Honey! I forgot the suitcase home!

We just realized that it has been three years already! Three years here, in Beijing, three years of discovery, and of learning. And continuing.
It just happened that this is a long weekend here in China, the "Golden week" (黄金周), a combination of a three-day holiday celebrating the creation of the country, and the reshuffling of the work-week, to end up with 7 consecutive days off, allowing many to return visit family in their villages.
We just did what the Chinese do, and headed to a village, Wuduhe, 100 inhabitants, near the Great Wall. (ponder on this number in comparison to what is called here a mid-sized city, with one or two millions inhabitants).
We are fortunate enough to have friends who found a courtyard house in the countryside. They are renting it with some friends, and for that special weeks, nobody was using it.
We packed up with electric blankets, warm night wear and thick comforters, since the nights are now more fresh (10 degrees), and the house not heated. We also took lots of food to barbecue. We sailed out of Beijing while the kids were napping in the back of the car, heavy with all the gear needed for 3 days out of the city.
It is always so nice to drive out to the countryside, and it lovely to arrive to the house, meet the owners, let the kids roam.
All was well until we realized that our suitcase full of our sleeping gear, diapers and toiletry was forgotten at home. After pondering a few long minutes about the possibility of driving back to Beijing to pick it up (for a 4-hours round trip), I opted to head out to the nearest town, on a mission, but skeptical about what I could find (PJs are easy, but contact lenses solution?) I first got into a typical street market to find regular Chinese pajama (think thick lined cotton) sold in a small shop directly on wooden tables.  I basically bought half the inventory of the lady, each piece for about 30 or 40 RMB each (someone was happy from our mindlessness at last!)

Fashionable Chinese winter PJs - (this picture was taken in Beijing). 
Then I drove out in direction of a more "modern" street, with small stores. Not only I easily found the diapers (don't forget, most kids are still using split pants here), I could choose one brand from another.  And then I left in search of an eyewear store (at this point without any notion of Mandarin it would be Mission Impossible). I drove away, turned at the indicated intersection. I was told I could not miss it. Indeed:  I found myself in front of an immense mall filled with latest fashion - something at par with Beijing's downtown shopping malls: all lights and adds on the outside, all loud music and expensive items inside.
It was an amazing discovery to drive from this tiny little village and found such a modern city, so near. I guess on our way to Wuduhe, we passed away from it, on the highway, giving us the sense that we are heading to a more isolated, more rural area than what it is.  In any cases, point made, our rural countryside house is kind of just beside a fairly large city (named Huairou), with all conveniences. So next time we run out of butter, we know where to go.
I entered the mall, searched the eyewear store, found one, bought the solution, walked out through the back door, where I discovered another set of 5 similar stores tucked away. It happens that this solution is not a rare commodity in this part of the country.
Thanks g-d.
I drove back and 20 minutes later, I entered Wuduhe village, trudging carefully along the narrow concrete road between a deep ditch and the villages houses' walls, whose inhabitants are already in the dark ready to sleep. I finally reached the house, tucked away at the end of the village, just beside the chestnut orchards. It was 7:00 PM, I felt I had moved in that amount of time 50 years back in time.
The kids put on their new super-duper chinese thick PJs, we tucked them in bed, and we sat back and toasted to the last 3 years of our life in a country that never cease to surprise us.

Sprouts springing up!

Here is the invite!



It was fun!!! Too bad you did not make it!





Subtext:
No we do not give booze to the kids yet. The photographer had to free his hands.

Subtext 2:
A certain amount of effort was given in the cake making exercise by the maternal element of the family unit (but unfortunately the photographer missed a global shot of these oeuvres d'art).
An orange and green dinosaur was created thanks to a good old cake mold (and admittedly some cake mix). In addition, despite a couple of failed attempt at the creation of small engines and wagons (yes, cake mix are hard to do), rescued by the creative use of colored glazing and candies, a small train was prepared, and enjoyed by the small crew of invitees. Cake mix with colored (edible) sparkles created a certain type of effect ensuring no parents would consider taking a piece away from their kids.

Subtext 3:
Each of our boys had another birthday celebration in their respective school on the following Wednesday. Since then, Noam is convinced that he is now 5 years old. His teacher said so. We need to go talk to her tomorrow morning to correct this situation.

yoga-ed!

Over several years now, yoga has been a steady element in my life. When I started practicing, thirteen years ago, in Vancouver, I discovered something that really allowed my mind to be free of worries, for the time of the practice, at least. While at first it was something I did for my own benefit, I eventually started to teach, initially informally to friends and acquaintances, for the pleasure and for the lack of other alternatives. (Think Ziguinchor or Brazaville, where the local yoga school was not yet opened).
In Washington, I fell in love with post-natal yoga. A great way to take myself out of the house and move with my little one. I did it as much as I could, met wonderful people and teachers, and went on doing a training. When I landed in Beijing, I started teaching at Yoga Yard Mommy and Me yoga.
Then last fall, when a special Yoga Teacher Training came to Beijing, I registered, thinking it would be a fun way to officialize my skills. Which turned out to be fun indeed, but also quite serious. Our teacher, Matthew Cohen, was quite interestingly fusing yoga with martial arts - qi gong and tai chi - in what he called SEA (Sacred Energy Arts). It was compelling, challenging and enlightening. And not to mention, frustrating and demanding at times, too.
There I have met amazing people, and I have learned about myself in a different way. I am glad I completed this training, and I hope to make use of what I have learned in the yoga studio as well as in my daily life.

After completing 4 modules and 222 hours of training, countless hours of practice and a great number of observation classes,  I can now say that I am a real yoga teacher, a Yoga Alliance registered one! At last!

At last, school!!!

We arrived from Canada a few days after mid august, and yet school was only starting at the beginning of september. A long long long wait for little boys who are excited to start school and meet their new friends.
This year we took the decision to change Noam from a private Chinese kindergarten (5 min walk from our place) to the French School. Language was the main reason behind this change, wanting to provide him with an environment that would provide better support for language that is difficult to learn and master. We also figured that since both my husband and I believe English can be learned and master much more easily, and also can be learned about anywhere in the world, we would put emphasis on the other languages. Hebrew is a bit more difficult as most things related to Hebrew here are related to religion, which we are not really interested for our kids now. The "new" school is not too far from our place, in Sanlitun and Noam must ride a bus. He is now really proud to get in every morning, and wave at us from inside. He looks so small in it!
On his first day at school, he met his new friends (22 of them), and took note of his new surrounding. A big change from Eton school: there are about 400 students in the Maternelle campus this year, and everyone meets outside to play during breaks. Then the meals are taken at La Cantine, which is cute with its round yellow arches. But it also quite busy every lunchtime, with so many kids.
We met his teachers yesterday, and they both confirmed that Noam is doing great, integrating well and making new friends easily. Indeed Noam has two teachers, as he is in a special bilingual French/Chinese class. So in one given day, Noam is speaking French with Marie, and the next, he speaks Chinese with Hei Laoshi. It is really exciting, even our ayi noted that Noam has gained in vocabulary in the course of two weeks! This a group that was created three years ago by two teachers that are found of language integration, and of the chinese culture. We are fortunate that we have such passionate teachers for him.
 





Emmanuel, on his side, is integrating Noam's old kindergarten Eton School for a few hours every morning. Since his birth, he has seen his big brother emerge from this school every afternoon, so when we went to accompany him for his first day, he knew what was there for him, and was really happy to go in. He was eager to explore his classroom, and to discover all sorts of new "toys". But he is not yet used to say goodbye when we drop him off. Yet when ayi fetches him at lunch time, he wants to stay longer to play!


Here Emmanuel's his first day, getting his dad to tell a story.

Flying home

Many times I have had the feeling of being perceived as a "hero" when I mention that I fly alone with my two kids. In fact, I am afraid that if I brag about how easy our return from Canada was, the next flight will be simply ho-ri-ble... So I will not mention the fact that they slept almost at take off and that we did not spill anything on each other. Considering that we did not have a window in our "window-seat", and that we sat 3 on 2 seats, it is not so bad...

The real challenge for me remains the jet-lag. Alone I can beat it more easily, trying to adjust my sleep in the plane depending on my arrival hour (if arriving in the day, sleeping in the plane, if arriving in the night, awake in the flight). It already has some limitation (what if you take more than 24 hours to get there, or if you have problematic fellow passengers). Usually, when I am flying with the kids, I can't sleep. (And probably my direct neigborgs too.) Mama bear reflex or simple discomfort, not sure. But it makes my own recovery from it all much more painful since, upon arrival, everyone else wakes up again and again at odd hours for a few days in a row (I need to sleep, even if not much!) At times (and specially this last time), it brought me back to when I was breastfeeding Emmanuel right after his birth, when he had jaundice. Or it also reminds of when I was in architecture school. Yes, it was that intense.
But I have to admit that apart from these jet lagged happy hours in the middle of the night upon landing, the boys are pretty good travelers. They have a passport to prove it, of course. But beyond that, they are excited by the idea of taking a plane, they love plane-spotting in the airport, and they also love the airplane food - well, I should say, they are excited at getting the meal tray (at least, even if most of the food stays on it).
Beyond that, when I look at it more globally, they seem to inherently accept differences.  And from Tel Aviv to Quebec to Beijing, there are extreme differences in the way people look, dress and talk. I am still wondering how this whole experience of "world citizenship" will shape them, how they will define their own identity. We will keep working at opening their eyes on the world at large, and hopefully they will be able to shape their lives at a similar scale.

Passage

I have to be frank with you: this summer was not a holiday. My mom past away. After all the intensity of the last moments, I still feel raw inside. 
A colleague from Vancouver once told me after his own mom's passing that one isn't ever ready to be an orphan. He was 65. I am not a real orphan yet, but I tend to agree with him. 
To loose a parent is not an easy passage. It is a passage to a new state of adulthood, a few step away from the deep connections we have with childhood, with our first experiences in life, with the unconditional caring and nurturing of a parent, with a certain sense of safety.  It is a new venture in a world that might appear a bit harsher and colder now. 
I could spend here pages and pages telling you how amazing my mom was. An artist at heart, a caring and deeply involved mom, a engaged teacher, passionate about child development and kids, and a devoted friend. I miss her tremendously.
The day of her funerals, a friend of the family and colleague of hers came to us with one of my mom's she just had found. It was published a few years ago, as the opening piece of a collection of work by her young students. It came to me as a gift, displaying all of my mom's generosity and wisdom. I loved it so much I read it at her obsequies.  
She is certainly holding my hand through this passage.

Je t’offre

Je t’offre la beauté d’un premier matin du monde

Le sourire radieux d’un enfant

La douceur d’une main aimante

L’écoute d’une oreille attentive.

Je t’offre la paix qui habite le cœur de l’homme qui croit

La lumière qui brille dans le regard des amoureux

Des chemins qui marchent vers l’espérance

La liberté des grands espaces qui t’appellent

La puissance des fleuves qui transportent ta foi

Des océans de tendresse pour bercer tes chagrins

Des univers où dansent l’amour et l’amitié.

Je t’offre des perles de joie

Des jardins parfumés de sagesse

La douce légèreté de l’être.

Je t’offre les clés du bonheur

Elles sont blotties au creux de ton cœur.

Aline Plourde (1947-2011)

I am offering you

(free translation)

I am offering you the beauty of a world’s first morning

The radiant smile of a child

The softness of a loving hand

The care of an attentive ear.

I am offering you the peace inhabiting the heart of the man who believes

The light that shines in the gaze of lovers

The pathways that lead towards hope

The liberty of the great spaces that is calling you

The rivers’ strength is carrying faith

Oceans of tenderness to cradle your sorrow

Universes were love and friendship are dancing.

I am offering you pearls of joy

Gardens perfumed by wisdom

The sweet lightness of being.

I am offering you the keys of happiness

They are nestling deep inside your heart.

 Aline Plourde  (1947-2011)

Mommy, Noam, He is What?

Last week, I just picked up the boys' Israeli passports. These are their fourth ones. No, I do not mean their fourth Israeli passports. No, these are their fourth passport, after their American, their Canadian, and their Polish ones. A real bunch of globetrotters. And it makes me look like a poor mother, with only one passport!

This is a picture I took of family's passports... We are a family of four, for those who do not know us.

For those unfamiliar with the passport business, nope, you can't buy these online (or else we would not have so many people lining up our embassies). As they were born in the States, the kids automatically got the citizenship, and now for most travels, they have been using this passport. Since Pauli and I are respectively Israeli and Canadian citizens, the kids also qualify for those two nationalities. Of course with different countries, different rules, so even if they would have been born here in Beijing, they could never be Chinese, and even if one of us two parents would be Chinese, they would eventually have to make a decision between one and another, as China does not allow dual citizenship. The Polish one? Well, Pauli's parents are of Polish origin, and since Pauli also has this citizenship, the kids automatically qualify for it. The only drawback to all of these is the amount of paperwork. But as you see, it is possible.
Now, time will tell what use they will be able to make out of them. Already last week, when I applied for Russian visas (we are traveling via Moscow to Israel next week), I realized that Polish passports were better, granting for cheaper visas (50$ instead of 150$ or so!). And only later I will come to realize that for this specific destination, Israeli passports are best (free)... 

So indeed our kids are globe-trotters. They already have logged many visas, many long flights, and many immigration officers. But are they only that? Defacto, they are citizen of the world. Later, when one will ask them where are they from, they might have trouble answering... Today, Noam says he is Canadian (proud mommy) but is he really? I was just reading about similar questioning in a blog...

Kids born from parents of different cultures already have a faire bit to process. If they live in one of the parents' birth country, the answer might become easier with time, as they immersed completely in that primary culture. However, when these mixed couples raise their kids in a (third) different culture, then things becomes more tricky. Are our kids Israeli or French-Canadian, or simply American? Are they Jewish or Christian? Can they be all of that together?

Take Emmanuel. Born in the US, he spent most of the 20 months of his long life in China. One month last summer in Canada, one month at birth in the US, 3 weeks in Israel last year and 2 more soon. So he is maybe more Chinese than others. But is he? We obviously do not eat dumplings daily and do not do like the Chinese in most of what we do. But he needs his daily rice! We do not dress Chinese, we do not cook Chinese, we do not spit in public, we do not even speak good Chinese... Well, I might drive now like a Chinese, but I don't think it applies.
In fact, outside of our respective cultures, I came to realize we need to find (and create) references and markers to maintain some of our own cultural identities, and to create our own unique family identity. So, to the despair of my dear husband who finds religion cumbersome, I try to ensure the kids get a bit of a Jewish culture at specific holiday times. But yet I also celebrate our usual Christian holidays, and try to also include some of our traditions. The tricky part for a parent is to know what is important, and how to carry that cultural baggage without too much effort. So it appears it is easier to make a Christmas tree than to make a Seder dinner... We still have to work on that.

One of the main determinant of a culture is its language. So here in Beijing, we try to maintain the Hebrew and the French language. We do it because both are important for me and my husband, respectively, in how we define ourselves. But also because we feel that it can be a strong baggage for our kids' future. So to avoid confusions, I address the kids in French, and Pauli in Hebrew. It has been great for me, now my Hebrew is at the level of a 3 and half year old. Then me and Pauli converse mostly in English. So the kids get exposed to the English language in that way, but also in kindergarten, where Noam has now extensive conversations in English with his little friends. And then of course, by being in China and having a Chinese nanny, we all speak a bit of Chinese, sort of. The kids are really good at it. What is really amazing is that amongst all this mix of languages, the kids seem to make sense of it. When Noam was about a year and half, he could already ask for water in French, in Chinese and in Hebrew, knowing whom to ask in which language.

We have this book at home. It is 42 pages of Hellos, in 42 languages. The book is filled with cute little drawings of kids faces, and not other text than the various forms of greetings. When I first read it first to Noam he asked me right away: "Mommy, Noam, he is what?" I pointed at the little girl with the frizzy hair that says "Shalom", the one with straight brown hair that says "Bonjour", the little boy with a cap that says "Hello" and the little almond-eyed girl that says "Nihao" and told him that he is lucky because he is all of those all together, and that makes him quite special. I am not sure he understood well what it meant but in any cases, he looked happy to be 4 different little guys at one.