Bottoms up!

More soon!

In addition to evoking feelings of nostalgia, looking at those photos, especially those from our first month in China, is reminding me of how incredibly stressful, confusing, and chaotic those days were.  So, in addition to experiencing warm, happy memories, I’ve also been remembering stuff that evokes a truly unpleasant visceral response in me.  For example,  just this morning, I found a series of photos that look like this:

And this:

It took me a few seconds to remember why I had taken so many photos that don’t seem to highlight anything particularly interesting – they’re just shots of streets inside Tsinghua University’s campus.  Then I remembered that those photos had actually served as my one and only way-finding aid during those first few weeks.  In the days before we knew our way around and before could get our hands on a map written in English, the only way I could ensure I would ever make it back from the grocery store four blocks away was to take photos at every intersection on my way there and then refer to them on my way home.  I felt sort of pathetic walking around staring at my camera, but in those days of hard-core “blooming, buzzing confusion,” it was the best I could do.  It certainly worked better than our other strategy, which involved handing a map to P to see if she could make any more sense of it that we could.

Eventually, we developed more effective ways of orienting ourselves outside.  For example, we found that the omnipresent smoke stacks around Beijing could do more than just fill the air with thick, yellow smog;  they could also serve as really useful landmarks to help us find our way home.  Our favorite smoke stack was right outside our apartment, and we began referring to that symbol of home affectionately as “Old Smokey.”   As I was looking at old photos this morning, I was surprised by just how many shots prominently feature Old Smokey.

Then it occurred to me that that pollution producer was, in a way, our only friend in China during those chaotic first weeks.

I also found this photo this morning.

It’s our washer.  I carted around this photo for weeks trying to find a translator who could tell me which buttons to push and where to pour the soap.  It wasn’t until mid-March that I discovered I had been washing our clothes with fabric softener.

Those days were rough.  The worst part was seeing how hard the transition was for P.  I was reminded of P’s first days in China yesterday when I took her to the doctor  for an ear infection.  Here she is waiting for the doctor to examine her.

She looks like she’s on death’s door, doesn’t she?  In reality, she wasn’t all that sick.  I think she was just terrified of the doctor’s office, and I have to think the reason for her intense fear had to do with the fact that the last time she saw a doctor was during her “physical check” at a Beijing hospital our second week in China.

Here’s a short video I took of the scene in the waiting room that day.

I’m pretty sure it was that hospital visit that initiated P’s three-month-long nervous habit of gnawing on her hands and clothing.

I also think it was that experience that caused me to look a whole lot like this for the next few months.

Gosh, this has turned into a real Debbie Downer-esque post.  Sorry for that.  In an effort to end on a more uplifting note, here’s a photo from last February that makes me smile, not twitch.

Since we were leaving for Boston at an absurdly early hour on Christmas morning, we convinced P that the 23rd was Christmas Eve in order to get the opening of presents out of the way on the 24th.  Luckily, she’s at an age at which these kinds of Santa adjustments are easily made.  Moreover, her young age and the fact that she can’t really read much yet made my forgetting to bring the kids’ stockings to my parents’ house a non-issue.  P didn’t even notice that Santa had filled a cousin’s stocking for her.

It didn’t occur to me until Christmas Eve (well, the fake Christmas Eve on the 23rd) that I had neglected to buy anything for Wee P’s stocking.  Again, we were lucky, and Wee P was perfectly content with her fruit-filled stocking labeled, “WILL.”

Okay, maybe it was just that she couldn’t see the stocking and its disappointing contents through all that hair.  Maybe Santa should have brought her mother a comb.  P seemed a little confused and asked, “Why did Santa bring me socks and toys, and he only brought Wee P a bunch of grapefruit and bananas?”  I mumbled something about it likely being a result of Wee P’s constant screaming for the past three days, and P seemed satisfied with this answer.

Our flights to Boston weren’t fun. We spent 15 hours of our Christmas Day on planes (included four hours on grounded ones) and in airports.  P and Wee P handled the trip and its frustrations far better than I did.  The complimentary cocktails helped.

On our first morning in Boston, P got to build her very first snowman.

It’s a good thing she got out in the snow that first day, because the temperature rose to 60 degrees the following day, reducing poor Frosty to this.

While in Boston, P also got to go see her very first movie in a theater.  It was Disney’s Princess and the Frog.  Even though I’m not a huge fan or Disney or of princess movies, I was excited about this film, as it’s the first to feature an African American heroine.  I liked it for the most part and even got a little teary-eyed toward the end when <<spoiler alert>> a certain toothless, Cajun bug was reincarnated into a wishing star.  Nevertheless, I thought the film stunk in terms of its portrayal of women’s bodies.  Check it out – the princess’ head circumference is approximately twice that of her waist.

Fortunately, P seemed unbothered by the bobble-headed princess and her pinkie-sized waist.  At least,  she showed no signs of restrictive eating behaviors as a result of viewing the celebration of such an unobtainable figure.

Eat on, P!  Yes, that bucket of popcorn was bigger than both P’s and that princess’ heads combined, and yes, she ate every bite of it, and yes, it cost a small fortune.

All in all, the trip up north was great.  We did a lot of hanging out with Chris’ family, all of whom are wonderful, generous people.  We also got to make a trip into Boston’s Chinatown for the best food we’ve had since leaving China.  Wee P had the restaurant workers wrapped around her wee finger, and it was very clear that she remembers and loves the sights, sounds, and smells of China;  she positively glowed with happiness throughout the entire meal.

The one sad aspect of our trip was the death of Chris’ sister’s beloved bulldog, Bella, on New Year’s eve.   P was sad about Bella.  After all, she’s known her since they were both mere pups.

I tried to take the opportunity to talk a little with P about death.  However, P clearly didn’t really get the whole idea of the finality of death, and she kept insisting that if she wished hard enough on a particular wishing star (the one that was formerly a toothless, Cajun bug, by the way), Bella would get well again and come home.  I finally gave in and told her that she was probably right.  We’ll save the death discussion for another couple of years, I think.  In the meantime, P has been practicing writing sympathy cards.

We finally made it home on the 2nd and almost immediately received a snowstorm of our own.  Here’s a good friend of ours hanging out in our snowy front yard.

P enjoyed her second opportunity in as many weeks to play in the white stuff.

By the way, see the hat she’s wearing?

It’s pretty old.

Happy 2010, people!

Wee P, on the other hand, concerns me.  Or, more accurately, her father concerns me.  I walked in last night and saw this.

If there’s any question about what that character’s fate was, here’s the next scene.

Good lord!

In other news, P and her preschool classmates had their very first public performance on Friday night and sang a variety of Christmas songs for a community-wide holiday program.  I was confused about the performance date and was certain it was scheduled for Saturday night.  By the time I figured out my error, I panicked, realizing I had a total of 15 minutes to transform this street urchin

into this.

Not even Henry Higgins himself could compete with my powers of transformation.  Don’t you agree?  Of course, there were some small details I missed, so I’m thrilled she’s hiding her fingers in the shot above.

Wee P thoroughly enjoyed watching her big sister’s big show.

I could tell Wee P was feeling somewhat protective of her sister throughout the performance,  and given the moves she’s likely picked up from her nightly TV viewing with her dad, had anyone within earshot muttered anything about the filthy nails on the little girl in the black and pink jumper, I fear this might have been the poor fool’s fate.

Wishing you all a happy, peaceful holiday season!

My Aunt Mamie died on Thanksgiving morning. She was 96. I wasn’t the best niece to her, and unlike my sisters, I rarely visited her in the nursing home. I also failed to make it to her funeral yesterday, so in an effort to do right by her for once in my life, I’m dedicating this post to her memory.

Although Aunt Mamie never had any of her own, she loved babies. Loved them, I say. If you merely showed her a photo of one, she’d immediately begin proclaiming her love to the pictured tyke and wouldn’t stop until she’d said, “God love your little heart,” and “I want to just eat you up,” a dozen or so times. But, oh man, if you showed her a real, live baby? And if you asked her to hold said real, live baby? Step back and watch the true love fest begin. Here’s Aunt Mamie with a four-week-old P.

I don’t know if you can see it in this picture, but at that very moment, Aunt Mamie’s head was on the verge of exploding from sheer joy. Good thing P could understand all that stuff about eating her up, because knowing P as I do, she would have been a little freaked out.

In a way, my sisters and I owe our very existence to Aunt Mamie, as she’s responsible for setting my parents up on their first date. According to lore, Aunt Mamie was afraid my dad would be intimidated by my mother’s advanced degree, so before that first meeting, Aunt Mamie reassured my dad by saying, “Now, Sara’s real educated, but don’t worry about that, because to talk to her, you’d never know it.” I guess that sealed the deal, because my parents were married a few months later.

To Aunt Mamie, baby lover and match-maker extraordinaire:  Rest in peace.

And what screams Thanksgiving more than massive amounts of meatballs, hot Italian sausage, and rigatoni?  I’m pretty sure the pilgrims used parmesan rather than Pecorino Romano (or as P calls it, “the cheese of our people”) but otherwise, it was a fairly authentic Thanksgiving feast.

Later on, P and Wee P had fun engaging in that other traditional Thanksgiving pastime.

Joyfully playing under a brightly-lit fir tree.  Was it the Native Americans who introduced gumdrops to the pilgrims, or was it the other way around?  I forget.

In any case, we have much to be thankful for this year.  For example, P is thankful for her Aunt Lisa for pulling out the gigantic tub of dress-up clothes.

Wee P, too.

Fierce!

Personally, I was most thankful to see this in my rear view mirror as we were driving home tonight.

And this.

Here’s hoping you had a fabulous Thanksgiving, too.  And a quiet, peaceful drive home.

Your infant still cannot communicate through words, but she has other means of letting you know what she thinks, feels, or wants. Crying, of course, still serves your baby well as a means of communicating her needs. By around five months, however, your baby begins to communicate in other nonverbal ways. She also increasingly uses facial expressions and gestures to get her message across.

Your baby may scrunch up her face when presented with a new food. She may frown when something puzzles her (as so many things do). She will open her mouth wide with surprise. She may stick out her tongue and make a “blah” face if something displeases her.

Had I read the next book, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Parenting a Preschooler and Toddler, maybe I would have realized the importance of paying attention to those nonverbal cues long after a child has become a fluent speaker.  Let’s examine the body language exhibited by the preschooler in the photo below.

It seems this is the nonverbal signal that says, “I’m approximately 30 seconds from puking right here in this blasted car seat.  Does this look like a photo op?”  I wish I had known.

I was really expecting P’s response to be a lot like little Clayton’s.

Because, you know, it would be true.  Unless nuking the occasional turkey dog counts.

As it turns out, P did me a solid, and of all the kids’ responses, hers was the only one that suggested a mother with a bit of a clue.

Okay, so the cooking time is a little short, but relatively speaking, she did a fantastic job.  I mean, check out Ryleigh’s.

And Harley’s.

Harley’s mom and I were checking out the board at the same time, and I could tell she was simultaneously amused and appalled as she read Harley’s turkey.

Little Briton’s response sort of disturbed me.

But at least the shooting comes before the cooking.  That’s something, I guess.

I lucked out this time, but I’m a little nervous about the theme of next month’s bulletin board.  If it’s something like, “How Often I’m Bathed,” or “The Words My Mommy Uses that I Can’t Use,” I think I’m in trouble.

P and Wee P’s baby cousin, Aiden.  Oh yeah, and his parents came, too.

The day before his arrival, P asked me which country Aiden lived in.  I laughed and explained that Boston is in the United States.  However, it occurred to me that for P, Boston might as well be another country.  After all, in his 20 months of life, P has gotten to see her youngest cousin just once before.  That was last Christmas, and look how much they’ve changed since then.

Okay, so the wiener dog is basically still the same, glowing devil eyes and all, but the kids have all grown and changed like crazy.  Haven’t they?  It’s a shame they can’t see each other more often.  It’s also a shame P no longer allows me to adorn her head with gigantic green bows.  Sigh.

P clearly adores her cousin.

And Wee P enjoys engaging in some high-spirited parallel play sitting with him.

On Halloween night, P wore the same monkey costume she’s worn for the past three years.  Here she is all monkeyed up in it last year.

See how the monkey feet went all the way down to the bottom of her human feet back then?  This year, the monkey feet landed at mid-calf level.

P didn’t seem to notice or care.  So why didn’t I get the poor child a new costume?  Believe me, I tried, but all the options I found for little girls were, well, trashy.  Even the witch costumes I found were heavy on the skank.  Check out this “glamor witch.”

Gross.

After a little trick-or-treating, we went to a carnival at a local church.  Wee P did a lot of standing around looking positively dumbfounded.

Who can blame her?  It was a fairly weird scene.

The next day, after playing a few rounds of Bury-the-Cousin…

…Baby Aiden flew home.  We miss you, Aiden.  Come back soon!  Oh yeah, and your parents, too.

I’m thinking it probably is.