How old were you when you first learned how to use chopsticks?
But the real kind, not the cheater kind that have the ends tied together. The kind where you can hold one in each hand and stab the food — which I’ve since learned is a big no no. I think I was somewhere in the mid-teens range. (Did I guess right Dad?) And then even after learning, I hardly used them on a daily basis. Maybe they got used when we had Chinese take out at home or when we went out to Asian restaurants. But even then, forks were always on the table as a viable second option.
Its different here.
For the months of July and August, the preschool sets up a small collapsable pool every year in the corner of the front yard, under the awning, for the kids to play in. Instead of our daily treks to the park each morning, each of the four classes takes turns having an hour in the swimming pool instead. It’s a nice break to get outside and feel the sun, but oh my goodness, helping a room full of 3 year olds get changed into their swim suits is like herding kittens with short attention spans.
Challenging to say the least. But also highly entertaining.
Or more precisely, shit happens.
Excuse the profanity, but last week was a three day week that started with plenty of excitement (and not the good, fun kind.)
Monday morning, I’m told I have a trial student coming in for the first few hours of the day to test out how she reacts to being in an English speaking environment. This little girl’s father will be in Toyohashi for the next two years on a contract for work and it will be her first time in Japan for an extended amount of time (I can relate.) She was a cute little thing though, quiet and followed the crowd of my tiny hurricanes around the room. She was visibly disoriented though, but who wouldn’t be when you’re freshly transplanted from Vietnam and don’t speak a lick of English or Japanese?
I’ve been doing it all along without even realizing it.
I’ve been watching my kiddos for about a month (holy cow, didn’t think I’d last that long) and its fascinating watching them pick up connector toys, stick them together, and proclaim loudly, “its a bullet train!!” and take off pushing the thing across the floor, dodging kids and tables in their mad dash. It’s astounding and so genuinely pure and simple I can’t help but smile. That is, until the bullet train and its driver accidentally run over my feet/legs/fingers…