Personal Cleanliness: down and dirty

WARNING: NOT FOR WEAK STOMACHS

This month’s top lessons learned in China regarding personal hygiene:

1. If you are a saleswoman in your fifties, it is perfectly acceptable to belch loudly while you bargain with foreigners. Multiple times. There will be no discreet burping, no tactful hand-over-mouth diversion, no shameful blush nor bashful glances. Just unabashed belching. The tai-tais, speechless and horrified, will be unable to look at each other or you. My advice thus:

· Belch.

· Belch out loud.

· Belch out strong.

· Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.

· Just belch.

· Belch a song.

2. If you are walking by the river, please feel free to squat and defecate at your own convenience. No need to discard your toilet paper in the proper trash receptacle. Just throw it right next to your steaming pile. Foreign mountain bikers will soon conveniently roll over both and remove the offending heap, trailing the paper behind like streamers.

Now imagine my mountain bike...


2. If you are brushing your teeth with a Chinese toothbrush, be prepared for the bristles to simultaneously degrade, release from the brush, and choke you. This can happen at any given moment. Have floss at the ready. There is no doubt: those bristles will lodge between your pearly whites and in your throat.
3. If said bristles are not removed immediately, do not worry. It is 100% ok to spit bristles (or anything else that might ever be in your mouth), on the ground. In front of everyone, I might add. A busy pedestrian street would be the ideal location for your hack, but any public thoroughfare will suffice. Side note: never leave house barefoot. Second side note: take cover (like an umbrella) when you hear throat clearing.
4. If you are walking down said Phleming Road (or driving a car or shopping or eating or well, doing just about anything) and your nose itches, your only natural recourse of action will be to instantly pick-n-flick. That’s right. Pick your nose. And then flick. Pick-n-flick. Highly effective.
5. Speaking of immediate action…if you are a shopkeeper and your ear (and not your nose) itches, no worries. Please purchase a very long Q-tip. (At least a foot long is best). Sit outside your booth on short stool. Clean ear. Carefully examine ear wax while customers browse. The ear wax should best be brown. And thick. And thoroughly repulsive.
6. If perhaps you have not yet attained the correct level of maximum repulsiveness, you have another opportunity! Please continue to sit on your stool. Remove shoes and socks. Clean toe jam. Examine toe jam. Expect no foreign customers to purchase anything without exact change. Realize that no one wants to touch anything you have touched!
7. In fact, if you are in China, wear gloves. Touch nothing. See nothing. Smell nothing. This is the #1 thing I have learned about personal hygiene in China. This month. Who knows what next month will bring?

Smell no evil. See no evil. Touch no evil.

With love, laughter and honest nausea,

Kimbeijingerly

Why-le?

Chinese vocabulary word of the month:

Huaile:

• Pronunciation: rhymes with Why-le
• Definition: bad / evil / rotten / spoiled
• Personal Interpretation: Piece of crap
• Linguistic Note: Often but not always followed by xinde, particularly when used by handyman

Xinde:

• Pronunciation: Shin-duh!
• Definition: [buy a] new [one]

EXAMPLES from September 2011:

1. The kitchen bar has lost its “leg.”

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

Clearly, this is huaile.

2. The switch that turns the lights on in the back garden no longer works despite massive jiggling (which worked last year).

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

3. The handle has broken off the front gate.

Handyman's response: Huaile. Xinde.

[Piece of Crap! Buy a new one!]

4. (Unrelated to the above problem…) The same gate no longer closes.

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

5. The light fixture has fallen off the patio wall.

Huaile. Xinde.

6. The doorbell has stopping dinging.

Huaile. Xinde.

7. The 2 light bulbs that are burned-out cannot be replaced. They will not “unscrew” from the sockets.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

(Xinde light fixtures, not xinde light bulbs!)

8. The door handle has broken off the door to our patio; as a result, said door no longer opens or closes.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

(Xinde door, not xinde handle!)

9. Chinese panty-shield glue is so mighty, it rips out crotch of underwear.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

Oh, no! That was not the handyman! That was me!

My response: WHY-le? WHY-le? WHY-le?

Yes, the entire Chinese house is huaile, but the Chinese panty liner is mightier than the American panty!*

With love, laughter, frustration, and bewilderment,

Kimbeijingerly

* For those of you who think this is perhaps a one-time deal, I assure you that it happened TWICE last month!

Back in Beijing

Making the Best of It

After a fabulous summer on Oak Island, Lucas and I have returned to Beijing.

To sum up our first week: if it could go wrong, it did. (Another blog coming soon.)

Yet as a happy, cheerful person [dammit], I will not focus on the negatives. Being a tai-tai (a lady who lunches) has its positives.

I can (I will) lead a rewarding, enriching, valuable life in China!

My existence here shall encompass more than shopping and fine dining. For example, I could have a massage!

Julie, my partner in tai-tai-crime, picked up a massage menu to welcome me “home.” Now if only I could choose which massage would best ease my return to ex-pat life.

A bit of self-assessment is in order. It's always ugly to look inward.

Perhaps my feet stink?

Or my kidneys are failing.

How about The Ovary?

I did drink quite a few mojitos this summer. A little rehab may be called for.

And my abs clearly need some work. I was thinking about sit-ups, but I’ve always been a fan of therapy. "So tell me about your last supper…"

This is just crazy. What kind of spa is this? What kind of friend is Julie? What kind of country is China!?

I tell myself: get a grip! Step-back! Step-back! Step back to where you once belonged. Oh crap, that’s get back.

Maybe I do need to take a Step Back. It only costs $15 or so.

I am clearly losing my mind.

Electric shock therapy may be required. No worries: that is also available for a mere $3. No prescription needed. I wonder what the FDA thinks about that?

I need to think about this… How about a think-tank? Nope. But there is a walk tank. Walk if off, baby! Walk it off!

Or have a cool, refreshing glass of…guasha?

And how about them moxibustion regimens?

(Lymph drainage is just so gross I cannot bear to contemplate it-- or wite about it.)

It all leaves you sort of speechless. As does tush the back with the oil.

FYI: 6 = $1

HK = Hong Kong?

With love and confusion (and a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor) from Beijing,

Kimbeijingerly

PS: After a bit of research, this is what I learned about Guasha (not related to guava by the way!)

Gua sha (Chinese: 刮痧; pinyin: guā shā), literally "to scrape away fever" in Chinese (more loosely, "to scrape away disease by allowing the disease to escape as sandy-looking objects through the skin"), is an ancient medical treatment.

Scrape me up!

Let's do some crimes...

Sometimes my blog is crafted; sometimes it is just an email I have sent.

Today’s entry is a version of a letter that I wrote to some of my cycling friends yesterday. I have added a few background details for clarification.

FYI: I am currently training for an almost-400-mile, 4-day bike ride. At the end of May, my Ohio friends will be riding from Cincinnati to Cleveland. They have been training together for months while I have been trying to train in Beijing. That’s not easy without my pack and in polluted air.

I got super lucky when my good friend, Julie, agreed to ride with me when the air is clear. I also got lucky and found a fellow road cyclist, Rachael, to ride with. Still the training has not gone as well as I had hoped.

Here’s an example:

Hi!

Today Julie and I went cycling and almost got arrested for trespassing.

Who knew climbing fences was illegal?

(I admit: the property did sort of look like an official government water control thingy…)

I wish I had caught a photo of Julie doing her acrobatic flip over the first fence.

It was on a “cliff” overlooking some polluted water with a dead animal decaying on the ground next to us.

Gross.

She miscalculated the flip and landed on her back in the dirt with her cycling skirt all around her waist and the dust flying up.

It was a riot!

Well, we didn’t just climb fences...we also scooted under one.

(Sending photo.)

And man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her mountain bike was heavy to lift! And some of those fences were high!

High like I had to stand on some cement blocks that were lying around to get the bikes over.

(You may wonder why there are construction materials randomly scattered on gov’t property. Us, too! China.)

My pink bike is a total light weight!!

I got it over in no time.

But as I am handing her the 7000 pound mountain bike, she begins yelling, "Wee chinky is coming, wee chinky!"

(That's Scottish for Holy shit, here comes the guard!)

I quickly scooted under the fence (it was a tight fit) while throwing her the mt. bike and my iPhone.

She needed her bike for the getaway.

I needed a photo for the blog .

Anything for my writing career...

And my training!

We jumped on those bikes and hauled ass.

Our justification? It’s not like we could have understood the guy if we stayed around to chat.

And then, as we are zipping away, a Chinese mutt chases us, barking frantically. These decrepit little fisher women (yes, there were witnesses to the crime) start howling with laughter.

My life is weird.

Miss you!

See you in 3.5 weeks. Ready or not.

Not as the case may be. The air is HORRENDOUS.

love,

kimbeijingerly

How many Chinese does it take?

Beijing’s Very Own Light Bulb Joke

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

A lightbulb joke is a joke that asks how many people of a certain group are needed to change, replace, or screw in a light bulb. Generally, the punch line answer highlights a stereotype of the target group. There are numerous versions of the lightbulb joke satirizing a wide range of cultures, beliefs and occupations.^[1]

The original formulations of the joke, popular in the late 1960s and the 1970s, were used to insult the intelligence of Poles.^[4][5] For instance:

Q. How many Polacks does it take to change a light bulb?

A. Three—one to hold the light bulb and two to turn the ladder.

Although lightbulb jokes tend to be derogatory in tone, the people targeted by them may take pride in the stereotypes expressed and are often themselves the jokes' originators.^[6] Lightbulb jokes applied to subgroups can be used to ease tensions between them.^[7]

Kimbeijingerly's Version:

Q: How many Chinese does it take to install a car bike rack?

A: Obviously 4, with one tall American to supervise the chore.

Spring has Sprung...

Finally Spring is here in Beijing... And Yoda has some great advice for us.

Proof Positive

Having just returned from a trip to the US, I now know many of you have laughed at this blog and my antics in Beijing. I have also heard that it occasionally seems unbelievable! Imagine that!

In my defense and with the blessings of my fellow Beijinger, Kim Harrington, I am posting an email that Kim wrote from Beijing to me while I was visiting you last month. (And it was great seeing you, by the way!)

I feel certain that this blog will completely prove to you that I do not in any way, shape, or form exaggerate our Chinese mishaps.

Before reading Kim's email, take a look at this bit of info to help you navigate the weirdness:

Characters

• Kim Harrington: fellow Cincinnatian and Beijing neighbor who happens to be 8 months pregnant
• Wang Ayi: Kim’s housekeeper / house elf / munchkin
• Dragon Bay: our gated and guarded compound / neighborhood
• Jeff: Kim’s husband
• ChenChen: Kim’s husband’s secretary at P and G

Chinese Vocab

• Ayi: “auntie” or Beijing term for housekeeper
• Bao an: security guard
• Laowei: foreigner

Drum roll, please…………………And the email reads:

Hey Kimberly!

I hope things are going pleasantly in the US :)

I just had to e-mail to tell you a story that you have the unique perspective to truly appreciate...

Wang Ayi and a Dragon Bay security guard got in a fist fight the other day...

She came to the house Monday morning, and I was working from home sitting at the desk upstairs... Something was a little different about her entrance. I could tell that she was really out of breath, and she didn't banter with the dogs like usual. She runs up the stairs and tells me to come with her, and to put my coat on because it was cold outside... (This is when you start to question your second language abilities, because you hear the words, but they seem incongruent with the situation, so you're not sure...) In any event, I put my coat and shoes on and followed her out to the entrance gate (the one opposite the club house). I saw Wang Ayi's bike laying in the middle of the street, and her things were scattered everywhere. There were three guys standing around and a Dragon Bay security guard. She just takes off and runs over to the security guard and starts totally yelling at him, and he was totally yelling back at her! Every time he would respond, she would put her hands on her hips and spit somewhere near his shoes! It was crazy. I was just standing there thinking, "How am I here in this situation right now..." It just continued to escalate. She started pushing him, and then she dropped her cell phone. So, she picked up her phone, put it in her purse, put her purse down on the sidewalk, took her jacket off, and charged back at the guard. All-out brawl. He was reciprocating because he was really upset with her too.

This guy walked up to me and was like, "Is that your Ayi?", and I was like, "Ummmmm..... yeah....." So, the two of them continued to have-it-out in the entrance way... I was just hoping no one I knew was going to drive by. I specifically thought, "Well, Kimberly's in the US..." I was just seeing the headline, "Ayi and Bao An brawl in street fight as large, pregnant laowei looks on."

Wang Ayi had her hair in these two long braids going down her back (cute, but sort of like a hairstyle you haven't had since second grade), and I don't know about you, but I think the Dragon Bay security guard winter outfits look kind of like the guard outfits from the Wizard of Oz. Long coat with big furry hat (despite being red). So, it was an interesting site. These two braids flying everywhere attached to a little jumping, spitting munchkin, and the emerald city guard dishing it back at her. Anyway, this is what I was thinking when I was passively standing by...

I guess she uses that entrance everyday, and for some reason the guard told her to use the other entrance. So, he wouldn't let her in that way. I talked to her afterwards, and she seemed fine, and really not very distressed for having just been in a fist fight... but I did send an e-mail to Jeff to have ChenChen talk to her, because I thought there must be some details that I was missing about this. However, ChenChen reported back that it literally was only about coming in the entrance that morning... So, I'm still perplexed at the intensity of this confrontation for only that reason. It was good ChenChen called her though, because Wang Ayi was really happy after the phone call. I think she was happy to explain her side of the story, and that we had someone who really speaks Chinese check up on her to see that she was okay.

A Dragon Bay manager from the club house did reach agreement with the guard that she could use that entrance in the future. So, Wang Ayi said that he lets her in now, but turns away the other (clearly, less confrontational) Ayis... I guess she got the job done...

It was weird... Totally felt like I was in the middle of 'Cops: Beijing.' I probably could have enhanced the look by being the pregnant bystander with a brown bag covered Colt 45 and cigarette hanging out of my mouth...

Proof positive that Beijing is Bizarre!

With love and Laughter!

And many thanks to my correspondent, Kim, for sharing her adventures with us!

Kimbeijingerly

MADE in CHINA

Part 2

My husband’s hair does not grow out, it grows up.

Last week, I noticed that he had begun to sport a ‘fro. Not really a good look for him despite his hero worship of Jimi Hendrix.

Before I tell you the rest of the story, we have to go back a dozen years, to our first international assignment with P & G in Brussels.

First of all, Belgium is bilingual. In the North, they speak Flemish (which is really pretty much Dutch), and in the South, they speak French. We lived in the middle, and woe is Brad, we had to study both languages to communicate comfortably.

At the time, the French/Dutch language combo seemed fairly strenuous. If only we could have lived in France and learned French. Or Holland and learned Dutch. But no, P & G was in Brussels and we had to study both…

Now living in China, the idea of learning and living in any country where you can read the signs and use a dictionary would be a piece of gateau!

An aside…

Before I poke fun at Brad, I have to acknowledge that he is actually NOT a language retard. He learns quickly (I just learn a little more quickly), and he is brave enough to use what he knows. This does not mean, however, that he understands everything. He just rolls with it and keeps his sense of humor.

Shortly after arriving in Belgium, Brad needed a hair cut. I offered to go with him to…ummm…help...uhhh....navigate….the language barrier. Setting out on his own, he firmly and confidently told me he had it control.

Yes, indeed!

If shaving your head is the way to control your hair, Brad did have it completely under control!

When my husband returned home from his excursion, I was speechless. (Obviously so was Brad! He must not have known a singl word!) Somehow, my American executive had been transformed into an American soldier. He looked exactly like my brother’s 1978 GI Joe doll.\

The kind with the fuzzy head.

I never quite figured out how this happened—nor did Brad. The end result, though, was Brad buying a pair of hair clippers and occasionally shaving his own head. Hell, why pay for it when he could do it himself?

In this way, Brad has managed to avoid any more language snafus or afros. The clippers have been his style of choice now for a dozen years.

In Beijing, Brad has been shaving his head as well. Recently the clippers have sounded unwell: like a cat with a hairball. Twice Brad has had to disassemble and reassemble the clippers mid-shave. This is scary unless he is going for the Mohawk look, which P and G loves. His solution?

TAO BAO. Yes, China’s version of Ebay, in Chinese of course.

On Saturday he bravely purchased clippers using Google Translate.

On Sunday he bravely paid the bill at the non-ATM atm in our compound’s clubhouse.

On Monday, I bravely answered the door and signed for the package.

(Actually any day I answer the door is a brave day. You never know who is on the other side!)

Monday night, Brad bravely and enthusiastically opened the box.

Looks good!

The box reads:

CHAOBA

THE NEW KING OF CLIPPER SET FOR PROFESSIONAL
Ok, maybe not so good!

He plugs the clippers in.

Does not sound good.

Sounds like a lawn mower—an industrial lawn mower.

Brad examines his purchase.

Suddenly the razor blade disengages from the device and shoots across the room.

Really.

What the hell?

Like flies across the room!

Nearly takes out his eye.

Brad shrugs and unplugs the clippers.

He reattaches the very sharp blade.

He plugs them in again.

Still not sounding good.

Again with the lawn mower imitation

Again the razor blade disengages and shoots across the room.

Repeat several times.

It’s the Hair Clipper Massacre.

Finally silence.

I do not have the heart to actually follow up on the saga.

China gets the best of you sometime.

On Tuesday, I saw the clippers sitting on the staircase leading to the basement, where Brad has his Maker Desk. You know: where Brad MAKES things.

I can only imagine what Brad will produce using the CHAOBA KING OF CLIPPER SET.

It’s sure to be professional.

The culprit: made in China, of course!

Solder On, Brave Soldier

Part 2 of the Birthday Bash….

Brad is a maker.

You know: he MAKES things.

And for Lucas’s birthday, he and the boy decided to make wands with 15 other 8-year-olds.

Magic wands.

Wands with lights.

And switches.

And wires.

TECHNICAL WANDS.

Being Makers, Brad and Lucas found a cool pattern for wands on the internet that use LED lights, switches, wires, and soldering.

The good news is that Brad and Lucas know how to solder. Lucas was actually featured in Make Magazine’s “Teach Your Family to Solder” on-line edition. http://blog.makezine.com/archive/2009/07/lucas-learns-to-solder.html

He was five at the time.

Weirdos.

Have I mentioned that we live in China?

Did you know the electricity current is 220 here vs 110 in the US?

That means none of our electrical appliances work.

None.

Not even the soldering gun.

Ah.

Shopping.

Have I mentioned that we live in China?

And are you familiar with the expression “Made in China?”

This phrase is synonymous with the word crap.

As in: dollar-store crap.

As in: worth less than a dollar.

Living in China also means that Ebay does not exist.

(Ebay is where Makers buy things like soldering guns.)

We do have Tao-Bao. It’s China’s version of Ebay, and being in China, it’s in Chinese.

All Chinese.

You can sometimes run Google Translate and sorta kinda maybe figure out what the page might be saying. That’s what Brad did. And to give credit where credit is due, he ordered what he thought might be a soldering gun weeks in advance. He even paid for it at that weird “not-a-cash-machine” cash machine.

(See previous Blog Entry Update #1: a compilation of emails telling the whole story.)

Alas the soldering gun never arrived.

Lucas’s birthday is the 16^th of January. On the 15^th, I knew that at least 8 children were coming to the party and were very excited about making light-up wands—wands, I remind you, that required soldering.

Did I mention that we live in China?

And we are pretty much idiots here?

Where on God’s Red Earth do you buy a soldering gun?

And more importantly, who is going to tell Mr. Duan Shifu (the driver) where and what we need?

Why, me, of course. Lucas has taken to calling me the Living Translator. And just like Google Translate, I can “sorta kinda maybe figure out what the page [person] might be saying.”

So here we go… Saturday morning while running errands for the birthday party:

Lucas and Brad run into a store, leaving me alone in the minivan to wrangle with my mangled Mandarin. It’s gonna be ugly. (I use my Chinese app on my iPhone for little reconnaissance.)

To solder in Chinese: han xi

Machine in Chinese: ji

Soldering gun: han xi ji?

Maybe!

I would like to buy a soldering machine: Wo xihuan mai han xi ji.

Ready or not, here I come….

So that is what I say to the driver in a singsong voice, “Oh, Duan Shifu…. Wo xihuan mai han xi ji.”

And if you excuse my mandarin, the driver replies with a “What the Fuck?” expression on his normally smiling face.

Repeat. “Wo xihuan mai han xi ji”

WTF?

Repeat (alternating tones and emphasis).

Repeat (alternating tones and emphasis).

Third time’s the charm: “Wo xihuan mai han xi ji”

Another blank stare, but this time followed by the miming of soldering small imaginary wires on Mr. Duan’s eyeglasses (which by the way, he desperately needs and rarely wears. That’s another blog in itself!).

Charades! As a comic, I’m good at this!

“Yes, yes, yes! Mr. Duan! That’s what I want to buy!”

Now can you possibly imagine what poor Mr. Duan is thinking? Whatever it is, it is not good. Oh, he is grimacing and breathing air through his teeth. It is not reassuring.

The children are coming tomorrow!!!

Now he is looking into the distance, twirling the eyeglasses (which he should be wearing).

Ahh… finally he hesitates yet admits, “Keneng Keyi.”

Translate: maybe can.

This is promising! Trust me: very promising!

Lucas and Brad return to the minivan and off we go. To the local—and I mean seriously local—market.

Think New York China Town but bigger, stronger, more powerful than ever before (i.e crazy chaotic)! Mr. Duan does not like bringing his foreigners here. We don’t belong.

(As result, Brad and Lucas have never been to this market, which is actually pretty cool to see. I have snuck here with my friend, Julie, twice now when Mr. Duan was not looking!)

There is a parking lot which Duan Shifu ignores. No walking for us! He drives right up to the whole-in-the-wall shop and leaves the car parked in the middle of the street. We all stomp in. The store is the size of a powder room filled to the brim with things made in china. There is a lot of Mandarin exchanged loudly. Sounds like yelling to me. I wonder if Mr. Duan is going deaf as well as blind? No luck with the han xi ji. We tromp out.

Repeat driving, parking, stomping, yelling.

The second store, though, is larger. I even see spy some things made in Germany. (Ok, probably things made in China but shipped to Germany with a German name.)

Happy yelling now!

The store actually has three soldering guns: a $4 model, a $5 model, and a $6 model. None are made in Germany/have a German label, though. All are made in China. Hmm.

Brad decides the $4 model is fine. After all, he has purchased a professional quality soldering gun on Tao Bao which is due to arrive last week.

I gently urge him to buy all three; he is having none of it. He’ll never go for 3. I know when to draw the line.

I strongly encourage him to buy at least 2, and not the 2 cheapest.

Still, Brad is reluctant.

For God’s sake!

This from the man who owns $10,000 worth of guitars!

It’s 15 freaking dollars!

BUY BOTH!

(Perhaps at this point I sound like I am yelling in English… You know—the tones and all!)

“No,” Brad says. The quality han xi ji is coming soon.

The birthday guests are coming sooner!

I remind him that we live in China.

Made in China = CRAP.

He caves and buys 2.

Mr. Duan feels like the shop is ripping us off and bargains for a lower price.

We get a discount and pay.

I triumphantly and ecstatically proclaim “Hao ji le”

SUPER!

The shop keepers love this and are smiling and laughing with me.

Victory!

(But in my heart, I know he should have bought all 3)

Fast forward to Saturday evening…

Brad retreats to his Maker’s Desk in the basement to begin the soldering process.

He decides that 10 assembled lights should be enough.

At this point, though, my friends have told me that Asians do not rsvp ,and I realize I could have more kids than expected. (See Last Emperor Blog Entry.)

Brad better prepare 17—the maximum number of possible attendees.

Ok.

I stay upstairs, making the birthday cake, bemoaning the fact that Janice Braverman, friend, artist and adopted-aunt-extraordinaire, is not here to help with the creation. She has helped make every birthday cake for Lucas so far…

It’s a sad night.

The cake, which was supposed to look like a wand, looks like a large turd, whose end was dipped in glitter.

Talk about made-in-China Crap!

Little do I realize, but Brad’s night is sadder.

Not being present, I cannot fully describe the events in the basement. But I can tell you, I smelled a lot of burning in the kitchen, and it was not the turd. (I mean the cake.)

Turns out it was the following:

#1: Brad

The more expensive ($6) han xi ji shocked Brad so badly that his hand was basically smoking. I don’t know the details but it seems that when he touched the floor and/or metal (?) the soldering gun shocked him.

Made in China.

#2: The cheaper soldering gun

In an attempt to avoid shock therapy, Brad moved to the $5 model. After successfully soldering several LEDs and switches, the soldering gun caught on fire and the wires melted together.

Made in China.

#3a: This should have been the third soldering gun I encouraged him to buy, but no, he didn’t need three.

#3b: Brad again

Knowing the smiling, excited children were arriving in 12 hours, Brad was forced to return to the Shocking Model. His solution? He wore his rubber gardening shoes*. Great! His feet were protected! Yet his hand still, one month later, seems slightly discolored and shaky.

Living in China.

With love and laughter,

Kimbeijingerly

*You may wonder why didn’t Brad wear the housekeeper’s rubber gloves. Good question. Answer: as a result of having a house slave, we forgot that dishwashing gloves existed….

Living in China!

The Last Emperor...

...the Little Emperor!

Lucas turned 8 on January 16^th.

Lucas is NOT the emperor, FYI

On Sunday, January 9^th (2 days after returning from Thailand), I had a mini-nervous breakdown regarding his party (with a wand-making theme) and the invitations I never sent.

A January birthday is difficult to plan no matter what the country. In December, Christmas eats all your time! Schools are then closed early in the new year, making it nearly impossible to get out invitations in a timely manner. The problem is compounded here in Beijing where children go back to the international school only 6 days before Lucas’s Big Day.

In an invitation frenzy, I stripped Lucas down, threw him on the wood floor with his Thai henna tattoo, handed him his cool wand and and did some funky photo editing. I had driver Duan Shifu dash me to the one-hour Kodak (“Keh-Dah” in Mandarin) and voila, invites were prepared.

The stress, however, had only just begun.

I quickly learned that many Asians do not RSVP. H0w do you plan a party without responses?! By Friday, I had 8 Westerns “yeses” and no Asian answers. On the day of the party, we had 15 attendees! One of the attendees is blog worthy!

Background Info

In China, a common topic of conversation among Westerners is the “Little Emperor Syndrome.” Due to the fact that for many years the Chinese could only have one child per family and families chose to have boys, this is a country of—you guessed it—Little Emperors, a.k.a. Spoiled Brats.

The stress begins:

Little Emperor Fat Boy, “I’m hungry!”

Stressed Kimbeijingerly, “Did you have cake?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Little Emperor Fat Boy during wand making session, “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Did you make a wand?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Super Dad demonstrating wand-making procedure

Little Emperor Fat Boy during the Pin-the-Wand-on-the-Wizard game, ““I’m bored! There’s nothing to do.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Did you pin a wand on the wizard?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Cute girls pinning the wand on the wizard

L.E. Fat Boy, bored and stuck between the wall and staircase banister, “Help me! I cannot get out. I’m stuck! Help me now.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “You jammed your body in there. You can get it out yourself.”

L.E.F.B., “I’m bored.”

Stressed Kimbeijingerly, “Only boring people are bored.”

L.E.F.B., “I’m bored. I’m calling my driver to come pick me up.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Do you need to borrow my phone? The address is 1226 Dragon Bay.”

And then I am tempted to add, “Write that address down and never come back.”

But then I realize that Fat Boy did give Lucas his favorite birthday present—a super-expensive, luxury toy that I would never have purchased. It was a gift for a king.

Or a Little Emperor!

With Love,

Kimbeijingerly

P.S. The birthday saga is not yet complete. Watch for additional blog installments!