jacket, and bare feet.

BARE FEET! What kind of mother am I?

The other day at the market, I was stopped by at least a hundred people (I wish I were exaggerating) who commented on the fact that my baby was not wearing socks and shoes.

"Bu xing! Bu xing!" That's not okay! Some are nice about it, others are not. One lady even tried to tell me in English because she thought her Chinese wasn't getting through.

Thankfully I know enough about Chinese culture to understand why they're concerned. People here still think you get sick from being cold. And I think there must be some particular theory about having cold feet that's even more concerning. Now I know being cold can weaken your immune system, but you don't get sick from being cold. And I don't think being out on a seventy-five degree day with bare feet is going to weaken anyone's immune system. I'm very happy in my flip-flops, thank you very much.

I promise to balance this post out with some very positive things about China. There are a zillion things I love about living here. But one thing I'm not going to miss is that everyone seems to think they have the right to give advice, to scold, to yell at me when they think I'm doing something wrong.

And usually that something wrong is something small. Like bare feet.

Aaron took Sophie down to the garden today. I was hanging up laundry in the pingtai when I heard an angry voice from below. "Bu xing! Bu xing!" I didn't even have to look to know what was going on. But I looked anyway.

A woman was yelling. Her husband was trying to pull her away, but she was yelling at Aaron and pointing at Sophie's feet.

I called down to him, "Do you want me to throw you down some socks?"

"No, that's okay." He grinned up at me.

I guess we both kind of like the attention. Or something.

WIP Wednesday: Contest week....

It's Thursday, not Wednesday. I got so excited about the Secret Agent contest going live on Miss Snark's First Victim last night that I completely forgot about my WIP Wednesday. Thankfully it's still Wednesday in the Americas.

This week I've been plugging away at my Valentine's novel, trying for 1000 words a day. I like having a daily, manageable goal of 1000 words. It helps me to draw a line in the sand and be self-controlled about how much I write. Otherwise, I have lofty ideals like, "I just want to finish this chapter!" and then I'm sitting at the computer all day, while the house gets dirtier and my children run amok. 1000 words keeps me moving along with the story, but I still have plenty of time for other (more important) responsibilities.

This is also the week for contests. I've entered three!

The first is the already mentioned Secret Agent contest. So far, I'm not doing too well. You can click here to read my entry and also what people think of it. I'm still in the raw stages of taking the criticism, so I'm not going to comment too much on what it's like to have your writing out there on public trial. But I will say, criticism is good. That's why I entered this contest. I want to know what I'm doing wrong. Also, once the Secret Agent leaves her comment, I'll have a peek into what a real, live agent thinks of my work. That's rare and invaluable. So, feeling like a dartboard is worth it.

The second contest is a one-line hook contest held by QueryTracker. Joanna Stampfel-Volpe is the agent who will be taking her favorite one-line hooks and awarding full and partial manuscript readings to a fortunate four (out of more than 300!). We find out who the winners are on Monday.

Contest number three is being held by The Knight Agency. They are taking three-sentence hooks, "Books in a Nutshell", and will award 20 of the best with manuscript revision, feedback, and possible representation. This contest is still open for submissions, so if you have an ms that's submission ready (that falls within their genre interests) -- go for it!

All right. Back to reading criticism, remembering all the while that it's a gift.

Child's Play

Olivia came into our room at 3:30 a.m.

I was having one of those sleeps where as you start to wake up you think,"Oh, I am sleeping so well." Pulling yourself out of it is like pulling boots out of quicksand. I blinked bleary eyes and there was Olivia. I could see her outline in the dimness of the room. I could hear her too; she was already talking.

"The door in my room keeps banging and banging," she said in her regular voice, as if it were 3:30 in the afternoon and not pitch black outside. "Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It just goes on and on and on."

"Well, shut the pingtai door," I croaked. "It's just the wind."

"O-kay," she said, huffing back out of the room. I rolled over and tried to find my way back into that warm pouch of sleep, but it was too late. In her crib, Sophie squawked and I hauled myself up to get her.

Back in bed, I closed my eyes, only to jump awake the next moment when a tremendous crack and boom rattled the windowpains. It took me a moment to get my bearings, convince myself it wasn't an earthquake. It sounded like someone had axed open the sky and dropped a bowling ball the size of a double-decker bus on our roof.

I lay still, wondering if the noise had woken any of the children. Sophie was curled up next to me, her breathing soft and even. The room next door was quiet.

Thunder crackled across the sky; lightning lit up the white walls of our room.

I lay there, listening, and the rain began. Sheets of rain. No pitter-patter, no distinguishing rhythm, just a blur of quiet noise. A rush.

It was comfortable. I almost slipped back into sleep.

But then I remembered the windows were open on the pingtai, so I hauled myself up once again and stumbled into the kids' room.

I saw Olivia blinking from her pillow at me. "Mom," she said in a raspy whisper.

I sat down on the bed and leaned over her, petting the hair out of her eyes. "Did the thunder scare you?"

She stared at me. "What?"

"That big noise, the thunder, did it scare you?"

"That wasn't thunder," she said. "Those were firecrackers."

"No, honey, that was thunder."

"Na-uh! Those were firecrackers."

I had to laugh to myself, even if it was 3:30 in the morning, which is not the time for any sane person to have a sense of humor. (Believe me, if you start laughing about anything at 3:30 in the morning, you'll never get back to sleep!)

Only a child born and raised in China could mistake a huge clap of thunder for firecrackers. This daughter of mine had slept through seven Tianjin-style Chinese New Years. Next to that, a little thunder and lightning was, well, child's play.

Mom the Trash Can

Lying in bed nursing Sophie just now, I had this internal conversation with myself:

Me: I'm hungry.

Me2: That's because you didn't eat lunch.

Me: I did eat lunch.

Me2: No you didn't. You ate the crusts off Gabe's peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

Me: That's not lunch?

Me2: No.

La Vida Loca

It's been the crazy life around here lately.

No sooner had I pressed "Publish Post" about my helper never missing a day of work than the phone rang. It was my helper telling me she had broken her foot. Poor He Ayi, she felt terrible about it. I felt terrible for her! We were both feeling terrible for each other. She told me, "How will you handle it with four children? You need my help!" I wanted to say that this is what it's like for all of my American friends who are moms every day; they're on their own. I told her I wanted her to stay away as long as she needs to. Seriously, being ayi-less is good practice for me!

This has also been the season of visitors, which is a wonderful kind of craziness. I already mentioned that Aaron's brother and his wife came to visit us. And for Easter weekend I got my sister Michelle for a few days. She did all the Eastery stuff with us, and a little bit of shopping too. We poked around Ping Shan Dao for five hours while Aaron watched the three older kids. (Ahhh - the shoulder ache one gets from carrying a 20-pound 6-month-old for five hours!)

The other night, Gabe, our accident/sickness-prone child -- I think the last time I mentioned him was when he broke his nose on the stairs -- complained of a pain in his cheek. Actually, it was more than a complaint. It was Gabe screaming, "Ow-ow-ow-ooooww!"My diagnosis was that it was something in his sinuses. We administered Ibuprofin and called our online expert physician (Aaron's dad) on Skype. He thought it might be a swelling of his jaw muscle, but as it continued to be quite painful through today, he recommended that I take Gabe to the doctor. And here's the verdict:

The boy has mumps.

I didn't think kids got mumps nowadays. I thought that's why he got that shot when he was a baby, to stop him from getting mumps. But he has mumps. A mild case, but still mumps. It's only on one side now, but should move to the other side of his face soon. He has to stay home from school and away from his friends, and since its a virus we just have to treat the symptoms with pain killers.

This is on the tailend of what was supposed to be a restful spring break, but really was more crazy than normal because of all the above-mentioned happenings and also:

(1) Aaron had LASIK eye surgery on Thursday (which really was quite painless, but still required several more naps for him than usual).
(2) Olivia had ear problems: a ruptured eardrum and puss coming out of a pimple thing in her ear canal.

Lovely.

And yet, I have to come back to how thankful I am. I'm at home with my kids. Gabe can be home from school for two weeks and it doesn't alter the order of our universe. My ayi being gone doesn't throw us into chaos either. We're coping -- no, we're flourishing -- despite the dusty shelves, the bathtub ring that looks like something from The Cat in the Hat, the pile of laundry. My husband may have to walk around in very wrinkled clothes, but that should be the worst of our sufferings.

So, yeah, it's la vida loca around here, but I still wouldn't trade this life for anything.

One of the Risks of Living Overseas 2

"Anna, eat your squash or there will be no chicken head for dessert."

Why Easter is So Important

Listen, I tell you a mystery:

We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed --

In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.
For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable,
and we will be changed.

For the perishable must clothes itself with the imperishable,
and the mortal with immortality.
When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable,
and the mortal with immortality,
then the saying that is written will come true:

"Death has been swallowed up in victory."

"Where , O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"

The sting of death is sin,
And the power of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God!
He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

I Corinthians 15:51-57

Happy Easter!

Our Garden in Spring

This is the view from our back pingtai (enclosed balcony) window.

Good Friday

How can we call good

This innocent man
Torn to pieces
Broken, bloodied
Stabbed
Suffocating?

What can possibly be good
About God's only Son
Spit on, slandered
Lied about, whipped
Denied
Humiliated?

It's
God
Keeping His Promise
Rending His Sacrifice
Confirming His Blood Covenant
With
Us.

What He didn't require of Abraham,
He required of Himself.
The breathless final words --
It is Finished.
The veil torn in two,
So we could enter
The Most Holy Place,
So we could be called
Children of God.

Praise Him,
That is Good!

She's Got the Beat

Poor child. She takes after her mother.

WIP Wednesday: Introducing....

I said I would do this, so here it goes. Part of releasing myself from the confines of closet writing, I guess. This is my first Work-In-Progress Wednesday, where I tell you what I've been working on this week. For this first edition, I thought I'd give you a peek into the novels I have in progress.

Working Title: Beaker Becker or Up Lantau Running (still debating)
Audience: Young YA (11-14 year olds)
Status: Complete; submitting to agents

Brief: Marcy just moved to Hong Kong seven months ago, but she can't seem to find her niche. It's only when her mom and brother return to America to care for her ailing grandmother and Marcy is forced to live on Lantau Island for the summer with a flamboyant distant cousin, that she finally starts to find herself.

I just finished rewriting this book's first chapter again. (I think I've rewritten it about sixteen times; I'm not exaggerating.) The little common feedback I've received from agents or other knowledgeable people was they didn't like my main character. YIKES! I think this was mostly because my book used to start with a big fight between my fifteen-year-old main character, Marcy, and her mom. This made Marcy seem snotty, mean, and whiny. But she's not really. She's just that way with her mom because they have a difficult relationship. Obviously, I wasn't getting this across, so I started with a new approach this time and pushed the fight to the second chapter. Part of this whole journey is that you really don't know if you've improved anything until you send it out to agents and see if you hear anything back. It's kind of like fishing -- figuring out the right bait.

Another biggie in editing was that I changed my main character's name. HA - the power! She's not Marcy anymore, she's Lila. It's strange how just a name change can give such a different feeling to a character. So, consider that when naming your children.

I'm planning to enter Miss Snark's First Victim's Secret Agent contest this month with my new, hopefully improved, completely-different, the-name's-even-changed chapter. So, we'll see what people think -- and most importantly, perhaps, what the Secret Agent has to say.

Working Title: Mine, Valentine
Audience: Young YA (11-14 year olds)
Status: Middle of first draft

This is my new baby, and I'm in a newborn baby stage of maternal pride. We'll see if I still like her as much when she grows up. She has a lot of potential, but there's also a lot of room for disaster, thanks to some tough themes I'm wondering if I can pull off. She's been a lot easier to write than Beaker because I know some of the pitfalls to avoid.

Brief: Thia has a lot of issues. Her dad left their family four years ago on Valentine's Day. Her mom's a chain-smoking, wanton woman, and her brother's a tattooed and pierced goth recluse. It's Valentine's Day again and Thia has a yearly tradition: to make something good happen for herself, to counterbalance the terrible thing that happened four years ago. Last year she pulled strings so that six guys gave her flowers. This year, she's determined to land a boyfriend. But when rumors start circulating at school that Thia's mom was seen kissing her potential boyfriend's dad, Thia needs to set the rumors straight or risk losing the boy of her dreams on this all-important day. Something keeps tugging on the back of her mind, though: what if the rumors are true?

This book is set in a small town in Western Washington along the Columbia. I don't call it Camas, but that's pretty much what I have in my mind as I'm describing her about town.

I'm going to try to finish this first draft by writing a minimum of 1,000 words a day. I don't think it'll be too much of a challenge since I type quickly and already have my plot and subplots laid out.

Working Title: Mr. Maddigan's Junk Yard
Audience: Unsure
Status: Middle of second draft

This one is slightly different because it's a novel based on a novella I wrote for a creative writing class in college. It's a time-travel book, very light fantasy. I dug it out of a pile last summer and thought it had a lot of promise, so I decided to rewrite it, adding some subplots to lengthen and strengthen it.

Brief: Sarina and her mom just moved back into her deceased grandfather's house after three years on the run from an abusive father/husband. Their next-door neighbor, her grandfather's life-long friend, has a junk yard filled with old treasures: her grandfather's first car, a pair of carousel horses saved from a fire, a windmill from a miniature golf course, to name a few. What Sarina doesn't realize is that the junk yard is also a place where two alternate universes collide, a place where she can meet her grandmother and grandfather when they were young. Sarina is now faced with a decision: should she warn her grandparents about certain future events and risk changing the present? If she does, she might speak herself out of existence.

This one has been on the shelf for a couple of months as I made room for the other two. That's the nice thing about books: they're not like children in that they don't mind being neglected for awhile.

That's about it! I think I may possibly feel brave enough to go ahead and post this now. It still feels a bit like laying my neck on the chopping block. But go ahead, hack away!

Thanks to Kate (for the amazingl WIP Wednesday artwork and the original idea) and Dr. Carolyn Kaufman at Archetype (where I first heard about doing this).

One of the Risks Of Living Overseas

"Drop it, Sophie! Drop it!"

The People in Our Neighborhood

Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood,
in your neighborhood,
in your neighborhood?
Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood?
They're the people that you meet each day.

Remember that old Sesame Street song? Are you singing yet?

We have about 11 more weeks in China. Not long. And don't think just because I'm saying this that I'm counting the days. On the contrary, I'm trying to savor the days, make them count.

I thought in these final weeks it would be a good idea to do a weekly posting to introduce you to some of the good people of our neighborhood. For one, they have interesting jobs, interesting ways of life. They're not just the people in the Sesame Street song: firemen, mailmen, policemen, and librarians. They're recycling people, vegetable sellers, and knife sharpeners. I want to remember them after we move. They're wonderful people, hard working, ingenious. I don't want to get back to America, settle into a new comfort zone and forget about them.

Today's "Neighbor" is probably the person we'll miss most when we move away from China, for many reasons. She's our beloved household helper, He Ayi. I know I mentioned her before in a previous post about Tuesday morning cleaning binges, but today I want to introduce her formally. Here she is with our three older kids:



Now, don't get me wrong. He Ayi and I have had our ups and downs. She scolds me a lot, tells me I spent too much money on whatever it is I've just bought. She made me cry one time because she yelled at me about the fact that I hadn't bought enough material to make curtains for my bedroom. She tells my husband he's fat on a regular basis. She "puts things away" in strange places, and often I find dried food on the forks that have just been washed. But overall, I have to say I couldn't ask for a kinder, heart-of-gold helper. She loves my kids. She makes great food. And I know she loves me. I tried to give her a pay raise recently and she refused. I don't know a lot of helpers who would do that. When I asked her why she wouldn't take the extra money she said, "Because you and I are friends." I know that all her scolding is actually because she loves me. She's treating me like mothers-in-law treat their daughters-in-law. I know it's all motivated by love.

He Ayi grew up in a large family with seven siblings, in a one-room, tin-roofed home with no fans or air-conditioning in the summer and no heat in the winter. When I think about her living conditions growing up I stop complaining about pretty much anything (for a few days, at least). He Ayi's tough. She's one of the older sisters, so she is responsible and a hard worker. I think the only time she missed work was when her brother-in-law died and she had to help with the funeral.

He Ayi is married and she has one son who's in his twenties. I've never met them. He Ayi says her husband doesn't want to meet us, he's too shy.

Fill in the Gaps 100 Project

I'm super excited about this.

I found out through Editorial Ass (a blog I follow; it stands for Editorial Assistant, so don't freak out, Mom) that there is a fun, fun project going on called Fill-in-the-Gaps. You make a list of 100 books you haven't read yet, and set yourself a goal of reading at least 75% of them over the next five years.

This seemed a great chance to get organized with my reading, so (in my spare time) I compiled my own list. Most of these books are Young Adult (YA), because that's what I write. I badly need to fill in the gaps of my reading list with more YA novels and "tween" books. I didn't include too many classics since that's what I have mostly been read up to this point. The gap there isn't as startling as the YA gap, though of course I left some space for some of my all-time favorite classic authors: Charles Dickens, Eudora Welty, and Katherine Mansfield. There are also some adult books that sounded fun on the list, including a couple of Annie Dillard's, just because she's always amazing and inspiring.

So, here's my list: (in no particular order)

1. Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book
2. Laura Amy Schlitz, Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! Voices from a Medieval Village
3. Lynn Rae Perkins, Criss Cross
4. Cynthia Kadohata, Kira-Kira
5. Kate Dicamillo, The Tale of Despereaux: Being the Story of a Mouse, A Princess, Some Soup, and a Spool of Thread
6. Avi Crispin, The Cross of Lead
7. Linda Sue Park, A Single Shard
8. Richard Peck, A Year Down Yonder
9. Christopher Paul Curtis, Bud, Not Buddy
10. Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak
11. Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why abandoned
12. Elizabeth C. Bunce, A Curse as Dark as Gold
13. Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
14. Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask  abandoned
    
15. Leslie Conner, Waiting For Normal
16. Siobhan Dowd, Bog Child
17. Christine Fletcher, Ten Cents a Dance
18. Matt de la Pena, Mexican White Boy
19. Joseph Monninger, Baby
20. Terry Pratchett, Nation
21. Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamakim, Skim abandoned
    
22. Coert Voorhees, The Brothers Torres
23. Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games
24. Melina Marchetta, Jellicoe Road
25. Margo Lanagan, Tender Morsels
26. Stephanie Meyer, Twilight
27. Jeff Kinney, Diary of a Whimpy Kid
28. Richelle Mead, Vampire Academy
29. Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing
30. Scott Westerfeld, Extras
31. Jenny Downham, Before I Die
32. Laurie Halse Anderson, Twisted
33. Cassandra Clare, City of Bones
34. Eudora Welty, The Robber Bridegroom
35. Eudora Welty, The Ponder Heart
36. Eudora Welty, Losing Battles
37. Annie Dillard, The Maytrees
38. Annie Dillard, Living By Fiction
39. Annie Dillard, For the Time Being
40. Katherine Mansfield, The Aloe
41. Charles Dickens, Oliver
42. C.J. Sansom, Dark Fire
43. C.J. Sansom, Sovereign
44. Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
45. Michael Chabon, The Yiddish Policeman’s Union
46. Ayelet Waldman, Daughter’s Keeper
47. J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye
48. S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders
49. Robert Lipsyte, The Contender
50. Chaim Potok, The Chosen
51. Paul Zindel, The Pigman
52. Beatrice Sparks, Go Ask Alice
53. Robb White, Deathwatch
54. Robert Cormier, The Chocolate War
55. Pamela Todd, The Blind Faith Hotel
56. Lois Duncan, Killing Mr. Griffin
57. Robert Cormier, I Am the Cheese
58. Harry Mazer, The Last Mission
59. Cynthia Voigt, Homecoming  abandoned
60. Bruce Brooks, The Moves Make the Man
61. Richard Peck, Remembering the Good Times
62. Brock Cole, The Goats
63. Gary Paulsen, Hatchet
64. Walter Dean Myers, Fallen Angels
65. Francesca Lia Block, Weetzie Bat
66. Jerry Spinelli, Maniac Magee
67. Michael Cadnum, Calling Home
68. Virginia Wolff, Make Lemonade
69. Karen Cushman, Catherine Called Birdy
70. Cynthia Voigt, When She Hollers
71. Rita Williams-Garcia, Like Sisters on the Home Front
72. John Marsden, Tomorrow When the War Began
73. Christopher Paul Curtis, The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963
74. Victor Martinez, Parrot in the Oven, Mi Vida
75. Edward Bloor, Tangerine
76. Robert Cormier, Tenderness
77. Virginia Wolff, Bat 6
78. Joan Bauer, Rules of the Road
79. Gary Paulsen, Soldier’s Heart
80. Paul Fleischman, Whirligig
81. Sarah Dessen, Dreamland
82. Richard Peck, A Long Way from Chicago
83. Chris Lynch, Gold Dust
84. Gary Paulsen, The Beet Fields: Memories of a Sixteenth Summer
85. Judith Guest, Ordinary People
86. Joseph Bedier, The Romance of Tristan and Iseult
87. David Klass, You Don’t Know Me
88. Carol Plum-Ucci, What Happened to Lani Garver
89. Jerry Spinelli, Star Girl
90. Sonya Sones, One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies
91. Ann Brashares, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
92. Karen Hesse, Out of the Dust
93. Lois Lowry, The Giver
94. Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
95. Michael Chabon, Summerland
96. Sarah Dessen, Just Listen
97. Marsha Qualey, Just Like That
98. Newbery Winner
99. Newbery Winner
100. Newbery Winner

Phew! Anyone else want to join me and compile their own list?

Special thanks to Ren Feathers for the cool artwork, and to Emily Cross who started a blog for those participating in Fill-in-the-Gaps.

Shiny

My toenails. They're shiny.

Not just regular, fresh-from-a-pedicure shiny.

Twinkling shiny.

The lady at the pedicure place put rows of tiny diamonds along the edge of my freshly painted toenails today. For free.

This is how it happened:

Olivia came in to visit Christina and me while we were getting our toenails done. She had been playing at the indoor playground down the hall with her siblings, but she came in for a few minutes and was pretty jealous that we were getting pedicures and she wasn't.

She looked awfully cute today, wearing a flowery dress and her hair in two braids. The pedicurist commented on how beautiful she was.

"Thanks," I said.

A little while later the lady commented again, "She's so cute. American children are so cute."

I smiled. "She's Tianjin ren." Meaning, she was born in Tianjin.

"Shi ma?" cried the lady, her eyes getting big. Really?

I swear, half the time -- no, more than half the time -- when people here talk about Olivia, they don't realize she's Chinese. They just make comments like, "Her hair is darker than yours," or "She doesn't look like you." Then they're absolutely amazed when I tell them she's adopted. Flabbergasted, in fact.

"Yes," I replied. "She was in the Tianjin Orphanage."

The lady promptly gave me the thumbs up. "You're wonderful. You're wonderful." Her eyes were wide as she looked at me; I thought she might start crying. "You're wonderful."

I don't know how to respond when people say this to me. Usually I just try to defer the praise to Olivia. "She's wonderful. We love her." I want people to know she is a blessing, a gift, a fulfillment of a dream to us, more than we could ever be to her. After all, we chose her, not the other way round. Getting her adoption finished after all those years of waiting was nothing short of a miracle. We are thankful, brimming-over thankful, that she's our lawful child.

But my Chinese isn't good enough to say all that.

The pedicurist continued looking at me with round eyes, looking at Olivia, teasing her, spoiling her. Olivia even got a free nail painting.

And before I knew quite what was happening, the pedicurist was edging my toes with diamonds. When I asked why, she looked at me and said, "You're wonderful."

All I could do was shake my head, severely humbled, wishing I could give praise where praise was due.

After all, Olivia's adoption was so much more than simply bringing a child into our home. It was a journey, one that started for me long before Olivia was born.

As a senior in high school I visited an orphanage in Fujian province. Wandering the halls, I heard a sound coming from a room that at first appeared dark and empty. When I peeked in through the cracked door I saw there was a baby with a cleft lip and palate left there to die because it "couldn't eat." I left that orphanage sobbing, praying, wishing I were old enough, rich enough, powerful enough to scoop that baby up and smuggle it back to Hong Kong with me. I wasn't and I couldn't.

Seven years later I moved to China and met Olivia in the baby room of the Tianjin orphanage. I looked at her lying there in the crib, six weeks old, with her bright black eyes and fell heart-stop-beating in love. Her cleft lip and palate just cemented it for me. This is the baby I want.

Seven years later Aaron and I finally finished Olivia's adoption. That was a year ago this month.

Phew. It gives me goosebumps. This has nothing to do with me. I couldn't have come up with a story like that, not to mention timing like that.

I feel touched when I look at my twinkling toes. Maybe that was this woman's way of saying thank you to me -- xie xie. For what? For cherishing one of our children....

All I can say is, "Bu yong xie." There's no need to thank. Believe me.

Great Family, Great Wall

We have visitors. Aaron's brother, Benji, and his lovely wife, Christina, are here visiting us for one week.

We spent Monday and Tuesday in Beijing, showing them the sights -- the Forbidden City, the Great Wall -- and saying goodbye to those places ourselves.

We rode up to the Great Wall on a ski lift-type contraption. I was impressed by the silence and the smell of pine trees. Snowflakes fluttered down.

The Great Wall is always breathtaking, but especially so behind a soft-falling curtain of snow. We stood mesmerized, gazing at this man-made thing snaking over the jagged range, away into the distance. Just when you thought you were seeing the end of it, there stood another half-crumbled guard tower on a distant peak.

We walked up and down a thousand stairs, some shallow and gradual, some high and steep. The Chinese people we met seemed proud. Laughing. Confident. They deserve to be proud. Their heritage is amazing. I looked at Olivia and thought, "Your people accomplished this!" I wonder if any of her ancestors worked to carve out this wall, if any of their bones are buried under the foundations.

When it was time to leave, time to board our toboggans for our slide back down the mountain (yes, I took Sophie down the mountain on my lap in a toboggan!), I told our children to touch the wall, to say goodbye. They did it, reverently. We don't know when we'll be here again, breathing in the sweet smell of pines in this swirl of snow on this seemingly eternal wall. Maybe never.

"If you haven't been to the Great Wall, you aren't a real man."

- Chairman Mao

Sophie is now, officially, a real baby.