07/18/2012 in China

Bright purple potatoes boiling in emerald green water seems like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. I call to Paul, “Come look!” He gives me an obligatory glance, especially since the things I get excited about in the kitchen usually, and understandably, solicit an unimpressed and patronizing reaction from Paul. I doubt there are many things I would be excited about in the kitchen if I weren’t a amateur housewife cook. But purple potatoes and emerald green water was worth getting excited about. So he came and looked and was impressed. Why do purple potatoes turn the water green? Who knows? No wonder purple potatoes aren’t widely consumed in America, they are just not the right color. The only purple food in America is eggplant, which turns a safe brown when cooked.

After the last time we lived in China I dealt with most of my confusing experiences by drawing parallels with equally weird or frustrating things in America. There are many odd things in America that could seem weird to a foreigner, so I try not to be too critical about my circumstances here in China.  But some things are as baffling as the purple potato phenomenon, such as Chinese fashion. Don’t ask me why this hairdo, and that dress, and those shoes go together, but apparently they do. I wonder how Chinese people around here view my wardrobe choices. What are the rules of fashion or clothing trends around here? I seriously can’t pin anything down. If it has English letters on it, regardless if they make words or not, that’s pretty cool. And any color or pattern goes together. Nude ankle nylons worn with open-toed sandals are totally standard. Pink, sparkles, bunnies, and bows are just fine on little boys’ clothing, and even some men’s. Handholding among girls usually signifies friendship, and who knows if guynandroids are queer or not, usually they are the stars in the “hottest” boy bands anyways.

Being home or around other Americans seems to appease most of the discomfort of living foreign, and it gives me the cool feeling of being an “expat.” But I won’t lie, I am homesick. In the past I have been too proud to admit such a thing, even to myself, but this time around I am, completely, homesick. Not for the suburbs of Ohio or Utah, both of which I don’t miss or even consider a better alternative to China, but I do miss America: The land of convenience and home of the lazy.

I miss my sugar-free soy protein powder smoothies in the morning, the smell of bread rising in my kitchen, and being able to make my own playpen sheets. I miss my harp, even though I rarely played it last year. I miss being able to read billboards and store advertisements. I miss battling with pie dough to make it behave. I even miss trying to figure out what to do with all those darn cherries in my mother’s neglected orchard. Since being here, I can’t say how often I have longed to have a container of my cherry freezer jam. I miss my neighbors and our weekly breakfast club. But that last one is inevitable, seeing as we were living in student-ville and most of them had moved by the time we had anyways. I miss my sister and our complicated drama. I miss my mother’s hug, especially since I have been sick four times in the last three weeks. Anson misses his toys, and Sammy, and Andrei. Adrian doesn’t miss a thing, though I miss his jumpie. He has it right. He has his boob, who needs anything else?

Anson got sick today. He started coughing when he woke up and I sprung out of bed like a scared rabbit. “Do you need to throw up?” No, he insisted. Then he did, all over the sheets. I was so proud that I had caught him soon enough to save the suede leather couch from toddler barf. My stomach and intestines were still cramping from my own case of stomach flu that had set on a few days prior, but Mommy adrenaline kicked in and I helped him clean up. Poor baby, I was so scared for him. This flu bug is a pernicious one. Well, it was for me, not for him. He threw up one more time, obediently into the trashcan, still intently watching YangYang. Then it was over. I called the international clinic and cancelled his appointment. I was a little jealous that the bug was so much easier on him, but incredibly grateful. I offered a little prayer of thanks.

I hope we all come out of this in tact. I know we will. I have little to worry about right now, just the kids and keeping them from licking the floor. I study Chinese a little everyday. I hope eventually it will click because right now I feel like my ability to speak during class and my ability to communicate with my outside world are two different things.