Winter Odyessy to the Twilight Zone

Mid Feburary, mid-morning:

Mid winter break ski trip has come. Hubby always makes the arrangements and deals with the hotel but he's staying behind this time. So I check into this hotel in northern Japan only to be given a labyrinth of paperwork and directions. After signing 3 documents that I couldn't even read, I'm given 3 different types of documents just to prove I am staying in this hotel. I have to go to one place to pick up my suitcase, I need to go to another place to store my suitcase until the room is ready, and I need to go to place 3 to change clothes, and place 4 to change shoes. And there is place 5 where I can store my skis that I rent overnight, but it turns out they won't rent it overnight to me. This is way too difficult. I already miss my husband. 

Same day, an hour later:

 I put my small bags in a locker but the big bag does not fit. They've given me free coins for the locker but since I took things in and out every time after I locked, I ran out of coins. I go to the front desk and ask them to take the big bag because it said they would on the wall somewhere. Instead they show me a huge locker in an obscure area that can take any suitcase. It needs 2 coins because it's so large. I don't have any left. They lead me to a coin vending machine.
Staff:"1 coin is 100yen"
Me:"wait, I have to pay? It said you will take it so I used up the coins"
staff: I gave you 3 coins. How can you use it up?"
Me:"Because the sign said you will take the big suitcase!"
staff:"we take big bags that do not fit big locker. You should checked big locker"
Me: "How would I even know it existed if the big lockers were behind the men's dressing room!! GIVE ME COINS"

Same day, another hour later:

I rent skis for the day. The store renting out skis is part of the hotel. I have already paid the hotel in full. But "no. No charge rental fee to room on first day. Only second day and after".
Me: "That does not make sense. I've paid your hotel in advance. Like I am going to run away with your skis today? It's no different than the second day. Charge it please"
Store: "rule, policy. need to follow rule"
Me: "you did it last year"
Store: after a long pause "only this time!"
Me: "Okay, so I like to rent it for 3 days"
Store: "no, you can only rent 1 day at a time"
I am ready to scream.

Same day, 30 minutes later:

At lunch the hotel restaurant does not let me charge it to my room. What is wrong with this hotel? Is it me? Is there some sort of miscommunication here?
I glare at the cashier and ask her what hotel does not allow a guest to charge their meals to their room. Where does it say cash only? Nobody informed me! Charge it!!!
The cashier, wanting to avoid confrontation and scared at my freak out, promptly brings out a form, fills it out and asks me to write my room # and sign it. THEY CAN DO IT!

Same day, 40 minutes later:

The ski school won't let me charge the fees to my room on the first day either. This place is a cash guzzling machine. I show them my wallet, empty, and tell them with a smile "no cash. you already took it all" and show them my check-in documents. For some reason these people do not like direct eye contact so I go nuts looking into their eyes. They relent. I am becoming the queen of passive aggressiveness.

Same day, 30 minutes later:

I try to reserve a table for dinner. The front desk directs me to a "restaurant concierge" behind me.
Me: "I'd like to make a reservation for 5 at the French restaurant at 6"
Concierge: "yes, certainly".
He picks up the phone, dials the restaurant and HANDS ME THE RECEIVER.
Concierge: "please tell them your name, number of people and time and discuss whatever necessary with them"

Same day, a few minutes later:

Reservations made without any help from the "concierge", the restaurant calls back when I am in my room.
Rest: "I understand you have a meal voucher, and you are having dinner with the M family?"
Me: "yes, that's right"
Rest: "the M family does not have meal vouchers. Please ask them to look at menu and choose what they like for dinner. Please list it up and can you call us back immediately?"
I don't remember being employed by the restaurant. I tell them to call the M family themselves and hang up.
I am having a really bad day.

Same day, finally out on the slopes:

There were high school kids lining up on a 2seater chairlift. There were more than 100 kids and the lift operator was letting the kids sit one per chairlift. With the kids and other skiers, the line was getting longer by the minute. I shouted "2 kids per lift! Look at the line!" The operator just shrugged. When I skied back, the line was still there. Painfully slow. Something had to be done. I waved my fingers frantically screaming "2 kids on the lift!" It didn't work and I got on the lift defeated. But the kid who sat in front of me turned around and gave me a peace sign. 

Same day, apres-ski:

The other family and I decide to let the kids try out snow mobiles. This event is part of the hotel too. Yet we can't make reservations at the front desk. They make us schlep across the hotel, all the way to the other side of the driveway. Once we are there, we are informed we can't make reservations.
"come when you want to ride"
So we have to schlep to and fro all over again. And of course, you can NOT charge this to the room.

Same day, apres-apres-ski:

The hotel wants us to take our room bath towels to the pool. Then there will be none left for our shower so I ask them to bring 2 extra bath towels.
"That would be 200yen" the housekeeper informs me.
What? Since when do we pay extra for towels at hotels? I feel like I am in the twilight zone. And with nothing to lose, I go postal. The towels magically appeared with fees promptly waived.

Same day, after pool:

After I switch on the A/C in my room, a bug the size of a bee flies out. It's flying high near the light and I can't reach it. I call the front desk for help. It takes them 10 minutes, and by the time help arrives (with 2 towels and a spray!), I manage to swat down the bug and capture it. The hotel guy comes in my room to inspect and sprays something around. I don't like the artificial floral smell at all.
Me:"does that kill bugs or prevent them?"
hotel guy: "no, this is a deodorant"
Me:"what? why? Is it a stink bug or something?"
hotel guy: "no, no. we just think it's important"
?????????

Same day, dinner time:

The French restaurant serves us steak without asking us how we want it done. It comes literally bloody rare. One of us tells a waiter that we have not been asked and that the meat was way undercooked. The waiter says yes and disappears into the kitchen only to emerge a few seconds later, standing there nonchalantly. Nothing happens for a good 10 minutes. We are assuming we will get a new plate of beef but it's taking real long. My son wants beef so I summon another waiter and tell him what we have are way too rare. He takes the steak and brings them back well done.

Same day, after kids are asleep:

I am tired and desperately need a nice cup of coffee. So I ask the front desk. The woman points to a machine and in clear English says "free coffee service machine". I am psyched. Finally something that is not a pilfering scheme. Complimentary coffee. Now we are talking service. I go up and press a button for cappuccino. Nothing happens. I press another, this time for espresso. Nothing happens. I stand there frantically pushing any button, wondering what is wrong. A different hotel staff passes by and points to the coin slot.
Me: "how much?"
staff: "200yen"
huh, free my a**.
Me: "the woman at the front desk said it was free"
staff: "yes free to choose any drink"
He said this with a straight face.

Same day, reminiscence time:

The kids were psyched to be together so they ran around the hotel all the time. For once I let them go wild and hardly stopped them, secretly hoping the hotel would just kick us out and end my misery. Turns out Japanese parenting cherishes unruly children and there are tons of wild kids in this hotel Our kids were nothing out of the ordinary.
I used to work in non-Japanese hotel development so maybe that's why this hotel is getting on my nerves. Everything they do defies what I consider basic hotel services. They also make us fill form after form. I don't do forms, period. I now have renewed respect for my husband who puts up and deals with this cr*p.

Sea Turtles

Alex is interested in the oil spill in the Gulf coast.
He wants to know who did it and who the bad guy is.
He wants the bad guy dead.
Well if BP dies, it will cause major financial crisis in the UK which will eventually affect the US economy, but that is too complicated to explain to him.
So I agree that the bad guy should die.

Once we are happy about bad guys dying, we turn our attention to the victims.
He is worried about the Sea Turtles.
He is worried about good Sea Turtles dying.
I have not asked him about the bad Sea Turtles. That would be too complicated.
He wants to help the good Sea Turtles..
So we talked about donating our time or resources for the cause.
He is in Japan, attending school & camp so cannot physically go there to help.
I don't think they would find a 6yo much useful anyway but I keep that to myself.
He wants to send lots of Dawn washing liquid but I am sure Dawn takes care of that.
So we are left with sending money.

I explain to him how I send money to charitable organizations.
He becomes interested in my organizations but then realizes that none support wildlife.
He gives me grief for the entire time we are eating dinner why I do not help wildlife.
I agree to match his donation just so he shuts up.
I am totally losing this game.
I think he is going to grow up to be a great fundraiser.

So we find ways to raise money.
Selling cookies door to door does not seem to work.
The neighbors are not really a friendly bunch and some have told me straight out that they do not like children.
This coming from a country of people who are discreet and reserved.
These people have dogs instead, which is prohibited in this apartment building.
This coming from a country of people known to be honest.
Hmmmm.

So we look at his room and ponder how much space is left for him to fly his "Lego Republic Attack Cruiser built in 2 days without help" (that is the official name).
So much toys. And even more in storage.
We open his closet and 4 sweaters fall out.
So much clothes. And even more in storage.
We look at his bookshelf with overflowing books.
It's a lego / book sandwich everywhere. And more in storage.
We drag out the under-bed storage and find DVDs we have never watched, and will never watch in the future, with long-lost Lego pieces stuck among them. Do we have more in storage?

Time for belated spring cleaning.
Ken wants to get rid of the storage room too.
It's costing him a fortune now that I switched jobs to a lesser paying but nobler one.

We start with private placements.
Since Alex is comfortable with these people, he demands an outrageous price.
They fade away.
Shocked, he give some away free.
The he is shocked he is not making money.
He learns that doing business with friends is not easy.
A humbling experience at the ripe old age of 6.

Then we move onto Craigslist like sales.
Finally it's working.
He is aiming to raise US$ 200 for the Sea Turtles.
Since he is giving away 50% of his proceeds, that's going to take a heck of a long time.....

My Dinner - Yum!

My Lunch

Japanese lunch boxes by regular folks.

I have just compiled an album of my lunch box production just because I needed to kill time until they air the world cup soccer.

Ken has improved tremendously with his packing skills over just a few months. I am jealous.

Baking With Alex

"Mommy, is dinner ready yet?"

For someone who rushes home to release the babysitter of her duties and cooks dinner at the same time so we can start eating at 6:30 and Alex can fall asleep by 7:30, I don't need a reminder that I am falling behind schedule.

"Mommy, I am stahr-ving"

"mommmmmmmmm! foooooooooood!"

It's annoying as hell. I am doing my best.

"ew, you gave me tomato sauce. I hate tomato sauce. I'm not eating this"
That does it.

No dinner for you. Ever. 

Okay, that is not realistic.

I am explaining over and over that making meals take time.

"So then let's go to McDonalds"

No you need to eat real food.

"Then lets get delivery"

There is only so much sushi we can eat and I am not ordering Dominos.

It's not like this is NYC where you can order in any food you can imagine.

You can make your own damn dinner if you are so demanding.

And I had an epiphany.

That is it, have Alex cook something so he knows how difficult it is.

Breakfast is out of the question.

School bus picks Alex up at 7:20am which is a 10 to 15 minutes walk away from where we live. 

We only wake up at 6 so we don't have the luxury of enjoying Alex's sunny side up.

If Alex ruins dinner, that will ruin MY day, since dinner is the only time I get to eat something that resembles real food.

So have him make snack. If he burns it, it will still go in his backpack as his bus snack. He should be responsible for his own creation.

So we go through cookie recipes and he settles for "irresistible chocolate chip cookies".

We go buy the ingredients.

"Do I have to? Why don't you just go buy and I will stay home playing Legos"

Shopping is part of the cooking experience. No shopping, no bus snack.

He obliges.

We have trouble finding 12oz of chocolate chips. 

The modest Japanese do not dump in 12oz of chocolate chip for just 40 cookies.

Each bag of Chocolate chips is 1.7oz, or 50grams.

I need to get 7bags of these things?

They only had 4, so I buy all. We decide to settle for m&ms for the rest.

Ken made pasta for lunch so we used the still hot pasta pot and put a bowl over it to soften butter.

We dump in dark brown sugar to it, then scrape out vanilla beans from it's pod and dump it in too.

"ew, this is vanilla? it looks like dirt. why isn't it white?"

Why should it be white? This is the real deal. We use real ingredients for our real food.

"But vanilla ice cream is white"

Good, I am teaching him something. Vanilla is NOT white, the cream is!

So Alex starts mixing the sugar-butter mixture. 

I stress that the slower he works on his food, the yummier it gets.

He is careful not to spill anything and mixes really slowly and carefully.

I start mixing the flour, salt and baking soda and then allow Alex to break an egg to put into the sugar mixture.

He cracks, opens and drops half the shell.

I think Salmonella but then realize that we will be baking it anyway. Lets just cross our fingers.

I scoop out the shell and let him continue.

"Still mix slowly. Slow is king"

Amazingly, he is concentrating on what he is doing. He enjoys how the yolk breaks up and disappears.

We mix in the flour mix to the sugar mix and he keeps on whisking.

The mixture gets thicker but he is not backing out.

It's time for the chocolate to go in.

Alex is all starry-eyed with the prospect of a creation, or so I thought.

"Am I doing good?"

Yes, you are very careful, and have not rushed things. The dough looks awesome.

"Good, what is my prize"

Prize? What prize? We are baking here. It's not a contest. You will get to eat the cookie, that is the prize.

"Oh, I thought I'd get Optimus Prime or something"

Hope dashed, he is less enthusiastic about the last step.

We spoon the dough onto the baking sheet and start baking.

It only takes 12 minutes, and we can see the dough softening, melting down flat and then slightly rising.

Alex is fixated on the oven window, I am worried about the lifespan of the light bulb in the oven.

The timer goes off, it's ready.

"Mommy, this doesn't look like the picture on the recipe"

No, it doesn't. Sometimes these things turn out differently with a slight difference in ingredients or how you bake it.

"but I wanted the one on the picture"

He walks away, going back to his Lego.

Once the cookies are cooled down, I call him for a taste test.

Alex takes a bite.

"mommy, this isn't good, it's irresistible!!"

He realizes that the whole process took an hour.

"Yep, making cookies take time. Just like making dinner takes time"

"Yeah mommy, I know now. Now, I really know."

mission accomplished!!!

Alex is old enough to realize.....

Alex made a very interesting observation yesterday.

"Daddy is funny. He says important things to me but doesn't do them himself"

Ouch!!!

Daddy's gotta talk the talk and walk the walk!

Thank goodness I wasn't busted, yet.....

Oatmeal - the search

So we thought nothing of missing out on food from NY.

I have heard that food in Japan was awesome and what was Amazon for anyway?

Alex's love for McCaan's Irish Oatmeal saw no end.

He realized he started missing the stuff a few days into our live in Tokyo.

"Alex, I will get your oatmeal tomorrow" went on for weeks.

Alex was starting to suspect I was a liar.

So off I went to the supermarket to get one.

We scouted the cereal isle and found nothing.

Tokyo seemed to be in the midst of a granola fad and there were many nutty granolas.

As Alex is allergic to nuts, we had to avoid those.

We went to another supermarket.

Same thing.

We finally saw the word "oatmeal" at the third supermarket we went to.

Alas it was the horrid instant type.

One look at just the picture must have brought back memories in the Bahamas. He was gone in a flash.

Does it look that different? I would never know.

So I turn to our trusted Amazon.

And I find our trusted Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal.

I buy, and I get stuck.

I failed to see the warning "This item can only be shipped to the 48 contiguous states"

Amazon dot com has a Japanese version that is Amazon dot co dot jp.

I go there and type in "oatmeal".

I see no steel cut.

I start to panic.

How are other people getting hold of steel cuts?

I e-mail some of Alex's classmate's moms.

The are mostly Japanese married to foreigners and have no idea what I am talking about.

The only American mom tells me I can find Quaker Oats at a supermarket in Hiroo.

I go ask on a message board for expat moms in Japan.

I get ignored.

The dire reality is setting in. We cannot eat steel cut oatmeal here?

I google frantically and find absolutely nothing. This cannot be happening. The internet has brought people and products closer than ever. You are supposed to be able to buy anything anywhere.

 I have to inform Alex of the unavoidable truth.

As long as we live here, he will not be able to eat steel cut Irish oatmeal.

Alex is crushed.

He goes to his room to cry quietly, recalling the texture, taste and aroma that has so eluded him.

Nearly a year into our life in Tokyo, I wander past a chi-chi supermarket in a chi-chi area. There I find the golden can. The real deal. I take as many as I could carry and then realize that all I have to do is come back here when I run out. So I buy 1 can and take it home.

Alex and Irish oatmeal are united. He eats it every day that the can is empty within a month.

I go out for another one, but of course, it's sold out. The store does not intent get anymore since procedures for grain import in Japan is a royal pain and the trade company just stopped doing it.

Alex does not understand why I cannot produce another can.

I am not trying hard enough, he claims. I should never give up. Persistence is the key. Keep trying.

Ugh, the things you tell your kids that come back to haunt you.

I am still trying.

Oatmeal - the introduction

We have brought up Alex on oatmeal.
Well, actually our babysitter, Joan, did. One day after Alex started solids, she recommended that oatmeal will be perfect for him.

I have had bad experience with oatmeal. I could not imagine dealing with that mushy stuff.
But still, life was all about making Alex happy so I went out and sought the best looking oatmeal possible. I didn't understand the taste, so I went for the looks.

I didn't like boxes. Imagine, the grain touching the inside of a box that you have no idea how it was made and where it was stored. Okay, maybe the grains are contained in a plastic bag that went in the box but still, I had phobia about food in boxes after I found something bad, really bad, in a box full of food when I was 18.

So in the isles of Citarella, there was this cool looking can that screamed "I'm traditional, I'm the real deal, I'm good". I liked the look of it, so it came home with me.

My mother abhorred cereal and anything related to that. I had to sneak in a box of chocolate Rice Krispies in the cart in the hopes that it will pass through the cashier (ah, those innocent times when boxed food was gold). I have had shouting matches at supermarkets and dramatic "you don't love me"s over sugary breakfast carbs. She considered instant oatmeal to be in the same category. "Bad food". To prove that, she made a tasteless one for me. Needless to say, I hated it. And now, I have turned into my mother.

So Joan, whom I am sure raised an eyebrow at the lack of normal household (boxed) food, must have been happy to see the shining can.
She made it the day she saw it and Alex was, as she had predicted, delighted. The can was big so it lasted quite a while, but I could tell Joan was feeding Alex this every day.

We taught Alex sign language for "more", when he couldn't talk. It's clicking all your fingertips together, and Joan would tell me he would do that obsessively when he sees just the can.

So we travel to the Bahamas and they serve all you can eat breakfasts at the hotel. I find Quaker Oats instant oatmeal with banana or something and think this will do for our trip. At least it is in a plastic container and not in a box.
I add warm milk and a few minutes later, it seemed to be done.
I put it in front of Alex.
He looks at it warily.
"what's this?" he asks.
"oatmeal" I answer.
He looks puzzled but takes a sip.
"no" he protests.
"yes" I reply.
"NO" he shouts.
"yes" I say irritated.
"NOOOO!!" he screams and bangs his fist on the table.
Quaker Oats spill.

"Alex, this is oatmeal. Remember that thing Joan feeds you every day? The one you sign 'more'?"
"no, no, no! This not oatmeal!!"

What in the world was Joan feeding him? Or did I do something wrong by choosing the banana taste? Or did I just make it the wrong way?

I taste what is left in the plastic bowl. It brings back horrible memories with artificial banana added on. Okay, so it was the banana.

I go back to find one without artificial taste. I make it again.
I force a distraught Alex to try it again since the banana is gone now.
He puts a spoonful in his mouth and proceeds to spit it out.
"NOT OATMEAL"

What am I doing wrong here?
Ken persuades me to give up on the oatmeal battle, and Alex goes on happily eating real banana.

On the way out of the restaurant, he is traumatized by the sight of Quaker Oats instant.
"ahhhhh! not oatmeal!"
He is close to tears.

We go back to New York and check out our oatmeal.
The can is almost empty and I am sure Joan is making it, not throwing it away. So I decide to make it and feed it to Alex, just to see if it has to be made by Joan.

It looks different than the Quaker Oats one.
Can't I just dump warm milk on it and wait 30 seconds?
I look at the instruction.
"Simmer uncovered for 30 minutes"
WHAT?
Isn't this oatmeal?
Isn't oatmeal suppose to be instant?
And this 30 minutes thing is AFTER I have to continuously stir until it's thick.
I spend nearly an hour tackling this.

I serve it to Alex, forgetting to sweeten it.

He gobbles it up like there is no tomorrow.
"mmmmmmmm. oatmeal."
He is a happy camper.

I look at the can again.
It says "steel cut" "Irish Oatmeal" "Uniformity of Granulation"
I look it up online.
Apparently they are completely different from the instant stuff.
I eat a spoonful.
It's nutty with a soft yet distinct solid feel.
Nothing like my mother served.
I am floored.
At the same time I am surprised at how Alex was able to tell the difference at 1.5 yo.
From then on, there was no looking back.
It was McCaan's Irish Oatmeal all the way.

Until we moved to Japan where grain import is a PITA.

Ads for who?

When we moved here Alex was (and still is) mesmerized with this ad.

And this.

And this.

You'd think it's an ad for an amusement park or something.

Wrong.

First one is for a driving school.

Next is for a bank.

The last is for a gambling arcade.


NY moms might be outraged.
"They are targeting children as young as 4?"

I don't think the marketing department had that in mind.
The arcades don't admit children and they are pretty strict about it.
No, they were targeting adults.
Bona fide adults.
And adults in this country fall for this kind of advertisement, it seems.
It's amazing
My child wants to join.

I tell him it's for grown ups.
He is incredulous.
"no it's not. It has cartoons! It's for kids"
I guess not in this country but Alex is not convinced.

On the other hand, the trains have magazine ads hanging from the ceiling that cater to the horny set.
It seems to talk a lot about how promiscuous celebrities are.
And to drive home the point, the 3 alphabets, "S" "E" and "X" are splashed across the ad.
Don't know why that part needs to be in English but it serves to be the perfect opportunity for Alex to brush up on his reading.
"Mommy, that says 'sex'! I can read it! What does it mean?"

Urgh, this is NOT a city to raise kids!

Plastic Wraps that are Better than Sex

I have issues with plastic wraps.

They are an annoying piece of work yet essential to my life.

I have dealt with this thing for my entire life, yet have not come to peace with it.

Why can't I, for once, get a clear, sharp cut in the size I want?

Why is it so difficult for Reynolds to make a contraption that will allow the plastic wrap to slide out and slice off without effort, without the roll coming out of the box?

I cannot count the times my fish or chicken or pork or beef has been the victim of kitchen rage due to plastic wraps.

Working in a Tokyo kitchen a third of the size of that in New York (not that NYC ones are large!) forces me into combat mode.

I see the unopened box of plastic wrap that Ken has bought right next to Alex's leftovers that are going in his lunch box the next day. I can feel the rage coming even before I touch anything.

I pick up the plastic wrap box that is half the length of any American one I have seen.

I open the box, take the tape off and slice.

 

And it slices. like. butter.

Perfect shape, perfect size, perfect cut, perfectly fast.

I am amazed.

I cut more than I need to.

I am covered in plastic wrap.

I am feeling something I haven't felt for decades.
I am in heaven.
Sooooooooo satisfied.

I go out to the supermarket to buy more.

They come in short, medium and long sizes.

I GET TO CHOOSE THE SIZE!

I buy all.

This is way better than sex.

Conflict Resolution

I went to a conflict resolution workshop.
One of the speakers start off with "Welcome to Japan. The land of assumptions".
He is an Asian American, probably 4th or 5th generation, sent to Japan because he was good at what he was doing and because the Tokyo branch wanted him desperately.

So he was facing the same thing I was facing.
Within his company, feared by his Japanese staff because he must be an "aggressive insensitive American". Outside his company, considered by Japanese as a little mentally challenged because he doesn't get the fast language.
I'm just assuming here, but I guess that is where the opening comment came from.

I was so looking forward to overcoming the assumption but that wasn't laid out for me.
The "assumption" issue was just one example of how it could lead to conflict.
And the theme was about resolving that.

So what did I take home from this workshop?
A print out of recommended books.
I had no idea that a lecturer could get away with not offering anything but a list of books.
The speakers must not have been experienced in talking about conflict resolution since at the end I had no idea what the gist of their philosophies were.
But the books, ordered via Amazon as soon as I was home, sounded promising.

I take "Getting Past No - Negotiating in Difficult Situations" to my office since commute is an hour by train. I chose this book simply because it was the smallest and lightest.
I read on.
And then my mind wanders off to other tiny conflicts in my life such as struggling to have Alex change himself first thing in the morning.
I go back to reading, failing to remember that this book was intended for business people.

It's a dead ringer to "How to talk to kids so kids will listen and listen so kids will talk".
So in essence, regardless of age, the key is to listen to your counterpart first, then validate the other's feeling by repeating (or rephrasing) what he/she says. Then find a middle ground where it's a win-win situation.

It's an eye opener that I can treat my son and my business partner (a CEO of a company) the same way while getting positive results. Who knew life would turn out to be so easy?

250 days

So I have made lunch boxes for Alex for nearly 250days.
I have definitely gotten better with the help of gadgets and books.

Here is one.
This was in January.
Alex wanted me to make a spider web rice ball so I did.
Note the amount of veggies he eats.

Then another.

This is April.
I have started to cut corners and buy prepared food (veggie stir fry), pre-cut Nori (the birds on rice) and frozen mini burgers (with ketchup face).
Still, it looks sensible.

And then this.

This is May.
When I calculated how many more days of my life I would be committing myself to make these things.
another 2000 days at least.
I don't want my teenage son eating fries at the cafeteria, so 2000 days it is.
So the novelty totally wore off.
Everything except the strawberries and Nori are frozen now.
Did I hear someone talk about frozen strawberries?

A new puppy

I've always wanted a pet.
A cat or a dog, it didn't matter which.
But my mom was allergic to animals so no pets for me.
I thought of getting one when I got married but the it turned out I was allergic to felines and canines.
But these days I am thinking to hell with allergies.
What's the worst that could happen? Watery eyes? Itchy arms?
Alex begs for a pet all the time as well.
Guess what dear. You are allergic to cats and dogs too!
Still a puppy would be great for this household.
We already have a goldfish and I've managed to keep it alive for months.
I think I can do a puppy too.

One sunny Sunday I hear scratching behind the door.
I open and see - him.
Small with dark hair, all bright eyes, wet nose and excited heavy breathing.
He is bouncy and lively and surely would be wagging his tail 24/7 if he had one.

I give him water and decide to take him for a walk.
He runs in front of me, hiding in the bushes, smelling flowers and other stuff.
I come to a park bench, sit down and open a bag of biscuits.
I take one out and hold it in my hand wondering if he would eat one.
I decide no, but he's already next to me licking the biscuit.
Ewww, now I can't eat it!
Here, it's yours.

After a few biscuits he's off and finds someone's dog to play with.
They are rolling in the grass and having a grand time.
Some other dogs join in and it's visibly becoming dusty.

He comes back for water panting, drinking from the spout of the bottle, all dusty with grass in his hair.
I am thinking what a nightmare it will be to wash him down.
He's still energetic and goes back to the group of dogs.

They eventually disperse, with their owners pulling their dogs away and he decides to come back to me.
I walk home while he runs excitedly around me.

While I am fumbling for my keys in front of the door, he walks between my legs, rubbing his neck, head and shoulder against me.
Is he itchy or something?
Is he trying to transfer some bugs onto me?
Then he looks right at me with the cute innocent looking puppy eyes and wet nose and I decide to deal with the bugs.

We are inside and he runs to the bathroom leaving a trail of dirty footprints all over the carpet.
Now that annoys me.
Who's going to clean this mess up?

Ken showers him down and now he is all fresh and clean.
His puppy eyes and wet nose are still the same but he looks somewhat like a human being now.
"Okay, Alex. Lets clean your dirty footprints and let's wipe your nose cos' it's all sweaty".

I guess I don't need a puppy.
One human puppy is enough.

How to talk to kids so kids will listen and listen so kids will talk

After we kissed Alex goodnight, he came out to the living room and planted himself next to Ken on the sofa. Alex explained that he wanted to sleep in our bed. Ken and I kept telling him that he needed to sleep in his own bed because of A,B, and C.

Then Alex said, “No, I’ll go to my bed when mommy and daddy go to bed”

I don’t think it’s a good idea to wake you and move you to your bed.

“That’s not what I am saying”

So you are staying up until then? I don’t think that is a good idea.

“no mommy, you don’t understand”.

I do, sweetie. You want to sleep in our bed, right?

“No, I’ll go to my bed when mommy and daddy go to bed”

Well what are you going to do until then? Stay awake? You need to sleep dear. You need to grow!

Alex shouts “You don’t understand!” then ran past Ken and rushed to his room.

Ken was satisfied. “Look, he says he doesn’t want to do something, but he does. He went to his room and in his bed. He understands. He has very good comprehension”.

But as I heard Alex’s muffled cry, something told me that this wasn’t right.

So after pondering for a few minutes, I went to his room.

I sit next to Alex wondering what to say.

He talks first.

“mommy, you don’t understand what I’m saying”

I think I do. You are saying you want to stay up until mommy and daddy go to sleep.

“No”

Okay, then I think you are saying that you want to sleep in mommy and daddy bed until we go to sleep.

“No mommy, no. I’m saying I will go to sleep in my bed when mommy and daddy go to bed”

Okay, so you are going to sleep in your room when mommy and daddy go to bed, right?

“yes”

But what are you going to do until then?

“No, mommy, I am saying I will go to my own bed when you go to bed”

Yes, I understand that part. You are going to bed when I go to bed. But what are you doing until------ no, um, what is a better word --- before, that? Before mommy and daddy go to bed? We go to bed very late.

“Oh. Um… Okay, mommy and daddy work and I will read a book next to you”

So that was it. The culprit was the word “until”.

He didn’t know what it meant, so didn’t understand what I was saying.

He also didn’t have the concept of time before mommy and daddy went to sleep.

He was all worked up and fixated on the notion of going to bed only when his parents went to bed.

I explain to him that he needs to sleep so he can grow and that as grown-ups, mommy and daddy are pretty much done with growing.

“but mommy, mommy and daddy need to grow until 100”

Alex had the concept of growing and getting old mixed up as well.

I explain that when I say “grow”, I mean getting taller and stronger and smarter, while getting to be 100 means getting old.

“Oh…. Okay, I know what you are saying mommy. You’re a grown up so you only need to grow little, but I need to grow big because I’m still small”

That’s right.

“But how about 100?”

I hope we all get to be 100.

Alex is all bright eyes and smiling now.

“I want the living room to be next to my room and the bathroom next to my room to be where the living room is. And the kitchen can be next to the bathroom”

I see, so it’s like our apartment in New York, right? The living room close to your room.

“Yeah, and mommy’s room is my room and my room is mommy’s room. And Katie and Mark’s rooms are upstairs. You need to use the stairs. ”

Wow, so we have stairs in our apartment?

“Yeah, I’m mixing up the rooms and wish all the rooms were my way”

It sure is one big interesting apartment.

“Yeah, it’s big and fun. …Mommy, you can go now”

I am startled. I realize then and there that this situation is exactly like those explained in the book ”How to talk to kids so kids will listen and listen so kids will talk”. It took a good 10 minutes, but he completely recovered.

“Oh mommy, I have an idea. You can bring your computer for work to your bedroom next to my room. Daddy can stay and work in the living room”

Oh Alex, that’s a good idea. But unfortunately, I have lots of cables and things connected to the cables.

“That’s all right. You can bring all of it to your room so you can work there all the time.”

Well I will certainly consider it, okay?

“Okay, and daddy can help you”

Thanks for the advice. I love you. Good night.

“Good night”

So just like that.

I sat there, listened to my son, agreed with him, repeated what he said, and he came up with a suggestion all by himself. JUST AS THE BOOK PREDICTED. This is scary stuff.

I bought this book at the suggestion of some friends but it was left on the shelf untouched for 3 years. And then, I decided to read it simply because I ran out of things to read. The case studies all sounded too good to be

true. I was very skeptical thinking, yeah, well MY child will not react like that! But then when I unwittingly did what the book tells parents to do, simply because I was lost, a completely new situation opened up.

Now I have to remember to show my appreciation for Alex trying so hard to communicate with me, tomorrow morning.

Run run run!

People in NY generally don't run unless they just mugged someone or are at Macy's thanksgiving sale.

Here in Tokyo, it seems to be mandatory.
You never know who's going to come out of the corner running so you need to be vigilant.
These people are not joggers.
They run in their normal attire.
Age, gender, profession nor shoe style matter.

Most common reason for running seems to be "to catch the train".
This coming from a country where trains run in 3 minutes interval ON TIME.

When Alex and I first started commuting to preschool, he kept asking "why are they running?"
It was such a different sight compared to where he was from.
Now he seems to enjoy the show and counts how many are running (too many!).
He has been knocked over a few times because he got too close to a running Tokyonite.

Thought to snap some pictures of them running, but they are too fast!

Japanese Potty

"mommy, there are no potties!"
"Yes there is, this is a toilet. See the blue man and pink woman on that board? That means there are potties here"
"I don't like pink woman room. I want to go to blue"
"Well daddy's not here today so you are in here with me"
"but mommy, pink doesn't have my potty!"
So I go into the offending stall and find this.  

I go in the next stall and find the same thing.
This is Tokyo, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world, at a fairly upscale department store to boot.
Why am I facing this?

Japanese potties are basically a hole in the floor with half a dome to cover 1/6 of the oval hole.
I refuse to understand how to use it and instruct Alex to do so as well.
I completely forgot about their existence until Alex came running out of the stall.
"mommy, can I go to blue man room?"
He's 4.
Should I send him off to a public toilet on his own?
The only "western style" stall is out of order.
He is near tears with the hole potty.

Come to think of it he is becoming pretty rigid about trying out new things.
He didn't want to try out the new mango orange muffin that cost me $5 this morning.
Maybe this is a good opportunity to instill the idea of overcoming challenges.
So I drag him in the stall, and have him squat over the hole.
I am not sure if we are even facing the right way, but he aims inside the dome, assuming it's a splash guard.

MISSed!
He pees ON the dome.
The liquid trickles down the dome onto the floor running towards his shoes.
I lift Alex to avoid any contact but Alex was not done yet so the pee was now showering the wall.
Ooops.
Disaster in progress.

The stall is so small that there is no other choice but to put Alex down in the puddle and let him finish his thing.
He understands the situation and now he is peeing and crying at the same time.
"I want to go to blue room!!"

This toilet has been the de facto standard for many years.
At the same time the Japanese have been known for their longevity.
One needs to squat to do her job in this toilet but I cannot imagine an 80 year old being able to do that.
There is a janitor's closet within the ladies room so I clean Alex's shoe there.
He's still sobbing at the ordeal and not happy about the fact that he has to wear the shoe I hosed down.
Mercifully there are no people waiting to use the toilets so I throw a bucket of water in the stall we trashed to wash things down.
The rest has to be dealt by the janitor.

During all of this, not a single person came in.
It's 1:30pm, when the toilets are usually crowded with people who finished lunch at one of the restaurants.
Alex and I leave the Restaurant floor to go down to the Luxury Brand floor.
There is a long line of people coming out of a corridor.
It leads to the ladies room.
We cut the line and go in, pretending to just wash our hands, and find out that all the stalls have regular toilet bowls.
Aha! So even Japanese, young and old like the "western style" toilets.

An anniversary we fail to notice

There was an article about anniversaries people celebrate.

It asked which anniversary the readers most look forward to.
To me, I guess it's my kid's birthday.

And so my answer was the same as a million other readers.

But that wasn't the point of the article.
The author pointed out that our firstborn's birthday is not just the kid's birthday but also the day "parents" were born. Before that we were just husbands and wives (majority of Japan is still a hetrosexual partnership). Hence the birthdays of Mommy and Daddy.
We have a right to celebrate for ourselves too! Who knew?
Makes sense.

But who's going to get me presents?

creep

I don't know the appropriate translation for the word "creep".
So after much contemplation, I just say "creep" in English.
I'm talking in Japanese pretty well and suddenly I turn into English.
The group of women I was talking to blink.
And then they lose interest as if it was a boring story after all.

The problem with Japanese people is that they assume you are Japanese if you look East Asian.
There are no "Asian-Americans" in their world.
If you look Asian, you are expected to speak Japanese flawlessly and understand it perfectly well. You are expected to follow the culture of bowing, saying "sorry" all the time, running to the trains, etc, mindlessly.
Especially with the "patriotic fad" going on, there is this strange sense of superiority among people and a friend told me she felt she was treated like a second-rate citizen when people found out she couldn't speak the language.

So I am having trouble with the word "creep".
Alex and I were sitting on a train and out of nowhere comes this 20-something, sitting right next to Alex. I didn't notice him until he interrupted our conversation. I thought a pretty woman was sitting there. Where did she go?
"He's very cute. How old is he?"
I'm dumbstruck. This is Japan, the land of harmless looking psychos with knives.
"I'm Four!" Alex is so happy that he was finally asked something that he could answer in Japanese.
"You speak very good Japanese. Where are you from?" Damn it! Why is he carrying on a conversation? I just stare. He asks again, this time loudly.
I still stare.
"Are you from Thailand?"
I finally cave and say "New York".
"Oh, that must be far away. How long is it by plane?"
Why is he asking this? Creep. His eyes scream "pedophile".
I am thinking what to do. I don't want to move suddenly and have him running after us with a knife. It's still a while until the next station.
And then I freeze.

He takes Alex's right hand and strokes it, repeatedly.
I mentally calculate how long it takes me to take a pen out of my bag and stab his hand.
Can I get away with it?
Then I hear the announcement for the next station. I have never been grateful for this boring announcement in my life.
I grab Alex's right arm and say "okay, we are getting off".
"Why? this isn't our station yet". Why does Alex have to argue with me right now out of all the time in the world?
"I don't like strangers touching you".

The creep then stands up and walks away.
He go sits next to a woman with a stroller.
Wow, he is a pedophile looking for prey.
We get off the train.

In NYC even 10 year olds have chaperons take them to and from school.
But in Japan, once you are in elementary school, kids are suppose to commute by themselves. A lot of schools think that this is what constitutes children's "independence".
I see 6, 7 , 8 year olds, light as a feather, brave the commuter train every morning. These kids are small, most of them wearing uniforms that identify their schools (and location, obviously) and sometimes even have their nametags hanging out.

I am explaining all of this to a group of Japanese women as they pass out tea and I get stuck at the word "creep".
I am still angry and worked up about it and I am stressing that there is no way in hell I am going to let Alex go to school by himself.
"That creep. Creep, creep!!!".

"Relax, here it is".
What is here? What is she talking about?
"Your cream. Creap. Well this is real cream, not cheap creap that's powdered.
This is what you want in your tea, right?"

I'll be damned.

Japanese Packed lunch

Happy New Year everyone.

Alex started school last week and I was so glad because he was driving me bonkers by asking me when he could go back to school, 20 times a day (nearly every 30 minutes), for 3 weeks.

It has been 3 months since I have officially started packing lunch for Alex.
It was great at first.
Lots of frozen bite size lunch food in Tokyo in the freezer section; all you have to do is nuke 'em and pack 'em. They even have frozen blanched spinach nicely tucked in a 1 x 1 plastic nukable container.

All you have to do is take the package out of the freezer, cut one container off (about 8 containers connected loosely in 1 package), add some salt or soy sauce and throw it in the microwave.

They sell cute lunch boxes too (Alex has "Thomas" and "Cars", of course) and all I have to do is figure out how to configure these various containers with various prepared food in them in the box so they fit, and throw in a rice ball or two (easier to make than sandwiches, actually).
Alex was just so excited getting food in a box that he was content with it for 2 months.

Then he started comparing his lunch to his classmates'.
He noticed that others were far more elaborate than his:

• He noticed that sausages weren't merely boiled, they were somehow morphed into octopuses or flowers.
• Rice balls weren't just rice flavored with a sprinkle of salt carelessly squashed together in the box. They were Elmos, cookie monsters, soccer balls and bunnies.
• There were smiling eggs and Pokemon cheese.
• Koala meatballs and star sandwiches.

Packing lunch is a competitive sports here.

By the second year of packing, most moms (and I stress moms here, since in this society, these things HAVE to be made by moms, no one else) make it into an art form and the respective children open their lunch boxes proudly in the hopes of attaining the highly coveted "best lunch box owner" status.

You see the idea is, the better the lunch box content, the more that child is cherished and loved by his/her mom.
Under this guideline, Alex was literally an orphan.

And so, to keep within the spirit of his classmates and their ever so creative moms, Alex started to demand "spider webs", "froggies", "backyardigans" on his lunch and I started to oblige.

I don't want him to grow up and think 20 years later that he has some obscure issues because I didn't pack him good looking lunch.

I have spent well over $30 investing in silly lunch making gadgets like Nori punchers (punches a face into a nori), animal rice shapers (shapes the riceballs into elephants, fish and bears), swordfish toothpick (a tiny blue plastic swordfish in which it's "sword" part acts as a toothpick - I line up edamame on this; alex thinks it's hilarious), Ariel partitions (wax paper partitions with Ariel printed on it - he's in love with her right now), Winnie the Pooh Nori (Nori pre-cut into Pooh) etc and these stuff are taking up an entire cupboard.

Think I'm losing my mind?
This is what I am up against.

and this

and this

and these are just the tip of the iceberg.

I thought I didn't have to deal with this crap if I had Alex in an American school.
Apparently, blond kids at his school get a pass even if their lunch is just a jelly sandwich and a banana (low status) that comes directly out of a bag (even lower status).

However, there are different expectations for kids with Asian moms and an American style laissez-faire packed lunch may ostracize the child from classroom society.

"Mommy, I was the only one who didn't have a face for lunch (meaning a face somehow designed on a rice ball or sandwich or boiled egg or whatever). Everybody was talking about their faces and playing with them!! I didn't have a face....nobody played with me"

I am having such a hard time taking this seriously.

One of our neighbors, who has 3 school aged kids besides her preschooler told me she wakes up at 5am every weekday to pack lunch. She also packs snacks, makes breakfast, checks the kids' belongings and drives the kids to 2 different schools before having to comeback home.
However if she didn't have to pack lunch, she could get away with waking up at 6:30.
She's been doing this for 12 years. She has an MBA from an Ivy League. You'd think she'd have all the logistics figure out by now to maximize efficiency and shorten labor time. Nope, even she - who did operational management - cannot escape the mundane labor intensive work of packing a Japanese lunch.

I can't live like this!