It's National Holiday week in China and we are driving in the outskirts of Beijing. The sky seems clear, the air seems fresh, but it is hard to tell once you've been in Beijing a while. Yihang, my mother in law, sits in the passenger seat. Yang and the kids are in the back. Yihang grows excited, which doesn't typically takes much but in this case is justified. She recognizes the area we are in and says she has spent some time here. Turns out, as an intellectual, she was sent here during the cultural revolution for re-education. But she doesn't describe it this way. Just that she came here, to the farms, and worked with the managers of the farms. If she bears a grudge or resentment of being taken away from her two small children (who were also sent away) and husband, she does not reveal it.

Later in the week, Wednesday I guess, but before the rains came, we decided to bike with the kids to Tiananmen square. I first need to get a child seat installed on my bike, which depresses me. Depresses me, because I have this image of myself riding through the streets of beijing in my retro 10-speed, looking like the independent, free, westerner that I sometimes am. The baby bike seat ruins that image. What I really want is a bell, but I am told by two bike shop owners that my retro 10-speed's handlebars are too wide to take one. I relent and I get a black baby seat installed and we eventually find a bike shop owner who hooks up an electronic bell to my bike.

Originally we had planned to go at night, but Aidan and Lydia are so excited that we take off for Tiananmen around 3:30pm. Aidan on my bike, Lydia with Yang. My bike suddenly feels heavy and unsteady as Aidan leans to look around me. I ask him to to sit still and the ride smoothes. Lydia is perhaps the most excited. Looking here and there, smiling and chatting.

We bike west along Chang-an Jie, the main east-west street in Beijing. If you have images of the Chinese military on parade for Mao, it was on this street. Or just tanks during another year. There are lots and lots of people in and around Tiananmen. Mao's portrait hangs at the entrance of Forbidden City, looking at Tiananmen and his own mausoleum. I always check Mao's ears when I pass this place. I read that his portrait has changed over the years and the current portrait's distinctive change is that both of Mao's ears are now visible -- meaning he is listening to the people. Anyway, because of the crowds the local subway station is closed but Yang tells me the sign says "closed by order of senior leadership".

We are directly across the street from Tiananmen, but cannot cross due to the crowds. We head to the end of the block, and bike across with the north-south traffic. To our right is "the egg", the huge, new, ill fitting Beijing opera house. As we weave our way back to the square, we stop to buy Chinese flags for the kids to hold. They cost one kuai each. Yang checks with me if this is ok, of course it is, but it's nice to know that after 8 years together I'm not completely known to her. Or maybe not.

We push our bikes, with babies on board, past the buses that have been converted to public restrooms (yes, buses). We are in front of the Great Hall of the People and must decide whether to head across the street and into the square proper or stay where we are. I look across at Tiananmen. It is packed with people. The square, kind of barren looking on most days, has been decorated with a number of large displays of Chinese heritage. It looks to me, and I hate to say this, like a cross between Disneyland and a miniature golf course.

We get off our bikes and take few photos. People, nearly all domestic tourists, stop and smile at Lydia and Aidan. Lydia can be a bit standoff-ish to this type of attention, but today she doesn't seem to notice. People ask what country they are from -- which is the #1 question they hear from strangers. They just ignore it now, like people are not even speaking to them. So I ask Aidan, what country are you from? He says "I am American" but says it in Chinese. Lydia? "I am Chinese. Me and mommy Chinese." I tell her, that, in fact, she is American. "No" is her curt reply. In English.

We leave Tiananmen and head north, past the egg and along a street that houses important party members or at least people capable of funding a small militia. We stop for a snack near Yang's favorite chestnut stand (an ayi had coincidently been sent to fetch chestnuts earlier in the day). After the snack we ride home, Aidan falling asleep along the way. Since Yang's bike has a safer baby seat, we trade babies and bike the rest of the way home.

Lydia is mad when we get home. It seems the one kuai Chinese flag is torn and the flagstaff has become disconnected. She gets over her discontent quickly and the torn flag remains in the bike's basket until the end of the holiday, when I put it in the trash.