With A Cherry On Top

When I was growing up, there were certain things we did at Gigi's house. And at Gigi's house alone.

Gigi's house was where it was ok to have baked honey-buns for breakfast.

Gigi's house was where I got my yearly fro-perm.


oh yes, I was rockin.

Gigi's house had tons of scrap material for outfitting Barbie in any fashion she pleased.

Gigi's house was always stocked full of homemade cherry jelly.

...because Gigi's house was where we climbed up rickety ladders to pick the cherries off of the cherry trees in her backyard.

It was one of those summer traditions that happened nearly every year.

We put on old clothes. Only wore shoes if mom made us. And felt grown-up wearing Gigi's old belts that strapped our pitchers and buckets to our side for carrying our cherries.

Eden got to participate in the yearly tradition a couple years ago. She still remembers it. Doing things in nature, being in God's creation, makes memories stick. 

So when the opportunity rose for us to go cherry picking in China...

... surely there's a song for that ... "Goin' cherry pickin' in China..."   no? Well, maybe there should be.

rabbit trail.

I felt it my duty as a mom to let my kids participate in something that I so enjoyed doing growing up.

So we joined some friends this past weekend on a cherry picking adventure. 

And yes I do declare it an adventure, because in The Big Chicken, one can't truly know what might be included on a cherry picking outing.

I was told our tour group bus (oh yes...did I forget to mention we were joining a tour group?) was leaving at 8 am. When I agreed to that, Brandon knew this was no joke for me. 

Getting 3 kids, 2 adults out the door, dressed, fed, flagging down a taxi, taxi-ing 20 minutes across town to the tour bus stop by 8 am is not something a sane mom readily agrees to.

Nonetheless, we set out. Astonishingly, we made it by 8 am. And climbed on the bus with 30 other people ready for a full day ahead of cherry picking.

After an hour ride in a cramped bus we arrived at the cherry orchard. In order to reach the area where we were allowed to pick though, we had to navigate ourselves down a 2 foot wide concrete embankment with a 15 meter cliff/drop to our left and 5 meter drop to our right. At this point I believe I made up a ridiculous song about walking on a sidewalk in the sky to keep myself Eden from realizing how dangerous it was. Salem, who I was carrying, didn't seem to notice the drop of impending doom right next to us, but was more focused on a butterfly that he swore was going to eat his leg.

Not exactly the green soft grass of Gigi's back yard. But, I got over it. We were going to pick cherries after all. Certain safety measures must be disregarded!

We arrived at the orchard and it was really pretty. Tons of cherries. Huge, red, $3 per pound cherries. 

As I was pulling cherries off the trees I was telling Salem stories about picking cherries at Gigi's house when I was little. About how sometimes we'd just sit at the top of the ladder and eat them and spit seeds at each other.  

And then he got preoccupied with killing ants.

Ok, so reminiscing isn't for 2 year olds.

And then the grandma of the family who joined us killed one of the ants with her fingers, set it in Salem's hand, and motioned for him to eat it.

That's when I decided maybe we'd had enough cherry picking for the day.

We made our way back across the sidewalk in the air and at the prodding of the tour guide, ate lunch at 10:45 am. Then we proceeded to wait on the rest of our tour group to finish lunch until about 1 pm. Praise the Lord for iPads. How did people parent before there were iPads? Surely it was impossible.

There was a wedding ceremony taking place there also that sounded like a horse auction. This is what I mean when I say you never know what to expect on a cherry picking adventure.

We came home, washed cherries, made a cherry cobbler, and devoured almost half of it that evening.


It wasn't anything like what I did growing up. Ok scratch that, we did still pick cherries. But it was drastically different from every time I've ever picked cherries before.

I guess though if my kids can't pick cherries in Gigi's backyard, then "Goin' cherry pickin' in China" is the next best thing.

On that note, I'm off to write a little jingle...

Hungry For More

A new widget has made it's appearance on the sidebar of our blog. A dear friend of ours recently published her first book. Kandy Persall has been truly influential in our lives. We cherish her advice, prayers, and thoughts on the word, and now those thoughts are available in her book!  Many of her experiences from living in Asia for 20 years she's recorded in Hungry for More. Check out her blog. Hop over to Amazon and grab a copy, even available in Kindle edition. Run. Fast! Do it!! NOW!!  :)

I know you'll enjoy reading her stories and gleanings from the word as much as we've enjoyed getting to know her over the years!

R.I.P. Weird Apple

Almost a year ago, our family (accidentally) acquired another family member. One might say that it was fate that brought us together.
But they would be wrong. It was just some random Chinese waiter who thought my kids were cool, thereby deserving some poorly constructed stuffed animals.

Weird Apple had a good run. It's not easy being a toddler's toy.

Early this morning, he met his ultimate demise.


Though only Caleb is pictured, his older counterpart, Salem (who had clearly gotten over his "this is my baby" fetish with Weird Apple), pulled out all his insides.



When I was gathering all of the stray pieces of fuzz and tossing them into the trash, I'll admit I was quite smug and satisfied with Weird Apple's passing. After all, he's been staring at me with those weird squinty eyes for almost a year now. Harboring hostility toward a stuffed animal can be quite exhausting, you know.



I'm sure tomorrow he'll have one last foray in the Chancler household when I'm discovering more of his cotton stuffing in a diaper.

When Salem didn't argue about Weird Apple being tossed in the trash, I didn't feel guilty at all about not even offering to try to patch him up. Yes, I am THAT mom that dances a jig while getting to throw out an old toy.



Farewell, Weird Apple.
You'll be missed. 
Live long and prosper.
You're in a better place.


You were just. plain. weird.

Worlds Collide

Remember that Seinfeld episode where George's world with Susan starts colliding with George's world with Jerry, Kramer, and Elaine?
It's a strange thing when your life reminds you of a Seinfeld episode.
Maybe I need mental help.

My parents spent the past two and a half weeks with us in our Chiner world. It was their first trip to The Big Chicken, which means we did the obligatory Great Wall trip on a blustery day.


It was surreal to have them here. Wonderful.
Which explains my absence from the blogging world. I couldn't bring myself to sit in front of the computer while they were sitting in my living room.


I was so incredibly proud of them. They're willingness to speak a new language, make new friends, eat new foods (even foods I was barely willing to try) made me so proud to introduce them to Chiner.





Moments when our tendency is to cover our eyes (and noses) and run for cover, they came out of their shell and spoke with strangers who really just wanted to pet their arms and call them "hairy foreigner."



We walked through the tourist-friendly parks and saw picture-worthy pagodas; Salem consistently on his favorite perch: Granddad's shoulders.



But we also did our best to expose them to "Real Chiner." Forgoing they're preference for independence, they braved mass transit.





They learned what it really means to draw a crowd.



And we taught them the delicate intricacies of mocking The Big Fat Man Statues.






Mostly, we did a lot of this:



Granddad and Salem are best buds.



And these two are pretty smitten with each other too.



Of course tears flowed when we said our goodbyes.
But saying frequent goodbyes are a heck of a lot better than going so long without hellos.
So thankful for parents that love us and invest time, money, and energy to insert themselves into our world over here.