Momo for Christmas!

My MIL Shari, who the kids call Momo, surprised them with a Christmas visit!

Daniel prepared a PVC-pipe frame for her and then wrapped her up. The kids opened this "package" and it was the cutest thing!

We've had a WONDERFUL Christmas - our first spent with Momo in seven years.

She baked us her famous tea cookies.

This island was my Christmas gift! Somehow Daniel squeezed it into my teeny-tiny kitchen. Good guy.

We went sledding at Snow Mountain.

Riding the gondola up the mountain.

Good thing I remembered the carrot and raisins!

We had the Greenes for dinner, and the fellas fried another turkey. Men and fire, I tell ya.

Momo and I armed the kids with gingerbread houses, icing, and candies and set them loose.

These two houses are Jubi's (left) and Brave's (right). Daniel says it looks like a candy factory blew up.

Happy New Year, everyone!

He knows how

Back when we said, "You can't have sleepovers until you're ten," we thought we were buying ourselves an eternity before having to deal with it.

But then we blinked our eyes and our oldest became nine-and-a-half and his best friend is a wonderful kid with wonderful parents and we ran out of reasons not to let him spend the night at Reister's.

So here he is, backpack on his back containing a toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a stuffed Toucan named Taco.

Later that evening I got THE BEST text message from Reister's mom Michelle. It read, "Gene said to me, 'I might have to poop while I'm here but it's ok, I know how.'"

(never) hung out to dry

We've all had those days. 

It's the stuff of Country Western songs. I slept in too late. My jeans were too tight. There was nothing in the house for breakfast, and the kids just could not get along. None of us could get in gear in the home school room, and we all ended up griping at each other over stupid stuff. I had gotten a hurtful comment on my blog that week that I just could not shake. The pollution was so thick outside that I could taste it on my tongue, and the Christmas cookie ornaments that I kept pulling from the oven looked like nondescript blobs (thanks to cheap butter that won't hold up at high temperatures). 

And then around mid-morning, the dryer broke. Really?!

At that point I abandoned home school altogether and succumbed to a full-fledged pity party on the couch, warning any approaching children that I needed space and must not be messed with. My pity party turned into a fitful nap, during which the hand I was using as a pillow went completely asleep.

But when I woke up...

Oh sweet L0RD, when I woke up...

My precious children had built a clothes line for me in the living room, on which to hang our load of soaking wet clothes.

They weighed-down the chairs with pans of water and popcorn kernels.

Gene tied the knots, learned from his Klutz Book of Knots (I highly recommend the book for parents of boys).

Instantly, my pity party was over. I scooped up my four little ones and asked for their forgiveness for my bad attitude. They forgave me, of course. Kids are the best forgivers of all. And I went to bed that night thankful, because even though life is full of broken dryers and hurtful comments, none of us has to tread this earth alone. Praise G0D for family.

In college at 34

I am grossly out of place at my school.

First of all, I am not Asian, of course. But even among the foreign students, I stand out. I am not European. I am not young, hip, or available. I do not smoke cigarettes or curse like a sailor. I do not have tattoos behind my ears (the new place for tattoos???) and I am not trying to earn a Chinese degree.

In fact, I have kids at home and a husband of 12 years. I still wear pants to class that I wore to class at Hope College 15 years ago. And my motives for studying the language are...slightly complicated;)

But old, outdated, and mysterious as I am, I park my bike beside the cool kids three days a week and sit in class for 2.5 hours, trying, TRYING to learn this distressingly difficult language.

Our second-floor courtyard.

Our snack bar. Warms the belly on a cold day.

Our bookstore. I bought a used Sichuan travel guide here that I love!

For all your school supply needs!

The lady from whom I buy my breaktime snack (cashews and tea)

We Heart Hong Kong

Not since we started having kids have Daniel and I been away just the two of us (unless you count a night at a hotel a few blocks from home). Now, thanks to John and Alisa, all that has changed.

Our destination? Hong Kong, where they celebrate Christmas, speak English, and serve gluten-free food in their restaurants!

And there is beautiful nature to enjoy, too. Where else the in the world can one eat breakfast among 7-million people in the morning,

(it's gluten-free and vegan)

and then eat lunch among winter surfers at a remote beach where the only sound is the wind?

(he ordered caesar salad)

The tiny surfing village of Big Wave Bay.

To get to the surfing village, we had to hike! (a privelege rarely afforded this mother-of-four-who-used-to-be-a-trail-rat).

Hiking the Dragon's Back.

British-run for long years, Hong Kong is a quirky cultural casserole, made up of a sprinkling of small mountainous islands, a big mountainous island, and a mainland port. The streets are old and narrow, and climb up and down very steeply, but are laid-out impressively well by the British who colonized it. Modernization has turned Hong Kong into city-planet - like something out of Star Wars - with enclosed walkways, buildings, lifts, and trams all connected and labeled by their level.  Completely surrounded by water and full of history, ambition, and good food, Hong Kong is literally crammed with people, places, and things.

Unlike anywhere I've ever been.

Everything is narrow. Everything. Even the nicest of hotel rooms are like glitzy closets.

On the ferry.

View from The Peak.

??????

Writing, waiting, giving, and butterscotch

My book is sitting at a certain publisher, and though it hasn't been rejected, it hasn't been accepted. More than likely it has yet to be reviewed at all. Good thing I don't plan to quit my day job! ;)

But where I do have the privilege of writing on a regular basis is at the wonderful blog community for women serving overseas called Velvet Ashes. Whether you are a woman serving overseas or not, do give it a look. I think any and all can find some serious encouragement there. And right now, VA is running a very cool Eggs & Tires giving project to benefit children and families in Haiti. Check it out!

Meanwhile we are preparing for Christmas over here, along with most of the rest of the world. We dug up our Christmas tree from two years ago, which has been growing happily on our roof beside my sage garden (it was supposed to be an herb garden but only the sage took). We plunked the poor tree in a pot in our bay window and trimmed it. Post kids-in-bed, Daddy chillaxed with a mug of hot homemade eggnog and the last wedge of butterscotch pie.

The paper chain from six years ago is fading badly but we can't part with it.
It goes around and around our meager tree every year.

I have posted my eggnog recipe several times, but the butterscotch pie, a conglomeration of several recipes I've recently clipped, is a new and dazzling addition to my dessert repertoire. Enjoy!

BUTTERSCOTCH PIE

• Baked pie shell
• 1 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 1/4 cup butter
• 1/3 cup flour
• 1 t. cornstarch
• 2 cups whipping cream
• 3 egg yolks/4 egg whites
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1/2 cup sugar
• pinch salt
• pinch cream of tartar

• Directions

  • 1
    In a medium saucepan, combine 1/2 cup brown sugar and 1/4 cup butter; cook and stir over low heat until butter melts and mixture is smooth. Remove from heat.
  • 2
    In a small bowl, combine the remaining 3/4 cup brown sugar, flour, and cornstarch. Add to butter mixture and stir until combined.
  • 3
    Gradually stir in whipping cream. Return to heat and cook and stir over medium heat until thickened and bubbly; reduce heat and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Remove from heat.
  • 4
    In a small bowl, lightly beat egg yolks. Gradually stir about 1 cup of the hot filling into the yolks. Add yolk mixture back into the pan and bring to a gentle boil over medium heat, stirring. Reduce heat and and cook and stir 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla and pour into pie shell. Set aside.
  • 5
    To make the meringue, beat the 4 egg whites until soft peaks form. Add the 1/2 cup sugar, pinch of salt, and pinch of cream of tartar; beat until glossy and thick (peaks will fall over). Spread over the pie sealing to the edges and bake pie in a 350° oven 15 minutes or until meringue is golden brown. Set out to cool completely and then refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Serve.
  • p.s. You can serve the pie at room temperature, if you prefer your pudding pies warm.

Young turkeys

The annual Turkey Bowl was yesterday, and once again Daniel, John, and Matt played football with, and against, guys up to 13 years younger than them. Daniel ripped the skin from his knee and the bottom half of Gabe's shirt from his body, but he succeeded in taking three flags throughout the course of the game. Mighty Matt ran the ball Barry Sanders fashion, straight up the field, spinning like a washing machine through countless arms and legs, and delivering that pig skin into the end zone. Our team procured the trophy in the end, and then Matt passed out pain killers to all the old guys.

We wives manned the children, wiping noses and passing out snacks, while cheering for our men from our camp chairs in the cold.

And we didn't pass up the chance to mingle with precious women 13 years younger than us, who always lift our hearts and hold our kids, and keep us young by introducing us to Longchamp bags and rubber-soled leather boots (both of which are now on my wish list).

I love what we do! It never gets old. Here's hoping we never will, either.

Fry Daddies

This year, Daniel and John decided to fry the turkeys.

On our roof.

Beneath our grape arbor.

And it was the best turkey any of us have ever tasted.

Here you see a broom handle hanging from the arbor, and stainless steel paper towel holders in place below it. Turkeys went on those holders and were lowered into the pot of bubbling oil. Also visible is a fire extinguisher, which may or may not have been used.

Oh. My. Goodness.

The kids dressed up for the reading of the first Thanksgiving, brought to them this year by the Awesome Addison. All kids love Addison.

Here you see Zion in roller blades and a headdress, pouring the popcorn on the deck. Did you know the Native Americans introduced the pilgrims to popcorn at the first Thanksgiving? 

And then, as if hours of manning a turkey fryer weren't enough, Daniel built a fire in our giant wok and we roasted marshmallows after dark.

It was a Thanksgiving to fry for!

red door portraits

Through her eyes

Sometimes I wonder what she thinks. A level and lovely Chinese child with politely reserved eyes and a penchant for stir fry, being raised by a blond and blotchy mother with direct hazel eyes, dry white hands, and buttery food.

And then, I take her to class with me on a drizzly day in November because her dad is out of town and her brothers want to watch Star Wars (and she would rather ride with me through the city on my moped than watch Han Solo flirt with princess Leia one more time), and she takes a picture of me that sort of stops me in my tracks.

When I got home from class that day and looked at this picture she had taken unbeknownst to me, I wondered if perhaps she likes me, really likes me, after all. Maybe she is proud of me for trying to learn the language of her people. Maybe she wants to be like me. Maybe she is glad that I am her mother.

Or maybe she was just fooling with the camera setting on the iPad because she got tired of playing with the Fancy Nancy app.

Either way, I will always treasure this little photo. It is a picture of me through the eyes of my daughter, and I like what she sees.

How grocery shopping in East Asia is like natural childbirth

You move slowly and deliberately, taking care to breathe evenly and stay relaxed. The experience is crushing you, twisting you, threatening to break you in half, but the second you give in to it, you know you will lose it completely. You try to ignore the urges, however strong they might be, to throw back your head and scream like a wild animal. You soldier through, strongly and calmly, heroically even, until finally you are headed home with your baby in your arms - or your bags of groceries, whichever the case may be.

These are frozen beef steaks. As you can see, steak is strongly associated with the United States. A complimentary piece of Western cutlery is included in your purchase, because steak is difficult to eat with chopsticks;)

But enough about labor pains and grocery shopping. How about Brave learning to ride a two-wheel bike! I don't think I'm going to allow Jubi to learn. I can't have ALL my babies growing up on me.

Zion fell from the bunk bed and suffered a studly shiner. We're just so thankful his glasses didn't shatter into his eye!

Zion also celebrated his half birthday. We Rupps are always on the lookout for a reason to bake (and eat) cake.

And Gene has started looking older in the face. I am getting glimpses of what he will look like as a man and it makes me smile.