In the last couple days before Chinese New Year, I kept reminding Bri it was coming, counting down the days with her, and telling her it was about time to get the lanterns out and make our yummy chicken dinner.
Yesterday morning she asked me, "Do I get to blow out candles?"
I said, "No, I think you're thinking of your birthday. This is Chinese New Year."
She said, "Oh, is this the one when I get to open a present?"
"No, Breebs," I said, "That would be Adoption Day."
"Oh." She sits and thinks for a moment, then goes, "So is this the yucky fings (things), or the envelopes?
(To understand that question, you would have to know a little about the first Moon Festival we celebrated. Bri was 2. TWO- and she still remembers. I ordered authentic Chinese moon cakes from a bakery in New York and had them shipped here. They weren't cheap. At all. I'd never splurged on something like that for a holiday treat before. They came in a pretty tin box, and each cake was like a little work of art. They were so pretty, and I was excited to serve them. I was really looking forward to making it a special, annual indulgence for Moon Festival. It did not turn out as I'd hoped. They were bad. Really, really, really bad. Really. I don't mean bad as in "spoiled." I mean bad as in "gross beyond description." A couple of the boys bit into them first, made a face, then walked over and spit them out in the trash. My mother was standing there, looking shocked and I was mortified that my children were spitting out food right there in front of Nana. We both start telling the kids they're just being silly and exaggerating, and they need to eat them. "They couldn't possibly be THAT bad," we said. We each took a bite. Then we walked over to the trash and spit them out. We had four different flavors, and since I'd spent a fortune on them, I made the kids give each flavor a chance. Notice I said I made the KIDS try each one. Hee hee hee. With each bite came a "fwoomp" sound as the evil morsels were hurled out of each mouth, into the trash. With each "fwoomp," I was mentally tallying the cost. "There goes another $1.50... and another... and another..." They tasted really, really bad. I never ordered them again, but it hasn't been forgotten. By any of us. Yucky, yucky fings.
The envelopes she's referring to are the red envelopes I pass out to each kid on Chinese New Year with a little money inside.)
I answered, "This is the day with the envelopes."
"Good, she said, "I like that one."