Lessons

It has been a few weeks since I last updated...so here are my excuses.

Halloween lessons
"Are you sure, Luv?" My Australian friend Muffin asked me in a panic. "Are you sure she can be a Panda?" Like other foreigners in my neighborhood, Muffin had come to talk to me again about the rules of Halloween. To our absolute surprise and delight, our neighborhood here in Tokyo was hosting trick or treating for hundreds of costumed kids and adults. And, as one of the Americans in our apartment complex, I had become, by default, the resident expert on the holiday.

"Yes, Luv," I reassured her. (G'day Mate and G'Day Fosters! Somehow I've moved to Japan and picked up Australian lingo). "I'm sure. Your daughter does not have to wear a scary costume for Halloween. She can be a panda. A panda is a great costume."

"Oh," Muffin said. "I thought she had to have a scary costume, so I bought her a scary accessory to carry. I'll let her know that she doesn't have to trick or treat with numchucks after all."

English lessons
A few weeks ago, also around Halloween time, I was invited to tour a Japanese elementary school with my sensei. It was a day of firsts for me.
First, it was the first time I was in a Japanese School.
It was also the first time I was wearing slippers....in any school.
And, it was the first time I was attending an English elementary class in Tokyo....in slippers.
And, it was the first time (and hopefully the last time) I was asked this question:
"Sumimasen, (excuse me)," a student asked me.
"Hai," I answered. I was very proud to use my Japanese.
"Are you a Mommy or a Mummy?"

Turkey lesson
I actually wasn't sure what to do. It's always the same question when I go shopping. Carry it or ship it? Carry it or ship it? On the one hand, I really should carry it home. Why risk not getting it on time? This was the very reason I had left my home early this morning. This is the very reason I took 4 trains to get here. This is the reason I measured my oven before coming here and brought my tape measure with me. This is the reason I yelled, "Yokatta!" (great!) in the middle of Costco (or Costoco, as they call it here). This is why I had a huge smile. I had heard from other foreigners that Costco had frozen turkeys for the holiday season, so I had traveled by several trains and grabbed one of the last birds.
And, now, I had to figure out how to get Tom home.
Carry it or ship it?
"Carry it," I said to the clerk. "I'll carry it home." I patted Tom on the back.
The clerk stared at me. My friend whispered to me. "I'm not so sure your supposed to carry a frozen turkey on the subway," she said, "unless maybe you disguise it in a Gucci shopping bag." My friend was right. There are a lot of signs in the Tokyo subway showing subway manners. There are signs with picture cues illustrating how to stand in the train; how to hold your backpack; how to stow your over sized bag; how to move over to make room for other passengers; how to avoid getting fingers and feet stuck in the door; and, I think, how to drink a beer with Hideki Matsui. But I had never seen a picture in the subway of a happy woman carrying a frozen turkey.
"Ship it," I said.

Japanese lessons
Try saying "atatakakunakatta" (it wasn't warm) correctly three times fast.

If you can do it, I am pretty sure you win a beer with Matsui.

Ganbatte

"Give it all you've got today," I said to my boys first thing Monday morning. It was a big day for them and I was convinced that my motherly reminders might make a difference. And because I was so nervous for my boys, I yelled all of my other favorite motherly sayings:

"Make a contribution!"

"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well. Give 110%!"

"Drink your milk!"

"Don't poke anyone's eye out!"

"Strive to be the person the dog thinks you are!"


"If you have to borrow money, borrow from a pessimist. He will never expect it back!"

Monday was indeed a big day for my boys. It was one of those do-or-die days. "C'mon now!" I cheered from a distance. "Curt, Jonathan, keep your focus. Kevin, be a leader. Okajima-san, Matsuzaka-san...this bow's for you." My family and I may be half a world away, but we love our "boys" back home. Red Sox ga suki desu.

Over the past 10 months since we moved to Tokyo, my family and I have experienced many changes:


We've become much more adventurous eaters (sweet beans, beef tongue, shark, edamame note to self: pop edamame in your mouth, don't actually try to chew them).

We've changed our acccent. ("Wicked good" is now "oishii des.")

We've learned how to quickly slip off our tie-shoes. Sometimes a little too enthusiastically.

We've changed our feelings towards green tea ice cream. (oishii des.)

And, we've started following local Japanese baseball teams. (You just got to love yelling "Go Hamfighters!")

But, my family and I have not changed our love for our home team. We are still crazy as always for the Boston Red Sox. Go Sox!


So, "banzai" (well done!) against the Cleveland Indians on Sunday night (Monday morning Tokyo time). Go get those Rockies on Wednesday night, boys. Remember who you are. Don't poke an eye out. And, as they say in Tokyo, "ganbatte kudasai" (do your best)!

You Have Arrived At Your Destination

"What did she say?" my friend Muffin (*name changed to protect the newly licensed) asked me in a slightly panicked voice.

"She said 'You have arrived at your destination,'" I hesitantly repeated to my friend.

My friend and I looked around. This was not our destination. Not at all. Nothing looked familiar. Not the buildings. Not the side streets. Not the Hiragana (well, actually, the Hiragana could be the same. I haven't learned how to read it yet.) By car, the trip from our apartment complex to our downtown appointment should have taken 20 minutes. A very easy 20 minutes. At this point, we have been driving around Tokyo for almost two hours.

I looked outside the car window. "I can't even see Tokyo Tower," I said to my friend. The Tokyo Tower is 333 meters tall. An extremely handy landmark. Where are we?

We both looked at the car's GPS Navigation System. "C'mon Beverly," I said. "Don't give up on us. I know it has been a trying trip for you. I know we didn't follow your directions exactly. I know we asked you to recalculate the route several times....but please, Bev, please, show us the way." (About 45 minutes into our adventure, my friend and I decided to name the navigation voice "Beverly." We had actually hoped it would turn our luck around. In our experience, Beverly's are always kind, courteous, reliable, patient and extremely helpful. )

"What do you say, Bev?" my friend asked as we both stared at the screen---hoping to see the "recalculating route" message once more.

"You have arrived at your destination," Beverly flatly repeated.

"Wow, Beverly, " I said. "For having such a sweet-sounding voice, you've got a stone-cold heart."

Due to this driving experience, I have suggestions for a new kind of navigation system-one that's specifically designed for those new to the city, new to driving or, well, just knuckleheads.

1. As soon as the foot hits the pedal and the seat adjusted, the system should be able to identify its driver. "Oh, hello, Muffin. I knew it was you. Giving driving another go, are we? Very well. My calculation determines 90% change of getting lost. Please take the next right. First stop is the Petrol station. This could be a very long day."

2. If the system has had to recalculate the route 10 times, it will automatically acknowledge the real-time tension in the car and offer an easier route. "System senses high frustration level. Committee meeting route aborted. Coffee shop route initiated. Grand size latte with a spot of sugar recommended. Take the left in 100 meters. Your order has been called in."

3. If the GPS has had to recalculate the route over 10 times, it will immediately kick in to emergency gear. "Take your hands of the wheel. Take your hands off the wheel now. Emergency measures initiated. Soothing music will commence immediately. Seats will begin massaging neck and back quadrants to alleviate tension. Auto pilot on. Destination: nearest Spa. Team notified and at the ready. Dinner reservations also made. After such a stressful outing, you deserve to go out tonight. But, please, for goodness sake, listen to Beverly: take the train."

Mom's Field Trip

"Three cheers for Mom's field trip!" I encouraged.

We were hot. Really hot.
It was crowded. Really crowded.
And the specialty food item---
"Sweet potato ice cream," I told my youngest son.
"Really?"
"Really."
"No corn on the cob dipped in soy sauce?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Really.

"Three cheers for Mom!" I said again in my most energetic way.

We were at the famous Samurai Archery Horseback Festival--on one of the hottest days of the summer.

"C'mon, boys," I said. "Samurai. Archery. Horseback. Think about it. It's going to be incredible. Let's just stay to see the targets."
"Mom?"
"Yes, Honey."
"Mom, we found a target. And, coincidentally, it's back at the train station."
"The train station?" I asked. "What do you mean? There's no target there."
"Yes, there is," my son answered. "Our target is air conditioning and cold ice cream at Baskin Robbins."

I had researched the festival, the train schedule and the route to the shrine. But I hadn't considered the extremely humid weather.

"I have a new idea," I said as we cooled off at 31 flavors. "From now on, I think Dad should plan all our field trips."

"Three cheers for Mom!"

Dad's Field Trip

Beautiful Japanese robes.
Exquisitely decorated mikoshi.
Awesome headbands.
Colorful paper lanterns.
"And," added our seven-year-old son, "don't forget: Delicious roasted corn on the cob dipped in soy sauce."

Oh yeah, our recent adventure (planned by Dad) to a local matsuri (Japanese festival) was a true...and delicous success.

The day started with a leisurely breakfast at home.
Then we took an easy train commute to the fun neighborhood of Shimo Kitazawa.
We found a great location to view the amazing parade of mikoshi. ("What do you think they are saying?" our son asked as we watched the men and women sway and chant as they carried the portable shrines. "I'm not sure," I whispered. "Maybe....this is heavy. This is heavy. This is heavy.")

We followed the parade through the narrow side streets without getting lost. (Hint: just follow the paper lanterns).
We found our way back home again. (Hint: just follow Dad's head).
"And," added our seven-year-old son repeated, "Don't forget the delicious roasted corn on the cob dipped in soy sauce."

And, our kids found a new favorite food.

"Three cheers for Dad's field trip!" I said. "What a great day in Tokyo!"

"Three cheers for Mom," my husband said. "She's planning the next adventure while I'm on a business trip."

Let's just say, I should have stuck with the corn.

Ohmygosh-imas

"What are you doing?" my husband asked me the other day.
"I'm practicing how to bow very low," I said from the floor.
"Oh," he said. "I thought you were trying to do a push up."

Tomorrow I have my Japanese class. My first lesson in three months. And, I am very nervous. Very, very, very nervous. I will have to admit to my sensei that I didn't study--at all--this summer. And now, now, I've got my -mas' all messed up. I can't keep my Japanese verbs straight. I don't remember if I'm coming or going, taking or drinking, eating or existing. Nomimas, norimas, mimas, kaimas, kaerimas, ikimas, tabemas, aimas--OH MY GOSH-IMAS!

"And, that's not all," I said to my husband who is a very diligent student, "I definitely, definitely have a particle problem."

I reviewed my old notes.

When saying "also," I need to use "mo."
For possessives, that's a "no."
For "and", that's "to".
Drinking, eating, watching, use "o."
Buying a peach, that's a momo.
Confusing mo, no, to, and o--now that's a no-no.

"Well," my friend said to me. "At least, you know the difference between kudamono and kodomo. The other day I went to the store for fruit and mistakenly asked to buy children. "

"Don't worry. It will be fine," my husband comforted me this morning. "Just think of it this way. If I can climb Mt. Fuji, you can figure out Japanese.....And if not, well, it looks like we'll be eating a lot of peaches."

Tokyo, Part Ni

Three sleepy kids, one husband, one border collie, 9 large suitcases, 18 pair of shoes, 25 hours of traveling and one new cookbook called: 101 WAYS TO STIR FRY. Konnichiwa, Tokyo! We're back!!!!

And, just to let you know, we are smarter.
We are no longer the rookies of six months ago.

1. When we first arrived six months ago, we didn't know what to buy for our first dinner or where to go to buy it. We ate at McDonalds.

This time, we knew where to buy food....but knew the Dominos Pizza phone number even better. (We are still sticking with cheese and pepperoni topping. So far no takers with the mayonnaise/corn/tuna special).

2.This time, I accept street handouts. Well, not just any street handouts. In Tokyo, companies pass out free mini packets of tissues. It's wonderful! I've got tissues in my earthquake kit, in my kids' backpacks, in my purse, in my pockets, in my dog bag, up my sleeve. In fact, I have so many tissues, now I'm starting to pass them out on the street.
"It's a great way to meet people," I said to my sons. "People with allergies love me."

3. This time, I know to look out for bikes. With a basket in the front and one in the back, the bikes here really do not look at all threatening. But, my goodness, watch out! It's Tokyo Drift, The Two Wheel Version.
"You know," I said to my allergic friend. "You know, I have a hard time talking on my cell phone while walking. Today I saw a woman biking, while talking on her cell phone, while holding an umbrella."
My friend sneezed in agreement.
"And you know the kicker?" I said. "She was also wearing high heels."

4. Oh, the shoes. The shoes. Tokyo women wear gorgeous high heel shoes--up and down stairs, in and out of trains, while playing badminton, hurrying down the street--everyday and everywhere.
"What are you doing, Mom?" my son asked.
"I have decided to put away my comfortable, moldable footbed sneakers. I thought (grunt, groan) that if I could fit my feet into city heels (grunt, groan), then I would be fitting in better to life here."
"Mom," my son said. "I think your City Heels are making your little toe bleed."
"It's ok," I said. "I've got plenty of tissues."

pointo caado

"Read it and weep," I said to my husband as I showed him my brand new card. "Can you beat Tower Records?"

"Two words," he said with confidence. "Bic Camera."

Oh! Snap! Trumped by the electronics store again!

Since coming to Tokyo four months ago, we've started to adopt some pretty cool Tokyo traditions.

We now all eat with hashi (chopsticks). (Some of us are better than others.)

We are all learning how to speak Japanese. (Some of us are much better than others.)

We remember to take our shoes off at the door. (Some much, much better than others.)

We bow while talking on the phone. (Ok, that was just me. And, it happened once.)

We sumo wrestle (Ok, that's just our 11-year-old son. He lost his first tournament, but did catch two goldfish with rice paper. So it was a win afterall.).

And, now we are starting to collect store point cards (or pointo caado, as they say here).

It's easy as ichi, ni, san.
1. The clerk of any store: "Fastjapaneseyoucan'tunderstand pointo caado des ka?"
2. You: "Hai."
3. They give you a card!

It's the easiest and most rewarding task I've done in Tokyo. And, now I'm addicted. It doesn't matter if I'm at a supaa (supermarket) or depaato (department store), I will say yes to "....pointo caado des ka?". And, I hoard and value my point cards like a 10-year old with his pokemon deck. "Mr. Donut-san, I choose you!"

"Do you even know how many points you have on the cards?" my husband asked me.
"No," I said.
"Do you know how to redeem your points?"
"No," I said.
"Do you know what prizes you could earn with the points?"
"No," I said.
"You're just excited to answer 'yes' in Japanese, right?"
"Hai," I said.

To be honest, I had tried "moo ichido onegaishimas" (one more time please), but "hai" is soooooo much easier to say....and if I play my cards right I just might get a cool prize. I'm hoping for a "Misdo" (Mister Donut) chef hat.

Yakitori

My friend Cindy recently noted that I blog alot about food.
It's true.
It's really true.
I have never spent so much time thinking about food. How to find it? What is it? Will my kids like it? How much can I carry home? How do I cook it?

After four months of making every variety of stir fry, I decided I needed a few more strategies to help spice up our dinners. First, I decided to watch and learn from local shoppers. I now watch what they put in their grocery handbasket and do the same. The other day I brought home something new.

Of course I can't read the label, so my son has to translate it. "Moyashi," my son said.
"Sounds delicious," I said to my boys as I checked out the package. "Maybe it's some kind of elegant noodle."
"Mom," my son said. "It's Japanese bean sprouts." Crunchy!

My second strategy for success is this: if I find a food or drink that my kids like, I buy multiples of it.

Clearly this "bulk buying" makes the clerk at my small local grocery very nervous. The other day I bought 4 liters of milk (will probably last me 2 days, maybe). I could tell by the look on the clerk's face what he was thinking.
"That American woman is doing it again! She's clearing us out. A few days ago it was chicken. Then the cereal. Now it's the milk. Quick! She's heading for the bean sprouts! Guard the sprouts! Save the sprouts!"

I'm not sure if it's because of my cooking or because our boys just lost their baseball game, but the other night my husband decided it was time to go out for dinner.
"McDonalds?" my youngest son asked. He always asks for McDonalds.
"TGI Fridays?" my 10-year-old asked. He loves their ribs.
"Outback Steakhouse?" my 14-year-old asked. He loves their desserts.
"Yakitori," my husband answered. "We're going to Kichijojo. We're going out for traditional Japanese food."

We were actually doing it.
We were actually going out for our first family Japanese dinner.
No English menu. No Japanese friend to help translate. Just us. And our self confidence. And some yen. And maybe a little international sign language.

"How are we going to order?" I nervously asked my husband. "I only just learned adjectives this morning in my Japanese class. All I can say is: Kono wa chiisai handbag des. This is a small handbag."

"Chicken," my husband said in English to the waitress.
"Hai (Yes, I understand)," the waitress said. Yes!
"Asparagus," my husband said. "Tomato," he added.
"Hai," the friendly waitress said. She understood! We're ordering!
"Kono wa chiisai handbag des," I proudly said. I couldn't help myself.
"Hai," the waitress answered with a smile to my kindergarten sentence. Oh! I love this place.

So, now I have a third strategy-it's called the Mother's Day Wish List. When we find a place that we all like, I add it to my list. This restaurant is now on my list.

My fourth strategy is to put my Mother's Day Wish List on the refrigerator. I will let you know if either of these strategies work.

If not, it's back to bean sprouts.

Lioness

"Swimming cap?" I asked my first grader. "Are you sure you need a swimming cap?"
"Yes," he said. "It's on the paper from my teacher. It says I need a swimming cap."
I could feel myself starting to get nervous. Really nervous. I have seen this movie before and I know how it ends. I leave my apartment happy as a lark with an easy task, and come home hours and hours later with something all together wrong.
"What is it, Mom?" my boys asked the other morning.
"Pastry," I said as I passed out the fluffy buns. "I went out this morning to buy treats."
"Mom," my son said after his first bite. "My pastry has meat in it. I think you discovered the Japanese hot pocket."
"Well, look at that," I said as I checked inside mine. "I guess we'll just put a little mustard on it and call it lunch."

"Swimming cap?" I asked the clerk. "Do you sell swimming caps here?" I had spent the morning searching several stores before I remembered that there was a Japanese school with a swimming pool near our apartment. Caps must be here.

"Swimming cap?" I said.
"Slippers," she said.
"Swimming cap?" I said.
"Slippers," she said.
"Swimming capo," I said. Then I pretended to put on a swimming cap and swim around the lobby. My front stroke is terrible.
"Slippers," the woman said again. This time she acted out too. She pointed to her feet which were in slippers. Then she pointed to mine which were still in my outdoor shoes.

"Ticket?" I said.
"Ticket," she said.
"Ticket?" I said.
"Ticket," she said.
It took about 20 minutes, but we were now downstairs in front of the swimming pool...and in our matching slippers. There was a vending machine at the door. Apparently, you need to buy a ticket to swim. I wasn't here to swim, I just wanted to buy a cap. How do you explain that? I thought of the few sentences I knew from Japanese class:
1. It's a rainy day out, isn't it?
2. It's a nice day out, isn't it?
3. Good afternoon. This is a pen.

I bought a ticket.

"Swimming cap!" I said enthusiastically. And, there it was! The woman had it behind her desk all along. It was beautiful. It was blue. It was waterproof. It was for an adult.

"Child cap," I said.
"Child cap?" she answered back.
"This is a cap for an adult," I tried to explain. "Do you have caps for children?"

40 minutes later I emerged from the school. I had spent money on a ticket for a pool with no intention to swim; I spent money on a cap for myself because I didn't know how to tell her I only needed a kid's cap; I spent more money on a kid cap; and I was able to leave the school despite the fact that the woman and her friend kept politely pointing me to the direction of the pool. Who could blame them? I was surely their best customer.

"Swimming cap," I said to my son proudly as I lay it on the dining room table. I was absolutely exhausted but very, very proud of myself. Kind of like a lioness bringing antelope back to the pride. "Feast on this."
"Hey, Mom," my fifth-grade son said. "I forgot to tell you, but I also have a paper from my teacher. I need something for music class."
"Oh yeah," I said as I slumped on the couch. "What do you need?"
"A recorder."

A recorder? A recorder? That's impossible to act it out. I'll have to sing instead. I wonder if they know the song "Hot Cross Buns" here.

"You better call your father," I said. "Tell him to bring home more money. This could be a very costly search."

P.S. By the way, Cherry Blossom (Sakura) season was beautiful here in Tokyo!! This a picture of my son and a visiting Flat Stanley at Yoyogi Koen. I thought it would be more interesting than my new swimming cap.

What did I say?

Forget Wikipedia, the place to go for information, resources and the inside skinny for Tokyo is clearly the school bus stop.

"Hair Maker?" a Bus Stop Mom (BSM) repeated back to me.
"Yes, you know, a hair stylist," I explained. (The signs at the beauty salons here say "Hair Make" so I figured the stylist would be called a Hair Maker.)
"OK! Yes!," the BSM said. "I have two recommendations. But that's really too bad you're looking for haircuts. You were our first hippie family in the neighborhood."

"This place?" my teenage son asked me with suprise. "This place? Mom, c'mon! Don't you love me?"
"Listen," I explained. "I only heard about two places from the BSMs. This place offers the best deal in town."
"But, Mom," my son said. "I'm going to a dance. I can't get my hair cut there. Where's Dad? Dad!"

Needless to say, we went to the nicer hair make shop down the street.

"Mom," my 10 year-old son said as he watched his older brother completely enjoy his first hair cut in Tokyo. "You didn't tell me that his hair cut came with a massage! A hair cut and a massage! This place is awesome!"

"And you know what," he continued. "Just look how long my hair is! It is really long. Too long in fact. You know what? On second thought, I think I could also use a trim."

"Sumimasen!" I said to the stylist as I pointed to my ten-year-old. "Sashimi o kudasai."

I sat down pretty proud of myself. Oh, yeah, I am really tackling Tokyo now. I figured out who to ask to find a good place. I figured out how to get here. I have enough cash. I found some place my boys really like (maybe too much?). And, I know enough phrases to communicate my needs. I am really tackling Tokyo now!

Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.
"Sumimasen! Skoshi! Skoshi!" I said to the woman stylist. "I meant to say Skoshi. Little. Little trim." I was afraid to ask. "What did I say? What did I ask for?"
"Sashimi," she answered with a smile. "You said sashimi."

How embarrassing.

I meant to ask for a little trim. Instead I ordered raw seafood.

In case you were wondering, Hair Makers can cut, perm, color and massage, but they can't make an embarrassed mother disappear.

The ol' Song and Dance Routine

Here we go again.

Last time I was at this store I was looking for soba-long, thin buckwheat noodles (As a side note, oh man, do I wish I was long and thin like a soba noodle). A mother at our bus stop had mentioned that foreigner kids like soba. So, I wanted to give them a try. But first I had to find them.

"Can you tell me where I can find noodles?" I asked the clerk at the grocery store. From the look on his face, I instantly knew that this would be a lost in translation moment. A lost-in-aisle six-translation moment. And, just before I started to pretend to slurp imaginary noodles, I decided to try my favorite phrase and frequent savior: "sumimasen" (excuse me).

"Sumimasen....soba noodles?"
"Hai!" The clerk said. ("Hai" means "I understand" and I understand how much I love hearing this answer). He showed me the soba...and then curiously watched as I took a digital picture of the package.(Hey! Every foreigner has his or her own survival system. Mine is to shop with a photo album and camera....which usually means I shop alone.)

And now here I am again.
"Frosting?" I asked the clerk. "Cupcake frosting?" I had found cake mix and muffin tins on my own, but I couldn't find the frosting. It's got to be here.
"Sumimasen...frosting?" I asked again. This time no "Hai." No Hai? No Hai? Oh no.

Oh no. Here we go.

I had remembered to bring my camera, my train pass, my yen, my id card and my metro map, but I didn't remember to bring my translation dictionary.

Here we go. Time for the ol' song and dance routine. I pointed to the frosting part of the cake on the cake mix box. I cleared my throat, blew out imaginary candles, and started to sing: "Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you..."

"No. No. No," the clerk said.
"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a terrible, terrible singer. My family cannot carry a tune. But what we lack in talent, we make up for in enthusiasm." I enthusiastically smiled.
"No. No. No," he said again as he pointed to the picture. "In Japan, we do not import icing."

What? No. No. No. No. No. No. It's my son's birthday and he was planning to bring cupcakes to school for his first grade class.

OK. OK. OK. At this point, some may have gagged or groaned or grimaced.
But, I googled. And, I was able to find a frosting recipe and a conversion table for the wet and dry ingredients.

"You taste it," my son said to his older brother. "You're the oldest, you go first."
"No," my son said as he looked at the cupcakes. "It's your birthday. You have the first bite."
"Mom," my birthday boy said after the first bite. "It tastes good, but it looks...weird."

He was only 7, but he was right. I had never made homemade frosting before, but it did look weird. Very weird. Maybe it was the butter? The milk? Maybe it was converting the recipe to metric? And maybe, just maybe, with a little creativity, the cupcakes could actually look appetizing?

And, that's why, in case the school asks, that's why my son went to school with cupcakes completely covered with chocolate candies.

Hai!

Tee Time

It's March.
It's outside.
It's one lap in a 40 degree pool.
"Mom," my son asked. "This is tradition? Swimming in 40 degree water? Who's tradition?"
"Ummm....polar bears," I said.

On St. Patrick's Day, my husband and two older boys took the plunge, literally, and joined a small, shivering and elite group: the Tokyo Polar Bear Swimmers.

Apparently, we will do just about anything for a good cup of cocoa and a cool tee. It's a really cool tee.

# 302

My doctor wears slippers. Dark blue Duke University slippers.

Back in the States, if my doctor greeted me in slippers, I'm pretty sure I would have left the medical clinic rather quickly. But in Japan, slippers are a sign of respect. And, here at this medical clinic, everyone (nurses, doctors, patients, everyone) wears slippers inside the office.

Unfortunately, as I quickly found out, if you have size 8 1/2 wide American feet, you don't fit in the small complimentary slippers. You have to walk around in your socks. Your worn-out, threadbare, inappropriate, not-laundry day socks.

Foreigner faux pas, #302.

So, here I sit in front of my new doctor. I'm trying to act as poised and sophisticated as possible, but it's a little difficult. My throat is throbbing, my body is aching and my non-pedicured tootsies are peeking out the numerous hosiery holes.

"Any questions?" my doctor asks me after the diagnosis of strep throat.

"Yes," I said. "I have two questions. One, where do I pick up my prescription for penicillin?" I attempted to clear my throat. "And two--more importantly--in your professional opinion, where's the best place around here to go sock shopping?"

Signs, streets and shopping-oh my!

"Wow," said my friend at the school bus stop. "Unexpected twists and turns, heart-pounding excitement, non-stop action, thrill-packed adventures, an exhausting ascent...my goodness what were you doing? Climbing Mt. Fuji?"
"No," I answered. "Just trying to find my way out of the Shibuya Train Station."

My husband and I were in Shibuya Station, the third busiest commuter rail station in Tokyo. A huge complex that connects to other private railways and subways, houses tons of shops and restaurants, and offers six ways to exit.
"Honey," I said to my husband as I followed him through the corridors, up and down escalators, and around the English signs. "We aren't in Maine anymore."

"No," my husband said as we exited the station and stood at a 4-way intersection of people. "We are now at the busiest pedestrian crossing in the world."
I looked across the street. There were tons and tons of buildings, billboards, signs, shopping streets...and thousands of people lined up to cross.

"How about this?" I quickly said while the light was red. "How about if I stay right here for you. How about if I faithfully wait at this exit for you to pick me up and guide me home?"

My husband looked at me. Then, he looked at my guidebook. Then, he looked at the nearby bronze statue. "You've been reading about Hachiko again, haven't you?"

Well, Ok. I love the story. It's a great story. For 11 years, Hachiko waited at the station for his master to come home from work. The statue is a symbol of loyalty and devotion.

"C'mon," my husband said. "The light is green."

Admittedly, at first, to me Shibuya was overwhelming. And a bit intimidating. But now I love it. Shibuya is truly awesome. We have favorite restaurants, a favorite park, favorite coffee shops and a great walk back home. We even have a rallying cry: Sha-boo-ya!

Watch out Shinjuku, we're coming for you next!

Coffee Talk

My goal for this week: try to speak Japanese to someone other than my Sensei. Now, I adore my Sensei. She is extremely well-mannered. And, she is very, very friendly. In fact, her favorite hobby seems to be introducing herself to people on the subway. She also enjoys telling me that I'm doing a great job. Over and over and over again. Unfortunately, since she's my Language Lesson 1 CD Sensei, she's not quite the coffee drinker and I'm looking for a coffee friend.

I also decided that I would try to speak Japanese without using my old reliable phrases of the past two months (thank you, good morning, good afternoon, you've worked hard, cheers, good night, grande cappucinno and excuse me). Admittedly, I have become somewhat of a Sumimasen ("excuse me")-addict and use this phrase all the time--whether it makes sense or not. I just love saying it. I say it while shopping, paying bills, cooking soba, buying tickets, brushing my teeth, helping with homework, tucking my sons in at night...
"Sumimasen! Sumimasen..."
"Dad!," my son yelled. "Mom's calling me by the wrong name again."

"Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?"
Silence.
"Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?" I repeated to the clerk.
More silence.
Clearly, something is not right. This is the conversation starter that my CD Sensei uses all the time and she's never had to wait this long for a reply. In fact, by this time, CD Sensei and her new friends have already exchanged addresses, discussed the time of the day and figured out the time the bank opens. Over and over and over again.

"What?" the clerk at the coffee shop finally answered in English. "What did you say?"
Let's just say, it's not a boost for the self confidence, when you ask "Do you understand English" and the answer is "What?"
"Grande cappucinno," I said quite sheepishly. "And, make it strong."

My goal for this week: find a new goal.

Shop Till You Drop

The other day I found out that some grocery stores deliver. And, some will actually deliver for FREE if you spend at least 10,000 Yen (about $100). Spending this amount of money at the grocery store is not a problem: I am raising three growing boys, one who's nickname is Big Country; and I currently live in a country where prices are double and serving sizes are halved, so a box of cereal here lasts about, let's see, about two seconds. Just one second more than a liter of milk. Although carrying two bags of groceries home from the store every afternoon is exercising arm muscles I didn't even know I had (Oh my goodness! Is that a tricep?), I am here for an adventure and decided to give delivery a try.

In my USA life, the shopping routine went like this: drive up to the curb of the supermarket on Sunday afternoon and basically fill up the back of my minivan with every item from aisles 2-10. Eat well until Thursday. Go out to dinner Friday night. Pick through peanut butter, leftover pot roast and pie crusts on Saturday. Repeat on Sunday.

This time, I rode two trains; carried 25,000 Yen cash (about $250-just in case); walked past the Russian Embassy; and strolled down a few blocks to the 2-story grocery store. Inside, I found bratwursts, Doritos, ginger ale, big packages of meat, plus aisles and aisles of great local food with English signs, so I was able to write English on the label so I knew what I was bringing home. So, that's cream cheese! Look! Microwave popcorn!

And, that's when the adventure began. I didn't realize that once you purchase your groceries, it gets bagged, boxed, dri-iced, and delivered. Basically, I didn't realized that I had to beat the delivery van home. So, he had to fight Tokyo traffic and find limited parking space, but I had to travel back on two trains wearing Comfort Mocs and a puffy periwinkle winter coat. This was not a fair race. I wished I hadn't skipped breakfast.

I tried to remember the running skills my friend Ming has tried to teach me over the years. I paid with my left hand, while pumping up my right arm and turning my feet to the door. Eyes on the prize! Go!

I ran across the street and up two blocks. I ran past the security at the Russion Embassy. I ran down the flights of stairs. I put my tickets through the wicket. I caught the train and my breath. I caught the second train and a break--a seat. When I got to my stop, my grocery-carrying-toned-triceps helped propel me down the street into my apartment building, up the stairs and into my apartment. I made it. And, I definitely earned my Haagan Daaz Green Tea Ice Cream treat.

Ding! Dong!

I deliberately greeted the delivery man with an overly polite graceful bow, so he wouldn't notice how sweaty, grimy and out of shape I was. But just in case he did, I've decided to avoid the store for a week or so. No worries, I've got plenty of microwave popcorn.

Fire Queen

Yesterday I went...wait for it...wait for it...grocery shopping. OK, so pretty much for the past 6 weeks I have gone grocery shopping every day, but shopping is a true adventure and yesterday was a true milestone.

When I entered this grocery store the first time, I felt like I had landed on Planet Tokyo. Everything looked different, even the vegetables. All the labels were in Hiragana or Katakana, so I couldn't read them--instead I had to study the pictures on the labels to see if I could figure out the item or what you would use it for (Oh! Is that Tony the Tiger!! I think this is Frosted Flakes). The meat comes packaged in small 200 gram portions and very thinly sliced. My head instantly hurt. It actually felt like I was taking the SATs: How many grams in a pound? How much is 3,000 Yen and is it enough? How many thin slices of meat can be smooshed together to create a hamburger? If one train leaves the station at 9 AM going 45 mph carrying a bushel of apples and the other train leaves station B at 11:30 going 60 miles per hour....

"Honey," I said to my husband in a panic. "I think I need a #2 pencil."
My husband, who did much better on his SATs than myself, did all the shopping that night.

The second time I went grocery shopping, I was a sucker for anything--any box, any liquid, any thing, that had English written on it.
"Hey, Mom," my son said. "What's for dinner?"
I held up a box with bold English letters.
"We're having TACO KIT and we're drinking AQUARIUS." I actually don't know what Aquarius means, but it is a cool song.

"Hey, Mom," my son said the next night. "What's for dinner?"
"Dinner," I answered. "Seriously, the label on the box says DINNER."
The DINNER spice mix was actually curry. Hot curry. Hot hot curry. Very hot, hot, hot curry.

"Hey, Mom," my son said after he took his first bite. "I think from now on, I'll call you Fire Queen."

The next time I went grocery shopping, I confidently filled a basket with vegetables, bought 400 grams of thinly-sliced chicken, and a bag of rice. I also closed my eyes and randomly picked out a liquid of black sauce. I was hoping for soy sauce, but it easily could have been dark corn syrup. Or Cola.
"Hey, Mom," my son said. "What's for dinner?"
"Stir fry," I answered.
"Didn't we have that last night?"
"No, son," I answered. "Last night we had Chicken, Broccoli, Snow Peas and Mushrooms over Rice with a Soy/Corn/Cola Sauce."
My son looked at me. "What's the difference?"
I looked at him. "The name."

But yesterday, with 6 weeks of education and experience under my belt, I passed the Grocery Store Test. I can now identify and appreciate many of the ingredients. I know where to find what I need and how many grams to buy. I can buy the appropriate weight to carry home by myself. And, thanks to a cooking class, I can read the soy sauce label and serve at least one non-curry dinner Japanese style-lots of smaller dishes filled with tasty, fresh, healthy food.

Mr. Miyagi, I believe I have earned the rank of orange belt.

Fuzzy rice and Tonkatsu

Well, we've been in Tokyo just over a month now, so we decided to celebrate in true Tokyo style. Oh yeah, we bought a rice cooker.

It's not just any rice cooker mind you. It has many buttons, displays and beeps; it looks like a little R2D2 and probably can even show a hidden message about the Force, but all I do is push the one English button.
"Mom," my son asked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making rice."
"No, Mom," he said. "You're making fuzzy rice."
He was right. The one English button that I pushed to start the machine actually says "Fuzzy" on it. (I'm thinking that it should probably say "Fluffy" instead??) Anyway, we had rice for dinner that night and many nights after and it tastes perfect every time...and not at all fuzzy, to the great disappointment of my six-year-old son who wanted to write about fuzzy rice in his school journal.

The other update is that we are learning how to read.
"I know what that says," my husband said last night. He was looking at a sign at a restaurant. He's been taking Japanese lessons.
"Me too," my oldest son said who is also taking lessons. "I can read it too! I can read. I can finally read."
"So," I said, after a few minutes of high-fiving and fist-pounding to celebrate with them. "What does it say?"
"Tonkatsu!" my husband and kids yelled. "Tonkatsu! Tonkatsu!"
"So what does that mean?" I asked after a few minutes.
Awkward silence. The ol' translation buzz kill.
Here, you need to do a triple translation. First, figure out if it's hiragana or katakana, then read it, and then translate to English.

I looked up tonkatsu in my dictionary when we got home. That's right. We were fist-pounding on the streets of Tokyo about "pork cutlets." Yes!

Pondo-san

Call me Pondo-san.

And, if that doesn't work after a few minutes, please go ahead and smack me on the back of the head.

We've been here in Tokyo a month now and we are starting to settle in. I can actually say a few phrases in Japanese: "excuse me," "good day" (before 11 a.m.); "good day" (after 11 a.m.); "thank you" (formal), "thank you" (informal), and "I'm sorry for thanking you informally when I should have thanked you formally. Excuse me. Sorry. Good Day. Thank you. Sorry. Good Day. Sorry".

I've also invented the Sumimasen Shrug. "Sumimasen" means "excuse me." You use this when you accidentally bump into someone, if you are trying to get out of the subway or if you need attention at a restaurant. However, if you add a helpless shrug with the phrase, I have found that you can gain some sympathy while grocery shopping (my biggest challenge). "Sumimasen (with shrug)soba noodles?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) chicken?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) stain stick?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) my rock?"

Oh, yes, my rock. I love my rock. Due to the fact that I can't read or write Japanese signs, that the charming streets twist and turn, and that many of the streets still look the same to me, I've had to become vigilantely visual to find my way around. (I had thought about leaving a Hansel and Gretel bread crumb trail when I leave the apartment, but because of the hungry crows that hover and the fact that a sleeve of bread only comes with 8 slices and costs 400 Yen, I decided to find another strategy.) So, for now, I am memorizing routes by sights and smells: a faded blue punch buggy and an immobile scooter guide me to the school bus stop and back; colorful springs on a tree means the 100 Yen store (Dollar Store) is near and my rock means home is right around the corner.

"Hey," a mom I met at the bus stop said to me the other day as we both idled at a train crossing. She was in a car. I was walking. "What are you doing? Allergies?"
"Oh,no," I said. "I'm just sniffing around for the pine smell. If I can find and follow the pine smell, it will lead me home from here."
She looked stunned. "Wow," she answered. "You already figured out The Pine Smell! You're doing great!"

I wasn't sure how to answer, so I just did my kind of cute Sumimasen Shrug.