Christmas Palooza Chinese Style

In some ways, celebrating Christmas in a largely atheist country means that you have to get creative and be prepared for the heart melting moments when somebody receives an unexpected gift and the awkward times when the first-timers take it way overboard.

One of our American interns, Kenton, suggested that we should all go caroling at a nursing home. The staff were excited and started organizing practice choirs during lunch time. And then somehow, the day before our nursing home trip, we realized that they had switched "We wish you a Merry Christmas" to a Communist song instead. "From the East rose a red sun, and his name was Mao Ze Dong. He will save our people . . . " At least they got the Christmas theme of color red right on that count.

The old people were not too impressed with our multi-part rendition of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," but they really enjoyed it when we started handing out biscuits, bananas, and soap. They were so excited about the soap that some started eating it. The nursing home managers freaked out and confiscated the soaps. Luckily, we were not responsible for anybody's early demise. Some old people enthusiastically shared with us the stories from their glory or sad days, depending on whether they were the persecuted landlords or the uprising peasants. Others just wanted their picture taken with us and asked us to send it to their grandkids.

We also had our own Christmas party back at the office. The format was show-off-your-cooking potluck. In the ambitious spirit of Christmas, I made three apple pies the morning of, zipped up my mobile toaster oven in Lesley's gigantic suitcase and enlisted two friends to help me wheel it all the way to the office. Worst/ best idea ever.

People kept running over to turn off my oven because the pie was "getting brown." I explained that that is the point of baking but they would still sneak over to turn the dial. At the end, I just had to park myself as a guardian of the oven and conduct all my meetings there. Went home that night smelling like a pie. When it came time to eating it, people were confused. Then they figured it out. They each conjured up a pair of chopsticks (Asians, I know) and started fishing for the apple pieces through the lattice work. At the end, I had all pie, no apples.

We also did a White Elephant gift exchange at our office. A few days before the Christmas party, when I first explained to them the concept of a gag gift, the table fell silent. But this will be my first Christmas present . . . I don't want somebody's 2012 calendar. Other heads nodded in agreement. So HR came out with an official email decreeing that each present must be sparkly new, professionally wrapped, and worth at least 100 RMB. And they added more rules. Each person must be blindfolded and spun around before they reached the tree to pick their gifts. And they must pick their gifts within 5 seconds otherwise they miss out. Oh and if you wanted to steal somebody's gift, you had to complete a special mission.

It wasn't long before I figured out that all the missions had a similar theme: do something sexy. Yeah. Workplace sexual harassment is a non-existant concept here. I won't even mention my mission. Just something to do with a pole. But that nerf gun was worth it. Later in the day, an IT guy told me that he had never seen me so "womanly" before. Ha. Awkward.

Of course, the best part of Christmas was the constant reminders of what it was really about. It's not only about the wonderful nativity scenes you dressed up for or the retelling of one of the most important stories in our history. It's about being with your family and sharing what you were most grateful for this year - all made possible because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Gospel.

Nativity set for a youth activity.

Little Questions for Little Girls

Yesterday as I was performing my sisterly duties of straightening Jody's hair, I asked her about the dress she was getting tailored for the big school dance. We gossiped about the tailor's poor quality and lack of responsiveness while brainstorming hair styles that would go well with her outfit.

Then I looked into the mirror at my favorite 13 year old who grinned back at me, curving her dancing brown eyes into crescent moons shaped like mine. She was growing into a beautiful young woman, alternating between exaggerated confidence/ aggression in basketball and poetry composition and the fidgety awkwardness of figuring out how to smooth out her naturally bouncy locks, checking off yet another intangible prerequisite of popularity.

All of a sudden, I remembered a Huffington Post article that Mike sent me a few days earlier about how we should engage little girls in conversation about what they're thinking rather than what they're wearing.

So, carefully avoiding burning my fingers on her straightening iron, I asked her what she was reading.

Oddly, I was hesitant.

What if she wasn't reading anything at the moment? Did that question make me sound "mom-ish"? Was it too serious for a girly getting-ready-together chatter? Who (apart from book club ladies) would ask that?

She fiddled with her hair tie. I picked another piece of hair to straighten.

Oh, I am reading the Hobbit, but really I'm loving Greek mythology right now.

She told me about the differences in Greek and Egyptian mythological structural patterns. I learned about her favorite Greek Gods and heard some stories with seemingly dubious morals.

Then, she turned around and asked What are you reading?

I shared with her a little about The Innovator's DNA and how I had always wondered if successful entrepreneurs were simply born and not made and whether I could teach myself to become more innovative. As I build our startup, I always felt insecure about being a more delivery-driven nerd and not necessarily the wild hippie innovators that were featured on Time magazine.

In between my little brother walking in to show us his toned abs and asking for an opinion on his tie, we discussed how we could be creative not only with art, but also with processes, people, product, sales, and team building.

As I added the final touches to her hair, Jody turned around and hugged me. Tight.

With Jody at a Palestinian market.

That conversation could have been a forgettable no brainer had I not asked that simple question what are you reading? 

In fact, now I wonder how many such missed opportunities I've had with my sisters and my friends.

Cute dress. Love your hair. OMG I hate you - you're so skinny now! Where did you get that?

Us girls tend to resort to these types of compliments and conversation starters when we see each other. Even though I try to consciously compliment behavior rather than looks (and achievement), I often catch myself falling back into the familiar pattern with the group of teenage girls whom I teach at church.

How we compliment each other matters, regardless of the gender of the recipient, because that's how we communicate what we care about. We send the right message to our girls by first asking the right questions. We can't tell them to ignore what the world tells them about their waistlines or their hair when that's what we point out first with our admiring eyes.

I won't lie - I can never suppress a smile whenever a boyfriend whispers into my ear that I am very attractive to him at that moment. Or when my parents look up and tell me that I look beautiful in that church dress when I walk down the stairs.

So, I'm not saying that we should refrain from noticing and complimenting each other on physical attributes. But we definitely should be more aware of the balance of compliments and conversations we generally have, particularly with our little girls. Because little girls like to please and they please based on what we tell them is pleasing. So please tell them that it's wonderful they are trying so hard to work through those complicated Math questions, or inviting the new kid at school to eat lunch at their table, or signing up for the competitive debate team. Tell them things that matter even if you only have five minutes. Because those five minutes add to 35 minutes every week and 1820 minutes every year - all precious minutes of helping them become the strong, kind, and intelligent women this world needs.

From the Mouths of Teenagers

Mom: "So who wants to say the prayer?"

I bent down gingerly and sank to my knees, cradling my sleeping niece on my chest, to join the rest of the family around the futon.

Dad: "Can't wait for it to be your turn."

Me: "You want me to say the prayer?"

Dad: "No, get married and have your own kids. You're a natural."

I shifted my weight slightly.

Cody: "Yeah, how about Jeff?"

Jody: "Who's Jeff?"

Mom: "Oh! Jeff!"

Cody: "You know, the guy who came over for dinner. Sisi never met him. But he could fart the I am a Child of God song with his hands pretty good."

Jody: "Oh! Jeff!"

It's only been a week and my family is already scheming. Their tastes are so . . . reassuring.

This cute, wrinkly little thing.

----

Cody: Do you know what "Falsetto" means?

Jody: . . .

Cody: You don't even know this word? Man. It means embracing the creation of nature. It's like being an environmentalist. So when somebody says that you have a falsetto voice, he really means that you should become an environmentalist.

Jody: I knew that.

Cody: And do you know what Sacramento means?

Jody: How do you spell it? {While discreetly pulling it up in her online dictionary}

Cody: Sacre. Mento. It's the bridge between good and evil. The Sacrament. Get it?

A Tale of Two Elections

When my family huddled together to watch the first US presidential debate in a hotel room in Cambodia, my younger brother declared somewhere around the Big Bird comment that he would support Romney. I casually asked why.

Across two queen beds, my mom stared me down and warned me not to "sway the hearts of the children." She didn't cut me any fruit that morning.

My typically apolitical mom had turned into an ardent supporter of Romney and a religious follower of CNN campaign coverage during this Mormon moment. My sister and BIL also sermonized on the perils of Obamacare and the economy in our skype calls in hopes of converting me. 

On election night, my Provo friends and I crowded around Thai takeout and the TV, anxiously monitoring the swing states. Some shared touching testimonials about personal experiences with the Romney campaign, others questioned the general binary Mormon sentiment that righteousness or Armageddon would prevail in the elections.

In order to stay amicable, we trusted the camera to keep our ballots secret until the election was called. 

1: A proud no-vote

2. Romney

3. Obama

4. Ron Paul??

5. Wasted vote like Gary Johnson

Amazing diversity.

Shh. My mom still has no idea who I voted for. 

-----

Fast forward a week later when China had its momentous leadership change. The leaders were pretty much lined up a year before, though the upsets and the public ousting of a previously high-ranking Communist official this spring provided some much needed Gingrich-like soap opera.  

Instead of the emotional facebook political rhetoric, China's cyberspace was eerily sterile after more-intense-than-normal censorship sweeps. The Propaganda Ministry flooded the silence of public opinion with revolutionary TV shows (the Japanese and Nationalists died every time), overly enthusiastic slogans of building a harmonious society, and blood red banners that proclaimed the bright future of China.  

The traffic slowed down even more because too many government officials were rushing to important meetings and requiring special road access. My favorite train ticket scalpers were shooed away when the train station instated temporary ID checks. Even my taxi rides were punctuated with the daily radio reading of the resumes of local Communist leaders.

I had to give our favorite Communist member a few days off so he could attend to his party obligations. After work for a week, some of the government employees in our office building banged noisy drums and rehearsed patriotic songs. They were very serious about their flag twirling too.

But even though the actual leadership handover event was broadcasted on giant public TVs and the theme was bombardment, the general sentiment was an indifferent meh.

It sure was a Party though. Just not the popular party. 

When Girls Grow Up

Just came back from girls' camp where I played camp leader to 60 girls. Jody was there for her first time. I tried not to hover too much, backing off my instinctive older sister slash mother hen role. I cried when she stood up, so confident and strong, sharing her beliefs with the others in front of the glowing camp fire and underneath the sheet of stars. After I had done the same, she reached back, hand seeking mine in the dark, as a show of support, love, and strength. I think that was the first time we've held hands in a long time. 

I went through old files on my hard drive today and was amazed at how much she had grown. Her spirit that shined through each photo hadn't changed a bit though.

(Cody was super cute too. And according to the late night girls' camp gossip, he still is.)

When they were angels

When they were Indians

Those curls kill me

And that smile has killed many mothers at the park.

Head Bashing

My little brother, Cody, made a new friend. One who had blond locks, polite mannerisms, and a crazy cool dirt bike. Or so I had heard. He didn't even need to ring the door bell. We could hear the vroom vroom from two streets away.

After an animated discussion of dirt bikes and crushed skulls, my parents laid down the law: Our trusty old moped was good enough for Cody, but he could go and pick out a new helmet for his neighborhood rides with his friend.

Cody said that he didn't want the small, "Jewish caps" helmets that we saw in Vietnam.  I'm guessing he meant these.

So, instead, he went and got this (partly because he hoped that a genuine dirt bike will eventually follow):

Even though I'm not quite sure how much protection 20 bucks could buy you, it sure was a good deal for a part-time Halloween costume slash head gear for imaginary practice rides at home.

Alaska

The Pearl. This was our cruise experience.

Our tiny rooms! The girls' room had another bed in the middle of the two beds plus a baby crib. Cozy.

When she was happy, she's like this. Lovable. 

When she was not . . . well, still lovable. Cute girls have it so good.

The Yukon. Felt like we were supposed to break out into a little Sound of Music.

The Emerald Lake. Sort of beats China's Emerald something something at Yellow Mountain.

First the Olympics, now this. At least we're good at math.

 I have a feeling that this will end up on our Christmas letter this year.

Glacier Bay!  Thunderous crashing of ice and fury. This monster moves an average of 6 feet a day.

Global warming here we go.

Totems. 

There was once a guy who did not pay his debts to the chief so

they carved his face into the totem pole of shame. He looked oddly like a white squirrel.

Decades later, his descendants tried to buy back his honor, but by then,

 it gained protective status as a cool tourist attraction.

We had no idea that Southern Alaska was a rain forest.

Until it rained. And rained. And rained.

The lumberjack show. 

Basically men with chainsaws, wood stumps, biceps, and

world records of climbing trees and balancing on rolling logs in the water.

Victoria at dusk.

Americans should stop 'threatening' to move to Canada

 because of Obama or the health care act.

 Just move there for the love of beautiful harbors and the lack of Republicans.

(Chelsea, I kid.)

Kiera likes J more than she likes me. 

It's probably because he's been working out.

Super Size Moral

For an end-of-year party at school, Jody watched Super Size Me, a documentary of a guy who eats McDonald's every day for a long time, with detrimental health consequences.

Apparently, they even show the chicken nuggets production process, starting from clipping chickens onto the conveyor belt by their beaks, then culminating in a drop into the vengeful grinder and poofs of feather.

Her comment on the doc?

"Sisi, when I was watching Super Size Me, I was only thinking of one thing:

Chicken Nuggets. Mmm!

McDonald's every day? Lucky!!"

Seems like we need to accompany each scene with the correct moral in subtitles.

That was my excuse

Jody, recently joined Model United Nations (MUN) at school, a club where kids apply their knowledge of current issues in simulated UN settings. MUN was my big college obsession, so I cannot help but hover a little bit. To help her get started, I send her links for foreign policy articles and set up weekly calls to discuss them.

Yesterday, after a spirited discussion on China and Russia's vetoes of the draft resolutions regarding the Syrian crisis -

Jody: Thanks, Sisi. I really like these calls.

Me: So, is there a particular topic that you want to cover next time? Balance of power in Asia? The differences of peacekeeping, peacemaking, and peacebuilding? A little Security Council background?

Jody: Or you can just tell me how work is going.

Me: . . .

Jody: Sis, you do know that you don't need an excuse to call me right?

Me: What do you mean?

Jody: It's simple. We're sisters.

---

Wow. She's eleven and she takes charge of her relationships. I need a little more of that.

Similar height. But not for long. 

A Different Christmas

Christmas was definitely different this year. There were no songs, no lights, no snow, no (good) hot chocolate, no finals to cram and die for, no cuddling, no flying back home, and no freezing nights in our Arlington home (we were too cheap to turn on the heat for the 3 floors).

But I made do. I sorted through share allotment legal docs while listening to as many cheesy Christmas songs from China Google music player as possible. I made a repentant attempt to buy the whole fam as many presents as possible the day before Christmas. And I stepped up the Santa Surprise Initiatives (code name SSI), leaving pranks and genuine goodies under the tree.

But the human urge to confess was very strong. Even though I threatened my little brother Cody with tickle torture if he told, I couldn't keep it in so I blogged about my Santa gifts, thinking that everybody was already in bed.

When I walked up the stairs to bed after wrapping all the presents, Casey looked at me and said, "So, coal huh?" He smirked. He had read my blog post in the five minutes that it took me to turn off my computer and the lights.

Also, on Christmas morning, my dad had apparently figured out how to get on my blog so he and my mom caught up on several months of my posts. Of course, that way, they also knew that Santa was really me . . .  so they didn't even bother to open the Krispy Kreme box when they unwrapped it, thinking it was going to be filled with really light rocks. (Ha! They were really doughnuts).

But Christmas also had meaning this year because I had opportunities to share what I believed. Last week, I arranged a mini Christmas party for my China Construction Bank English students, complete with (bitter) hot chocolate, white elephant gift exchange, cakes, and a mini presentation on the American Christmas traditions. When I asked if they knew about the origins of Christmas, somebody yelled out "Jesus Christ's birthday." I talked briefly about Christ's divinity, his humble origins, and the reason why he had to come down to earth -- all within the context of general Christian beliefs. Even though I repeatedly said "They believe . . ., " it was really what I believed and what I knew to be true. And it felt so good to be able to finally share my testimony in an acceptable environment and adhere to the "no proselyting to Chinese Nationals" directives from the government and our Church leaders. Who knew that cultural classes can be a pretext for bite size missionary discussions?

 They wanted me to wear the reindeer headband during my Christmas lesson.

The Moon Lady

The moon is so round tonight.

No werewolves though, just a lady and her rabbit. Oh and the tree. Her husband probably wished that he had shot down the moon instead. None of the stories explained how the rabbit ended up on the moon and it just occurred to me today to ask. Nobody knew. Darn Chinese myths and their loopholes. It's going to keep me up all night.*

But now that the moon festival is almost over, I'm officially instituting my own celebrations for crab season. I've begun mapping out all my crab routes. Still trying to decide whether investing in my own eating tools will be worth it though.

We dug up some old albums in our fireplace last night. Apparently when I was nine, I took meticulous notes on Cody's birth and baby milestones. I obsessed over how much Cody fed and even documented how Mom's Christmas wish was for Cody to poo because he hadn't done so for 9 days. And it was obvious that little me was sort of jealous because I wrote how "to my concern, . . .  everybody likes Cody." But I did wrap up that up with a little flourish, generously saying that "it is an honor to have Cody in our home." I guess I still treated him as a guest and expected him to leave at a more convenient time.

Somehow, he just stayed.

---

* Apparently Wikipedia knows what the rabbit is up to.  I've never heard this version before.

Progressive dating advice

Tonight, over rocky road, I mentioned to my family that I probably wouldn't date for an entire year in China.

Well, one because there will probably be no church boys. And two because last summer when I did my internship in Beijing, I was mainly hit on by 30 year-old co-workers who still lived with their moms, creepy old men with jade rings, and overly buff marines who looked like they could crush me if they accidentally sat on me.

My mom just smirked and asked, "Well, do you know how to do email dating?"

She then told me that since I'm an intellectual (questionable), I can just email boys and be satisfied with imagined love. While reading poetry.

Jody jumped in with helpful tips about online dating websites that her other 11 year-old friends "accidentally" created profiles for.

But her advice did come with a warning: No matter what I do, I shouldn't share cups with those boys (the ones I meet online), because apparently in fifth grade, that's as good as getting married.

What Friendship Means to an Eleven Year Old

Have I ever bragged about my sister Jody before? She's eleven. Smart. Beautiful. Sassy. And she is an amazing writer.

She wrote this poem about friendship the other day:

A friend can be anyone,

Anyone who respects you.

A friend can be your next door neighbor,

A person who did a kind favor,

Or even your enemy.

Having a friend is like putting batteries into a clock,

Or sailing a boat in a dock.

Take this away and what do you have?

A clock that doesn’t work and an empty dock.

A person who doesn’t have a friend is like a book with no pages,

A sky with no sun,

 A pen with no ink,

Or having no blanket in a cold, windy night.

Give a good fight?

‘Tis is wrong.

-----

Essentially, a friend is "anyone who respects you," even your enemy.  

I've never thought of that before. That forces me to wonder --  am I a true friend? Am I patient with those around me when I am stressed? Do I listen to their ideas, and really think about them, even if I don't agree? Can I love my friends the way they are, without trying to mold them into somebody I think I might like better?

When an eleven year-old teaches you about life (beyond the fact that boys have infectious diseases), it's humbling. And reminds me of these wonderful people who somehow want to be my friends:

 We have fun being awkward together. 

I look up to these girls so much.

My best friends. I could not have made it through college without my siblings (+ JC).

I don't think they will ever know how much they mean to me.

 Kenji. Sticks with me during those stressful moments. 

He teaches me how to have fun (that does not involve econometrics).

I am still working on that.

 We love each other. Enough said.

 

Last night

2:23 a.m. My arm is numb - I guess I fell asleep over the table. Again.

3:04 a.m. I hate writing a thesis. And reading two-level game theory.

3:37 a.m. Hating the thesis and myself even more. 

3:43 a.m Mom comes out of her room. "You are really staying up all night?! And you're still planning on going shopping all day tomorrow?"

3:44 a.m. I nod. They're not mutually exclusive.

3:45 a.m. Mom finally shows me some love.

4:30 a.m. Found a fantastic article on rule-legitimacy theory. I'm loving Hurd right now.

4:45 a.m. Wrote more in fifteen minutes than I did all night.

6:00 a.m. I think I might do a Masters in Chinese Politics after all.

9:00 a.m. Getting ready for yet another trip to Uniqlo. Then to the tailor's. Then the crazy mess of a local mall with tens of thousands of little boutiques tucked away just waiting for me.

Missing home

I don't miss home until I get home. Then I realize how much I've been missing it all along.

Even better this time, Casey is home as well!

Tough Love

My little 11 year-old brother has a band. And they sing love songs. Or more like we-hate-love kind of love songs. Yesterday, they were rocking out to Bon Jovi's "You give love a bad name". I started laughing when they all screamed how they were "shot through the heart" by girls. When I asked one of them if he's even got a crush at school, he looked away shyly and shook his head.

My even younger sister must have been taking notes. Later that day when I asked her about a scratch she's got, she shrugged and looked at me.

Jody: It's got to hurt before it gets better.

Me: Like love?

Jody: Exactly.

A Family Man

Conversation with my little brother, Cody, on imaginary friends.

Me: So do you have an imaginary girl friend?

Cody: No.

Cody: But I do have a wife and three kids. Two boys and a girl. Their names are Jim, James, and Joel. Guess which one is the girl?

Me: . . .

Cody: It's Jim.

A Convenient Man

One of the few times when I wish I was married is when I'm playing Phase 10 with my family.

After all, with a husband, you have an automatic ally who sneaks you the cards you need and who never skips you in case you threaten not to kiss him that night.

I think I finally understand the concept of a marriage of convenience.

Bum-to-be

My internship in Beijing (BJ) starts in 16 days. And I still don't have a place to live. I asked my mom if she was just planning on shipping me there, to a foreign city in a foreign country, and expecting me to haul my luggage around town and finding a place to sleep that very same night.

She laughed.

And said yes.

Special moments

I love my family.

Especially when we're all sitting there, some of us bawling, watching my cousin give his farewell talk before he goes on a mission two weeks from now.