You may have noticed that my blog posts have been increasingly lacking in quantity and quality over the past few months.

The truth is, not to sound harsh but I think I’m over this whole blogging thing. This blog was my lifesaver during my year as a single-parent, and has been a great way to share Charlotte stories with friends and families back home. But now I find I just don’t have the time or energy to put into this little blog anymore, and when I do there are other things that I’d rather do instead. And it doesn’t help that there is a whole other facet to my life that I don’t talk about here, including my work, and something else going on in my personal life (ooh, mystery….)

I truly appreciate all the support I’ve gotten from you guys, all the comments and likes and shares. And although I’m shutting this baby down, I do still hope to find time to keep up with my favourite bloggers, so the blogosphere wont totally be rid of me

And for those of you who are wondering how exactly this story ends?

J. finally realized that taking Charlotte on a cruise was just crazy-talk; we instead agreed that, while I was on a business trip last week, J. and Charlotte would spend five days in Kobe, Japan. Everybody survived, and may have even had some fun. J., high on his success in keeping Charlotte alive all by himself for five days, now has all kinds of crazy ideas for the two of them.

We have some big travel plans in the future, which include a Singapore/Indonesia trip later this month, a potential New Zealand odyssey in February, and short trips to Mongolia, Korea, and Taiwan, as well as some travel in China. I’m also trying to see if I can squeeze in a solo trip to Bhutan at some point. And pretty soon we’ll be starting to think about our move back to Canada, which should happen sometime next summer.

Charlotte continue to grow like a weed. Her Chinese skills are truly amazing, she knows stuff I don’t even know! And she is maturing very quickly too: the other night when I squeezed her tight and called her my little girl she got very insulted and insisted that she was big now. Well, she is almost 3 years old, and she is over 3ft tall. But she will always always be my little baby girl.

And, just like that, we all lived happily ever after

The end.

Peace out!

Seriously, I now understand what it’s like to be a celebrity, or at least the mother of one.

Wherever we go, strangers gawk, point, giggle, smile, and wave like crazy. Some of them get a little too ambitious and try to touch Charlotte, and are promptly slapped away by her overprotective security detail mama-bear.

Most of the time though, they just want to take her photo. Or have their photo taken with her.

To prove I’m not exaggerating, we undertook a little experiment during a recent two-day trip to Shanghai: we photographed all of Charlotte’s adoring fans as they photographed her, dragged their kids into photos with her, or took their own photos with her. Here lies the results:

Bribing Charlotte with a weird flashy ball of plastic

Best friends? Maybe not…

Charlotte was trying really hard not to hit this guy

Distracted by bubbles!

Charlotte worried about how I’m about to rip this woman’s greasy hands off of my child

A panda-bear sighting at the park? Nope, just Charlotte sitting down long enough for a crowd to gather

In fact, I hate, hate, flying.

We just returned from a few days in Shanghai and nearby Hangzhou, famous for its (over-rated but still pretty) West Lake. Everything went totally smoothly, Charlotte was an angel, and we had a great time. But still, the flying totally sucked.

What is it exactly about flying that I so deeply loathe? Well, since you asked…

I Hate Flying Because:

1. I can’t stand the ‘hurry up and wait’ mentality: hurry to the airport, wait in line forever to check in. Hurry through security and customs, wait forever to board. Hurry to board, wait forever for take-off. Hurry to get off, wait forever for luggage.

2. Airplane bathrooms. Need I say more? Now, imagine it with a squirmy toddler who likes to touch everything, and who thinks it’s fun to visit the airplane bathroom every 20 minutes.

3. Airplane food used to be good, ok maybe not actually good but certainly edible. Then airlines got cheap. Now, if food is offered at all, it’s pretty nasty. The dinner selection on last night’s flight: pork with rice, or pork with noodles. Neither were edible. And that whole buy-on-board concept drives me crazy. Why can’t they just charge me an extra $10 for my ticket, and then give me a nice “free” sandwich? It would just be so much more pleasant.

4. My luggage usually comes last. Pretty much the only time that it doesn’t come last is when it doesn’t come at all. Which is not fun when you have a 30 lb kid sleeping in your arms and you desperately need the damn stroller to make an appearance before your arms fall off.

5. Customs people are mean. When I studied in the US, the US customs guards would not let me through without making me cry first. I resisted at first, which resulted in missed flights (which resulted in lost luggage), but quickly learned to turn on the waterworks as soon as I handed over my passport. I’m pretty sure they were also mean in Russia, but luckily I couldn’t understand what they were yelling at me about.

Flying amnesia is so not fair. Whenever I fly, I always grumble “what was I thinking? I’m never ever flying again.” This usually lasts a few days post-flight, but then I slowly start thinking about somewhere else I want to go, and after a couple of weeks I’m scouring flight deals, brushing off long layovers and super-late arrivals, until it’s time to go to the airport and once again I remember, “oh yeah, I hate this. What was I thinking?”

I know once I get a good night’s sleep and stop smelling like airplane I’ll be back to my pretentious travel-mom-extraordinaire self again. And in fact, after this rant I must say I do feel a bit better

What do you hate about flying? Or, more importantly, is there anything you like about flying?

So we spent 5 days in Japan over the September long weekend. J. has family there, so we mainly stayed in Kobe (and mainly on Rokko Island, possibly the most child-friendly place on earth), but also spent some time in Kyoto. And of course we loved it: fresh air, polite people, high speed and efficient trains, and of course lots and lots of sushi.

Charlotte cooling off in the Rokko Island canals, contemplating ordering Kobe beef for lunch

Rokko Island, Kobe

The view of Kobe from the Rokko Mountain gondola

Kyoto

Spotted in Kyoto: a real, live geisha!

Charlotte has developed a knack for sleeping through the best sites

Kyoto

Kyoto

Sign in the subway station: huh? Why would you use two bicycles? And how would that get other people into trouble?

J. has been talking about travelling just him and Charlotte for a long time. They both have the time to do it, while I’m stuck dutifully at work. Charlotte’s poor lungs need a break from the nasty Beijing pollution. And it gives the two of them some good quality time together.

I was totally supportive of this idea, when it was just an idea. But now that an actual trip is on the table… we’ll I’m kind of freaked out.

Seven days is a long time to be away. I’m not concerned about missing J., and Charlotte would have such a blast on a cruise ship (she loves boats) that she probably wouldn’t even notice I wasn’t there. No, what worries me is me: I don’t know if I can handle seven days away from my baby girl. I’ve never spent so much time away from her- there was the five-day trip I took in the spring, but I was distracted by my awesomely beautiful surroundings. Seven days is a really long time.

I’ve also been worried about J., can he really handle single-parenting, outside of the normal routine, for an entire week?

Last night, I grilled him:

“What do you need to bring with you when you go out and about?”

“What do you do when Charlotte needs to pee and there’s not a toilet in sight?”

“Under what circumstances is it acceptable to not bring the stroller?”

And, for the final exam: “What if Charlotte gets sea-sick the first night on the boat, and you both wake up in a pool of her chunky vomit?”

I guess I need to give J. more credit, because he passed my little test with flying colours.

Relieved in knowing that the two of them would probably survive a week without me, I started thinking about what I would do with seven days to myself. At first, the idea of so much alone time made me panicky, but then ideas started to flow: a visit to the mall, finally finish my book, try the gym again, perhaps a visit to the spa, maybe even a daytrip to the Great Wall or a cooking class… And I suddenly found myself wondering how I would fit it all in to just seven days.

I still feel really uncomfortable with the idea of going so long without Charlotte, but I know her and J. will have a great time, and I will probably also enjoy myself. So I think I may grant permission…

What do you think? Can Dads survive travel without mom? Can Moms survive seven days away from their offspring? Should I give J. the go-ahead, and if so are you prepared to deal with “I miss my baby” blog whining?

I am not a gym person. I prefer to get my exercise in the form of regular daily-life things. We walk everywhere, I’m constantly chasing Charlotte around the house, we swim all the time, etc.

But since moving to Beijing, I’ve noticed that my opportunities for this kind of exercise have  really dwindled. Charlotte is older, and no longer want to be carried everywhere. Since I live on the same compound where I work, my daily walk to work takes all of 30 seconds. Everything we need is within a few kilometre radius. As a result, let’s just say that my clothes are fitting too well these days.

Something clearly needed to change, and I was really looking forward to J. arriving so that (amongst a gazillion other reasons) I would finally have time to get some exercise, which would inevitably have to involve getting my lazy butt to the gym.

On Saturday, I finally managed to do so.

On the way out, J. called to me “Have a good workout! Go hard!”

To tell you the truth, I was planning on a leisurely stroll on the treadmill while catching up on America’s Next Top Model reruns.

But then I got to the gym, and there were all these people there, ‘going hard.’ They were all sweaty and serious, and toned and buff. And I felt kind of like an idiot at my turtle pace on the treadmill. And, I may have a teeny-tiny competitive streak. So I decided to take J’s advice.

I cranked the volume on my mp3 player, and jacked up the treadmill speed to a not all that comfortable running pace. And I ran my butt off. When my legs turned to jelly, I slowed down the pace, revved up the incline, and had a brisk uphill hike. Then I did some weights. I came home sweaty, and utterly exhausted. But I felt great, determined to hit the gym again the next day.

The next day arrived, and I could not move. Every muscle in my legs had seized up. My arms and shoulders felt like lead. My feet hurt. Hell, even my elbows were achy. And I was still utterly exhausted.

It took a full three days before I could walk properly again.

I just don’t think I’m cut out for this whole gym thing…

What I think I look like at the gym

What I actually look like at the gym (note: not an actual photo of me)

It often seems like everytime she opens her mouth, something unbearably cute and/or hilarious tumbles out. Here are a few of my most recent favourites:

1.Her current favourite expression: “No waaaaaaay!”

2. I’m single-parenting again this week while J. spends an extra few days in Japan. Which means that I’ve had a few not-so-fun moments with Charlotte that have left me whining, “I can’t do this!” Every time, Charlotte responds by looking me in the eye, tilting her head, and cooing softly, “Just try your best, mama.”

3. Charlotte may be a budding Buddhist with a strong belief in reincarnation: this morning, she told me that when she’s a little baby again, she’ll get to breastfeed again. And the other day, she told me that one day when I’m a boy, I’ll have a penis.

4. On the train back from the airport last weekend, an elderly Chinese couple sat down next to Charlotte and me, and struck up a conversation with Charlotte. They were chatting about the usual two year-old topics, like her age and how cute she is. At one point, Charlotte turned to me and whispered, “mama, I need to make poo-poos.” And then she turned to the elderly couple, and pronounced loud and clear in Chinese for the whole train to hear, “我要拉屎!” That’s Chinese for “I need to drop a big log”

5. Whenever anyone compliments her on her gorgeous blonde hair, she replies, “thank you, my mama made it.”

Charlotte, in a rare quiet moment, thinking up something else crazy to say

Despite the fact that there are something like 120,000 foreigners living in Beijing, many of whom speak Chinese, people here often assume I can’t understand them. And then they assume that this gives them the right to talk about me right in front of my face.

But China, I can understand you.

These conversations are usually pretty tame, and often even flattering: the most frequent conversation that I overhear is about Charlotte, which typically goes like this:

“Oh, look at that foreign child over there”

“Ooh, she’s really pretty. Look at that long blonde hair.”

“Let’s take a picture of her!”

But once in awhile, I overhear some not so nice things. Like at the airport the other day, a young couple was talking about Charlotte:

“What a pretty little foreign girl”

“Yeah, she’s really pretty. Huh, she doesn’t look like her mother.”

I know, I know, it’s not that bad, it’s not like they were calling me a foreign imperialist devil or anything like that. What irked me most about this conversation was not that they bruised my ego, but the fact that they were standing right next to me, talking about me as if I were deaf or stupid, and they felt like they could say whatever they wanted about me.

And because I had really polite Chinese teachers, I had no way of telling them, in Chinese, to shove their opinions up their ass.

Which led me to draw a very important lesson from this experience: I need to learn more Chinese swear words.

One Saturday morning, we woke up to beautiful blue skies. Charlotte couldn’t wait to get out to the park, and insisted on wearing a frilly dress, which to me screamed ‘perfect summer park photo shoot!’

monkey-child

Hanging out