Before I get on to today’s post I want to commend those who post daily while traveling with children. I had envisioned a nightly blog ritual of wine and relaxation as I shared my thoughts on the day. A moment of “vacation” each day in the pre-children sense of the word. (I bet fellow parents are falling off their chairs in laughter right now).
In my head I am still relaxing on a comfy sofa as I post with wine in hand. The realty though is I am sitting in my car in a Target parking lot at 7:45am waiting for the store to open. I have been driving Haiden around for an hour so that he doesn’t wake up the relatives. This is my moment of relaxation.
On to my post.
I do not have aunts, I have Aunties. They have always been a blend of familiar and mystery to me. On one hand the Aunties use many of the same facial expressions, phrases and customs I associate with my mom. If she is a portrait, they are the background. The story of where my mom began.
On the other hand I’ve always felt like an outsider to the Aunties’ world. My mom moved away from home when she was a young adult and, after several decades of living in the Midwest, she’s adopted more American habits than the Aunties. Visiting them means getting a concentrated dose of Chinese culture.
The Aunties got to meet my children this past weekend. As I watched them play with my fair-skinned, blue-eyed babies, I thought about how different my children looked. I’ve often felt neither Chinese nor white enough, caught between the two cultures. My children will probably not have that struggle, and I was shocked to realize a part of me wished they would. Then I saw Amelia walking around in the little Chinese outfit the Aunties had brought her; an adorable vision of blond hair and red satin. I smiled as she proudly showed me her new outfit. My sweet girl was being embraced not just by her Great Aunties, but by her Chinese heritage.