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.