laura – Laura on Sabbatical

Power

We were sharing almond butter-filled pretzels, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun in the kitchen, when David started listing animals with special powers:

“”Sharks’ power is that they can swim. Penguins’ power is that they are not cold. Cheetahs’ power is they run fast…”

“What about us, humans?” I interrupted.

David paused and grinned at me.

I insisted, “I am serious — what about us?”

“Our power is that we are normal,” he said, then continued with his list of animals.

That line stuck with me: our power is that we are normal.

Growing up, I was insecure about my lack of skills. Many kids in my class played an instrument, roller-skated, had great singing voices, or could draw beautifully. My parents never sent me to after-school programs — expect for Olympic math camps. I never signed up for talent shows. Nobody wanted to watch me solve complex math problems on stage.

At some point in adulthood, that insecurity faded. I slowly grew into an embrace of my normality. I can’t sing on beat or run with good form, but I am moved by good music and enjoy playing tennis. I’ve never beaten Chris at chess or mastered the art of drawing, but I find joy in thinking and expressing my sense of color and patterns through clothing and home decor.

I find great comfort in knowing that life can be rich and fun, even without a special talent.

Son, you were right about our power. Please use it well.

London

“What would you like, sir?” the waiter asked.

“Apple juice, please.” David seemed comically natural while being addressed formally at our first breakfast in London. This was our first time in Europe, and our one-week trip was utterly delightful.

The city was more diverse than I anticipated. Once in a Mediterranean restaurant, each of the five tables around us spoke a different language. The food came in smaller portions but was of higher quality than we were used to. The butternut squash soup was flavorful but not overly sweet; the local store brand short-bread cookies are made from real butter; the pizza from a food court at a botanic garden was cooked in a stone oven. Above all, tea—whether served in the Orangery restaurant at Kensington Palace or at a bookstore coffee shop, came in delicate teapots with matching cups and saucers. How British!

Chris planned the trip having the interests of both the kids and the adults in mind. Thanks to our children’s age and relative maturity, they lasted through walking in the cold, fighting the crowd in the subway, two 75 minute guided tours, a worship service at Westminster Abby, a musical at the West End and grabbing a bite afterwards (at 10 pm). What pleased us was they truly enjoyed those experiences (some more than others) and were actively engaging with questions to the guides and to us.

Better than a museum

Although we didn’t visit any of London’s famous museums, we found a place that transported us to another time, creating an intimate and profound experience. It was C.S. Lewis’ house.

We took a day trip to Oxford and toured C.S. Lewis’ home, where he lived from 1930 until his death in 1963.. Our tour guide was a young woman from Wales who walked us through all the rooms and shared Lewis’ life stories. The anecdotes about Lewis and his brother Warnie, Mrs. Moore, Maureen, and Joy made the tour lively. I knew Lewis as a literary giant through his Narnia series, and marveled at his great mind through his defense of the Christian faith “Mere Christianity”. But I didn’t know he smoked heavily, with his scholarly “buddies”, which left filthy stains on the walls and ashes in the rugs. I didn’t know he took the mother and the sister of his deceased friend from WWI under his wings and treated them as family. I didn’t know he regained his faith on a motorcycle ride to the zoo and described it as waking up from sleep. I didn’t know he held a pipe and sipped on a cup of tea during most of his writing time. All these details being told in that very space made Lewis more human, authentic, and reachable to me.

Through the woods, we walked to a pond right behind Lewis’ house. This is supposed to be the inspiration for the Narnia fantasies. The water was still, reflecting the afternoon sun. Breathing in the crisp winter air and watching my kids play in the mud, I feel my heart grow rich and full.

We made it

My best friend from high school, Rui, traveled from her home in France to London and joined our trip for three days. It has been more than 10 years since we saw each other last. During those years, we each had two children and reached a milestone in our career. With both kids in school and a meaningful yet undemanding job, we finally could arrange this meet up.

Our long-awaited reunion felt calm, as though we had just seen each other yesterday. There were no tears, no emotional hugs, no big updates — just the quiet joy of being together again. While not having met in person for so long, we managed to catch up about each other’s life regularly. Every time we talked on the phone, the conversation was candid and natural. We are used to sharing our triumphs and defeats, and exchanging parenting ideas and reading lists. That might be why our chats on the trip all seemed random, but easy.

The two of us had a few hours for a shopping trip to the Harrods when Chris took the kids to Buckingham Palace. Rui and I got on a bus and decided to chat in French. She is fluent and I am a beginner. That moment felt like a replay of our old days (while we were young) when we used to sit on a bus to school and practice English. Neither of us had cared about the turning heads of other passengers. Our goal at the time was clear and simple. We wanted to master English so we could see the world one day. We spent the following ten years pursuing school work and eventually a degree in the US. The next ten years we were challenged and overwhelmed by the joy and work of starting a family. There were disorientation and confusion, then orientation and balance.

On the last day, we shared breakfast and hugged goodbye. I walked Rui out and watched her turn to the subway direction. The wheels on her luggage made some “tick-tock” noise on the uneven pavement, yet, her steps were light and steady. A warm emotion came up to my throat and then my eyes. But I held back my tears, comforted by the thought that we would meet again soon.

When I grow up

“When I grow up
I will be tall enough to reach the branches
That I need to reach to climb the trees
You get to climb when you’re grown up

And when I grow up
I will be smart enough to answer all
The questions that you need to know
The answers to, before you’re grown up

And when I grow up
I will eat sweets everyday on the way to work
And I will go to bed late every night

And I will wake up
When the sun comes up
And I will watch cartoons until my eyes go square

And I won’t care ’cause I’ll be all grown up”

This is my favorite song in the Musical Matilda. Some kids started singing as they gently swung on the swing sets on the stage. Their high-pitched voices were a great match to the innocent hopes for adulthood. As the music continued and got louder, bigger kids lined up behind and replaced the younger ones on the swings, throwing their bodies up high in the air. Yet, with their maturer voices and bigger frames, they were still singing about eating candies and climbing trees.

This was the moment that wet my eyes.

Like all kids, I looked forward to growing up. Because when I grow up, I will not eat fatty pork and short-rib soup. I will not run and my side won’t hurt. I will fall in love and we will hold hands all the time. I will have a closet that shirts line up by colors and shoes are displayed like treasures. I will go to Paris and Venice, and I will be free like a bird. However, many of the things we wanted are no longer wanted by us. We grow wiser and more mature, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? So why did I tear up?

I think it is the music, the dancing and the children performing that reminds me that no matter how grown up we are, there is still a kid living inside. We can still be fearless, idealistic and hopeful, dreaming of an unknown future just like we once did.

Be Still

I am not good with pain. It dulls my senses to joy. An almond croissant no longer cheers me up. It can actually cause more pain as I am fighting the agony of strep throat. It hurts to talk. My communication with the kids is reduced to encouraging nods and exaggerated smiles. No yelling or nagging. They might prefer this kinder version of mom.

It is the worst time to be sick. I am on sabbatical. I am supposed to be productive with these precious non-teaching days. The prolonged sickness has chewed away my patience and I start counting my opportunity cost. Literature review day. Gone. Meeting with Jessie about model modification. Gone. The chance to submit my revision before Christmas. Totally gone. The more I count, the more anxious I become.

Thankfully I have enough self awareness to realize how unnecessary and foolish my anxiety sounds. This is the best time to be sick. I have no lectures to give and no students to accommodate. A pause is all that is required. I surely have a hard time doing that.

In his inspiring Ted Talk, Bruce Feiler shares his tough year battling cancer and how it was “a lost year”. He said the biggest lesson out of his journey is “the idea of pausing”. His motto for his girls is “Take a walk with a turtle. Behold the world in a pause”. I don’t need a turtle. I have David. On our walks in the neighborhood, he stops and gets off the bike just to pick up a leaf, a pine cone, a rock, or a cicada shell. On our ride to school, he points out the moon, a plane, or a pretty tree. If I miss it, he insists we turn around and go back. Children don’t need a pause. They are never racing against time.

I break the rules when I am sick. Two mini ice cream cones after breakfast, or Chinese stand-up comedy (脱口秀大会) before noon. Distraction and noise are my goto pain relievers, but should I try and learn to be still, in pain? On a quiet afternoon, I worked on my Bible Study and then French lessons, while Chris was on the other side of the dining table working on his computer. We didn’t talk. The only movement in the room was the sunshine that poured in through the big window. I have not found more healing power than those two hours of stillness.

This paragraph from the book “Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child” explains it well:

If our children learn to be comfortable in silence —– and worst of all, in silence when they are among other people they love, feeling their presence nearby without needing to say a word to them —– then a door will be opened that it might take many years of careful schooling, overexposure to the jitters of electronic media, and inundation under the inanities of breathless news that are not news, to shut. For in that deep quiet of the heart we hear things. We hear that the world as we know it is passing away. We are passing away. Yet the world is beautiful, and good is no illusion. Evil is the illusion; it is weak, a shadow, a parody of good, a specter. We seem to crowd many years into a single instant, or we call an instant years later, as if it were present now in all its power and life.

August and September

August was the vacation month. September was the transition month, packed with school preparations for Kate and David, doctor appointments, catching up with friends in town, and some service I opted to do for my department. Above all, Chris went through a surgery (ablation) on his heart. It went well and his recovery has been smooth, but the built-up anxiety prior to the surgery and the worry from all sorts of scary thoughts were not fun. Our church congregation prayed for him several Sundays in a row, text messages came in at 6:40 am (which woke me up) on the surgery day, and homemade chicken noodle soup and a multi-course Bangladeshi meal were delivered to our house. We are fortunate to have such supportive and loving friends.

My parents were concerned on the other side of the world, counting down the days like we did. When my mom found out Chris worked quite a few hours the day after his surgery, she was not happy and insisted on sending a message to him. The message says: LIFE first, money second! I don’t know where family stands on that list.

My sabbatical became more real when I saw my colleagues hustling between classes and meetings while I, in my cozy sweatshirt with a sunflower on the back, wondered if I should start my day reading Roosevelt’s biography or reviewing my French lesson notes. With such luxury, came a deep obligation to optimize my time usage. I noticed that other than my initial desired activities (research, learning French and reading), there are a few other things that I started doing more and felt fulfilled in doing so. Cooking is one of them. Without being drained on my usual teaching days, I cooked more during the week. As I packed sour-sweet ribs, sauteed napa cabbage and rice into Kate’s thermal lunch box, I thought I have finally found my comparative advantage in motherhood.

Back on my progress report:

Research: not much is done, except that I seek feedback on my paper on childcare choice from a colleague, made some editorial changes accordingly, and sent it off to a journal.

French: I made a decent amount of progress by studying lessons 3-10 of Season 3 Coffee Break French. I managed to hang out with the French club members individually on different occasions, but the group has not assembled these two months. As we all have now transitioned into the fall routine, I am hoping to get all the ladies together soon.

Reading: I finished 3 books: The Four Loves, The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, and Brick by Brick. The Roosevelt’s biography is absolutely a masterpiece. It has politics, it has history, it is based on a legendary figure, and above all, it is beautifully written. What a treat! Thanks Aisela for the recommendation and lending me the book. It was worth packing this brick-like book to Montana and back.

Montana

We have been visiting Montana every summer for the past a few years, but this time marked our most adventurous and eventful trip yet. We made a conscious decision to do only a minimal amount of work (research/business) and planned more excursions than we ever have before. It also helped that we no longer had an infant in tow.

Cabin Living

We stayed in a cabin for 5 nights. During that time, we had no cellphone signal or WiFi, and minimal access to restaurants and shops. It is ironic how the removal of civilization greatly enhanced our experience. Instead of reaching for my phone out of boredom, I grabbed whatever reading material was in arm’s reach: “29 Hiking Trails Around Bozeman” or “The Winter Landscape of Yellowstone Park“. The former informed me Pine Creek Trail was “deceivingly flat” while I was totally out of breath when I reached the waterfall. The latter showed me the amazing way workmen remove 7 feet of snow off roofs in Yellowstone. When Netflix is not an option for after-kids-go-down entertainment, we naturally picked up the book we were reading at the time. For me it was Teddy Roosevelt’s biography and for Chris it was the James Herriot series. They happened to be so appropriate for our surroundings and fit just perfectly with the never-stopping sound of a creek.

We brought a cooler of grocery and snacks. With a fully stocked kitchen, we managed to eat well. Not once did I miss the convenience of Uber Eats. Waking up to the woods and running water outside somehow inspired Chris to put on a gourmet breakfast every day. Drop biscuits, pancakes, French toast all made from scratch, paired with bacon, scrambled eggs and fresh fruit. Maybe that is why I already want to go back.

The word “luxury” gained a new meaning for me on the morning I walked down from the deck straight to the creek and started fishing. The kids, still in their pjs, poked around in the trees and collected pine cones to decorate the bench on the water. Chris was sipping his coffee leisurely and watching (mostly guiding) me fish. The water was so clear and air so crisp. The fish were biting, and I felt nature was just a rod away.

Yellowstone Park

Kate looked doubtful as I excitedly announced: “We are in Yellowstone National Park!” She asked: “Are you sure, mom? I don’t see any swings or slides.” My answer came readily. It was on the arch at the entrance: “This is a park ‘for the benefit and enjoyment of the people’. It is for kids and adults! It has better things than swings and slides. It has wild animals and geysers!”

The last time I was here was 11 years ago. The day after our wedding, Chris and I got into a car with our parents and left for a road trip to the West. It was our so-called “family honeymoon”. We saw a grizzly bear, a black bear, bison herds, and the one-of-a-kind beauty of colorful pools and hot springs. My dad left with an album of nice pictures he took in the park. He carried it everywhere so that he could share this experience with all our relatives and his kite-flying friends back home.

Maybe it is Roosevelt’s hunting adventures in my book, or the delight from cabin living, I gained a new admiration for the landscape and wildlife on this trip. The blue sky extends with no end, and mountains give in to more mountains. Car rides are no longer boring when you start counting horses and spotting elk. Have your eyes peeled, because you may encounter moose or antelope. When Kate shouted: “Gazelles!” We had to remind her of the continent on which we live.

Fly Fishing

The game is on the moment Chris gets his fishing license. Every summer, he counts the number of fish he catches. This year was a total success with 35. Chris is a good and devoted fisherman. His casts are beautiful and his patience is unmatched.

On most of our hikes, he brings his fishing rod and tries different holes. He says “one last cast” just like David says “one last candy”. Never trust them. While he is fishing, the kids go on a wild raspberry hunt or share a granola bar on a rock. I find a shady spot to squat and soak in all this wildness.

I can see why fishing is addicting. It is a victorious feeling to catch a fish that is practically invisible until it decides to bite. And no sooner do you remove the fly then the fish disappears again, becoming one with the creek.

Chris made Kate a fishing rod out of a tree branch and helped her cast to a promising spot. A subtle shadow moved toward the fly, thought better of it, and retreated back behind a log. I can’t imagine a better playground for kids, and adults alike.

Behind the Scene

The nature was truly beautiful, yet it was equally raw. The heat, the remoteness, the proximity of grizzlies, the dirt, the bugs of all sizes and shapes, even just the unfamiliar scenery. They all dragged me out of my comfort zone and stretched me in different ways. It was not easy at times, but I had to shake it off and keep my eye on the prize.

As I reflected on the trip, I came to this realization, whether at home or in the wild: good things take work.

Montréal

My French book, check. A notebook to jot down new phrases, check. The folder with printed lessons, check. I packed as if this was a trip for a conference. But no, Aisela and I were heading to Montréal to “immerse” ourselves in a French speaking world for three days.

Only after our talk with the hotel manager, did we learn that certain parts of Montréal are English speaking only, and other parts are predominately French. We stayed in Le Plateau-Mont-Royal where all the people we met are bilingual. We tried to practice French with everyone we had contact with: Uber drives, hotel staff, waiters, ticket agents, fruit sellers at the market, and custom officers. Their typical response to our slow and broken French was a tentative statement: “I also speak English” or the automatic switch to the less awkward language. “No, no, no,” we continued with our well-practiced line: “we are trying to practice our French. In fact, that is why we are here!” That usually put a smile on people’s face and then they kindly embraced this uncommon request. Our Uber driver from Gambia told us we were the first Americans (one Chinese and one Albanian) who spoke French to him in the past 10 years of giving rides and he cheered on our attempts. If nothing else, that encounter made us proud and happy.

We stopped by a berry stand at a farmer’s market and admired the fresh produce. In conversing with the owner, we explained that we are still learning French so please bear with us. She warmly pulled us to the side and said: “No reason to apologize! We, ourselves, are Mexicans and our home language is Spanish. It takes time to learn a language.” Canadians are so encouraging, sometimes to a degree that is entertaining. I asked a hotel staff whether I can buy tickets on the bus, in French. To dispel his confusion, I added “I am still learning French.” Delighted and relieved, in an animated voice, he said: “Oh!! That is great!! I could tell you were speaking French! I just don’t understand it.” I burst out laughing uncontrollably. At least, I sounded right.

The city itself is lively, even at night. We found ourselves out about late in the evening, either having a meal out in a pedestrian street while enjoying the summer breeze, browsing through fun gadgets and home décor in a little Japanese store downtown, or taking public transportation and then walking through a park back to the hotel. A sense of safety and community reminded us both of our home countries.

Our room was upgraded to a suite with a deck overlooking the street and a sizable park. Bikers and buses go by from dawn to midnight. Sitting on the balcony with a coffee and fresh pastries in the morning, and a fizzy drink at night, we chatted about everything, from the endearing stubbornness of our parents to the hopes for our children (Aisela has two wonderful teenage boys), from the importance of right proportions in styling to gardening techniques. Of course, we also reviewed our French lessons on the very same lunge chairs. As I quietly said goodbye to the balcony the morning we left, I realized this trip is as much about friendship as about French.

It was a win towards the end of our stay when we managed to go through a whole dining experience without switching back to English. For me, the trip was adventurous, yet relaxing. No screaming kids, no research agenda, no jackhammer breaking up the concrete in the basement, no stress about dinner plans. I tasted the joy of learning and enjoyed the inevitable comedy that comes along with it.

June and July

It is hard to believe summer went by this fast. Kate started and finished her first summer camp at the Art Academy of Cincinnati. I took two memorable trips (Cape Cod and Montr`eal). Our sunflowers took off in full bloom and added a nice cottage curb appeal to our house. We bought an inflatable pool that is embarrassingly large for the front yard but it is a cheaper and probably better substitute for trips to the city pool.

As most of our friends went and already returned from their main summer vacation, we are only getting ready for ours. Our family usually spends a month in Montana where Chris’ parents and siblings live. We are leaving this Sunday and will be gone for three weeks. The rising heat and humidity in Cincinnati only add to our anticipation for the trip.

Progress report:

Research: I finished all the data analysis for the empirical project and wrote up a draft! My main results are:

Children from less-educated households who are cared for at a center (relative to having only parental care) have higher reading and math scores when they reach kindergarten.

Child care type (parental care, center care, or relative care at age 2) does not have a significant effect on cognitive skills for children from more-educated households.

Once approved by the Institute of Education Sciences Data Security, I will be able to circulate the paper and polish it for publication.

Studies on child care choices are interesting and important on their own and with young children at home, I have additional incentives to read the literature. With rich data on individual households and children, this project is a thrilling adventure that feeds my own curiosity. The best part is pushing the “run” button on many lines of software code and watching trends emerge from initially unorganized information.

French: This is a neglected area for the past month and half. Due to staggered travel schedules, French club was not able to meet. Losing the accountability and interrupted by trip preparations, I only managed to study two lessons with Coffee Break French. My saving grace was the trip to Montréal with Aisela. When the Customs Border Officer in Canada asked me in all seriousness: “What is the purpose of this trip?” In broken French, I declared: “I come here to practice my French.” I don’t know it was my answer or my French that was amusing to him. He tried to contain himself, but couldn’t help letting out a chuckle.

Reading: I finished 3 books: Poor Economics; The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; 斑马. It is a great mix of economics, classic literature, and modern fiction. Abhijit Banerjee and Esther Duflo are recipients of Nobel Prize in Economics in 2019 for their work in field experiments to alleviate global poverty. I read their second book “Good Economics for Hard Times” and enjoyed it. So I decided to add their first book “Poor Economics” to my reading list. Both books serve as a literature review of empirical work in development economics. Insightful and eye-opening. Through the statistical findings and behavioral psychology in the book, I sensed the deep humility and patience of a group of researchers who aim to tackle a seemly unsolvable problem.

Nothing beats a good story. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” is one. Good writing transports you through time and space, and leaves you with strong emotions as if you are the main character. I felt Tom’s fear, joy, a sense of freedom, short-lived guilt, and desire to do the right thing. His passion for adventures and thrills? Not me.

斑马 is a story of a Chinese woman’s journey to fight infertility, and rekindle the relationship with her husband along the way. I find the author’s message rather trite and the plots far-fetched. However, it is nice to read a light story in Chinese and I have a couple of classic books in 武侠and SciFi lined up to read next.

Cape Cod

David’s favorite color is blue. He wants blue popsicles, blue cups, blue markers, and blue flowers. I tell him: “Baby, there are no blue flowers.” Our trip to Cape Cod proved me wrong. Blue hydrangeas were in full bloom almost everywhere. We stayed in a town called Falmouth. Just like its flowers, this place took me by surprise with its beauty and tranquility. Unlike a tropical beach town, in Falmouth, large, dense trees shade the roads and obscure what lays beyond. You only pop out of the cover to see a beach, an ice-cream shop, or the main street downtown. You almost forget there are also auto shops, furniture stores, and hospitals in this world. Everyone is in vacation mode, fully relaxed and joyful. This might be why people tolerate an hour-long wait for croissants from the best bakery in town (don’t ask me how I know).

This is our third vacation together. I mean the four high school friends and our families. We have known each other since we were 12 years old and went our own ways for college. Since then, our paths crossed and then parted. It was 8 years ago on Olivia’s wedding when we all met as a group and decided to keep it that way. It is so special to chat way past midnight in Wuhanese, just like old days on our bunk beds. Except that our topics switched from boys and dreams to summer camps and vacuum cleaners. It is an odd feeling to see the same teenage girls in them, yet a fresh layer of maturity and richness reminds me that 20 years have gone by.

The husbands get along just fine. They bond in different ways than women. After all the kids are put to bed, the wives run to the common space and get straight to business, drinking (mostly tea, we are Chinese remember?) and chatting. The men play Texas poker, Catan, and occasionally just sit next to each other and catch up on work. One night, in an attempt to include men in our favorite activity, the women dimmed the lights, lit some candles and brought wine glasses. The normally accommodating husbands joined force in a group protest and refused this disruption to their game.

The children, 7 of them, play well together. Our hope for them to practice Chinese with each other vanished early on. English is the dominant language among the little ones. For a long time, Kate believed she is half Chinese and half English. So I did my part. Still, to tell her about her roots is different from letting her live it. Traveling with a group of Chinese friends, eating Chinese meals on most days, and watching the dynamics in other Chinese families hopefully will be treasured memories some day.

In Cape Cod, the things that possess comparable beauty with those hydrangeas are the water and the sky above it. The whole crew rented bikes one day and lined up on a shady trail along the coast. Kate pedaled in front of me and her hair was dancing cheerfully in the wind. With joy, she said: “Mom, I just love this. Don’t you?” “Yes, Kate! It is lovely.” I truly felt that way. There is no better vacation than this. Childhood friends, happy family, beautiful weather, and don’t forget the croissants. Just when I thought this is a fairy tale, the trip took a sharp turn.

Maybe we were meant to have a full experience of this resort town. Chris’ heart went into Afib (irregular heartbeats) after racing the men in the garden of The Breakers. The incident led to a trip to the ER and a cardioversion on his heart. It was less scary than the first time it happened (4 years ago), but still, I couldn’t help feeling a big knot tightening in my chest the whole time. Prayers were said aloud and in quiet. While waiting for some medication to work, I read him a chapter of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It brought me some well-needed peace. In that moment, I was willing to trade anything for him to be well. My trench coat, our savings, sleeping in every day, or even my sabbatical.

Our friends back in the house fed our kids and put them to bed. A group of them brought me dinner. Emily made rice, stir fried asparagus and mushroom that night. In the same bag with the food, there was a light jacket, a roll of toilet paper, two slices of bread and a juice box. The cardioversion took place around 11 and all the men came to pick us up a little after midnight. After my briefing with the girls, we said goodnight early.

The rest of the trip was less light-hearted, but still enjoyable. You know we are not sick of one another when we pinned down the next vacation destination and started looking into rental properties the night before departure. For me, this is likely to be a very memorable trip as it is infused with deep and mixed emotions, joy and worry, love and fear. As our family slowly resets into our routine back at home, I hope to hold on to that piece of blueness a little longer.

A Good Day

It started from 6pm the evening before my birthday. My phone rang for the two separate messages from mom and dad: “Happy birthday!” Of course, it was already my birthday, China time. I called mom right away to video chat. For the 76th time, she told me about the day she birthed me. She was in the hospital for one night and one day with contraction but no progress. Just before 8pm the second day, the next shift doctor showed up, surprised: “You are still here. Let me help you!” “She was really pretty, that doctor!”, mom never forgot to add that detail. Tools were quickly gathered and a C-section was performed. I was born.

Mom never tires of telling me about that day. I never tire of hearing the same story. It only got better after I gave birth twice myself. We started comparing our experiences and connecting to each other in a new way. The night I had Kate through a C-section, my parents came to the hospital to see me and the newborn. Mom walked in, came straight to my bed, and hugged me: “That is so much suffering my kid.”

My birthday started with me taking the kids to their swimming lesson. Chris and I went to brunch at a Mediterranean restaurant and then a stroll in a park nearby. I no longer use the word “best friend” as an adult, but our easy conversation made me think of that term. After 11 years of marriage and 2 kids, we still long for time together, whether it is grabbing lunch from a taco truck on a work day, browsing through houses on Zillow while praising the one we live in, or watching one episode of Seinfeld after putting the kids down. It makes me happy to have a spouse who happens to be a great friend.

I had one hour to myself in the afternoon before taking Kate to her tennis lesson. After learning that many Chinese books are available on Kindle, I downloaded one novel and added two classics to my reading list. Those books were the ones I always thought: “One day, I will read them.” When that thought was turned into a tangible plan, I was liberated.

More than once in the past, I cried on my birthday about disappointing gifts. It probably reflected more poorly on me than on the gift giver. Over time, gifting in our family has evolved from a guessing game to hint dropping and then to clear pointing. I knew what I was getting this year, either a Thor’s hammer Lego set or a Transformer Lego set. They are my favorite worlds combined. My passion for Lego and Marvel movies is a puzzle to some, but I know they are just a continuation of my childhood favorites: 雪花积木(snowflake toy brick) and 圣斗士星矢(Saint Seiya: Legend of Sanctuary). I used to spend hours building butcher stores, playgrounds, and living room furniture with snowflake-shaped bricks as a child. Recreating the world in a miniature form brings me endless fun. Followed by Ninja Turtles and Transformers, Saint Seiya was my favorite show in childhood. It is about a group of teenage warriors wearing a sets of sacred armors and fighting against evil. The Avengers are the grown up version of those saints, plus they fight on a larger scale. In the “End Game”, Captain America had a line: “Avengers! Assemble!” I jumped to my feet and cheered.

The evening went by with the presence of good friends and one slice of strawberry whipped cream Japanese-style cake. At night, when I laid my head on the pillow, gratefulness and contentment filled my heart. I thought to myself, it was a good day.

Weeds

I never pictured myself pulling weeds tirelessly in a squatting position on a hot summer day. That is because first, Chinese hate sun. The sun umbrella is one of our greatest inventions. Second, I knew nothing about gardening growing up. I had to Google “what is the difference between perennials and annuals?” When Aisela gave me an introductory lecture on plants, she started with: “Look, this one is a tree.”

Our family decided to plant some flowers and vegetables last year. We started with snapdragons, marigolds, sunflowers, strawberries and herbs. Since then, we found ourselves spending much more time outside, to water the plants, to check on the ripening fruit, to cut some basil for my chicken dish, or to simply enjoy a cold drink in that space. Summer days became fun and fruitful. It was a fairy tale until the villain showed up: the weeds.

Weeds are easy to deal with when they are small and when the roots are weak. But if neglected for a while, weeds will overgrow and choke all the desirable plants in the area. After a month of vacation last July, I came home to a garden bed with an excessive amount of weeds. Instead of changing and unpacking, I looked for my garden gloves and started weeding. Not only did I voluntarily put myself to hard work in the sun, to my surprise, I did it with great joy and satisfaction. My desire to kill weeds is proportional to my love for my plants.

Is that how God sees sin? He loves us too much to allow sin. If allowed, sin will deepen its roots, grow its leaves, and eventually take over. Only when sin is dealt with promptly, can we grow freely. I am fortunate to have God as my loving and relentless gardener.