Dominos

We are supposed to leave for the US in exactly 4 days and the sickness looming over my home is threatening the very reality our trip. I am arguably on the mend after a good 10 days of uselessness. Phil is seemingly on the mend after his bought with what appears to be a simple head cold, and now Naaman has a fever.  Having one person sick in a household with children is like a game of dominos; we just wait to see who falls next. With twins it’s double whammy.  As much as I have tried- they share slobber in ways even the most cautious parent cannot control; and well, I am not the most cautious parent.

So I suppose the only real thing I can do is plan accordingly, move forward with packing, and see where the dominos fall…

I have bloggers guilt. It's been exactly 1 month since I last posted and I feel nothing but shame. This happens more often than I would like to admit and on such occasions when life, holidays, or simply being the mother of twins takes me off my writing game; I fight the urge to apologize profusely upon my return. I attempt to pick up where I left off as if no time has lapsed, and continue on as if I have been writing every day.

But alas, I have not been writing every day- and here we are in the beginning of a new year. The holidays have passed, the Christmas tree is without its glittering adornments, and life is returning to its usual baby filled days. 

Winter in Shanghai is not conducive to outdoor activity with the kiddos, so I have been spending much of my time indoors with the little ones. As I write, Isaac and Naaman are in the other room with Miss Jane listening to their favorite CD- a mix of English and Chinese children’s songs. I never realized just how difficult it was to think straight, let alone write while such music plays in the background. "Why did you let it go? Because it bit my finger so. Which finger did it bite..." and so the song goes. Needless to say, the combination of baby chatter, children’s songs, and the overall lack of writing I have done to date is making it difficult to sort through my thoughts. 

This time of year is always a bit challenging for me though. The cold gray days keep people inside their homes, and the vibrant streets of the warmer months give way to a quieter less inhabited feeling city. My daily morning walks are on hold until the weather becomes more baby friendly, and I have been inside and largely surrounded with English speaking and feeling comforts in the meantime. I find myself less enamored with life in Shanghai and am feeling an intensified sense of home sickness.

Feeling home sick is nothing new to those of us who make our homes in foreign countries. It can be more intense at different times and for different reasons, but we usually pass through the mist and come out into the sunlight to appreciate life and the experience once again. This time things are different. I have lost patience and perspective with this city and many of the people around me. I'm not feeling the usual end- of-the- holiday’s home sickness so many of us experience, and I'm not simply in need of a trip home or a holiday away. There is something deeper in this mist, and I think it's time for a change.

I don't know what this change is and I'm not sure that I am ready for it, but I think it's around the corner. As the Chinese New Year approaches we are preparing to go home to the US to visit friends and family for a few weeks. Perhaps that will provide a little clearing of the mind and a dose of perspective…

A Woman, A Dog, A Security Guard, and A Foreigner

My morning walks are proving to be interesting if not flat out entertaining at times. By getting out with the boys early in the morning, I am able to walk through local neighborhoods with no more than a friendly nod from the security guard. This easy access allows me a small glimpse into areas I would not otherwise see.


Just the other day, I came across a most unusual sight involving a local woman, a dog, a security guard, and a foreigner. While this seems like the beginning of a bad joke, it was actually a really entertaining moment.


As I was carving out my usual path across Nanjing Xi Lu (the N.Y.C equivalent of Fifth Ave), I noticed a rather unusual scenario unfolding before me. Standing next to the entrance of a large mall was a woman entrenched in conversation with what appeared to be the mall guard. Over the course of her entire conversation (at least the 3 minutes I witnessed) - her dog was mounting her leg at a frantic and steady pace. She seemed completely at ease with this. Her conversation remained on track, even lively as she obliged the randy little animal without second thought.


Approaching the scene from the opposite direction was another foreigner. Unlike myself- grungy, dripping with sweat and looking like I had woken up 10 times on and off through the night to finally awake at 5 am; this guy was the epitome of cleanliness and fashion.  Great care had been taken to put together his outfit. From his clean shaven face and well tailored suit, to the the hat that was oh-so-carefully tipped 20 degrees to the right; one could tell that this was a man who worked hard to look good and was consequently pleased with his appearance.


As I passed the lady with the mounting dog from one direction and the well dressed foreigner passed from the other- I was amazed to note that this gentlemen tried to appear completely unaware of what was happening in front of him. I say tried, because there is no way he could have missed this scene and its absurdity (unless of course, he had a rare medical condition that rendered his peripheral vision useless).


I've lived in Shanghai for close to 4 years now and I have seen a lot of strange and unusual things. It's easy and often necessary to numb to some of them. After all, living in a city of approximately 22 million people is overwhelming on good days. It's important to block out the chaos when it threatens to swallow you. But after this scenario- I'm not sure what was more unusual- seeing the randy dog being obliged by its owner, or the foreigner working so hard not to notice...

Traveling With Twins Part III: The Gulag

As the plane approached Moscow and began it's descent, a wave of relief came over my tense and tired body like a massage. A round of clapping joined the screeching sounds of the landing gear as it met the tarmac and I felt inclined to join in. People clapped to thank the pilot for the safe arrival; fearful travelers clapped to thank God that they did not die in a fireball speeding to the earth; and I clapped because my hellish 10 hours of air travel had come to a close. Before long, I would be in the comfort of my Novotel hotel room in Moscow; and I was looking forward to a hot shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a place to unwind before our final trek to Nice the next day.

We exited the plane and gathered our two car seats, one rather mammoth baby carriage, four carry-on bags and our two children; and entered the airport corridor hoping to find signs that pointed the way to our "airport" hotel. Instead, we found ourselves in the midst of a rather confused looking crowd of fellow passengers being guided by a stout and stern looking woman who seemed to hold the key to all knowledge about all things related to air travel in Moscow. Clearly, we were not meant for this group of bewildered looking people- we just needed to get our luggage and get to our hotel. As things unfolded, it became very clear that we did in fact belong to this group- and it wouldn't be long before we would be looking equally bewildered as we were being ushered about by another stern looking woman of importance. 

Our "simple" layover in Moscow became quite a complicated mess. As we were merely flying through for connection purposes, we did not get the needed visa's to travel within the country. After all, we were within the 24 hour time limit to be without a visa, so we thought it wise to avoid the $1000 price tag. Little did we know that this seemingly simple connection/ overnight stay in Moscow would become quite an adventure.

After 3 hours of sitting and waiting while people made phone calls, looked at our passports, talked to us, and took us to different sections of the airport- we were finally boarding a secured (aka police escorted) bus and on our way to the hotel (sadly without our luggage and strangely not on the airport grounds). As we drove up to the front of the hotel, I didn't know what to expect. Despite the cold reception from both person and climate in Russia, I was pleased to see that our hotel appeared to be warm and cozy- even a bit posh. After 10 minutes of waiting in the bus, we were released and being ushered into the hotel by what I later realized was another police escort.

As we entered the hotel lobby I was relieved to see a variety of restaurants and even noticed that one of our favorite beers was on tap at the German themed pub. We may not have had our luggage, but there was some consolation in the fact that we could relax and unwind in this comfortable hotel and perhaps even enjoy a beer.

Any fantasy that I had about relaxing in the hotel and sampling the menu of this quaint little restaurant was squashed as the reality of our stay revealed itself. After checking in, we were taken up to our room in a "special elevator". As we arrived at our floor, the elevator doors opened to a rather dingy looking corridor filled with surveillance cameras and a guard sitting at a desk. We were told that we would not be able to leave our room and if we wanted food, we would have to order room service. Looking to further console myself, I thought " well, this is a Novotel, so at lest the rooms will be nice." I soon learned that Moscow didn't just take the nice out of people, but the hotel rooms as well.

I have little doubt that the rest of the hotel rooms were quite lovely, but we were unfortunate enough to be part of the "secured wing" (Gulag). Whoever made decisions for this wing figured we didn't need towels, extra amenities like tooth brushes or combs, or shampoo and soap. After a quick glance around our less than favorable surroundings- I was almost shocked to see that they provided toilet paper.

As I quietly ruminated and mumbled things under my breath about communists and the fact that I would never want to visit Russia, my adventure loving husband looked more and more amused. He urged me to set aside my grumblings and sense of injustice and just enjoy the humor in all of it. The adventure seeking boy inside of him loved the fact that we were essentially being held (mostly of our own will) in a hotel room in Russia until the time that we could board our plane for France.

I conceded that he was probably right and took comfort in the fact that we were no longer on a 10 hour flight with my screaming children. We were halfway through the journey to France and only had to survive the night in a secured Russian hotel before we were on our flight to Nice. And after the flight that got us to this point- I thought no problem! So we bathed the kiddos, put them to sleep and tucked into our room service dinner (which was actually quite tasty) before heading off to bed ourselves.

Supermom

I'm not entirely sure how often twin moms can say they feel like Supermom. It's probably more accurate to say we feel like Frazzled mom, Going-in-thirty-different-directions mom, Sleep-deprived mom, or a host of other non- super related titles. Despite the fact that many people think we are super human for simply surviving the pregnancy, birth and first few months of raising twins; I'm going to guess it's not that way for most of us. But allow me to remove the large umbrella here and just speak for myself when I say it's not enough. For me- I need to do a little more than manage a shower before noon to feel accomplished in this crazy twin parenting world.

This morning was one of those rare Supermom kinds of days for me. I managed to get more than 3 hours of sleep through the night, had both babies wake at a humane hour, fed them, changed them, got them dressed, gave them their medicine, had breakfast, made my husband a cappuccino, and got myself and the kids out the door for a much needed walk...and I did it all before 8am!

Traveling With Twins Part II: The Hand Off

As I paced the aisles of the airplane trying to look as in control and as calm as possible; I scanned the crowd for an eager Chinese Ayi (auntie) to hand my children off to. I knew the plane had to be teeming with eager women just waiting to get their hands on the Shuangbaotai (refer to earlier post titled Shuangbaotai for definition), and I was desperate to find just one.

Now allow me to clarify this whole handing off thing. When I say hand off, I don't mean permanently (though the thought had crossed my mind on more than one occasion) To hand your child off to a total stranger and allow them to be occupied for a while seems strange and practically unacceptable to those of us in Western cultures; but this practice is completely normal in the East, and more specifically in China. I was simply looking for a kind and eager person who could only see my malcontent squirming little screamer as a mound of sweet cooing baby; a person who was so blinded by their love for babies (almost any Chinese person qualifies) - that they would simply take them out of my arms and occupy them so I had enough time to pee.



As I was approaching the 350th walk down the aisle of the plane, a lovely Romanian woman who spoke very little English- stood up and simply took Naaman from my arms. It was love at first sight for both of them. She oohed and cooed and he paid it back ten fold. I stood there for a minute or two to seem like I was being an attentive mother, and then quickly ran to the loo.

When I returned from my blissful 1 minute break- the plane had practically broken out in a riot of women. As they realized I was willing to hand off my babies, a floodgate of Ayi's opened and poured forth.

As my little celebrities were being passed around to all the eager aunties (and granny's too) who were just waiting to squeeze them; Phil and I took the opportunity to sit for a few minutes and take a deep breath.

I only wish the floodgate had opened a few hundred paces earlier...

Traveling With Twins: Part 1 (along with a lot of side comments)

We just returned home from our first official family trip. I say official because it isn't the first time that we have traveled as a family. This was however, our first trip for the sake of leisure (as if that is attainable with 7 month old twins). 

We decided early on (before actually having twins) that we didn't want to be parents who stayed glued home for the first several years of their children's lives (though there may be some sanity and wisdom in that). So in true Phil and Jen form- we decided that 7 months would be a good age (why- I have no idea); and we started planning our European vacation. After deciding on the South of France- we honed in on some quaint rustic towns and worked on finding and booking a villa. Once all things were booked and paid for, it was time to pack (and for me- time to panic).

As the 7 month mark approached for the boys, I began to realize that all of the little benchmarks I had been hoping for (and quite frankly, counting on) were not being met. When they were 4 months old and we were planning our future travels- I had this picture in mind that I would have 2 babies who were sleeping through the night, eating solids regularly, and an overall feeling of normalcy and freedom returning in my life. As our trip drew near- I was forced to contend with a very different reality. Instead of the above mentioned picture, I had two babies who were teething, sleeping horribly through the night, feeding every two hours 24 hours/day, and there was nothing normal or sane feeling about my life. My quaint and somewhat peaceful little vacation on the Mediterranean was becoming a looming nightmare. Instead of looking forward to France and all of the wonderful clean air and tasty food- I had resigned myself to think, "at least I will be miserable in France instead of China."

The first leg of our journey would take us from Shanghai to Moscow for a 1 night layover (a story that deserves its own post) and then we would head to Nice the next day. As we prepared for take off- the worst case scenario began to unfold. My two sweet little hell cats started shrieking for no apparent reason (and they continued to do so, on and off, for the next 5 hours). We were finally "those people" on the plane. The Old Catholic God of my mother's past emerged for a moment when I thought surely we were being punished by God for something.Four long hours into the 10 hour flight, I had convinced myself that once we got to Moscow- we would promptly find flights back to Shanghai, and I informed Phil that I was not going on to France. My saner half refused to accept this and told me to suck it up and deal with it. After all he reasoned, by the time we got to Moscow it would be a matter of another 4 hour flight before we were in sunny Nice and enjoying the beautiful weather (little hell cats and all).

I conceded, gritted my teeth, and walked the aisles of the plane for the next 6 hours...