Thanks for being so darned persistent, babe!
Jane actually picked “Drift Away” by Uncle Kracker. Jack later used the same song as the soundtrack backing up a video of his photographs capturing our first year in China.
I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that Jane picked a song for her Dad. “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO — no shirt, no shoes and he still gets service. Jane has her father’s sarcastic nature — obviously!
If I had to pick a single song for us today I might pick “If I Need You” by Emmylou Harris (Duets Album). China has been an experience we will all carry with us forever in our own ways. But, collectively, I believe we now know the answer to the question we all wonder about the people we love . . . will you really be there if I need you. We know. We know without hesitation the answer to that question.
Oh, and lest I forget, Dad who picked my first song . . . there is only one song for you: “My Way” by Frank Sinatra.
Okay there it is . . . hit iTunes or Spotify and take a listen.
(Sisters)
September 2012
Shanghai
Sisters. I have a few of my own and, yes, I recall that we all wanted to throttle one another at some point in our lives. Sometimes, we may still want to do that but we have the good sense to yell at our husbands instead and leave them baffled as to what they may have done wrong.
My daughters are not yet married and so they take it out on each other. This makes me crazy. Now, of course, they love each other (or so they claim) but they are — at times — on each other’s last nerve dancing the tango. It makes me crazy. Truly. Utterly. Crazy.
When I come home, I want peace and quiet. And, if I can’t have peace then I at least want quiet. But, let’s face it, we have three children, one large man and a dog living in fairly tight quarters. There will be no peace and certainly no quiet. Our oldest — who will turn 15 on October 15th — is a mysterious and monstrous creature known as the teenage girl. And, yes, Mom, I am sure she is exactly like me so your curse upon me has rained down in spades.
In China, the lovely ladies Fox share a bedroom. This room is ginormous. Not large, not extra-large but ginormous. Truly, it reminds me of the bedroom my Mother created for us at our cottage on Runyan Lake. It held 4 twin beds and 4 girls — all in one room. Unfortunately, despite the objective evidence, the room is “too cramped to share.”
Jane locks herself in her bathroom and locks the door to the bedroom as well. Jane is double locked in and we are double locked out. Quite a statement. Bella is yelling at the top of her lungs while banging on the door. “It’s my room too!” Jane never hears it because those ear buds are glued into her ears. This is not peace. This is not quiet. This is hell. And, despite Churchill’s advice, I cannot keep walking.
For months now, I have been saying to the both of them: “I have never had my own room in my entire life — my entire life. In fact, at the very moment I was about to have my own room, your father showed up in Los Angeles, no job, no money and no place to stay. So, quit complaining. My first opportunity to have my own room will likely be my coffin.”
Okay, a bit gruesome perhaps and a bit of a lie. I actually don’t want a coffin, I want to be cremated and thrown into the Seine. But, geez, girls — get a grip.
Gripping is not an option as it turns out. Let’s face it, no 15– year-old wants to hang out with a 10-year-old unless it involves $8 an hour. And so, it was up to me to solve this dilemma once and for all. Peace and quiet can be bought, I decided. And, I was going to buy it today.
I took the day off and hauled my sorry ass off to IKEA with an expert. Look, this is China not the States. You don’t go to IKEA on a weekend and you don’t go without an IKEA expert. On the weekend, you find the locals sleeping in beds, sitting in chairs, eating lunch in the kitchen showroom, putting their babies down for a nap in the cribs, and yes, even using the IKEA showroom bathrooms, which are not actually working bathrooms. This is China. They put up a sign and everything but . . . .
Clearly, I was not going to do this on my own. I can’t find my way out of IKEA in the States, where the signs are written in English. No, I needed an expert and I went and got one. A Louisville woman, who always has a bourbon ready when the girls are making me crazy, is an IKEA expert. Yes, I took a Louisville Slugger with me to IKEA. Not sure how the Swedes would feel about that but I did it anyway.
In 3 hours, we purchased:
• 1 sofa that has this very cool slide out part that makes the sofa a double bed
• 1 thin mattress to lay on the couch/bed
• 1 table on casters with storage
• 1 curtain rod to string across the “doorway”
• 1 curtain for the curtain rod
• 2 pillows
• 3 throw pillows
• 1 duvet cover with 2 pillow cases
• 1 duvet
• 1 blanket
• 1 large alarm clock
• 1 clip-on bedside reading lamp
• 2 plastic bathroom organizers
• Some napkins
• 2 boxes of plastic bags
• 2 red lanterns for the outside deck.
Okay, the last three items are unrelated to this story. We navigated our way through the maze that is IKEA and found the check out lane. Paid. And, then went to merchandise delivery.
Merchandise delivery took a bit of work. The table and couch were supposed to be delivered today. Then, they could not be delivered until tomorrow. Then, the table could not be delivered at all and I should get a taxi. We went round and round like this for a good 30 minutes while Sue searched for someone with some level of English proficiency. I note, I am in China — I should be making the effort but without Bella I can’t order a fortune cookie.
Finally out of merchandise delivery, we made our way to the grocery area. Bought chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and beer — yes beer. Doesn’t everyone buy Swedish beer at IKEA?
The IKEA delivery guys just left. The IKEA assembly guys come Thursday and by Thursday night I will have peace and quiet for just under $1,000. If I don’t, you’ll likely hear the sound where you live . . .
Ayi, a China Handyman & Me
September 2012
Shanghai
I promised an update: I believe there will be peace in our time . . . in our little home . . . in this great big country called China.
In China, there is very little that you can’t get done, have made or find . . . if you know where to go, who to ask and how to bargain. I mean, look at your label on your shirt, go ahead, I’ll wait. (Humming a tune while you look.)
Exactly! This is China!
My good friend Lily returned from a long European vacation and found her home in need of some repair. I have been following the drama of the Chinese Handymen on Jack’s Facebook account. It is classic China — much drama but it gets done.
Today, I had my own little adventure.
At 9:30 a.m., he arrived in blue coveralls, tool box in hand and his work order sticking out of his pocket. He came up the stairs to “the room” that would be a parent-free hang out zone by day and Bella’s bedroom by night. This room has no door. It has open shelving dividing it from the “hallway” and the stairs to our room on the third floor and the stairs to the first floor living area. Critical to our success was finding a way to close off this area and create a private zone for Bella without closing off the room during the day.
My friend Louisville Slugger Sue had a great idea and, after two trips to IKEA — it’s like Target, you can’t go once and you can’t go and not spend more than you ever intended — we had secured the supplies: 3 sets of curtains, a very long curtain rod, 4 wall hanger-whatchamacallits and an expandable shower curtain rod. These items — combined with the couch that turns into a double bed, pillows, throws, accessories and some re-arranging of pictures and the transfer of the ever growing paraphernalia that makes Jane crazy but screams Bella — were going to make a great “bedroom.”
By 10 a.m., the c
ouch was put together but facing the wrong direction. After several attempts at charades (you would think “turn the couch around to face the TV” would be universal but apparently not), I called Ayi who immediately recognized the issue and sorted it. Next, the handyman assembled the table on casters and a glass top, under which I placed photos of family, friends, and awards from school. Check.
By 10:30 a.m., there was cardboard and plastic everywhere. The handyman was not originally contracted with IKEA to hang the curtain rod. The curtain rod was a second trip inspiration. But, as I said, this is China. A land where cash is still king and a little goes quite a long way (unless you are buying Cinnamon Toast Crunch), particularly in the service industry. Ayi and the handyman had a few words. There was an exchange. It got loud and then she turned to me and said, “si shi quai” — 40 RMB. This is less than $7. Deal!
Our walls are concrete and hanging anything is an ordeal. A real ordeal, which is why I knew Jack could not do this, and let’s be honest here, he’d never have gotten the table put together. So, there we were, the handyman, Ayi and me staring at my ceiling and the little area of wall above the bookshelf where the curtain rod had to go. “Bu Hao!” the handyman exclaimed. (That means “No good!”)
Hmmm. He drilled and again said “bu hao!” This was not going as planned. Ayi started pointing and yelling (which is normal in China — it is very loud here) and then pointing at me. I sat on the stairs and waited. At some point, I would hear “Jen-E-fer” and that was my cue. So, I sat and waited. It wasn’t more than 10 minutes when I heard the signal and I got up from my perch, crawled over the mounds of cardboard and entered ‘the room.’
I have no idea what was said next. For 20 minutes there was loud talking, much gesticulating and a general commotion. Much of the Chinese discourse appeared to be directed at me and, as it became clear that I did not understand, the discourse got even louder.
The only words I understood were “bu hao,” and that was getting through loud and clear. I pulled out the computer, called up Google Translate and tried to communicate with Ayi and the Handyman virtually but to no avail. Finally, Ayi made the call.
We really should have a red phone in our house. Because when all else fails, Ayi sends out the “Bat Signal” and dials my administrative assistant. It’s like a hot line direct to the President of the United States. It cracks me up. The call is always taken — day or night — and someone is always apologizing to me because I don’t speak or understand Chinese — seriously?
Jasmine and Ayi talked for a bit and then Jasmine talked with the Handyman. I sat on the stairs waiting for my cue. “Jen-E-fer!” And, the phone was in my hands. “Ni hao, Jasmine.” Jasmine laughed. Yes, this is all I can say after nearly 18 months. To be honest, I have no earthly idea what the commotion was about. Jasmine said something about the children and safety but, in the end, none of it made sense to me.
I looked at the Handyman, went downstairs and grabbed a Coke Zero, a water bottle and bounded back up the stairs. He took the water. I handed him 50 RMB. He smiled. Up the ladder went the Handyman, up went the curtain rod, on went the curtains and ‘the room’ was done.
The Handyman used something to locate the right spots in the concrete to drill and then miraculously the safety concern went away and the rod was secured to the wall. Ayi laughed. As he packed up, he asked if he could keep the pencil that I had given him and I nodded. I also handed him 100 RMB. He handed me his name card. I may need to hang something else, you never know!
At 11:45 a.m., I had the duvet cover on the duvet, the pillow cases on the pillows, the games in the table, the pillows and duvet put away in the cupboard, the knick-knacks placed and was sitting down to admire the room. Ayi cleared the mess of cardboard and plastic and came back upstairs, looked around and smiled at me “Ni hen hao!” (You very good.)
For $20, we pulled together a room that the kids will love and Bella will find suits her. Can’t wait for her to get home and see it. Today, I agree — “wo hen hao” (Today, I am very good). In China, you can get it made, find it or have it done, you just have to play the game.
12 Hours
September 2012
Shanghai
You know that feeling you get in your gut when something just doesn’t feel right? When I saw the heading of an email from my functional manager in the States today — “Mandatory Team Building Meeting” — I got that feeling. The awful, sinking feeling that tells you no good can come from this.
Let’s pretend that you can build a team in a mandatory fashion just for the sake of argument. If you suspend disbelief for a moment, can you also pretend that you can build a team in 12 hours? If you can, you are a miracle worker and I would like to shake your hand.
Team building is the new corporate kumbaya. We bring it out whenever things aren’t going the way we planned. We have a meeting, an offsite, a team building session. I will go on record right now and say that these events are useless and a waste of time, energy and productive spirit. No one wants to be there and whatever they agree to in that room, they will immediately disavow when they walk out. Team building is a flight of fancy.
Jaded? Perhaps. But 20 years into my career, I have yet to be involved in a constructive team building event. In fact, the last one I attended (in January of this year), resulted in me being scolded for not sharing enough personal information with the “team.” The team being those who would like to destroy me and my career. To “help them understand me,” I should give away personal information that could be used to manipulate me, discover my pressure points and insecurities. No, I don’t think so. Not me. Not I. No way.
Now, months later, we were at it again. I suspected this had something to do with my continuing lack of charm. Still, I wasn’t going. It might be mandatory but unless you are prepared to put me in a straight jacket and force me onto a plane, I will not be in attendance. Truth be told, I had plans. My plans involved our oldest daughter and being available to her. They also involved her birthday, which I was not missing again.
My first attempt to get out of it was to be honest and say that (1) I didn’t think I could do what was being asked of me because I didn’t trust any of the people in the room, and (2) even if I did trust them, I couldn’t travel at this time because of a personal matter that required my attention. The response was quick. I got a phone call the next morning. The meeting was scheduled for Thursday afternoon and all day on Friday.
This, of course, meant that I could not fly back to China until Saturday. Leaving the States on Saturday means landing in China on Sunday afternoon. I lose the weekend and miss our daughter’s birthday. Not exactly convenient or courteous of the planners. But, then everyone else was already in the States.
I dug in my very pointed heels and said no. I have never said no before to any request related to my job. Never. I wasn’t negotiating. I wasn’t coming. Period. I needed to be home with my daughter. This simply wasn’t good enough. I was pressed and pressed until, finally, I gave up and explained that there was a medical issue that needed to be dealt with and, as her mother, I wanted to be in China with her to support and help her. I offered a doctor’s note when my manager complained that he would have to explain my absence to the others. Really?
Despite the obvious violation of the Family Medical Leave Act, I sent the doctor’s note to human resources. My manager immediately responded that I “offered” the note -- ass covering at its best. I responded in kind that I offered it after it was made clear to me that I would not be excused without providing some excuse that could be offered to the rest of the leadership team. Not exactly charming, I know.
Someone actually expected me to spend close to 32 hours in a plane or waiting at the airport for the plane to attend a 12- hour team building meeting. Common sense would suggest that the 12-hour time difference between our locations and the travel would render me useless. Arrogant, in my opinion.
I have no doubt that this team building session grew out of some discussion among the “real” l
eadership team about me and my lack of cooperation or my poor attitude or my lack of charm. And, now, I wasn’t coming. I also know that none of these men know anything about our organization, the work we actually do or how it gets done. Frankly, I am tired of educating them. I’m just plain tired. More importantly, my daughter needs me. And, this time, I am going to be there for her even if I have to take a 2-week leave of absence to do it. (I did!)
Most Powerful . . . Luv Mum
October 2012
Beijing, China
The October 8th issue of Fortune hit newsstands with this year’s ranking of the 50 Most Powerful Women in Business. Did you see it? Did you hear about the controversy over the cover photo — a decision to be pictured thin and svelte vs. pictured as one appears today — pregnant? Hmm . . .
Just days later, I received an email from a good friend of mine at a Fortune 50 Company.
Her “Mum” had forwarded the email to her:
“Morning again.
I have just finished reading an editorial in a financial adviser’s monthly mag and thought you may be interested in the following:
Dr. Terrance Fitzsimmons from the University of Queensland’s Business School interviewed 31 female CEOs and 30 male CEOs. He concluded that, for women to become CEOs, they needed most, if not all, of the following:
1. A dramatic/traumatic childhood event which interrupted family life
2. Growing up in a small-business family balancing the books, dealing with staffing, and developing self-resilience
3. Their own children were born either very early (when the woman was between 18 and 23) or in the woman’s mid-late 30s
4. Full-time career path (because flexibility was the kiss of death as it was seen to be a lack of seriousness about career)
5. Grandparents were the carers for their children
Sheryl Sandberg, China & Me Page 9