Curled Around My Finger

Sometimes it curls around my finger. Smooth and silky, whispering in fleeting pirouettes as I try to grasp it’s honey strands. When she wakes up from a deep sleep, eyes puffy with dreams unfinished and warm, moist hands trying to rub them back into reality, the curly-q dance gives its best performance. She’ll totter unsteadily, peering anxiously over her crib slats and draw her lips into a puckery groan, begging me to free her from unnecessary time served behind bars.

I don’t always run to these moments with my heart and arms wide open. Often I am battling disappointment from the fact that she woke up earlier than I had hoped and my precariously balanced plans come crashing down around me like a barrage of post-nap crab apples. In those moments I can feel the frustration with my life like a hammering Morse code in the back of my head. I can sense the meaninglessness of the minutiae I deal with hour after hour and start to question if the core of my existence was created for this kind of work. Or if I’m feeling slightly less dramatic, I’ll at least begin spinning some sad, whiney tale in my mind in preparation for when Josh arrives home and I can unleash all details of how our brood of conniving children have conspired together to drive me to insanity.

In my more lucid moments, when the mid-afternoon cup of tea has found its rightful resting place and my nerves have paused from their tireless battles against unraveling, I greet her flushed, waking face with a more peaceful, welcoming countenance. I find delight in her slender little arms reaching up towards me with eager expectation, her eyes meeting mine as they do no one else’s, because I’m her mother.

I remember when I first looked into those eyes, all swollen and beat up with a little red birthmark stamped below her right eyebrow and another above the bridge of her nose. She reminded me of a Japanese sumo-wrestler, and that didn’t strike me as a good thing seeing as she was a newborn, Caucasian female. But it didn’t really bother me, though I did wait until the swelling went down to book any photo sessions. She was given to me and I loved taking care of her every need. It didn’t mean I never felt tired, or frustrated, or thankful for a break to get away. But, she is one of the most precious things this created world has to offer- a life, knit and fashioned and given for a time, for a purpose- the range of which we have only begun to see and may never fully realize.

And then, sometimes, her hair curls around my finger. And she looks like her father, with her startling, deep blue eyes that pull you down, down into hidden depths and dark swirly waters. She’s a complicated little bird. And so is he… so, I love her: her sideways glances and glowering, cranky pouts, her panting wide open smiles and sweet, soft, misplaced kisses. I love when she runs full steam ahead to join in her brother’s wrestling match, her legs like wooden trunks pounding stiffly as they propel her into their fun with abandon. I love that she is flung here and there by said brothers and rarely seems inconvenienced by the bumps and knocks she receives. I love her diaper clad bottom, struggling to remain in the confines of her made-for-little-people pants and the way she shamelessly shuffles it around, or burrows it in your lap for momentary respite. I love the sweet curve of her rosebud lips and the sad, downward slope of her contemplative eyebrows. I love that she can wear pink and skirts and jewels in her ears; but will run and climb and play ball with the best of them.

And someday, when her plump, dimpled thighs have faded into baby book history I know I’ll get to learn the kind of stories that make her cry, or the first book that makes her soul grow older, the people she struggles not to impress and the words that will hurt her most. I hope I always get to look into those deep, watery eyes and know all that makes them stir and swirl, to hold her slender hands and learn what makes them clasp in anxious petition or clap and sing for joy. She’s a gift, given for a time and treasured for each hard and beautiful moment.

Today she turns one. My Sadie, and I love her.

They Are Here

"THEY'RE HERE!!"

It's been almost a year in the making with the last few months being full of preparation, all leading up to the moment when we saw their tired but excited faces round the corner and exit the airport baggage claim. They are here: my younger brother Brian, his beautiful wife Josey, and their sweet little boy, Judah (plus one in the oven).

For me, one of the greatest difficulties in making the decision to move to a place like China was the realization that few, if any of our family and friends would be able to visit us and we had to accept the fact that some of our most important relationships would change, or at least have to survive on a different type of communication. So, when the possibility came up of Brian coming to Qingdao for his student teaching, we got pretty excited. Not only would that mean they would be able to come here to see this country and experience our day to day life, but they would be doing it for a long time. 69 days to be exact. 69 DAYS! In some ways I feel like we're right back home in the States, sharing birthdays and Christmas, Thanksgiving and Sunday afternoons after church.

For the last couple weeks leading up to their arrival, I had many last minute details to pull together. We live in a nice, spacious apartment (for China) that has three bedrooms and 1 plus 1 sort of bathroom (by that I mean that it also doubles as a laundry room/mud room and the shower head shoots water down directly onto the toilet). This is absolutely sufficient for our family of 5 but with adding two more adults and a 2.5 year old, there was some re-arranging that would need to be done. So after multiple bed swaps, and re-organizing of wardrobes, etc. we were ready to add another family to our home.

Riley and Ari had been watching it seems. They had their own list of preparations to make which included making messages to tape to the outside of our door to be opened upon the Miller's arrival, making name tags for the doors so they could find out where to sleep, brainstorming about "arrival plans" which included "quiet time instead of showing them all the stuff we made for them so they can just RELAX," and of course, telling literally every human body they came into contact with that their "favorite wrestler" was coming to visit. Most people became somewhat surprised and intrigued, perhaps expecting that the latest WWF wrestler was coming to Qingdao for a tour. When it was realized that Riley was merely referring to "Uncle Brian," their interest understandably waned.

They are here, and we are thoroughly enjoying having the extra laundry, longer grocery lists, and early morning wake up calls. Hopefully they are enjoying the three extra kids to antagonize Judah, the severe shortage of western food, and the serious lack of personal space. I'm trying to convince Josey to do a "guest blog" while she is here, where you might be able to hear more of how they are faring. For now, 11 days into it, we are feeling blessed and grateful for a rare and unique time with family, and I'm pretty sure we'll be saying the same when the next 58 days comes to an end.

Grow Baby, Grow

The air outside today was a bit cooler than it has been in recent weeks, a sign that the season is changing- and one of the only signs as the leaves here do little more than shrivel into brittle, brown remnants of their former selves and fall unhappily to the ground. It's a sign that the growing season is coming to an end. I think of my dad's garden at home in Indiana and all the beautiful, fresh vegetables and colorful flowers he always plants to accompany them. Soon, he'll be tilling it all under again.

My thoughts today, however did not flush with the impending doom of summer. I am in growth mode. And who wouldn't be with a little brood of flourishing children, a packet of cherished herb seeds, and a soul in need of the Gardener's touch.

Grow Baby (Spinach), Grow

So, when I set out to find myself a little herb kit this summer to take back with me to China, I found that I had to pick from sets- none of which contained exactly the combination I wanted. After some agonizing moments, I settled on my top priority- basil. It seemed a little odd to me that she (basil is feminine, right?) was paired with none other than catnip. Catnip? Seriously? I didn't realize that this was allowed to be consumed by humans. I guess I just naively assumed it was only put in those nasty little cat toys, not grown as a savory herb for the adorning of dishes eaten by homo sapiens. I guess I was wrong.

So, reluctantly I attended to my little soil pellets, watering and watching anxiously for several days until the seedlings started to poke their heads through the topsoil. Now, a couple months into the project, wouldn't you believe which one is flourishing like a bed of overgrown weeds... that's right, the catnip. Anybody have any recipes you want to send me?

I also started a small container of spinach. The growing season may be a bit late so we'll have to see if it finished okay indoors. My dream is to someday have a little container garden on the narrow patio outside our apartment. I read last year in the biography of Nelson Mandela how in his final place of imprisonment he had dozens of 5 gallon buckets in which he grew a whole slew of fresh vegetables. I'm not imprisoned for standing against apartheid, but I do aspire to be a gardener even though I have zero soil/land to my name. So in that regard, Nelson Mandela is my hero.

Grow Baby (Girl), Grow

When she arrived I have to admit that I did not think she was that attractive. She was a bit beat up, huge (10.3 lbs, or 4.75 kilos), bloated, and the word that best seemed to describe her to me was "beast." I apologize if this offends any of you mothers who deems it crime not to fall instantly in love with the sight of your child, but I knew I would come around in time and she just honestly scared me at first.

We're good now though- in fact, although we had some rough months of travel and sleep-deprivation this summer- I just can't get enough of cuddlin' and kissin' her now. She makes the funniest, expressive little faces- scrunching her nose and puckering her lips at me in mock frustration, then smiling with a twinkle in her eye- I swear she has a good sense of humor already- something I highly value in other people. I love that she already likes to kick a ball around with her feet and wants to tackle and wrestle with her brothers. She's rockin' the girly thing with her pierced ears and pretty blue eyes, but I think she's going to be fun and sporty and full of spirit.

Grow Baby (Faith), Grow

I am nearing the end of a personal decade this year. That's right, I am 29. If I think about it too much or for too long, I can start to get really discouraged about where I'm at in comparison to where I should be at as far as spiritual maturity. I'm pretty sure this is the WRONG way to be thinking about it... didn't C.S. Lewis say something about the truly humble person is not the one who thinks little of himself, it's the one who doesn't think of himself at all. So, I'm clearly not that person yet because I'm thinking about what a loser I am!

But, even though this "I'm not what I should be" kind of thinking does seem to plague most of us once in awhile, I am equally encouraged by seasons of change that I sometimes sense God is bringing about in my thinking and faith. Last year Josh and I were so thankful to be a part of a small group that really challenged and changed some of our thinking through a great study of Galatians and a good friend who led the way by sharing his own journey and growth in faith.

Recently, I've picked up a book I've had forever and have even read parts of before- but only in the last month has it clicked in a really impactful way. Sometimes a good book needs to be met at the right time, that moment in life when you are somehow ready to receive it differently than if you just took in the information for the sake of writing a paper, or to grow in knowledge. For me, this is just such a time and the book is The Believer's School of Prayer by Andrew Murray, a classic on prayer- and highly recommended if you are also at just such a place in your life.

homemade headache

I read something recently about sewing. Now, I am not a sewer, and there is a reason for that. I can't finish anything, and don't have the fortitude or desire or whatever is needed (like interest) to take the time and read the directions and see the project to its bitter end. But this piece I read was giving some advice for those would-be sewers and some ways to get through the inevitable frustrations that it can bring. Like, stopping before that "hit the wall" mark. Or, carving out a space of time instead of starting 10 minutes before your baby wakes up from her nap.

Well, I don't have a sewing machine and I'm not planning on starting anything thread-related anytime soon, but I did take some of these tips to heart as I headed into a weekend of way too much homemade cooking.

That may sound like I'm being pretentious. "I'm so tired and weary of creating an oasis of Martha Stewart-like ambiance and deliciously healthy homemade meals for my family." But I assure you I am being very sincere. I wish I could say that every homemade attempt of mine is a shocking and stellar success. But, in fact, they are not.

So, at the risk of boring you with the details of my weekend, let me share with you some little tips I learned along the way on my Way-T00-Much-Homemade-Food Weekend.

Tip #1 Once uncorked, wine cannot be stored at room temperature.

Okay, maybe most of you are laughing at me right now, but I'm not a big wine drinker, okay? In our house, a nice brew usually wins the day. Anyway, I do buy wine for cooking but I'm embarrassed to admit that I have normally left it out on the counter after opening it. My friends Carolyn and Steph were here for dinner the other night and informed me of their similar infraction- but they at least found out what the appropriate time frame was for an opened bottle. So, I've been cooking with bad wine. I discovered this AFTER I had made a whole big batch of from-scratch spaghetti sauce as well as a whole batch of marinara sauce for pizza.

Tip #2 Too much bread can be too much of a good thing

When I make spaghetti I like to make Focaccia bread to go with it. I've also been searching for a good pizza crust recipe, since I've yet to be satisfied with all the bland ones I've tried. Since I was already spending the time on the Focaccia, I thought I'd double the recipe and make the other half into pizza crusts. Spaghetti and bread on Sat. night, spaghetti leftovers for lunch on Sunday, and by the time Sunday night rolled around and I was pulling big hunky, crunchy pizzas out of the oven, our eyes were bulging with the sight of yet more carbohydrates to digest. Here's another tip: pre-cooked pizza crusts are way too dried out and crispy if they are cooked a second time. I told you this was not a glamour show of homemade food.

Tip #3 If you are stuffed with Carbs by Sunday night, don't make waffles on Monday morning.

That's right, as a "gift" to Josh I bought him a rare find... a waffle maker here in China. My plan was to get up bright and early with Riley and Ari to whip up some fantastic waffles. That may have been a great idea if we were not all bloated from a weekend of starch. And let me tell you something about homemade waffles- they don't tread lightly. Lots of oil, eggs, sugar, ugh- I'm sick just thinking about it again. And to go with this heart-healthy breakfast we had to make, you guessed it- homemade syrup!- another missing delicacy in our city (well, you can get it for a price$$). I know store-bought syrup has a lot of sugar and other chemicals, but for some reason the homemade kind seems ten times sweeter. Way too much of a good thing. Next time, stick with a fruit bowl and yogurt.

This sad tale does have a happy ending. I went to the market later that Monday and bought lots of fresh, yummy greens and colorful vegetables and we had big bowls of salad for dinner that night. This was topped off with Josh's favorite dessert- cheesecake. You may be wondering how we were able to stomach it... and I'm not sure how either but it's amazing how quickly your body can recover:)

With all the missteps and frustrations that filled my Homemade Weekend, I was thrilled to finally have a winner with this cheesecake. The crust was my favorite part- a mixture of three kinds of nuts (almonds, pecans, and walnuts) and my own special twist- pretzels. It turned out so creamy and smooth. Mmmm... with a mug of strong, hot java to round out the moment.

Here is to hoping your homemade attempts, whatever they may be- are much more successful, enlightened, and healthy than mine!

A Tale of Two Languages

One of the things you often notice here in China is the funny and often very inaccurate translations from Chinese into English. I know the reason for this is the diametrical difference in the way our two languages "think." Mandarin truly is a language of pictures and this becomes more and more impressed upon me the more I learn of it.

My language tutor, Eileen (her "English" name) was talking with me this week and asking me how I was doing. I was explaining to her that the beginning of the year is always hard. She said, "I know. You have three kids- you must be very tired." (This by the way is probably by far the most common phrase I hear coming from a Chinese person when they talk to me!) I replied that the kid thing isn't really that big of a deal (ha!) but more it is because I've just ended a summer full of rest and time with my husband, and now the busyness of school has begun again and there is too little time for us- which inevitably creates issues! A wave of recognition and understanding swept over her whole demeanor and she started explaining how she experiences the same dynamic when life is busy with she and her husband as well. "Gou tong" is what we need, she said.

The meaning of "Gou tong" is a beautiful picture of two rivers flowing and as they meet together they interconnect, or latch on to one another. Like if you take your arms and have them clasp each other in a lock. It's hard to fully describe because the character for "gou" and for "tong" both have their own separate descriptive meaning. But the best translation maybe is just simply "conversation." After seeing her describe these different words though, I felt like "conversation" did not do the beauty of the Mandarin meaning justice.

Now it was my turn. My ayi has been watching me for the past few weeks as I have attempted to plant some of the herb and vegetable seeds I brought back from the States this summer. It probably seems like a hilarious charade of events to her as I attempt to buy the correct soil and pots, place them in the correct place, instruct her what not to water, etc. It's a delicate if not difficult task to grow something here since I can't read any directions or descriptions of product, and there is no Lowe's or friendly neighborhood greenhouse to help me out. I've managed to keep a few alive but there have been several casualties. She must wonder if I'm cut out for this.

So in an attempt to let my ayi know that I know I may not be able to cut it as a horticulturist, the other day I attempted to explain to her some of our favorite idioms. Specifically, the old phrase, "Green Thumb." I thought it would be cute to let her in on our little nickname for a Gardening Goddess (and the fact that Josh had told me I might not be one)... but instead it came out more like...

"At America, if person good at grow (here used hand motion for grow) flower, we say they have a thumb (here I ask how to say thumb), the thumb is green. They have a green thumb. You understand? My husband say maybe I not have one."

She laughed politely. You might be doing the same. I somehow doubt she had the same awestruck feelings of wonder at the beauty of our language that I had experienced for hers the day before.

First Days of School

Do most mother's dream of the first day they send their children off to school? I have to say I didn't. Even though we spent the last couple years agonizing (it seemed) over whether or not we should send Riley early, or make him wait another year, the first day of this momentous occasion seemed like it snuck up on me.

The first clue that I was not planning for this day as I ought was when I caused him to miss the bus because of my lackadaisical preparations, i.e. never actually checking the bus schedule. This resulted in me guessing based on when I saw the kids walking up the hill to catch the bus last year, and I was off by about twenty minutes- twenty minutes too late it turned out. My sweet boy was un-phased by this mistake on my part and we quickly recovered by borrowing money from another mom (I was toting Ari and Sadie in my running garb) and hailing a taxi for the 25 minute ride to school. Not long after getting on the taxi I realized First Day Failure #2: Forgot to take picture of first child on their first day of school heading out the door.

When we arrived the excitement that had been building in Riley's psyche for almost two years now all dwindled in a matter of seconds when he surveyed the crowd of what seemed like thousands of children (in reality maybe around 100?) gathering in the main courtyard. They were filing nicely into their classes and looked excited, cheery, maybe a little nervous for the first day to begin. Riley was nearly in the fetal position. By now, sobbing and stating quite firmly he was not staying and was returning home with me and the rest of his comrades from the womb. Looking back, I think it was a Divine change of plans that we missed that bus and I was able to be there with him to work through those first tough moments. Finally, a couple friends who are teachers came over and offered to stay with Sadie and Ari while I went with Riley to his classroom, which we did- with him still firmly believing that he would not be staying. But it is amazing what a few well-placed name tags will do for a 4 year old and it was not long after finding his personal cubby, seat, coat hook, and who knows what else, that he was waving goodbye while hurriedly wiping tears from his face in an effort to become the mature Pre-K'er he now believed he had always been.

With the traumatic beginning behind us, the days have continued with little incident. The makeup of his class makes for some funny stories. It's quite diverse: 6 kids with four languages (Korean, Chinese, German, and English). Riley stated that they all speak Spanish. His Chinese is improving little by little though, which is encouraging. Today he also asked me if he could have some alone time in his room, building with blocks... "like, this could be the Building Center and you and Ari could go to the Cooking Center in the kitchen like we have at school."

Though I failed to look sentimentally ahead to this day with any real emotional preparation, I do find that my heart twinges a bit when he kisses me goodbye in the morning, sounding so old and adult with his questions about what he has for lunch and telling us he'll miss us but not to worry about him. And I've been trying to make up for my initial lack of enthusiasm by working on ideas to restore myself to status of Supermom... at least in my son's eyes. One idea that I thought was pretty ingenious but was quickly corrected otherwise was making super healthy, sugarless oatmeal cookies! What good mom doesn't try to provide healthy, heart-conscious snacks for her growing, brain and muscle-developing children? Riley was not fooled. A request was put in for the "OTHER oatmeal cookies, mom!" I have pressed on though. With a little tweaking of the recipe I think it's pretty good now and the boys seem satisfied- or at least they are eating and not choking or gagging... and sometimes ask for more.

So, in honor of the First Day's of School here is a new, healthy, not-too-bad-tasting recipe for Oatmeal Cookies.

1 cup whole wheat flour (perhaps 1/4- 1/2 cup more depending on the moisture of the dough)

1 1/2 cups rolled oats

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1 T. cinnamon

1/2 cup honey

1/2 cup olive oil (can also use some applesauce in place of oil if you want)

1 T. molasses

2 eggs (beat with 1 T. water)

1 tsp vanilla

can also add raisins or walnuts OR I added about 1/2 - 1 cup small, diced apples.

Returning to China for those whose home country is elsewhere must always have strong sensations associated with it. There are smells and sounds and sights that are so particular to this place and can overwhelm you with their reality when you are flung back into their presence. For me these past two weeks, they included some of the following: the sound of a xiao (chinese flute) being played by an elderly man as I ran along the ocean path early one morning, the pungent odor of feces and garbage accentuated by the oppressive heat as I walked to the store, a mini van slowing down to my walking speed and following me for several minutes simply in order to stare at me- a waiguoren (foreigner), fresh steamed vegetables and jiaozi with rice for dinner!, the smiling face of our ayi and her genuinely delighted hugs and kisses for the kids upon our return, pushing my cart through hoards of sweaty crowds as I fought with pushy old ladies to get my vegetables weighed at the grocery store, a broken air conditioner.

But for all the beautiful, easy, convenient things I miss about life in the States, there are many things I love and appreciate about the people and pace of life here in China. I love the simplicity of our schedule and the close fellowship we share with our friends. I love the cheap food and the fact that I'm forced to make many more things by hand. I love the friendliness of the people and the way they love children and the fact that I feel safe most of the time. I am grateful that because life is not easy for so many around me, it forces me to think about my own life and the life of others in a different way.

The days continue to resume a bit more normalcy and routine. Riley started school last week. Sadie began sleeping through the night again. I was able to stay awake past 7:30pm. Chinese lessons start again in a couple weeks and I'm reinvigorated to start studying again. On our flight back to China, after finishing a bowl of yogurt, Riley looked up at me with his empty bowl and said "Mom. meiyou (meaning " have none"). My Chinese is back!"

I don't know the secret to contentment, though I did read a great book on it by the Puritan Thomas Watson once. He had some excellent pastoral ideas, but not the magic potion:) There is something simple about doing the thing before you that you believe God has given you to do though. And for us, that is being in this place. In spite of all that is not ideal (is there any ideal place though really?), I continue to find peace and contentment here. It's almost surprising to me and maybe even moreso that it continues! So, the return to the Far East is bagged. I'm glad to be back and ready to embrace the ridiculous humidity, obnoxious stares, and funky smells. I think it helps that I snuck back a few goodies from Target too. Here's to being content wherever in the world it is God places you.