The One-Child Policy

When I told my business school classmates that women in urban China actually enjoy more gender equity than their counterparts in the U.S., most of them were incredulous. But it really is true in large cities in China (smaller cities and rural China are completely different stories) and from what I have observed, a good part of it is due to the one-child policy. I am not here to promote this policy or tout its virtue. I am a working mom, so I am especially interested in gender equity related issues because they greatly affect my level of happiness on a daily basis. Furthermore, I’ve noticed great interest or even fascination especially amongst other moms on the one-child policy in China, and I am just here to provide my own observations.

I myself am partially the product of the one-child policy. I was born in China in 1978, a year before the policy took effect. If my parents had tried hard enough, they could have had another child, but back then, poverty, not the policy, was what prevented couples from having more than one child. Growing up, meeting a classmate with a sibling was a novelty, but that is nothing compared to what my children get today. When we take both of the kids (who are obviously not twins) out, we are met with questioning stares, double takes, envious ohhs and ahhs, and even prying questions of “how did you manage to evade the reproduction police?” I don’t like lying about the fact that my children are actually Americans who are not bound by that policy, but I also don’t like telling complete strangers things about our children. After much hem and hawing on our part, people usually make the assumption that we belong to one of the groups who are either exempt from the policy or who don’t abide by it anyway: ethnic minorities, husband and wife who are both only children, husband and wife who both have a masters degree or higher, the ultra rich who can pay the penalty, or the dirt poor who have nothing to lose.

With only one child allowed, the child-rearing duties are somewhat easier to fulfill for women. Family planning is considerably simpler. Most women either wait until they have built up a career before having a child, or have a child early and go back to the workforce once the child is old enough to be in preschool. Either way, it means that workforce participation by women is very high, which also results in more women reaching higher positions. Urban Chinese women receive more help from their families. Since most of my peers are also only children, this translates to only one grandchild for every two pairs of grandparents. It is not uncommon for Chinese grandparents to fight over who gets to babysit little Deedee or Meimei as she or he provides the only chance for them to experience joy as grandparents.

The one-child policy has also changed the traditional view that daughters are not as valuable as sons. Some urban Chinese still prefer to have a boy, but most are enlightened enough to welcome a child of either gender. Even if they don’t, there isn’t much they can do: there is a strict policy forbidding doctors from revealing the gender of a fetus to prevent selective abortions. With only one child to raise and love, parents invest in the same amount of resources whether it is a daughter or a son, whereas traditionally families tended to place more importance on sons.

As for myself, I actually enjoy being a working mom here in Beijing. The fact that it is a social norm brings many unexpected benefits. I often meet other women who are working moms (thought not at my own company, mostly due to nature of the work) and I don’t experience the guilt I’ve heard American working moms express and I myself have experienced while I was living in SV. The best part is that because my male colleagues’ wives work, I feel no hesitation when I say I want to go home early to see the children, because they “get it” more than many of their American counterparts. Those who do frown upon it are typically male expats with a stay-at-home wife (and unfortunately they also tend to be in executive positions).

I must admit that I am very lucky to be able to have both of my children. Even if the one-child policy has brought side benefits to women, many still wish that they are allowed to have at least two children. When my cousin came for a visit, she looked wistfully at my children and said that she wanted nothing more than to give her daughter a sibling to grow up with.

The Joy of English

It’s true that many Chinese students don’t write very good English, but some of the things we see on cover letters for job applications beg the question of “what exactly were you thinking?”

My boss went to Peking University for a recruiting event today and came home with a stack of cover letters and resume. I flipped to one cover letter, and in the last paragraph, the applicant wrote, “I can work all day and all night on project team analysis…” Uh ok, sure maybe you can but I like hell don’t want to! And this particular dude ended the letter with “That’s all.”

Update on Juju and Jojo

Jujube (27-months old) finally seems to be losing her quick temper a bit and has become an amusing little person. Here are two examples.

This past weekend she spent the weekend at her grandparents. My parents spent the entire time between end of dinner and her bed time playing with her and lavishing her with attention. As she loves to be the star of the show, Juju was elated and in a moment of joy she hugged her grandpa and planted a kiss on his chin, leaving a bit of saliva. Then, she looked at her handiwork with bemusement, and said, “Grandpa is drooling!”

Lately she loves to point out various things, just to say that she’ll have this or do that when she grows up, usually things that she yearns for but isn’t allowed to have or do at the moment. Yesterday she was picking up individual pieces of candy from the plate of candy on the dining table, and for each piece, saying that she’ll have this piece when she grows up. I know she’s had her eye on the candy for a long time now, but so far she’s only toyed with them. I proceeded to tell her that sure, she can have them when she grows up, 30 years from now. After she did another round of “I will eat this piece when I grow up”, she looked up at me expectantly with her big liquidy eyes, and said, “I grew up!”

Jojo (8-months) has mastered crawling at just a bit over six-months and has been practicing cruising. He’s finally started to babble at about seven months. At eight-months, his eczema is somewhat better, at least not as visible on the face, and he’s an active, happy, and energetic little boy.

Reaction to Comments on Silicon Valley Moms Blog

I've been blogging before "weblog" had turned into "blog". In all my blogging years I'd never had a post that generated this much traffic and reaction. I had thought that it was a fairly uncontroversial entry, but I've learned that any time you touch upon a topic that is at all remotely related to motherhood issues, you are guaranteed to get a lot of reactions.

I had usually kept my opinionated side on a leash, but had always itched to blog about issues that had to do with work-life balance. In addition to having given these issues a lot of thought, I really wanted to find out what other parents thought.

Overall, I thought the comments were reasonable and relatively respectful. I could tell that a few moms were maybe a bit miffed and perhaps offended by bits and pieces here and there, but people didn't leash out or flame me. For that I am grateful.

I agree with some of the things some of the moms pointed out. For example, I had mentioned that if I were to stay home, my mom would lose bragging rights, which implies that being a stay at home mom is not something to be proud of. A mom said that was offensive to stay at home moms. I have to say I agree, and I know that I am guilty of thinking that being a stay at home mom isn't something to be proud of from time to time (that is, in addition to not being very fun for me personally). From what I've read and learned along the way, a good proportion of people do feel that those who stay at home with the children instead of developing a career are not as interesting, accomplished, [you fill in more adjectives], etc. I took six months off after Jojo's birth and during that time in meeting with my husband's colleagues in Beijing, I felt insecure. It could be imaginations generated by my insecurity, but I would surmise that a number of them would have written me off if I had told them that I didn't plan on going back to work. I wish people didn't judge and we only needed to live with our own choices and happiness, but as we live in a interconnected world that is just not possible unless we stopped interacting with others. Sometimes I tell myself, eff it who cares what other people think, but I know I'm entirely free from worrying how others might view me.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if we had achieved our "number" financially. I would probably still work, but no way in heelll would I be working in consulting or investment banking or any job that requires me to work the hours that I'd rather be doing something else. A lot of stay at home moms actually are quite busy running PTAs at their children's school or participating in other community building activities. I'd probably do that if I could fit in with the other moms.

The purpose of my previous blog was simply for me to express how I felt about being a working mom. All moms have a tough job and a lot of us struggle with our choices. It was just a chronicle of my personal struggle. As I am always eager to please, it was hard to read some of the harsher comments, but it was still better than having no comments. I admit that I was more eager to read the comments that agreed with me, but it was also enlightening to read from those who didn't. In the end, if it provided an interesting read to others, then my work is done. Maybe if I am feeling especially brave next time I'll chronicle my struggle with race issues.

The Mommy War Within

This is also posted on Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Whenever I come across statements such as “I feel so blessed to be able to stay home” or “I feel so lucky to be raising my own children” from stay-at-home-moms, I always feel a mixture of incomprehension, self-doubt, and wonder tinged with a bit of jealousy. These feelings have been made more intense recently by the fact that I’ve started working full-time again, six months after giving birth to Jojo, my second child.

I ask myself upon reading these statements, why do these moms feel blessed to stay home? Is there some kind of blinding euphoria in parenting that I just happen to miss? Sure, I love my children, but I’ve found that for the most part being a mom to small children meant dealing with rather tedious and mundane tasks such as changing diapers, wiping messes off floors/tables , and stopping the children yet once more in the middle of a potentially harmful act, day in and day out. I experienced my worst and darkest moments in life after I became a mom: post-partum emotional rollercoaster was a bitch, but not compared to the frustration and the humiliation when dealing with a child’s temper tantrum in public, or the crumpling guilt after spanking a child out of anger. I admit that once in a while I experience a transcendent moment of joy when my children do something really clever or give a glimpse of the kind, loving adults they might turn into someday, but for the most part parenting really drains me. To be a stay-at-home-mom, at least at my current stage in life (or to be more precise, perhaps, at my children’s current age), would lead to consequences I’m simply not willing to find out. Yet it seems that in the United States, more moms than not stay at home and my impression has always been that people accept that practice as the best for children. My incomprehension lead to self-doubt, because I figured that I must have some kind of deficiency when it comes to parenting and therefore, I am probably not that great of a mom, especially when overwhelmed by impatience, fatigue and stress.

I knew, before having children, that I would probably be a working mom. I became more certain after the birth of my first child. Given my honest feelings about parenting, to be a stay-at-home mom would be ruinous for both my children and me. However, that wasn’t the only reason. Having been raised by Chinese parents who both worked, I am practical to a fault. Working would give our family more options; it would take some pressure off of my husband, whose company’s up-or-out culture is a constant source of stress. Having a second income made the rise in tuition rates more bearable and the uncertainties in the future less worrisome. There is no need for me to list all my reasons—mine are common to the ones found on most working-moms’ list. One more reason that ought not to be is that if I didn’t work, my parents, especially Mom, would be aghast that her daughter has wasted a first-class education. More than the regret that she would lose bragging rights in front of her friends because I wouldn’t amount to anything professionally, she would worry that I’d regress to a haggard, nagging and plump housewife who’s only capable of conversing about produce prices and children’s mischief.

I have doubts whether I could have afforded to work back in Silicon Valley. With two very small children, exorbitant nanny salaries and/or preschool tuitions in the area, no family nearby to help, and a husband with a demanding job, I couldn’t really conceive of a job that would pay enough to cover the cost of working AND afford me enough free time to be a caregiver, primary or at all. Our solution, in the end, was to move all the way to China to be close to my parents.

Here in China, help is definitely affordable. I have two live-in nannies, both family relatives, as well as a full-time driver. More importantly, my parents are always willing and able to pop in to help whenever we need. I actually feel blessed that I will be able to return to work. However, sometimes I fear that by working I will be too far removed from my children’s daily lives and it’ll be my nannies who end up raising my children. Having help is great and even necessary when you live in a dusty city such as Beijing, but it definitely gives my children a warped sense of reality, something that tends to happen to children of privilege. Already Juju thinks that she is second-in-command at home after me, and that it’s perfectly normal for her two-year-old self to direct her nanny to mop the floor or wipe the windows. The few times I caught her I gave her a stern admonition, but I know, without a doubt, that when I am absent my nannies are simply too soft with her out of adoration for her as well as deference to me, despite my pleas for them to discipline her as needed. As for my son, I know that I will miss developmental milestones: the first time he mumbles a word, the first step he takes, the next round of vaccinations and more. Just this past week he started to crawl but I wasn’t there to witness it until he’s had a few days to practice. I felt a pang of regret and sadness not to have been there to cheer him on, but to be perfectly honest, that feeling wasn’t as catastrophic as some had described it, and certainly not enough to make me want to quit working altogether.

When I told my colleagues at my demanding new job with long hours that I have two small children, nobody reacted the way I would have expected from some people back in the United States. Here in urban China, stay-at-home moms, rather than working ones, are the exception, not the rule. This doesn’t mean people are not judgmental; it just means that they are judgmental with different standards. In a metropolitan city such as Beijing, parents encourage their daughters to pursue professional development; when women stay home after having children, usually it is not by choice. I have a cousin who has been a stay-at-home mom for the past five years (not by choice), and she has been the black sheep in the family for just as long. Because childcare is more available and affordable in China, people tend not to be as forgiving to women who stay home with the children.

I have a suspicion that I can’t validate, and perhaps it is due mostly to my own bias, but I suspect that more women would willingly choose to be working moms if childcare options in the U.S. were more available and affordable. In fact, not only do working moms need help with childcare, stay-at-home moms do, too. Parenting is a difficult job, and no help is ever too much help. Delegating some of the more mundane tasks to others and having someone else on the child rearing team have helped me cope physically as well as emotionally. I have more energy when I am with my children and I don’t feel as frustrated or desperate when they are difficult. I also suspect that the so-called “Mommy Wars” wouldn’t have been so heated or rampant if moms had more help. My suspicion is based on the fact that I most resented stay-at-home moms for saying they were happy, or blessed, or fortunate to be there for their children when I felt alone in my miserable struggle to handle a demanding professional life alongside a child who was ill, back when I only had daycare, which promptly handed a sick child back to the parents. That was when the wisdom of their choice seemed to so obviously stare me in the face, and I felt insecure and started doubting mine. Mommy wars are the result of tired, overworked moms.

In moments I feel that I might be crushed by what I think how I am judged as a mom, by others as well as myself, or when I worry that my nannies will never be as good as me for the children, I take relief in my own mother’s example. She has been a working mom ever since I was born, except for a few months’ hiatus here and there. When she had to accompany my dad on overseas assignments, I was left in the care of my (very irresponsible) grandparents. Still, I always thought that she was the best mom that I or any child could have had and there is no doubt in my mind that I was raised by her and no one else. There certainly were relapses in my upbringing when she was absent, but since the times spent with her were always the best they could be, I never veered too far from the right direction. Because I was safe and resolute in knowing that my mom loved and cared for me, I didn’t need her to be there for every significant moment in life or be the only one I turn to in moments of need. It seems perfectly simple reasoning that each mom (and dad) needs to find her own parenting approach and then make the lifestyle choice that makes sense, and yet I had always been looking for the absolute right choice, feeling suspicious and insecure when I see others so sure and content in their choices, especially if it’s a choice for which I have no desire. A short while ago I finally had the long overdue epiphany that the only worry I ought to have is how my own children might judge me as a mom someday, especially after they become parents themselves, and all I need to do is be the best working mom I can be.

Funny Stuff Juju Does at Preschool

Juju is the youngest in her class at preschool. The other children are at least six months older than her. However, her lack in age and stature does not prevent her from getting what she wants from other children.

When I went to pick her up last week, her teacher told me a funny story about her. During playground time that day, her classmates joined in a game and filled up all the spots before she could join.

Seeing that there was no spot for her, Juju went up to a three-year old boy named Alex and said, "Alex, it's peepee time for you!"

Alex obediently left his spot to go potty immediately, upon which Juju took up his spot, and made a face at the teacher standing by. Obviously she was fully aware of exactly what she was doing.

She's only two years old. I fear what she might be capable of conjuring up as she gets older.

Which Part of the Elephant Did You Feel?

I belong to a PAMP-like Yahoo! group (PAMP stands for Palo Alto Menlo Park Parents’ Club for those of you not from Silicon Valley) composed of 1,000 or so English speaking expatriates in Beijing. Last week, a woman put up this post:

I am looking for western maternity clothes. Are maternity clothes even sold in Beijing?

When I told my nannies about this post, all of us had a hearty laugh. Given more than roughly 200,000 babies are born in Beijing each year (to give you some contrast, about 35,000 babies are born in SV each year), that’s like asking, “can you buy sweaters” when in New Zealand, “can you get ski boots” when in Scandinavia, or “can you find pianos” when in Vienna, Austria. You get the point before I get carried away.

I wrote a reply to the list, saying that not only can you get maternity clothes in Beijing, they tend to be a lot more stylish than most of the stuff you find in the US. I especially recommended the pants, which always covered the midsection and were adjustable. I’m not a fan of the maternity pants I found in the US: they either left me baring my midriff ala Britney Spears, or became too tight during the third trimester.

From another angle, most of the designer brands sold in the world have been manufactured in China. As such, Chinese fashion tends to follow Europeans trends closely and were generally more forward than American styles. Therefore, you can imagine my surprise when another woman wrote this to the list:

Chinese maternity clothes are horrible! When you find them, they are so ugly. Best choice is to go to motherhood.com and have them ship from the US.

I was baffled and offended all at once that I felt blood rush to my face. The ridiculousness of her post floored me: sure, motherhood does offer some good stuff, but ship clothes to China all the way from the US? That’s like, lugging sand to the beach, bringing a sandwich to the buffet, shipping corn to Iowa…anyway, by now you know I have a penchant for analogies.

Later, a woman wrote me privately and said that she also found Chinese maternity ugly: all she saw were women wearing ugly overalls with teddy bears on them. At once, I finally understood why they thought what they did and it went beyond just maternity clothes.

Many of the expats in my Yahoo! group lived a secluded and privileged life in pockets of expat-heavy communities in Beijing. The Chinese they see and interact with are their nannies, people manning stores, on the street, in subways, etc, rather than people of comparable economic and educational backgrounds. As such, their impression of China is really of the poorest China has to offer. Ugly overalls with teddy bears? My Luis Vuitton toting Prada clacking Chinese friends wouldn’t be caught dead in them.

When visiting a foreign country, especially a developing country, please keep in mind that countries tend to be incredibly complex, especially a large country such as China. What you may see is not all there is. I find these narrowly sighted generalizations people make incredibly irksome and stupid. Let me give you another example.

A few years ago a Chinese friend of mine, while pursuing her Ph.D. at Stanford, made a rather thoughtless comment to me as follows, “Americans are ignorant and stupid; Stanford grads are no exception.” Given that I was culturally Asian American as well as a Stanford grad, twice, I was so offended that I briefly considered cutting her out of my life for good. Sure, I have met a good number of ignorant Americans who think that Asians are a different kind of black people (I’m not kidding here-it really has happened before), but how can one make such a blanket statement when it is America (and a few Stanford grads) who has brought the world Boeing, GE, HP, Microsoft, and Google? Talk to a few of my business school professors at Stanford, and their brilliance will blind you. How can you call those taught by the best teachers in the world stupid? I realized that her experience with Americans was simply too limited and she may have judged too quickly based on a few negative experiences.

When you come into contact with a different culture, please keep an open mind. Visiting and living in a foreign country is rather like the story of blind men feeling up the elephant: the man who grabbed onto the tail said the elephant was like a rope; the one who hugged the legs said the elephant was like a tree; the one who felt the ears said the elephant was most like a giant fan. Moral of the story: without keeping an open-mind to see the entirety of something, you are going to make an ass of yourself.

Another Trip to the Chinese Doctor

This post also appears (or will appear) on Silicon Valley Moms Blog.

I had previously blogged about going to a state-run Chinese children’s hospital (you can read it here, but be forewarned that it’s a bit of a bitch-log). After that trip half way to hell I never wanted to take the kids to a Chinese hospital again. However, Jojo’s most recent bout of eczema was so bad that I decided to bite the bullet and take him to see a doctor once more. Unfortunately, there isn’t a very good pediatrician in any of the expat clinics. Fortunately, Beijing Children’s Hospital opened a new affiliate hospital where all the doctors are Chinese but the facilities, the standards, and especially the prices are western. When I called to make an appointment, the receptionist emphasized that not only are the prices higher, but that they are several times higher than those at the regular hospital, and that I needed to put down a $300 deposit from which fees were to be deducted. I readily agreed as I didn’t want to find myself navigating through crowds in the sweltering heat holding an infant again, like I did at the other children’s hospital.

We drove for an hour and half through the rain across the city of Beijing to get to the hospital, cutting through Tiananmen Square along the way, where celebrations were being prepared as we were exactly a year away from the opening of the 08 summer Olympics. Beijing has always been a large sprawling city, and with such impressive economic growth in recent years, the number of cars on the road seems to have exploded exponentially; you can expect traffic on every major road. For such a large city, there are very few children’s hospitals—I only know of two. Most Chinese kids don’t see a regular pediatrician; if they get truly ill, they have to be taken to one of the children’s hospitals. Depending on where they live, it could be a long and arduous trip. I don’t know what parents here do for emergencies where every second matters, but I have little doubt that many children probably die because of delays in getting to an emergency room at a reputable hospital. When you have so many people in a country, the value of life just doesn’t seem to mean as much. I daren’t think about what would happen should Juju or Jojo get injured or seriously ill. It’s no wonder that we miss nothing more than we miss Dr. V and her staff at Welch Road Pediatrics.

Upon entering the hospital, I was relieved to find it clean and free of crowds and the staff courteous and attentive. At the regular hospital one can expect to wait at least an hour or two to see an expert, and that is if one gets there early enough to be included on the list to be seen at all that day--you can't make appointments ahead of time. At the new hospital, we were immediately taken to the waiting area where a nurse registered us and asked to weigh Jojo, my almost six-month-old son. She led us to a scale, and for a moment I was confused, as the scale was obviously used to weigh adults. She ushered both of us onto the scale, took the reading, then took Jojo from me, and took my weight: the difference between the two was registered as Jojo’s weight.

To sidetrack a bit, stepping on a scale in front of a total stranger at six months post partum was not one of my prouder moments. At a little over 130 lbs, I place squarely amongst the top quartile of Chinese women who are my height and age, even though I’m of average weight in the US. When I go shopping for clothes, I always ask for sizes XXL and up, and even then I sometimes find myself bursting out of the seams, especially at the bust. When I go with my mom, she’ll often call out to the salesgirls in her distance-carrying voice, “Bring out your biggest sizes for my daughter!” When I find myself having trouble yet again stuffing my boobs into a shirt obviously made for those with a Kate Moss physique, my mom usually explains obligatorily, “She’s only fat because she’s had a baby recently and she’s still breastfeeding.” At which point the salesgirl, often with a look of relief on her face, will reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry, you won’t remain this fat after you wean.” Moral of the story: first of all, Chinese people are thin in general; second, as such, it’s really no fun to be even slightly overweight here, as people have no qualms pointing it out to you. But I digress.

The pediatric dermatological specialist, a friendly grandma type, told us that day in and day out she sees children with eczema, the majority of whom are from industrialized places such as US and Europe. One interesting point of note was that she told me to just wean cold turkey and put the baby on hypoallergenic formula, as “breastmilk is as nutritious as water after six months post-partum”. I was dubious about that statement as I’d always been told differently in the US. However, remembering how Chinese doctors disliked being questioned, I suppressed my skepticism and asked tentatively, “how come US pediatricians always tell us to breastfeed until the child reaches one or sometimes even two years of age?” She gave a dismissive wave to my question and said, “The US is a much more humane society than ours and they don’t force-wean their children, but that’s not applicable in our country, especially since you are going back to work next month.” I remained silent because, really, what can you say to that?

Before we wrapped up our visit, we went to the gift shop to buy the hypoallergenic formula the doctor recommended. At $50 for a can which was at most a four-day supply of formula, Neocate, the only hypoallergenic formula available in Beijing and probably all of China, was prohibitively expensive for even most urban Chinese families, whose average monthly income was no more than $1,000. I asked Auntie, my nanny, how an average Chinese family would manage if their child wasn’t breastfed and couldn’t tolerate cow milk protein, and Auntie said that in those cases the child had to subsist only on rice porridge, fruits and vegetables. Ironically, many of the poorest Chinese children aren’t breastfed because their mothers have to go back to work right away to make ends meet. Once again I was overcome with sadness for the children.

Our doctor’s visit took us four hours and even with a dedicated driver and a nanny to accompany me, I was exhausted. We must to trek over once again in three days for a return visit. Still, I can’t complain because we are so much more fortunate than so many people, especially those in third-world countries. Living in Silicon Valley over the years made me feel entitled to the comforts and conveniences typical of upscale US cities, and my experiences in China keep reminding me just how lucky I am.

Clarification

Perhaps I was too subtle on my last blog. This is exactly what I meant:

1. I don't appreciate my people being spoken of as if they are of a dirty or untouchable race. It's a bit like someone in the US saying, I don't want violent crimes committed against me, therefore, I better avoid them black/Latino/Asian people.

2. Sure, I recognize there are a lot of problems with how things are done in China, but let's not take cheap shots at my motherland at every opportunity. It's like, you are a teenager suffering from pimples; you are frantically slapping on all the Retin-A and Proactiv you can find and you are popping Accutane like Skittles , but these bullies keep calling you pizza face. Look, I'm just trying to find an analogy most of y'all can relate to...

3. If you say something like, this shop can't be good because it's run by Chinese people with their Chinese ways, you come off sounding stupid and disrespectful. It's not the people but which point of development the society is in. Take these same Chinese, put them on a small island nation called Singapore, and they'll be the best service people you ever find. Reverse example, take a few business people from US or Europe, pop them in China, and they are as unethical as ever (I won't bore you with examples but if you really want to know, dig deep into Danone and Walmart China).

Hopefully by this point I've made myself clear.

Ugh, Them Chinese!

I belong to a yahoo group composed of 1,000 or so members who are English-speaking expats living in Beijing. Typically postings range from questions on where to buy western goods to how to get things done in China. Recently, there have been a number of postings regarding the quality of Chinese-made goods and foods. I've found some people's comments to be irksome.

There was a discussion on a Western grocery store named Jenny Lou's. Someone found spoiled chicken meat and informed one of the employees. That employee took it off the shelf, washed it and then put it back on the shelf. The person alerted the whole list to warn people about the quality of the meat from that grocery chain. Someone one else wrote back saying she always wondered why her friends trusted these shops--sure, they cater to westerners but how can they be good if "the staff is Chinese and they do things the Chinese way!"

Then later someone else wrote on an unrelated topic, recommending a shop, but then concluded with the comment "I'm not sure it still exits. This being China, the store has probably gone out of business and probably now sell parceled realestate rights on land on Mars!" I've seen other similar comments such as this one.

Earlier last month, I posted something on the list asking parents about the tuberculosis vaccine for their children. One mom wrote me back saying that she won't vaccinate her kids and will simply "keep them away from the Chinese". Hm, I guess the Chinese must a people of plagues!

All of these comments chafe me and some even offend me, but I remained silent. I didn't write that mom back telling her that I'm one of the Chinese her children need to avoid; I didn't write the list saying that I found their comments rather racist; I didn't make a peep at all. It is not because I'm afraid I'd offend anyone, but because there is a grain or two or more of truth in their comments, however irksome.

If you've read the news recently, Mattel just recalled their Fisher-Price toys made in China because of lead paint. That's just a scratch off the surface. In our family we try to buy imported goods and foods as much as possible and never let the children eat out. We are very aware of many many more quality problems and unethical practices found in China that haven't been touched by western media. My friends, family and I are certainly guilty of bitching about how unconscientious Chinese businesses can be, but it's different when we complain about our own people. It's a bit like you complain about how cuckoo your parents are, but it's not ok for others to insult your mom.

These expats need to realize that the problem is due to the fact that China is a developing country and an economy in transition. In the turn of the century the US had some of the similar problems currently found in China, simply because there isn't a system in place to keep vigilant over businesses. The FDA, FAA, SEC, etc were all put into place because something went seriously wrong in an industry and the government realized that there needed to be a regulator.

Whenever I read a comment that vilifies the Chinese rather than point out that the real villain is the system, I become wary of these expats and wonder if they see us as a lesser people. I know only some of them are guilty of looking down on the Chinese, but it becomes hard to distinguish those who do from those who don't. I try to keep in mind not to generalize, or else I become one of those I speak against. It's sad that China, with all the richness in its culture and history, has become a country now more saliently known for its cheap exports.

My First Post on Silicon Valley Moms Blog

After much hem and hawing, I asked to join Silicon Valley Moms Blog. Then, after another week of delay, I finally wrote the first post. It's bit of a repeat for some of ye faithful readers.

A while ago when Juju, my two-year old daughter, was just a wee tot I perused some blog entries on potty-training and vowed that I would never blog about my own children’s potty-training woes. I vowed too soon. ‘Twas when we finally potty-trained Juju that I understood just how amazing and uplifting it was to see your baby be able to poop and pee on her own, so much so that I can’t help but make potty-training the topic of my first blog entry here.

Before you label me an overzealous alpha-mom who potty-trains her children before they turn two, an age deemed too young by many, let me say that it was not by choice. In fact, I had been dreading potty training for as long as I’ve been a member of the Palo Alto Menlo Park Parents Club. From time to time a mom would post something along the lines of “help! my toddler has been smearing poop all over the house what do I do!?” and I must admit that reading these posts made me mortally afraid of when my own time would come. The only relief came when I learned from these posts that most moms didn’t start potty-training well until the children were past two-years of age and some as old as four. I became ever mindful of where to stock up on sizes six and seven diapers to last me until that woeful but inevitable day when Juju is so old that not potty-training her would make us social outcasts.

Unfortunately for me, that day of reckoning came rudely too soon. Two months ago when we moved to Beijing, I registered Juju at the preschool in our housing complex. I asked the teacher in charge of registration what they do in terms of potty-training the kids and experienced a moment of near-panic when I was told that all children are potty-trained upon entering preschool. She didn’t say that the children are required to be potty-trained, because the fact was that all children in China, under normal circumstances, simply are already potty-trained well before they reach two years of age. It was something as inarguable as that Mr. Mao was once the chairman of China.

Every potty-training manual I had read always listed starting too early as a cardinal sin in potty-training and warned of dire consequences; usually there was also a potty-training readiness check-list. I started mentally ticking off items on the list on our trip back from the pre-school. Could take own clothes off-no; could put own clothes on-no; diaper usually dry after nap-no; interest in sitting on potty-no; bothered by wet diaper-not really; adequate attention span-definitely no. Uh oh, crappy times await!

Juju was scheduled to start preschool right after her two-year birthday, so we had two months ahead of us to get her potty-trained. I had always thought hocus-pocus people who spoke of Chinese nannies who potty-trained their children in three days and the miraculous Elimination Communication method. Was there a secret Five Day Chinese Potty-Training Method to which I was not privy? How could you possibly potty-train a child when all these authors with Ph.Ds, M.D.s and more clinical experience than you could imagine say she’s not ready? I was skeptical but had no choice if I wanted her to be able to start preschool with the rest of her class.

As it turns out, China is potty-training haven. A month before Juju turned two, she was completely potty-trained and hasn’t worn diapers during the day since. As many of you wise parents know, consistency is rule number one in potty-training, but life in the US makes it very difficult. What do you do when you are out at the park/mall/Wholefoods or zooming down highway 101 and your diaperless toddler needs to go, NOW (as it is always with a toddler), especially when it’s number two? What about when she soils the carpet right after you’ve just had it steam-cleaned last month? What if she has an accident at the park right in front of those chic Menlo Park moms you were hoping to befriend? That’s enough stress to make you want to diaper up your child until she can perform long division.

These concerns simply don’t exist in China. First of all, Chinese homes are not carpeted for the most part-it is as practical as pelting nuts to shoo away squirrels. A city such as Beijing is just too dusty for carpets; low end homes can’t afford to maintain them and high end homes usually use marble and hardwood or laminate for flooring. More importantly, Chinese people are amazingly tolerant of kids’ bodily functions. Let me demonstrate this cultural difference by an example. On our United Airlines flight from SFO to Beijing, we were able to use miles to upgrade to first class. There was a huge amount of space between our seats so my husband and I used it to change our newborn son’s diaper. After a couple of diaper changes, the stewardess asked us to use the changing table in the bathroom instead, as it might “offend other passengers”. Any parent who’s been on an airplane knows whoever designed those so called changing tables on airplane lavatories have never seen actual sized babies. How I was going to wrestle an oversized feisty three-month old male baby who just figured how to flip over on that palm-sized table in a box-sized stall on my own was not something I wanted to experiment. For the rest of the flight we engaged in covert diaper-changing operations where one of us was on the look-out while the other quickly wiped the offending bum and hid the contrabands. On a Chinese airline nobody would have bat an eye if a baby was changed out in the open as long as you didn’t hinder other passengers or leave anything behind.

To potty train Juju, all we had to do was to let her run around bottomless at home and put on a pair of underwear when we went out. After peeing on the floor a few times, she figured out on her own what it was and that with the rewards and praises afterwards, it was simply to her advantage to deposit her pee in the potty. When we went out, and she needed to go, we just pull her underwear down and she goes by the side of the road. This was true whether she was on the playground, on a dirt road in the country side, or on the most expensive real estate property in Beijing. All kids do this-public toilets are not readily available and diapers are a luxury to many Chinese families. I’ve seen many moms hold their children over trash cans to pee or poop in stores or malls; I even saw a mom holding her son over a plastic bag when he needed to go on a busy subway train. When we take Juju out, we also carry extra plastic bags instead of extra diapers. It’s a commonly accepted practice to have little kids pee or poop in public.

I thought we had bragging rights since Juju was potty-trained before she turned two, which I think is pretty early even by lofty Silicon Valley standards, until I talked to other Chinese moms. It turned out that it is not uncommon for babies to go diaperless starting the age of six months and by the time many children hit a year and half they’ve been completely potty-trained. By that I mean they can let an adult know they need to go and wait until they get to a potty or behind the bush to let go even if they can’t pull their pants up or down themselves. It is in fact very strange for a child of two not to be potty-trained. The fact that Juju still wears diapers when she goes to bed at night is a shameful fact we do not disclose to other Chinese parents.

Have things been perfectly smooth since Juju was potty-trained? No. She started having accidents (on our bed, once) randomly just a week before she was supposed to start preschool and I thought the Dark Ages were upon us once more. When she started school I accompanied her for the first three days and I was so nervous she’d have an accident that I would asked her if she needed to pee every five minutes or so, much to her annoyance. At pick ups at the end of the day I always anxiously ask her teachers if she’s had accidents. To my relief, her teachers accept that children her age will have accidents and are even better than we at dealing with her accidents. Juju has attended preschool for two weeks now and only had accidents the first week and even stopped having accidents at home.

If potty-training isn’t going well for you and your little one, perhaps a trip to China is just what you need.

Help With My Domestic Help!

I sang Hallelujah yesterday because my new maid finally arrived. We already have a nanny who happens to be my aunt, but one nanny for a household our size in Beijing simply isn’t enough. Both Juju and Jojo are home these days and the house needs to be cleaned thoroughly everyday or everything will be covered in dust by the end of the day.

We’d been trying out a maid for the past month but she just wasn’t good enough. Xiao An is a 20-year old Tibetan who’s only had a grade school education. She came to Beijing as part of a program by one of the women’s organizations to help poor families from rural China. I was willing to hire her right out of nanny school even though she was very inexperienced, thinking that I would be able to train her. Through random conversations with her, my aunt and I found a few oddities about her.

First of all, one would expect a child from a normal family and especially a poor family to be capable of the basic household chores as she or he probably helps out at home. Xiao An, on the other hand, was always painstakingly slow and didn’t seem to know how to do anything. It was as if she’s had a personal maid while growing up! Truth turned out to be closer than we thought. Later she told us that she had never cooked, done laundry, wiped the floor, washed the dishes or watched young children in her life! How could that be? Well, we later found out that her family, though lives on a very modest income, isn’t quite destitute and her mother did everything for her.

Second, we often observed that she dressed rather trendily, which didn’t seem befitting her financial situation. Every day before she leaves for the night she spends about half an hour in the bathroom dressing up and doing her hair. She seems to favor a particular white dress which my aunt finds particularly distasteful, as she likes to wear flirty underwear underneath. My aunt admitted that she often did a double take of Xiao An’s backside, not that she was a lascivious old grandma but simply due to an irrepressible curiosity to see which cartoon character Xiao An happened to be sporting on her underwear that day. I could only imagine how many takes the men on the street did. Later Xiao An admitted that even if she had to starve she would still spend money on clothes. If there was a particular item of clothing she coveted she’d lose sleep and appetite until she finally acquired it. You can’t really blame her-she’s an attractive girl. Her Tibetan blood gave her quite a striking look with light hazel eyes and brown hair. Part of the reason she left town was to dodge all the suitors her parents had lined up for her as she didn’t want to settle easily.

About two weeks after Xiao An’s arrival we started having doubts about her ability to shoulder responsibilities in our household. She was difficult to train: Auntie and I had to handhold her on just about all chores and she didn’t seem to have good common sense when it came to household cleaning. Furthermore, whether due to laziness, carelessness, or inexperience, she often didn’t do an adequate job. Dirty streaks on the floor had become her trademark. Still, we decided to let her live with us as her commute was long and her living conditions less than desirable. It would have been an arrangement that would benefit both parties. That was until my dad caught her napping during the day when the house was left unclean.

I was caught in a quandary. Should I start over and find a new person? From what I’d heard, Xiao An was actually better than many of her classmates, some of whom kept switching clients in an effort to find a sinecure that paid a lot but required little effort. It is extremely difficult to find good domestic help here. One of my business school alumni said she tried out 15 maids in a short nine months in Beijing before landing two satisfactory ones. The majority of people in China view nannying as a job of last resort, and understandably often only those of worst character and abilities took the job. Good nannies are hard to find even if you are willing to pay, and pay through the nose (according to local salary standards) you will once you find one, though many expats are more than willing to part with their money once they find a good one with passable English skills.

I personally think that the country would be a much better place if more smart and hard-working individuals were willing to become domestic helpers. Unfortunately, Chinese people have a very different mentality compared with westerners regarding nannying. To Americans being nanny is a job like any other; sure, it doesn’t always pay well, but it’s an honorable job nonetheless. American families are very conscientious about providing a good work environment for their nannies and both parties act respectfully towards the other. In China, however, some families view nannies as second-class citizens and often ask them to do shameful and bizarre tasks (asking the maid to hand wash adults’ underwear or washing adult bums after bodily acts, to name two); in return, nannies harbor resentment towards their employers and retaliate in secret, such as physically or verbally abusing their young charges. Stories abound of nannies running off to sell their charges off to child-traffickers in China, which is why most of the Chinese families we know won’t leave the children alone with the nanny or let the nanny take the kids out for walks. Often the grandparents act as human surveillance system to keep an eye on the nanny. We’ve personally seen a nanny on the playground in our complex cursing a little Russian girl until the girl broke down and cried. Foreigners…tsk tsk tsk, when will they learn to be watchful of their nannies? I can almost hear the grandmas on the playground whisper to each other. There are so many families in need of a good nanny, but alas, nannies nannies everywhere, but not a single good one in sight.

I may have struck gold on the second try. Once we decided that Xiao An simply wouldn’t do, my mom started looking around amongst our relatives again. The benefit of hiring relatives is that you know for sure they won’t traffic your children or abuse them. Little Bell, my mom’s brother’s wife’s sister’s daughter-in-law, happened to be available for work. At a staggering $200 a month, We pay her twice as much as we pay Xiao An, and I later found out that that is the most she’s ever earned in a month in her 35 years of life. She’s held a number of odd jobs, some with inhumane conditions (cotton processing plants, sweatshops, etc), and is desperate for a stable income, but stable jobs are very difficult to find in her hometown, even for someone capable like her. She used to nanny for a pitiful $50 a month.

Today is her second day here and she’s magnitudes better than Xiao An. She’s quick, experienced, down to earth and willing to learn. She loves kids and kids like her, too. I know she has potential to do a great job and I can trust her alone with the kids, even Jojo, my 4-month old. Now the only thing left to do is to find a trustworthy driver-I’ll save that for another blog.

I am thankful that we let Xiao An go. It turned out that she had planned to return to her hometown soon to get married anyway and she actually admitted to Little Bell (they overlapped a day) that she didn’t like children. Phew, that was close!

Expensive Preschools Do Not Harvard Grads Make

Yesterday on the cab ride over the driver told me that everyday he goes 15 kilometers to pick up a kid from preschool and drives him back to our complex. I was perplexed, so I asked why the kid doesn't simply attend the nursery school in the complex. The driver said that the parents didn't think our preschool was good enough, and that this preschool is a dual-language preschool with a huge price tag.

I told him that our preschool isn't cheap either, at $300 a month. He said the other preschool costs $1,000 or so. I know for those of ye faithful readers in the US $1,000 for preschool sounds like peanuts, but for most Chinese families $1,000 is their average monthly income. Imagine spending something like $3,000 for preschool in the US, when you could have sent your child to one that costs only $1,000.

Sure, we could easily send Juju to a $1,000 a month preschool, but I refuse to when I can send her to a perfectly good one close to home. I understand why expats send their kids to such expensive schools: they need to be instructed in English and they (more likely probably their parents) feel more comfortable with other (mostly) white kids. I also know why Chinese parents send their kids to such schools, but I think it's overkill.

Many Chinese parents will do just about anything to get their kids fluent in English. They almost see it as the ticket to future happiness and nirvana. Sure, I want Juju to speak English, but I also want her to grow up amongst Chinese kids. I want her to have a sense of ethnic identity so that she views her Chinese heritage as a source of pride rather than shame.

If you've never lived in a place where you are an ethnic minority, maybe it's hard for you to understand how I feel. If you read kimchimamas blog perhaps you'll get a sense why the issue of race is so important to a lot of us Asian moms. I was born in China and grew up in Beijing until I was 12. In elementary school I was always taught to be proud to be Chinese. Now I know a lot of it was propaganda, but as an impressionable young child I fully believed what my teachers said. That pride sustained me through my earlier years in the US when things were difficult.

When we moved to Bethesda, Maryland, where I attended a bit of elementary school, then middle school and parts of high school, mainland Chinese, especially mainland Chinese children, were still a rarity. I knew I couldn't compare to my rich Jewish classmates. They lived in huge houses, their parents drove nice cars, and they wore nice clothes from the Gap. How laughable everything seems now! I have long stopped shopping at the Gap because of its lack of style, but back then there was nothing I wanted more than to wear stuff from the Gap, but alas, it was out of our price range. My parents and I shopped at Kmart and its other cheap chain store cousins.

My classmates made fun of me for my accent, my clothes, my attitude, and my Chinese-ness. However, none it of bothered me for too long because I was convinced that they were wrong and that they werejust jealous they weren't Chinese themselves. Sure, at my worst moments I had sometimes wished I, too, had blond hair and blue eyes, but those moments were rare and fleeting. I always knew I was smart and capable, simply because I firmly believed all Chinese people were.

Over the years I lost a lot of my awkwardness and traces which hint at my third-world origin, but I never lost my ethnic pride. I kept up my Chinese, when almost every other child of Chinese immigrants I knew shed their Chinese when they took up English. I refuse to speak Chinese mixed with English, a common habit carried by many Chinese, in the US or in China. Consequently, I have yet to find someone who has native fluency in both Chinese and English like I do; American born Chinese usually know pathetically little Chinese (Mr. MP is such a shameful example) and immigrant Chinese Americans tend to lose their Chinese but also never quite conquer English. Part of the reason is that unlike, say, French and English, Chinese and English are so dissimilar; to know both is simply a lot of work. The only person whose language skills I truly admire is my dad--his accomplishments deserve a blog all by itself. He regularly publishes in the most authoritative financial journals or magazines in China and his written English is just as good.

Perhaps it is a bit presumptuous of me to say so, but I think I know why these Chinese parents send their kids to such ridiculously expensive preschools--so they can create an artificial English environment so their kids can turn out like me. My command of English can easily fool native speakers into thinking that I must have been born and bred in the USA. I have not one but two degrees from one of the most prestigious colleges in the world. Ironically, I was able to accomplish all that because of my strong ethnic identity, built back when I attended daycare and elementary school in China with classmates who were all poor as dirt like we were. When people were unkind to me because of my race, it didn't confuse me or hurt me--I saw it as their fault, not mine. Back when I was younger and more idealistic, I wanted to succeed, get straight A's and win awards not just for myself but to gain respect for my people.

When Juju was born, how I could give her a strong sense of ethnic identity was always a question lurking in the back of my mind. Her daycare had a sprinkle of Asian kids and almost no blacks or Hispanics. She's smart--sooner or later she would figure out that life in the US is just so much easier as a white person (please, don't just write this statement off--really think about it for a long moment). Then what? I always drew blanks. Would she turn out like her dad, who doesn't really think he's Asian until he's looked into the mirror? Would she turn out like one of my bschool classmates, who is Asian American but refuses to associate with anything such? Would she turn militant or aloof when she suspects people are unkind to her because of her race?

When we decided to move to Beijing, I let out a sigh of relief inwardly. I want her to grow up amongst children who look like her; I want her to never have to question whether she belongs; I want her to be a proud little Chinese girl who someday will bring that pride to her Chinese American friends. If she has problems with her friends from school, I want these children's quarrels to be caused by differences in temperament or silly things such as dolls and toys, not a heavy issue such as race. I have no doubt that one day she will return to America and be a proud American. When she does and encounters racial discrimination, I hope her maturity and pride will enlighten her to the right way to approach such disheartening, confusing and frightening moments.

In the end I feel sorry for these Chinese parents; they want the best for their kids but go overboard at times. Many of the Chinese kids who attend preschools run by foreigners don't really speak English, and from my experience, I know how much angst it causes a child when he/she can't communicate with friends at school. If they really want their children to succeed, let them have a fun childhood and make sure they are proud of their heritage!

What Do You Mean You Don't Like Durians?

My tendency to see the glass half empty has led some to believe that there isn't much enjoyable about life here in Beijing. I imagine that if you really let me go on and on about the pollution, the rude people, and the lack of quality in household products, you'd think that we live in the Dark Ages and that China is without running water and indoor plumbing. Quite the contrary in Beijing (though true in some parts of rural China).

In fact, it's been a rich cultural experience for Jujube, my two-year-old. She understands Chinese perfectly now and says some pretty complex stuff. It's also been a great experience for her taste buds.

Mr. Mouse Potato, born and reared in New Jersey, only developed palate for apples, bananas, and oranges. He considers pears and cherries exotic fruits and won't touch a papaya or its tropical cousins.

Juju, on the other hand, thinks that lychees are a regular household fruit. It's now past lychee season but she'll still ask for the sweet fruit with a juicy and translucent flesh. She didn't like its cousin longan so much as it's much smaller and not as juicy. She had mangosteens yesterday and took to them immediately. Unfortunately I only had six so there wasn't a lot to spare (and I didn't).

Her recent favorite is the dragon fruit. It is about the size of a small turnip and bright pink on the outside (see picture). The flesh is white with many black seeds size of sesames. It's full of nutritions and great for kids. The only downside is that the seeds aren't digestible so they come out pretty much in the same color and consistency as when they went in.

By now she's probably had more species of fruits than most of ye faithful readers. I've really enjoyed sharing my favorite fruits with her and I'm a proud, card-carrying member of the fruit-phile club. My only regret is that I didn't introduce the durian to her properly. Durians stink like swiss cheese and tastes like honeyed potatoes, but it is oh so heavenly. She had one bite and spat it out. I haven't yet given up and will try giving her another bite next week. I firmly believe that a life without a love of durians is a life deprived.

How Did I Ever Manage Without an Army of Help?

I currently employ two nannies, one live-in, one live-out. Soon, I will need the live-out nanny to live in (once my bed and extra beddings arrive). Then, I will have to hire a full-time driver for the family.

By now you probably think I must be the most idle person ever. Not so. Life is as tiring as it used to be in Menlo Park, where everything was DIY and I had no help whatsoever. How could that be?

The answer is that life in the United States is much simpler and much more convenient. I don't need a driver because people drive in an orderly fashion (except in NYC) and there is plenty of parking to go around in Suburbia USA.

Come to Beijing and have someone drive you around once. If this is your first trip here, by the end should you find yourself curled up in fetal position, holding the handle in a death grip, shaking violently and praying to God for the first time in xx many years and promising that you'll start going to church every Sunday--heck, everyday, if you are still alive--again like a good little boy/girl, you'll be pleased to know that you aren't the only foreigner to experience such. Mr. Mouse Potato and I ventured to the supermarket in my dad's car all by ourselves last weekend and we barely made it back home (though mostly because Mr. MP is bad at directions). I, for one, have no death wish to fulfill so I refuse to drive. A professional driver costs $300 a month and I think that's money well spent.

If you've never been to China, I don't really have a good way to convince you why the house needs cleaning and dusting everyday. However, you probably know of someone who suffers from an especially pernicious five-o'clock shadow. The dust in Beijing is like the facial hair on someone who grows a full-beard the next day if not shaved the day of. The house isn't in livable condition if not cleaned everyday. That's why there is a nanny devoted to cleaning the house.

Then of course there is Juju and Jojo. For $300 a month I can hire a full-time live-in nanny, so why not? Even with two nannies, I still have to cook; and I have to cook now for a house of six! That's no small task. Of course I can hire a cook, but I tell you, having to manage a houseful of help is a LOT of work, and one more is really going to break my back, ironically.

When I did everything myself, everything was done to my satisfaction. Now I must train the nannies to clean the way I want and care for the kids the way I would. They never really quite live up to my standards and I have to settle for good enough. I have to interview several drivers before deciding on The One and I have to think of ways to prevent the driver from running away with our car or taking it out for joy rides. Every month I must remember to pay everyone the right amount, plus bonuses as appropriate. I also have to think of ways to motivate them to do a good job while looking for signs that they may be derelict in their duties. I so much prefer when good old meself was all the help I needed.

By the way, I get really irked when people say "I want to stay home because I want to raise the kids myself". So, what are working moms doing? Throwing their kids to the wolves? And staying home does not raise your own children make. I stay home now (before going back to work in September) and I cannot say I raise my own children all by myself. The kids are with Auntie as much as they are with me, and when Jujube is upset or hurt, she will just as often run to Auntie instead of me. I'm not bothered. As long as the kids grow up healthy physically and mentally, it's not important that I am the one with whom they spend the most time. I need to work. You might as well kill me before asking me to be a stay at home mom.

Stinky Diapers Be Gone!

At the risk of turning off some of ye faithful readers, I must dedicate this journal entry to Jujube's potty training success. She doesn't wear diapers during the day anymore. When she needs to poop or pee, she knows to go to her Dora potty, and then does her business. She loves her Disney undies.

Since we've been showering her with compliments every time she uses the potty, going to the potty has always been a pleasant experience for her, all around. When she's done, she summons all of us over and then proudly presents her products. After we are done viewing, she bring each of her stuffed animals for them to take a look as well. Sometimes she puts them so close to the potty that I get nervous the animals may come back with a brown nose. A few times her poop smelled something vicious, and we had to applaud her while holding our breaths.

We owe our success to Chinese people's tolerance of diaperless toddlers. In China, even before kids can start walking they start getting potty trained. When they are out with parents and need to go, instead of frantically looking for public bathrooms, parents can simply lift them by their legs and let them go on the side of the street. Nobody bats an eye, and this is true on a dirt road in rural areas as well as on the most expensive real estate in Beijing.

Any parent who's gone through the saga of potty training his or her children knows that consistence is important. If you want them to go diaperless, you have to keep them that way as much as possible. However, in the US, the pressure of having to find a bathroom prevents parents from being that daring. It's often much easier to keep the kids in diapers simply because outings can get too hard to manage.

Here in Beijing, when we are out with Juju and she needs to go, we just pull her pants down, help her squat, and she goes (only pee. Poop is not that easily accepted, but ye wise parents know that it's the pee that's a bitch). Let's see...she goes on the playground regularly; she's fertilized the lawns around here almost on a daily basis. The most outrageous was probably last week when I took her to a chic kids' bookstore in a very yuppy complex, and she just went under a tree on a major street...twice. Nobody cared. Kids peeing in trashcans when indoors is also a fairly common sight.

These days, Juju is fond of peeing outside and drowning ants with her pee. Potty training her has been a piece of cake. If by now you think it's ridiculous that kids (and we are talking about little kids, kids under three. Juju's almost two) pee everywhere, people here think it's outrageously ridiculous that many American kids still wear diapers past the age of three. You can't go to preschool here without being potty trained and you can't find large size diapers anyway.

Chinese Doctors, Grow A Heart

I've long held a bias against doctors. I dislike them intensely and I dislike seeing them. This is not in anyway mitigated by the fact that my maternal grandfather, two of my uncles, one of my cousins and one of my aunts were/are doctors, popular ones even, last I heard.

I dislike doctors because of my family's experience with them in China. They are completely desensitized and hold not a care for their patients. They are condescending and rude towards patients, and that's when you, the patient, are lucky, because at least they didn't use their quackery to kill or hurt you. Then again, why should they care? They are paid peanuts and see way too many people to care. In China, the healthcare system works in a way that you don't really get a regular doctor. You go to the hospital, buy a number, and when your number is called, you see whomever is the doctor on duty. You have no personal history with him or her. He or she is probably tired, disgruntled, and disgusted by the patients, many dirty and uneducated from the countryside.

I'm not the only one who feels this way. Many, and I might even venture to say many many, Chinese are resentful towards hospitals and doctors. Let me give you an example of how cruel these so called medical professionals can be.

In the US, a hospital will pick up a maimed, injured or sick person in an ambulance and then treat him/her regardless of whether he/she has insurance. In China, if you can't cough up 100 grand RMB en route to the hospital, the ambulance will simply stop, and dump you on the side of the road. Even if you are rich, but can't produce the money or proof that you can pay at the moment, you are effed. Then again, with so many people, if hospitals were merciful, they'd be already full of sick people, none of whom can pay. In terms of the pay pyramid, doctor pay is like teacher pay in the US. Many of them accept monetary gifts (i.e., bribes) from patients--for many doctors it's a regular form of income. To be fair though, the best hospitals in Beijing strictly forbid bribes from patients, but less organized hospitals are much less scrupulous.

Time for personal stories.

Last Friday I took Jojo (the baby boy) to an expat clinic for a well-baby checkup. The doctor on duty was a local Chinese doctor, which explained his localized attitude towards us. Back in the US, Dr. V, our pediatrician, always examined the kids from head to toe, sometimes admonishing us for not cleaning the kids' crotches and fat folds thoroughly. She always listened to what I had to say, even when I meself knew what I said wasn't exactly sensible. I'm bit of a perfectionist (which is really OCD in disguise), and always asked Dr. V if she were sure whether the kids were not 1. retarded; and or 2. autistic.

The Chinese doctor didn't even so much as look at Jojo, much less examine him. He sat an arm's length away from us the entire time and prescribed Cetaphil for Jojo's eczema, never asking me what I was already using. He kept telling me that I should keep breastfeeding him even after I start work, saying his daughter pumped, not minding that I kept telling him I travel for work immediately after I start, and for fuck's sake Chinese companies don't provide lactation rooms (people would laugh if I asked where it was). Readers, please don't leave comments saying I should freeze it and then Fedex it home because 1. I'm traveling overseas and you cannot ship human secretions and 2. it's just not going to work. At the end of the visit he told me to come back when Jojo turns one-year, which was eight months away!

Unfortunately for us, the next morning, Jojo woke up with a red rash on his knees, hands and feet. I panicked and called my parents over, and my dad, Mr. Mouse Potato and I zoomed to a children's hospital in the city. On a Saturday morning, the hospital lobby was as full of people as a popular NYC club on a Friday night. I first had to go to information to get a slip that said which department I needed to visit, then stand in line to get a number for that department, and then trek upstairs to the said department to wait to be called. The process was arduous, confusing, and long. We stood for an hour to be seen.

While waiting, I asked the nurse at Dermatology how long we needed to wait and what if the baby were in serious trouble or dying. She said as quickly as she could while not even bothering to look at me that if that were the case we should just go to emergency, then added promptly that the wait there was just as long. So, Chinese children and their parents, if you need immediate medical attention or if you can't cough up 100 grand, you are truly shit out of luck.

The numbers were called in 10's. Once called, the parents lined up outside the examination rooms and the doctor spent at most three minutes with each; even a Stanford-educated industrial engineer would be awed by these doctor's efficiency. If it's not necessary for the doctor to take a look at the cause for the visit twice, you can bet your house and kidneys that she won't.

Next, I'm going to tell you just how bad these doctors can be. If you can't cough up enough money to see an expert doctor, you'll have to do with a regular one, likely a twenty-something new grad who probably hasn't finished high-lighting her textbooks. We had enough to cough up to see an army of expert doctors, but the wait would have been too long, so we settled for a regular one. First upon seeing Jojo, the doctor frowned and said what he had was bad news, that it was likely foot and mouth disease. I was deliriously worried, at the moment confusing that with West-Nile, as both were in the news a lot just previously. Fortunately, she was sensible enough to take us to see the expert doctor, who took a peek, and said it wasn't anything worrisome at all, probably just mosquito bites.

In my haze of worry and anxiety, I bombarded the doctor with questions, a tendency that hinted at just how spoiled I was by our doctors back in Silicon Valley. The expert doctor stopped telling me about what Jojo might have and lectured me on my manners. She called me "one of those typical parents these days" who asked too many questions and never listened to the doctors and that I should simply take what the doctors say as truth and not give subjective information such as my observations, assumptions, opinions, etc. In other words, I should listen and only speak when prompted. What a kick to my ego! Woman, I only met you--how would I know what kind of doctor you were?

By the time we got home from the visit, I was exhausted and swore to never visit a Chinese hospital again if I didn't have to. Only expat clinics from now on but not at the aforementioned one.

I felt melancholy, terribly missing my doctors back in California. My pediatrician seemed to be right-on about everything and always took time to make the kids comfortable first; she continued to see us even when I idiotically told her I didn't want Juju's jaundice treated and didn't nebulize her as I was told when she was sick. And my OB; sure, with all the time I spent in his waiting room I could have biked across the country and back, and he was late to both of my deliveries, but that man always spoke to me as if I were the most important of his patients and always respectfully answered my questions, treating me as an equal and not as if he were my god (though sometimes I worshipped him as the Holy One). When Chinese doctors can treat their patients as my American doctors have treated us, China will truly have been civilized and developed, and I will then discard my distaste for doctors (doubtful it'll happen in this lifetime).

To be fair though, now several days later, we realized that the Chinese doctor was right: the "rash" on Jojo really were just mosquito bites. I guess they aren't bad at diagnosing because they see so many cases, but still, grow a heart and give a little care to your patients!

Please, Don't Teach Our People the N Word

Two weeks ago our air shipment finally arrived.

When I stood by our door to receive the goods, I was extremely dismayed by the sad state they came in because they were so poorly packed.

I complained to the movers that the packers didn't do a good job, and the leader of the crew asked me, "Was it the niggers who packed your goods?"

He said it in such an innocent manner, it was as if we had been chatting whether the name of the United States President really was George W. Bush.

I looked at him incredulously, bewildered by what I had just heard.

I said carefully, “The packers were black."

He told me that on one of his previous assignments delivering goods to an executive at P&G, the goods were also really poorly packed. The executive was very angry, and kept cursing the "niggers". He thought it was simply a regular way to refer to black people, completely unaware of the ugly history behind the word.

I could guess why this had happened. Back in the US, people are very careful to avoid using such racial epithets even if they hold racist inclinations. Here in China, some people think that they are finally free from being politically correct, and start showing their true colors. The guy probably thought the Chinese movers won't know the difference, and inadvertently taught them such an offensive word.

I was so stunned that I didn't do anything at the moment. In retrospect, I wish I had told the crew leader to never use that word again.

This reminds me of another story about the N word.

Back in business school my roommate was from Brazil. When talking about our black classmates, she very casually referred to them as niggers, and kept saying the word.

At first, I was in shock from simply hearing the word being spoken.

Finally, I said, "Manoela, did you know that's not a very nice word?"

Manoela said, "What word, you mean 'nigger'?"

"Yes." I cringed upon hearing her say it so loudly.

"That's bad?"

"Yes."

I told her that she should refer to them either as African Americans, or simply blacks, which is what a lot of my black friends prefer, because they may or may not be from Africa.

She looked really confused and said that in Brazil, "nigger" is the standard way to refer to blacks and the word "negro" is the bad one.

Oy.

Subway Is the Way To Go

I never take the subway if I can help it, but whenever I do, I always see something blog-worthy.

Most expats here probably have never experienced the subway. I rarely see foreigners on the subway and the ones I do see tend to be young travelers with a huge backpack and probably staying at a hostel. It's not a really pleasant experience: it gets really crowded and not fully air-conditioned. Mr. Mouse Potato rode it once to work and swore that if he had to do it again he's packing up and going back to California.

Another reason might be the names of the stations. For example, I can just imagine a John and a Bill perplexing over exactly where Dongzhimen is, or where Yonghegong will lead them. Dongsi-shit-iao might appear a bit daunting, but probably not as much as Fuxingmen.

When I was riding the subway last week, a woman came on the train with a mike and an elderly man in a cane. As she sang into the mike with a completely unintelligible accent and started to solicit money, I wondered why it was necessary for her to sing. It would have been just as effective if not more so had she not been singing. It was so terrible perhaps the point was that once people paid enough she'd stop.

Then today, on my trip into the city, a man without legs went down the isles asking for money. He moved around with the help of his hands and it was just such a pathetic sight that most people including me gave something.

On the way back a man shoved a placard in everyone's faces. The placard explained that he was a disabled person (deaf or mute, maybe both) selling little knick-knacks to make money. Upon close inspection his clothes were made of good quality material and he really didn't seem all that needy to me...but then again who really knows.

A couple sitting next to me on the way on the way there kept kissing each other on the cheeks but never fully making out. On the way back the couple next to me asked me where I got my Tokidoki LeSportSac.

If you ever visit Beijing, I suggest that you ride the subway at least once. If not for your own sake, at least treat the riders with something to look at (especially if you are blond/red-haired, blue-eyed). Don't be offended--they are just admiring your colorings and probably envious of your fair skin.

Woe To Thee, Parents of Beautiful Children

Sometime last week we ran into a pregnant lady ambling along with her mom. Upon seeing the four of us—me, Auntie, Juju and Jojo, they stopped to admire Jojo (the baby boy). They praised him for his fair skin (highly prized by my fellow Chinese), his big earlobes (foretells a life of happiness and fortune), and his lady-killer looks. Then, inevitably, they noticed Jujube. If Jojo merely stopped them short on their tracks, Juju left them breathless. Ok, that was a bit exaggerated, just a bit. The mother was flabbergasted that not only did we have two children, but also that both children should be so good looking. Really, I’m actually being modest here-you really ought to have seen them (the women, I mean; well, and my kids, too; that might help).

Without even asking for our names, she dove straight for what really mattered:

How were the children born? (meaning: vaginal birth or C-section?)

How long were the deliveries?

Did I use contraceptives after Juju was born? (I couldn’t help but blush at that one, but I still answered honestly.)

Did my menses even return before getting knocked up again? (Yes, I even answered that one honestly. What can I do? These people are my neighbors)

Then, what really nailed me was her last comment. She exclaimed, “How is it you are so good at having babies?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that one.

Fine, I’ll admit that I could barely contain my pride every time someone passes by and tells me just how beautiful my children are. But that pride is always tainted with something disconcerting. They aren’t doing it in the sense that they do it to all babies: my children really do seem more eye-catching than the average Chinese child. Sure, they’ve been praised as cute kids in the U.S. as well, but only in the sense that most people love looking at babies. Here, people are singling Juju and Jojo out for their looks. It worries me. When they are old enough to understand, I worry that it’ll turn on their vanity; a focus on looks can consume a young adolescent. I’ve already told all of my immediate family and Auntie to never praise the kids for their attractiveness.

In conclusion, who would have thought in the land with millions of Chinese kids mine would stand out. There is a common belief amongst the Chinese that good looking children often turn out not to be so good-looking once they grow up, so more reasons for me to teach the kids that looks are far less important than character and personality.

What makes me really sad is that not once did the people tell me how good-looking the kids are and then look at me and say, oh I see where they get it from.

Don't Be, Do Be, Just Be Jujube

The upside of being asked all these nosy and obnoxious questions by my fellow Chinese is that my questions to them are fair game.

The playground was crowded with children today and yesterday. I struck a conversation with a mom yesterday who told me that most of the parents in the complex simply refuse to send their kids to Juju's preschool and those who do complain about it bitterly. I asked her why that was, and she complained that the school only lets the kids play and doesn't teach them anything!

The same complaints were echoed by two grandmas today.

One of them said Untal Robah (Uncle Robert, the English teacher) recites the same stuff everyday and the kids haven't learned any English. She called her granddaughter over and asked what English she's learned from Untal Robah recently. A girl just shy of school age came over, and said in sing-songy English, "I'm hungry; I'm not hungry". Then the grandma looked at me and asked if it made any sense. I smiled and nodded encouragingly. But when she asked her granddaughter what she had said, the girl told her she had no idea. Yeek, strike one against the school.

The other one told me, "Our Precious knew all his numbers and could even recite Tang Dynasty poems, but after attending the preschool, he's only had fun and forgotten everything!" She pulled out two sheets with her grandson's doodling, all jagged lines and scratches, and said, "Look at this, what is this! This doesn't look like anything, and this is what he draws at school everyday! The nursery school across town teaches kids how to draw all sorts of stuff that look like something!" The other grandma clucked sympathetically and re-emphasized that the kids simply learn nothing while their peers at other schools are excelling at all sorts of subjects.

This mentality of stuffing the kids as full of so called knowledge as possible is very common-place. When I was going through Juju's Chinese children's books, I found that aside from the ones translated from a foreign language, almost all of them were self-labeled as some kind of curriculum to teach babies stuff or to smarten them up, and all the art work was computer-generated cartoons. Where's great stuff similar to Eric Carle's Brown Bear Brown Bear What Do You See and The Very Hungry Caterpillar? My mom had dismissed the artwork in Juju's American reads as too abstract or simple, but Juju loved her books. Now she can't sit through any of her Chinese books and I find myself uninterested in reading those silly things to her. Who really cares if reading this or that will stimulate exactly 400 gray cells on the upper left hand corner of her frontal lobe and boost her score on the college entrance exam? This focus on learning is destroying her love of reading!

While I want to shield Juju from this craziness and simply want her to have fun in school, I am starting to feel a bit of pressure to follow the herd. Sometimes I look at Juju and wonder, what if she doesn't make it to Stanford, beloved alma mater of Mr. MP and mine? Would she still achieve happiness? Or, more accurately, would we as parents be seen as failures and cause me to feel like shit (Mr. MP has already announced that he couldn't care less whether the kids go Stanford, Ivy League or otherwise, as long as it's not Berkeley), since our kids should be well-positioned for admission to these schools of prestige? These Chinese parents would kill to send their kids to a first-tier American college. My uncle, full of envy upon hearing my acceptance into Stanford, said that if jumping off a 10-story building could guarantee his son a spot at Stanford, he'd be more than willing. In China, competition amongst young people is cutthroat simply because there are so many of them, but having well-schooled children also boosts the social status (as well as ego) of the parents.

I was feeling a bit of angst when I found out for $1,300 a month I could be sending Juju to a preschool founded by an American woman with a Masters in Education from Harvard but we won’t because it’s just so ridiculously over-priced when she would be perfectly happy at a $300 one. But if I don’t, am I short-circuiting her chance of going Ivy-league? I’ve learned a while ago that making getting into a first-tier college an end goal in itself is incredibly short-sighted. When I started college I felt lost for quite a while, because I didn’t really know what else to work towards. Besides, having a Harvard, Yale, Stanford degree does not in anyway guarantee happiness. Just look at me: I thought getting into a top business school would propel me into a perpetual state of ecstasy, but alas, no such luck. I was always unhappy about something: my classmates were not inclusive, there was too much drinking, I was, um, pregnant, and last, I had to play single parent while going to school. I don’t want my children to be like me. If they can be productive and happy, that should be enough. Still, I can’t deny my vanity in wanting them to go to some hot shot college.

I know this will be an on-going struggle for me and I hope to have the wisdom to know when I’m helping my kids becoming kind, content and productive members of society versus mere test-taking machines.