Full disclosure: This is Callie Jo's BIRTH story. Perspective from both Casey and I. If for any reason any talk associated with birth makes you uncomfortable then I'd just skip the post if I were you. Or scroll to the end for some more Callie Jo pictures. (:
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D Day being delivery day. Although based on some comments and stories I've received I feel like it could be my own personal doomsday. You don't realize how much there is to do to prepare for your baby until you have one. I honestly wish sometimes I lived during the stone age where the most preparation they probably did was to gather some leaves and berries to munch on while mama rested from the excavation. In today's world you can never be too prepared. People have gone a little crazy with inventing on the baby side of things. Diaper genies, wipe warmers, pacifier thermometers... these ones I can see the relevance and use. But then you come across items like butt fans, ipotty's, and the gauntlet of them all... snot suckers.
Double Pink Lines
Until this year I had never purchased a pregnancy test before. This task was one of the most daunting things I had ever done. The whole drive over to Walmart I contemplated what else I may need so as to seem less suspicious with my ticket item. I walked around the store staying on the food side to try and find comfort before the main event. Finally it came time. I had nothing else that I needed from the store. I kept replaying how this moment should go in my mind. I would walk up to the aisle with confidence, grab, and go. No biggie. Just grab and go. But I froze. It was like I had just caught Sasquatch in the middle of a Mexican fiesta eating a burrito. My fight or flight system was kicking into full gear, but my body was slightly confused at whether I should flee or stick it out a few more min. After WWIII ended within my mind, and conveniently everyone else in the aisle had gone somewhere else, I grabbed and left. “What should our team name be?” we had asked Jerry, the lone Chinese guy on our makeshift basketball team that was bulldozing natives at lightspeed. Jerry speaks very good English, but what he said surprised everyone. “Bugs. We be the ‘Bugs’. Strong like bugs, you know?”
Monica from Mexico pulled out the bag of chips, along with some salsa and queso. I about shed a tear. It was November 20th and we were in Suzhou for church. “I know you guys travel a long way to come here,” she said, “so I brought some food we can share.” She started cutting the tomatoes for the sandwiches as a little girl walked by. “What are you doing?” the 4 year old asked. “I’m doing charity,” Monica responded, never missing an opportunity to teach the gospel to a willing ear. “What’s that?” the puzzled little girl asked. “It is love for other people,” Monica stated simply. The little one now understood. “Who are you doing charity for? I want to do charity!”
“Teecha. In Sanya there sharks.” Emma is probably my favorite 4th grader, and she was mildly concerned we were headed to an island in China’s South Sea for the weekend. But we had to get back to the book assignment. “In the forest there are many plants, including poisonous mushrooms,” Frank read. “Do you know what poison means?” I asked the class. “Yesa,” Jared piped in. “It mean game over,” he said as he mimed the symbolic slitting of throat. These kids English may not be the best, but their acting is second only to Tom Hanks. “Oh teacha! I know what you can do,” Emma offered. “When you swim, take mushrooms. When shark come eat you, throw mushrooms in shark mouth, then shark is game over.” What a great idea! “I like the way you think,” I told Emma. If only mushrooms could stop sharks fast enough from obliterating human flesh. We could all have fungus pouches in our swimsuits, and watching Jaws would never be the same. But where’s the fun in that?
“I’m going to win you over before I leave,” I said this week to Lunch Lady. She scowled back at me. Currently she hates me, and understandably so. I’d probably feel the same if I saw ungrateful white people looking depressed in my kitchen, never thankful for poultry toenails or fish eyes that I undoubtedly broiled to perfection. So I get where she’s coming from. But it all came to a point about a month ago. We strolled in the door for dinner one night, and our eyes beheld a most beautiful sight: popcorn chicken! We’d gotten this sublime dish a few times, but this came on the heels of some truly bitter meals and so it looked all the more tantalizing. I wasn’t about to let Lunch Lady bat my hand away again as I tried for seconds (she has mad ninja skills). But that day I noticed the opportunity. Like a prison inmate seeing the jailer accidentally leave the keys on the counter, the moment was ripe for the taking as Lunch Lady had her back turned. She was engaged in a tense conversation, known only by the amount of Chinese syllables parading out of her mouth like an angry circus cast. The scooper ladle whateveryoucallit was waiting to perform its duty. I hurriedly filled the bowl to the brim, with the spillover catching in the bucket of my shirt. Grabbing my plate I ran out the door, joyously celebrating my escape.
“Maybe.” It seems to be every China person’s favorite word. Instead of “um” “eh” or “uh” they say “maybe.” Which really isn't a problem, except when you’re having a hard time discerning whether it was simply an ill-fated usage of the word or if they legitimately did not know whether to confirm or deny. So they play it safe, always. Like when they give directions, “I think maybe you go left at next street, and then take maybe right maybe two blocks later, I think maybe you see Chinese restaurant on corner, maybe have red lettering on the sign or maybe something like that.” Thanks. I think maybe I’ll never get there.
To pay homage to our breakfast, lunch, and dinner meals we visited the rice terraces in Guilin on our last vacation. En route our tour guide took us to a remote little town simply known as “Long Haired Village.” Yep, you guessed it, they never cut their toenails. I mean hair. The women grow it forever, cutting it only once between the ages of 16-18. The village belief is that the longer the hair, the longer the life. As you may have noticed from our photos, my face has since adopted this creed. They have a few peculiarities to them, namely that they don’t kiss prior to marriage. Rather, to express affection, to say “I love you”…they pinch your butt. Needless to say Courtney was dying to implement this custom into her daily life. The deeper the pinch, the deeper the love. Ok so I’m not sure about pinching by degrees, but the pinching of glutes is definitely a thing. Just remember, the universal symbol for money, your thumb tapping against your index and middle fingers, means love when applied to your rear end in an isolated village in the mountains of Southern China. I’m sure you’re glad to know.
Remember that time you tried to eat your own toenails? Yeah me neither. As appealing as the idea sounds, I am sure most of you have refrained indulging in such an urge. Sure you may have occasional dreams of chomping on that crunchy keratin in an effort to meet the week's quota of protein intake. But then you realize there are other means obtaining life's vital nutrients. Like Chicken. Beef. Or the amazing whey supplements you buy at Costco. However upon waking up you do not venture out to the local chicken coop and pick up red rooster Harvey, sauté his legs off with chopticks, boil them in grease and serve them up for supper stew. Unless you happen to be in China that is. Poor Harvey won't be walking anytime soon.
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Casey and courtney ClemOur goal is to make you laugh at least once every post. Archives
October 2017
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