Beach Demographics

This morning, having woken up on the Generous side of bed, decided to do something fun with the kids instead of dragging them to Home Depot for the forty-third time. So we went to a little beach park about 10 minutes away. I'd heard about it, but never been there before and it was PERFECT. The perfect amount of grass and sand and calm lake water, no having to drag all your stuff across an acre of sand like at the real beach, and I had kids old enough to entertain themselves in the water and dig in the sand. It was about fifty thousand times better than the wading pool. Never again, wading pool! Even Jack agreed with me. 

So I could tell you all about what a lovely morning we had and how totally exhausted I was when we came home, but instead I am going to tell you that every single person at this beach park was either a white 30-something mom or a white preschooler. If you had been listening in on the conversations (which OF COURSE I was doing) you would know that the big issues of the day were Montessori waiting lists, kindergarten teachers, and mothers-in-law who do not mind their own business. The kids had names like Ava and Lucas and were loaded down with sunscreen and toys and floaties and many of them had obviously had swim lessons and it was all very Young-Ish Mom In The City. 

I didn't have to notice this, right? I AM one of these moms. My kids weren't quite as white as these, but my Asian-American husband didn't make me any different from these women. I am just like them and I had the privilege of not noticing this at all. 

But I did... I don't know if it matters. One thing I've noticed about our new neighborhood is that it has a large population of North African immigrants. There was one time we went to the neighborhood playground and it was packed, but I was the only white person there. (Not counting my kids, though I assume they will identify as Asian-American when they're old enough to identify as anything. Or maybe not. I have no idea.) One thing that is REALLY drawing me to the church and church school near my house is the diversity and the fact that many of the students speak a different language at home. (Other than that, I am MEH on the whole switching churches thing - that's another post.) Our rental house was in a trendy affluent neighborhood. Our new neighborhood feels shabbier, not as well off, more overgrown. And as much as I loved (LOVED) our old neighborhood and would have loved (LOVED) for my kids to attend the excellent schools there, I can also appreciate where we are, the people we run into, the faces we see at our new playground. I want my kids to be part of this. 

One beef I had against Catholic school (before I started investigating the local Catholic school options and therefore had no idea what I was really talking about) was the idea that it might be loaded with rich white kids who could afford it. I wasn't sure if I wanted them to be in that environment. I couldn't really explain WHY, but something about it just didn't feel REAL. I grew up on military bases and there are ALL KINDS of people living on military bases. I never ever thought about diversity or race or anything like that. Even though I hung out with almost exclusively Filipino kids - and talking to them a few years past graduation they confessed they never thought about it either. 

But I remember walking onto the UW campus at age 18 and being floored - seriously - by how WHITE everything was. (And how many Asian people there were, to be honest.) It was so different than where I came from. It was STRANGE. I got used to it (and it was easy for me, being white!) but now, having kids, I'm aware of it again. And my kids... well, I hesitate to say what they'll think or how things will be when they grow up, but I'm assuming they won't have my "advantage" of not noticing. I want them to be around differences as much as samenesses. 

I am making a huge deal out of going to the beach, huh? I didn't have a friend along to distract me, so this is what you get. Overwrought melodramatic discussion over a trip to the beach. This is why I blog! Anyway, I want to be sure you know I am not, like, JUDGING the beach moms or anything (except for the one who named her child Diego), especially as I am ONE OF THEM, but we're part of a pretty privileged group, I think. It's not wrong to acknowledge that. 

Do you guys do this? Sit around and see what kind of people are doing what you're doing? Who they are, where they come from, what the stories are? I suppose I need a little more in my life than paint and pregnancy, eh? 

I'm sorry Future Jack, but this story must be written down

OH YOU GUYS. 

Okay so tonight was the big Chinese New Year dinner. I was expecting our family plus one other family, which is pretty much what I got, except for the part where the other family consisted of, like, ninety people. 

But wait! I must back up!

This other family is a family FIL has been our case to meet for YEEEEARS. Literally. Phillip had met them once or twice, and I FELT like I'd met them, as I hear about them ALL THE TIME. The patriarch is FIL's friend and he has a son who (!!!) married a Caucasian girl TOO! I've been under the impression that the patriarch really only wants us to meet because 1) we have children and 2) his son does not have children and 3) he would like some grandchildren. But that's just my IMPRESSION. I don't KNOW. 

But wait! I still have to back up!

So BEFORE dinner, before Phillip even came home, I gave the kids a bath and dressed them up all cute-like. The only thing I really know about this other family is that they are sort of fancypants and since I wasn't sure how the kids would behave, I at least wanted them to LOOK nice. So I put Jack in his nice jeans and a collared shirt and Molly insisted on her Christmas dress and you guys I was so on top of things that we were EARLY. By, like, fifteen minutes. That never happens! And of course Phillip's parents weren't there yet, and we had no intention of introducing OURSELVES to the other family, so we hung around outside, waiting for Phillip's parents to show up. 

This was even sort of fun. It was freezing so I had the kids running laps between two posts and the hostess inside the restaurant was even smiling and waving (THIS IS HOW CUTE THEY WERE) and I'm wearing makeup and my hair is behaving and Phillip dressed himself super nice without any help from me and then Jack is looking at me sort of worriedly. He says something about being wet. And I look at his pants and, well, yes. They are wet. And oh look, there's a puddle forming by his shoes. SPLENDID!

But wait! I have to back up AGAIN!

Yesterday, at preschool? Molly and I were hanging around outside the door to pick up Jack instead of in the car like usual. When the teachers came out they said, "Oh good! We wanted to talk to you!" So then I was all, "Oh!" because OBVIOUSLY they were going to tell me some special tidbit about my amazing brilliant child and didn't want the other parents to hear and get jealous. Then Teacher Nancy smiles apologetically and says, "Jack had a little accident" and hands me a garbage bag full of pee clothes.

THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. 

Teacher Nancy adds, "His shoes were soaked" and I look and see my kid standing there in his socks, a stupid grin on his face. I had to carry him to the car, a block away, and Jack was not at ALL embarrassed (which is good) and extremely chatty about the incident (not as good) and I had to throw his entire outfit, shoes and all in the washing machine. 

His shoes only dried out completely this morning. 

The same shoes he was wearing at the restaurant tonight when he peed his pants AGAIN. 

Phillip and I looked at each other. All, "WHAT DO WE DO NOW?" I usually have an extra diaper in my purse, but I am not accustomed to carrying around a brand new outfit for my THREE-YEAR-OLD. And we totally couldn't just bring him in the restaurant. I mean, we have some shame.

SO THEN. It was this crazy mess of dragging the kids back to the car, stripping Jack and wrapping his legs in my scarf so he wouldn't freeze to death, and fighting about how to get to the downtown Old Navy so we can buy a new OUTFIT. (For the record, I knew exactly where I was going. Why Phillip perpetually insists on contradicting me about DIRECTIONS I have NO CLUE.) I flew out of the car and bought the first pair of jeans, socks and shoes (SHOES!) I saw and flew back out to the street right after Phillip finished his first lap. And of course Jack was ASLEEP.

AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!

Then we rushed back to the restaurant, dressed Jack (in a DIAPER, OMG) and ran into the restaurant to meet all these fancypants people and MAYBE I NEEDED A DRINK. That said, we were only 10 minutes late. GO TEAM CHEUNG.

Anyway. Dinner was delicious (except for the part where they dumped a bunch of cilantro on top of the fried rice, NOT OKAY) and the kids... oh, the kids were DARLING. I mean, for real. They ate, they were friendly, they were super cute, and all of that was especially wonderful because it became Rather Clear that we were there to be The Grandchildren Example. (In fact, as I type, Phillip's dad is on the phone reiterating this. SIGH.) The kids were just SO PERFECT I could hardly believe it. They fawned over someone else's new baby, they fist bumped FIL's friend, they made adorable conversation, they smiled on command, someone actually said to me, "They get along SO WELL!" And I totally lied and said, "THEY DO!"

But at eight they were obviously worn out and we were terrified of losing our Perfect Family status. So we came home and put them to bed. Not before I ate almost the entire plate of honey walnut prawns by myself. The End. (Well, hopefully. If I have to wash shoes again tomorrow I'll be having wine for lunch.)

P.S. I wrote about Chinese New Year-ness at Parenting, for those of you who read my drivel there as well (you ARE my best looking readers).

In which I do not exaggerate, not even a little bit

I intended to stuff the kids into the double stroller after their naps and drag them to the Asian grocery store up the street, but of course it was pouring. So we drove instead, and I felt silly bringing the three of us and our car to the store for a bottle of hoisin sauce and a tiny nub of ginger, but there you go. Both of those things are outrageously expensive at Safeway whereas they are dirt cheap at the Asian grocery store. Whatever. 

(Oh, and I was buying them because I am trying to make New Recipes and the glazed pork loin I made tonight wasn't half bad, if you don't count the facts that 1) I didn't cook it long enough and had to microwave the middle pieces and 2) I don't like pork.) 

Anyway. We walked into the store and were immediately confronted with red and gold tackiness because hello, it is Chinese New Year. OH RIGHT. 

*********EXCEPTIONALLY LARGE TANGENT ALERT!

Okay, at this point the post was going to veer off into a nice multicultural discussion of Chinese New Year and our previous celebrations, but I'm going to skip all that in favor of telling you what I have been doing in between every paragraph. Ready?

I took the kids upstairs at seven and had them in bed by seven-thirtyish. Phillip has been downstairs since seven doing school stuff. WHATEVER. 

There was jumping and giggling and the usual Not Going To Sleepness. I went upstairs a time or two to Instill The Fear Of God. Then I hear Jack saying, "I have to go PAAAAAAHTTY. I have to go PAAAAAAHTTY." So I run up there and yes, he HAD to go potty, but he went in his pants. LOVELY. 

I clean that up. 

Next I go up there because they are OUT OF CONTROL and I have HAD IT and they are now going to REGRET IT. And they do. Much howling, wailing, gnashing of teeth. I take a breather in my bedroom because: DUDE. This sucks.

I go downstairs. More crying. I am immune. Then Jack starts saying, "I have a runny NOSE! I have a runny NOSE!" in this awful sing songy voice and I run up there because, well, runny noses are lame and if I don't wipe it he's going to get snot everywhere etc. So I run up there and guess what - SOMETHING STINKS. And its name is Molly. 

So I clean that up. That involves turning on lights, removing the offender from her bed, additional actions that completely cancel out my Mean Mommy act from a few moments earlier. But what am I going to do? I HAVE TO CLEAN IT UP. But I am not nice about it. 

I go downstairs. They jump and giggle, like they think I CAN'T HEAR THEM. What is UP, Children?! I decide to ignore them. My mother calls. I whine. I whine A LOT. I decide that it's nearly nine, I better go yell at them again. Or move Molly into my room. Or something, because this is ridiculous.

So I go up there and something stinks AGAIN. Jack went potty in his pants AGAIN. I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. 

Aaaaand I lose it. I LOST IT. My throat hurts, I am furious, and Phillip just came upstairs asking me what's going on and I can't even TELL him because I am THAT DONE. 

He is up there right now putting Molly in the pack 'n play. 

I suppose this could be the point where I tell you that tonight we got out our calculators and decided we COULD sell our house. Why I am not immediately over the moon over the fact that I could have two separate bedrooms in which to confine and isolate and imprison my children I have NO IDEA. After tonight I should be JUMPING UP AND DOWN. Obviously I am too wiped to think straight.

Okay, so what this post was REALLY about was how Jack wanted to buy stuff at the store and so did I, since buying stuff makes me feel better. So we bought stuff. We bought all sorts of little Asian grocery store treats and we will send them to a Randomly Chosen Blog Commenter. Mostly good stuff. I couldn't help myself on certain items, but I did refrain from purchasing the dried wasabi anchovies. You're welcome. 

So! Happy Chinese New Year! I would like a red envelope full of Goes To Bed Without A Problem! 

In which I solve at least one of the world's ills

GAAAAHHHH Internet I am OVERWHELMED. And waaaay anxious and since the best thing for Anxious Me is to act like I'm not (seriously, I am not being facetious, this IS the best thing) I will now attempt to write something worthwhile! (You: HAAAA!) 

So! This morning, when we were still kidless and cleaning up last night's party, I suddenly brain-vomited, as I am wont to do when we are kidless, all the Philosophical Discussions I bottle up and save for Phillip. He looks like a computer geek but he can be pretty astute, pretty insightful when he wants to be. And this morning he schooled me on Race Relations. It was rough. I cried. I had to think. Still thinking. 

Not to go into the Whole Big Thing, but a series of conversations, an Unbloggable Event, and about ten minutes of an Oprah show I happened to catch last week turned into this Thing. A thing where I thought I was just sharing a bit of my life with Phillip. You know, I'm all, "Dude, blah blah blah, internal processor, here's my already-thunk-out conclusion, all tidy, there you go, the end." And Phillip is all, "Okay, but blah blah blah maybe you should think about that." It's like he's forgotten I don't like to be WRONG. 

And not that I was wrong so much as... realizing I do not take risks in this part of my life and, according to Phillip and everyone else who is smarter than me, maybe I should. 

I am, as you know, a Pasty White Girl. But most of the important people in my life, my husband and most of the good friends I've had since high school, are Asian-American. I don't know why this is, or if there is even a reason to wonder why it is. There is a not-so-nice term for white boys who are attracted to Asian women, but I haven't heard of a term for a pasty white girl who hangs out with all the Filipino kids in high school. Whatever. It is what it is. 

One thing I don't think I've told you about the Non-Denominational College Fellowship was that, at the time I was in school, there was a strong focus on racial reconciliation, mainly between white people and Asian-Americans, because those were the two racial groups in the fellowship. As a result I participated in MANY the awkward facilitated "conversation" and learned to hide my face whenever it was a white person's turn to speak. It's just the nature of the event, right? Minority attempts to gently educate, Majority doesn't get it. Rinse, repeat, cover my face. 

I was never a person who didn't get it, though. Which isn't to say I GOT IT. I think all that really means is that I knew how the things that might come out of my mouth would sound. I choose my words about race very very carefully. I live in dread of being The White Girl Who Thinks She Understands Your Minority Experience. Probably the only person with whom I'm entirely open about this stuff is Phillip, and that's because one day after one of those awkward facilitated "conversations" I went into full tilt Despair re: interracial relationships were IMPOSSIBLE, how could this EVER work, WOE!, MISERY!, I HATE MYSELF! Phillip gave me a few days on that one, possibly weighing his options in the meantime ("do I REALLY want to date this deranged chick?"), but in the end made it clear that I was being a total idiot, would I like to get married now? 

Anyway, that's just to say that whenever I don't get something, or whenever I'm confused about something and need to talk it out in a safe place, I find Phillip. This also means I elatedly tell Phillip whenever I have acquired another piece of evidence that shows I do understand. So here's one thing: I have become discerning about my Chinese food. I know what's real Chinese food and what's White People Chinese Food. I totally know the difference and have my preferences and YES, I CAN USE CHOPSTICKS, but on occasion a Chinese relative will assume I only eat sweet and sour chicken, and compliment me on my chopstick usage. Whatever, no big deal. But sometimes something happens, like the Unbloggable Event, where I distinguish myself from the Stereotypical White Person Eating Chinese Food and okay, I'll admit it, I feel PROUD. Like I know the secret. Like I understand something. And I tell Phillip, fully expecting to be laughed at, but mostly he doesn't laugh, he'll just say he noticed. 

But I did happen to say that this wasn't something I would share with other Asian-American friends. I mean, besides the fact that it's 1) stupid and 2) totally out of context in practically every conversation, it's something I fear would put me in the category of White Person Desperately Trying To Show You That They Get It. So, I told Phillip, I would probably say nothing. I wouldn't want to risk looking foolish/naive/stupid.

So he looked at me kind of funny and I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was like he turned my little rational explanation on its head. Like, why NOT? I have to say, I haven't fully thought out everything we talked about (INTERNAL PROCESSOR!) but I just knew he was right. That I was fearful and prideful, and not wanting to risk in conversations about race, which you have from time to time when your friends are not white, was keeping me from something. Phillip reminded me that if say or do something in love, the other person should respond in love, even if I mess up - something I always ALWAYS forget. When I told Phillip about the Oprah show, and how there was a white woman going on and on about not having any IDEA that African American women struggle with their hair, and how much I just wanted her to shut up and and how much I wanted to climb into a hole for her sake, he said, "But I think that's awesome." 

So many of the important people in my world are Asian-American, and I am deeply invested in wanting them to think I'm cool on this subject. I want to be as aware as I can possibly be, without going around acting like I understand, if that makes any sense at all. And many times I find myself straddling these places. I mean, I go to an awful lot of happy hours with two Asian-American girls, and of the three of us, I'm the only one with an Asian last name. It gets CONFUSING. I tend to play it safe. No, I ALWAYS play it safe. And today I was informed that, just like on Top Chef and Project Runway, playing it safe is kind of lame, especially with people who'll love you anyway. 

Banner day

Molly rolled over yesterday.

Post-roll over position. Wardrobe by Elephant Ears. (Which was then promptly pooped on. Sorry Elizabeth.)

And in the last several weeks Jack has added dozens of "words" to his "vocabulary", including "Uh! Bah! Mah!" which I think is adorable. Some of these random bursts of vocalization are coherent only to me, but some of them actually make sense. The day he tottered over to the kitchen, pointed at the fridge and shouted, "WAWA!", instead of just howling in thirsty despair, oh, that was a good day. I wasn't really freaking out about the no talking thing (well, freaking out in a very controlled and "eh, whatever" kind of way) but I do have to say I'm relieved to see some progress. He's even saying things without us prompting him first, which I thought was NEVER going to happen. So. Yay.

The last funny thing he did I wrote about here. It involves toilets, for those of you who find that kind of thing exciting.

I know. My children are brilliant.

So, continuing with the Achievements theme, Phillip worked from home yesterday and made it possible for me to try out the 30 Day Shred, which I wrote about here. And now my entire body has gone on strike.

AAAAAND. Some Chinese aunts were going to visit yesterday. Phillip's entire extended family lives in Canada, all of them in Vancouver except for one aunt and uncle in Toronto. The Toronto aunt was visiting (along with her two sisters, who we are not related to, but of course they are aunties anyway) and  Phillip's dad wanted to drive them up to Seattle so he could show off his grandchildren. (And eat at the best dim sum restaurant. That was probably the point of the trip.)

The last time Toronto Aunt visited I was a Nervous Wreck because 1) we had just bought our new house and 2) I was still wigging out about how I am supposed to behave around the older members of Phillip's family. Being that I am 1) not Chinese and 2) SO VERY NOT CHINESE. It was... hard. Because I didn't know how to talk with them (the older family members only speak English if they're speaking directly to someone they know doesn't speak Cantonese) and they combed over every inch of my new house. Stressful!

So yesterday I was running around sweeping the floors and cleaning the kitchen and basically acting like my mother was going to come stay with us for a week. And then they came EARLY. Gah.

But you guys, should you ever find yourself in need of a good pickmeup, I suggest bringing home a few Chinese aunts. There was endless, and I do mean ENDLESS, fawning over my kids. So beautiful! So smiley! So sweet! So handsome! He could be on the cover of a MAGAZINE! He's so FUNNY! She's so PRECIOUS!

The best part, though, is when one of the aunts who is not really an aunt went on and on (and I do mean ON) about how skinny I look. So, you know. FAVORITE AUNT EVER. And of course I am probably twice her size, but older Chinese people don't say things like that unless they mean it. SCORE.

Later on they were trying to get Jack to perform (he's a pretty snazzy dancer) and he was standing in the middle of the room while everyone else was lined up on the couch. He was just sort of staring flirtatiously at the two younger aunts. They said something quickly to each other and then burst out laughing. "Maggie! Do you know what we are saying?!" I shook my head no. "We are saying that a man has never looked at us this way! It makes us feel so beautiful and special! Jack has made our day!"

So. Banner day, all around. I'm off to soak my weeping muscles in the shower.

Why Jackson will not be brainwashed by Saturday morning advertising

I hosted the moms group at my house this morning. Rather than bore you with my neuroses (my house! it is filthy! and furnished by the Late Nineties College Dorm Life Catalog!), my insecurities (will they eat my zucchini bread? can I wear shorts with legs that are 20 pounds overweight (each) and last shaved in July?), my victories (they said my house was "beautifully decorated"!) and my extreme shallowness (the "beautifully decorated" sentence was the best part of my day thus far) I've decided to take a different tack, a tack not often seen on this website. The tack of Actually Talking About Something Worthwhile. Today's topic is: Should my kid learn Chinese?

GAH.

The obvious answer is: Duh. Of course he should learn Chinese. Haven't you seen the cover story on the July/August's Atlantic Monthly? (I've been reading it out loud to Jackson. There are only so many times you can read Brown Bear Brown Bear, people.)

The second obvious answer is: Everyone should have a second language. (Says the girl who spent her formative years in Italy and, when pressed to "speak Italian!", busts out with a poorly pronounced "Dov'e il vino?")

But...

Okay, so there are a few other biracial babies in the moms group. One of those babies happens to have a white mom and a Chinese dad like Jackson. Today that baby's mom asked me if I'd heard of a local language immersion school for kids (newborn to five years). She is planning to take the Mandarin class with her baby- the dad already speaks. I said, "Uh... maybe?" She said that her daughter would probably go to Chinese school as well when she's a little older. Was I planning to send Jack to Chinese school? I said, "Uhhh... maybe?" (I've asked Phillip to describe Chinese school in one sentence for you uninitiated few: "It's a place where you spend your Saturday mornings learning Chinese instead of watching cartoons.")

Leaving aside the craziness (my personal opinion!) that is attending a pricey language immersion school with your three-month-old, learning Chinese is a serious consideration and one to which I've given a lot of thought. More thought, incidentally, than my Chinese-American husband has given and definitely more than my Chinese-American mother-in-law thinks is necessary. When Jack was a few weeks old I was talking to my mother-in-law about how to retain some sort of... Chinese-ness... for Jackson. She told me not to worry about it. It would take care of itself. Her biggest concern about her own kids was making sure they "fit in", that they were American. We'd take Jackson to eat Chinese food in Canada and that would be good enough.

I am not so sure.

Phillip speaks a bit Mandarin and no Cantonese (his parents speak both, although Cantonese is used at family gatherings) and that's his biggest issue with growing up Chinese-American. His aunts and uncles and cousins all spoke Cantonese- even his older brother taught himself from Chinese TV- and he never knew what was going on at family dinners. He went to Chinese school, but he didn't learn enough. It really bugs him.

So say we sent Jack to language immersion or Chinese school because we don't want him to feel left out the way Phillip does. But he'd be learning a language his parents do not speak and therefore he wouldn't be speaking it anywhere except during classes or with his grandparents (who speak English as well). Does this mean Phillip and I should go to these classes too? We probably should, for our own edification, but real life doesn't leave a lot of room for language school and even less for opportunities to speak the language in context.

But maybe I am just being negative. I don't know. To be embarrassingly honest, I'd only be learning Chinese for Jack's sake, and I probably wouldn't try very hard. Have you seen those Chinese characters? There are a frillion of them! I could barely hack my way through first year Italian in college, and that's after having lived in the actual country.

(Yes, I know this makes me super lame. But I'm being realistic here. I am about as good at languages as I am with math, which is about 100 times worse than Barbie.)

It's not just language, though. It's the whole idea of Jackson being half Chinese and figuring out how to honor that. He has a lilywhite mother, a second-generation Chinese-American father and fairly Westernized first-generation grandparents. He will get his fill of as-authentic-as-possible Chinese food, but what else? I honestly don't know. I've been thinking about it since I married Phillip and I still don't have any good answers.

Jackson will have a library full of books on Chinese current events and experiences of foreigners in China. (Peter Hessler's River Town- go read it.) He will have lots of half Asian half white friends (at least if his parents and theirs have anything to do with the friendship-making!) He will live in a city with a high population of Asian people, a high population of Asian restaurants, an Asian art museum, Asian celebrations in the International District. He will know his Chinese-American and Chinese-Canadian relatives. He will have parents who love to travel (despite their irrational fear of airplanes) and who hope to accompany his grandfather on a trip to Hong Kong some day soon. His father will make him the Asian comfort foods his mother never eats. He will know he has the same Chinese name as Jet Li (according to his grandparents. "Zhang Yi Jie", Jie being the Jet Li part, but of course I can't type the tones.) And, as you know, he's all prepped to have the mad rad Asian nerd computer skillz. (Oh yeah. And he already has his own Mii on the Wii.)

Other than that?

I want to do the "right thing" whatever that may be. But also? I'm afraid of going overboard. Like... "Sucks to have your special Chinese-ness diluted by your mother's The Man-ness!" I don't want to bombard Jackson with Chinese school and Chinese books and Chinese everything because I have issues. (Which I don't. Unless I think about it too much and have watched too much cable news that day.)

So right now? He has a board book about dim sum. And grandparents who play the Chinese version of patty cake with him. That's about it. I think we're good for now.