two down

Doctor says my wbc are still high, but much better. And the baby wbc are back to normal. Yea! This means I'm finished with two anitbiotics and have one more to finish. I can't WAIT. I feel so full of chemicals.

Isn't it nice that I'm moving soon and I can leave all these germs in the old flat? They're also moving my classroom, so even the school germs won't follow me. (Looking on the bright side here: new classroom is not as big as current...but will only have 12 students. I just wish there was an actual wall separating me from kindergarten instead of one of those accordian things... Still, I'm looking forward to painting. It's a great nesting outlet for me! When we were watching a slide show of our year and our first classroom popped up, everyone sighed and one girl cried out affectionately, "Oh, our dear little classroom!" They loved that pretty little classroom. It just goes to show that size isn't everything. )

It's possible I'll have good news to share about another step forward along the adoption path next week. Stick around...

mini bite

Have you noticed when you have a fever that your thoughts seem to come in isolated chunks? They don't connect to anything that came before. And, try as you might, forging a link to the next logical thought is nearly impossible. It's as if you're pushing with all your might against an immovable object. You just can't push through.

I guess that gives me blog posts in mini-bites. They won't be tidy posts, cleverly tied back to the beginning. They're just...random.

I won't post them all together the way they are in my head. That would be way too confusing. So, I'll just give you a little mini-bite here and there...

Lauri posted awhile back (okay, so there was a before to this) about the recent discipline episode of J&K+8. While I do think J&K do much right, I think they're missing a big step. No, I'm not a parent. But, I have much experience disciplining children. I'll go ahead and brag a bit here and let you know that all our "special" teachers always rave about how well-behaved my classes are--regardless of school or grade. Sure, they're a little noisy. But they're kind, creative, respectful, responsible and obedient. I think that makes my observations share-worthy. Besides, it's my blog. ;>

In J&K+8, they talked about how important it is to have a child apologize after there has been misbehaviour. I completely agree. An apology should be made to the person who was wronged.

What I think J&K (and many others) are missing is the forgiveness part. Not only does the offender need to apologize, the wronged party needs to forgive them. And, once forgiveness is offered, the event is over. Finished. We keep no record of wrongs. When I mess up, I apologize and ask the children to forgive me. (They get very tickled at this. They love to tell me they forgive me.)

I work hard to make sure that there is no stigma to apologizing. An apology does not have to be an admission of guilt. It doesn't have to mean that your actions were intended to be hurtful. But, when you have hurt some one with your words or your actions, even if it was unintentional, you should express regret for that hurt and apologize.

And when someone apologizes, you accept it graciously and forgive them. And then you shake hands or hug and move forward as friends.

That's one thought rattling around in my brian. I think that the reconciliation process is incomplete without forgiveness being offered. And, I think without offering forgiveness, one is more likely to cherish up those wrongs. That would be harmful to our sense of community in the classroom.

By this point in the year, instead of bringing an offense to my attention and having me walk them through the

what-did-you-do/what-did-you-do/how-do-you-feel/is-that-what-you-meant/
did-you-say-that/are-you-sorry/did-you-say-that/do-you-forgive-her/
did-you-tell-her/is-it-over/shake-hands-and-be-friends-or-will-you hug

my students will tell me, "Such and such happened, but don't worry. We already got to the hugging and everything." I consider it a lesson well-taught when they can do that on their own.

when is a cold not acute bronchitis?

When it's drug-resistant bronchitis/tonsilitis/uri.

(You don't have to read any further. I'm going to be fine. What follows is a tedious re-telling of today's visit to the doctor; a story every sickie tells and no one really wants to hear...)

Yep. I saw the good doctor that I saw in December today. Dr. V is great. He listens to everything you say. In English. He asks questions. I always go in to the doctor a little apologetic, feeling like I should just tough it out. This visit was no different, especially since my major complaint was that I just didn't feel better. (And I had a new fever.) But, Dr. V didn't tell me to tough it out. He was a bit cross with Dr. Peach Oil (snake oil is more like it), said my temp was elevated, my white cells were up in Monday's bloodwork and it was clear from the white stuff and pus in my throat that I had tonsilitis. Kinda wonder about an ENT who misses that. Kinda wonder about the silver tongue depressor he used (instead of the individually-wrapped wooden ones)...and how sterile it was. Told Dr. V on him just in case he cross-infected me.

After a thorough exam, Dr. V did blood work (nach) and came in mid-result and hooked me up to an IV of antibiotics. My white cells are high and my new white cells are very high. (My poor little soldiers are being slaughtered. The new troops are pouring in to help.) I've had antibiotic shots in the US but never an antibiotic IV. I've never had any IV. This took about an hour. I was paranoid that the nurse wouldn't come back before the line was completely empty and I'd die from an air bubble. I tried calling out when the bag was empty and what was left in the line started sucking its way into me, but no one came. There was no call button. I decided if it got to halfway, I'd take the IV pole and go find someone. (Give me a break. I'm sick. I'm feverish. And I'm new at this IV thing. And, you'll find another reason for heightened paranoia in the final parenthetical expression.) It nearly did, but the nurse arrived in time. My other option was to pull the line out myself. I'm sure it would've hurt...but at least I'd still be alive.

Dr. V sent me home with a new anitbiotic, tablets to keep my good bacteria intact, and instructions to rest for three days. He also gave me strict instructions to call if I don't feel better by then, made an appointment to see me in a week, and started a throat culture just in case these antibiotics don't work.

I am feeling in very capable hands. Lesson learned: no more Dr. PO. PO is too close to poo.

(I know. Tedium. But this is all I'm doing...except re-watching X-files in order. The truth is out there.)

cursory

Here's a cursory summary of recent life:

Monday I took the lower school student council (I'm too tired to link. Do a blog search on "political corruption" if you're interested.) To deliver donations to the orphanage where my 3.10 girls are. Yes, more corruption. It let me check in on them. Four were there. L is with the foster family (no news on that--drat!), N and P are at camp, and I don't know where Ks is. I didn't get to spend much time with the girls, but was very happy to see them. AND I met the director and was given permission to continue my visits to my girls. I told her, "I love group five. They are my girls." She seemed happy with that.

My students were awed that the girls there knew me. They learned a lot from the visit. The most important lesson I wanted them to learn was that these were just children--like them. And, from their responses, they did learn that. Maybe I'll share their writings about the trip later. It did backfire on me a little because my students don't see them as needing as much as they did when they were picturing them living in the movie Annie.

School's out next Friday! Today was Sports Day, Friday grades are due and we're walking to the Summer Garden (which is reportedly going to be closed for the next three years), Monday is Peterhoff, Tuesday is International Day...It's busy.

It's been six weeks since I got my nasty cold and I'm better but still not well. (I know I declared my sick posts tedious, but this has a little interest in the daily-life-in-Russia category...) I went back to the doctor (the cuteish one is on vacation so I saw an ent to actually examined me in such a way that I'd call him an nte...but didn't bother to mention that to him.) who has Rx'd....peach oil. I am to put ten drops in each side of my nose (the word nostril gives me the heebies) twice daily and do an inhalation treatment with it nightly. I was willing to give it a try (That's how rotten I feel. And, after two courses of antibiotics in six months--after none for seven years--I was only open to more herbal remedies anyway.). It's not helping. And even the school secretary (firm believer in things like drink vodka for bee stings) laughed at this Rx. Will go back Friday if not well. (NTE doc said I'd be well in three days with peach treatment. I even put some in my bath last night...to no avail.)


I'm making turkey noodle soup.

begetting

Thank you all *so much* for pausing in your busy days to rejoice with me about my new flat. (Wondering if I can still call it a flat when there are stairs...would be hard to break that habit...)It was so nice to have good news to share with everyone. I am just thrilled about my new home.

Rachael commented that good news begets good news. (I guess that' s like sleep begetting sleep--a concept I wholeheartedly embrace.)

I just had an e-mail from my sw saying that she's already sent everything off to new agency. It should be there by the middle of next week!

We might actually get everything registered before the dreaded summer slowdown...

definitely good news

They signed the lease! The new parking space and the flat that comes with it will be mine 1 July! I am simply overjoyed. I haven't seen it yet, but here are some pix from the realtor:



This is my new front door (mine! all mine!) and the courtyard outside.



Above, obviously is the kitchen. Do you see what I see? DRAWERS!! My flat right now has no drawers. Zero. How that's possible, I really don't know. I would have doubted it had you told me anyone would design and build and entire flat with no drawers. But this looks like I have at least four drawers--in one room! And, there are bottom cabinets. This is a big plus for someone who is the perfect height ( 5'2"--condolences for those of you who overshot the mark).

Below is the living room. Do you see the fireplace in there? It all looks so nice and homey. Did you notice that there is no wallpaper? No brown? No burnt pumpkin? No fir branches?


And, to top it all off, I don't have to do any of the packing or moving. Ahhh...life is definitely good!

possibly good news (edited)

I *think*, from what I understand, that two of my sweet, sweet girls in 3.10 are on a month-long trial with an adoptive family. This would be L, who takes such good care of me when I visit and her sister, P, who is a gentle woman of faith--at age 9. I'm excited for them and for the hope this gives me for my other girls there...but sad that I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm going to see if a letter can be delivered to them somehow.

I just found out more information...or, rather, I had another conversation about the girls. (Maybe the new information is right, maybe it's not.) It seems that L may be going to this family alone. (She and P have an older brother in the children's home, too.) And, it's a one-month trial before they would foster her--not adopt her.

I know L knew about this, because she told me several times on our last visit that she would not be there for her birthday. (It's the end of this month.) I thought she was going to stay with relatives for the summer and then would be back. And, I thought she said P was going with her. I hope they're together. Watching the sisters in 3.10 take care of each other really makes me want sisters.

I am feeling worried and skeptical...

I'm hoping to go and visit before they go to camp. I just have to find out when they leave. Maybe I'll know more then. At least I'll know if P is with L or not.

psych eval

I had my psych eval tonight--via telephone. The spychologist (I typed that wrong three times and finally decided it was meant to be) said, "Wow, Kate. You sound really, really prepared. You've got all your ducks in a row."

I'll refrain from further comment now because I'm just delighted that everything is FINISHED!

We just need my sw to send in her paperwork...Come ooooooon, sw!

stats

Russia Today was reporting on International Children's Day activities. They said that...

there are 35 million children in Russia
25% of them live below the poverty level
88% of them are below minimum requirements to be judged "healthy"

temperature conversion

37 C = 98.6 F
38 C = 100.4 F
39 C = 102.2 F
40 C = 104 F

That's easy enough: normal, low-grade fever, fever, high fever. Got it.
If I can just remember what normal is.

OTC

I take it back. Last night was a miserable night. (It's 6:13 on a Saturday and I'm out of bed.) I didn't sleep because I couldn't breathe.

So, tonight it's the last of the Nyq*il along with some Adv*l and maybe some Vicks nasal spray (I know--only three days of it) if things are bad for me. I'm bagging the rest. Well, except the antibiotic. Once started that's got to be finished.

Tea and toast with honey are calling (and the fact that I need to go to the store for juice and tissues is nagging). Sure glad it's Saturday. eta: friend brought over both tissue and juice

(Why is it we all want to talk about how sick we are when we're sick? Tedious. Uninteresting. Will move on immediately.)

when is a cold not a cold?

When it's acute bronchitis.

Yes, I caved and went to the doctor today. The deductible is paid for the year, I've been coughing for 2 1/2 weeks, and today I just felt...worse. Plus, stuff had a new greenish cast...and you know that means infection. So, I went.

I had a new doctor today. At this practice I've had one doctor I liked well enough and one I emphatically did not. This doctor (youngish and cuteish) talked with me and I was pleased with what I learned. He is not a fan of antibiotics and neither am I. He didn't make me strip down for the cursory physical exam. Big points for the new doctor. Everything was sounding clear and my temp was nearly normal. I think. It was in C...and I don't do well in converting body temperatures. It seemed like I might just have a cold after all.

He, of course, ordered bloodwork. (I have to say, the most painless blood draws I've ever had have been here at Euromed.) The quick test shows either + or - for the presence of infection in the body. (It's some sort of C-something test.) I had +++. Triple plus.

While we were waiting for the quick test results, they tried to give me an inhalation treatment. It made me gag. Violently. Wretch might be a better word. Or heave. Yeah. Fortunately the nurse stopped it early (it was supposed to be ten minutes!) and the doctor said his first rule was not to make the patient worse. Otherwise, he would have a rival. (It made sense at the time.) Yea, doctor! More points.

They took sinus x-rays (even though I told him I wouldn't let him drain my sinuses) and they came back clear.

Meanwhile, the slower labs came back. They said my white blood cell count was slightly elevated. But, what worried the doctor was the differential that showed my NEW white blood cells were at 19 when the highest they should be was 8. I said, in an asking sort of way, that this was because I'd been fighting a cold for so long. (This is what Russian grammar does to my English speech pattern. Since the only difference between statement and question is inflection and not word order, I start to do the same thing in English when talking to my Russian friends. And I do not use contractions.) He said maybe, but he wanted to rule out pneumonia.

They took chest x-rays (WAY embarrassing) and they were clear.

So. I got a diagnosis of acute bronchitis and an entire apteka to take home(an antibiotic, an expectorant, a nasal spray, an herbal cough suppressant for bedtime with a little codeine and an antihistamine also for bedtime because neither of us believes that it's really non-drowsy) AND the doctor's phone number in case I develop any side effects or pain.


This doctor wins. Should the need arise, instead of toughing it out for weeks on end with OTC meds, I will return to be diagnosed another day. Provided, of course, this works!

space-filler

here.

coughing.

got rid of one cough.

got another
from friends
who visited relatives
in london
and brought me this.

three more weeks of school...

got mail(box)? eta

A friend of mine in Belgium has created a virtual museum of sorts to preserve that most endangered of all species...the mailbox. Alain would love for this to be a global project--representing letterboxes around the world.

That's where you come in, bloggy friends of mine. I know we've got great photographers out there. I've seen the results! Why not snap a picture of your mailbox to share with the world and save for posterity? Just think. One day you can show your grandchildren where we used to get those things they've read about in books called "letters".

When you visit the site above, there's a link to follow to submit your photos. Go check it out. And please--spread the word.

C'mon...I'm going to put mine up there. (It is as plain and grey and blah as anything you've ever seen. But, it does look very soviet to me. The numbers don't even match the flat numbers. They just say 1, 2, 3, and 4.) Donchawanna?

eta: I think the ordinariness, the every-day-ness is exactly what he is looking for in these pictures. This is social history, cultural history in the making. And, remember, that the "standard" image of a silver-grey mailbox with a red flag that we all conjure first when we hear the word mailbox is not what mailboxes look like in other countries.

lost it

I am voiceless. My class thought it was pretty funny until they realized that I couldn't read to them.

There are a couple of reasons why this may have happened, as my friends here have informed me.

It is most likely because I wore a skirt too early in the spring.

It could be (a friend's neurologist told her this) that one of my parents is right-handed and one is left-handed. This means I am extremely suseptible to psychosomatic illnesses.

Or, my friends didn't tell me this, but I suppose at a stretch, it could be that other people in school have had this same spring cold. It could be that I teach sixteen little petri dishes every day.

Germ theory. What a radical concept.

counting unhatched chickens

one...two...three....

I've decided that telling you what I know about my new flat (I still haven't seen it) is not counting my chickens before they're hatched. It's letting you share in my joyous anticipation. My principal says that negotiations seem to be going well. (touch wood) Since I don't know how long it will be until I have a final answer to share, joyous anticipation is all I can give you.

Besides the aforementioned courtyard parking, my new flat has...

...a great number (100!)

...its own door. No one else uses the door that I will use. And, it has its own mailbox. I don't get mail there, but, still. It's mine.

...two stories! My principal said, "Kate, it's like a real home." On the ground level is a kitchen (nice), living room--with gas fireplace, and bathroom--with shower and mini sauna (!!). The fact that it has ground-level living is huge! I've wondered every time I've brought groceries home how I would manage to juggle multiple loads (sometimes you've gotta, no matter how well you load your arms) and a little girl or two. Having little ones will increase my groceries and decrease my available arm space. What do I do? I can't leave them in the car. I can't leave them alone in the flat. I don't really want to make them climb up and down three double flights of stairs (Can you imagine that after shopping and then St. P traffic on the way home?). And now--my own parking spot right outside my flat and a kitchen on the ground floor! How amazing is that?

... two bedrooms upstairs. This is huge. I cannot sleep on the ground level. I don't feel safe. Also upstairs is a bathroom with a tub and another room with a built-in computer desk. Right now that's where the tv is. Sounds like a family room/playroom to me.

...a little strip of grass and two benches outside.

...white walls instead of dark brown and burnt pumpkin. I never thought I'd say YEA to white walls, but, "YEA, white!"

...real hardwood floors instead of laminate.

...the Red Cross across the way. Surely they're good neighbours.

...much quieter living (though, it's likely also darker).

...a security door to the courtyard and my own video security system at my door.

Can you see why I'm very, very excited about this new flat? I'm claiming it as mine. I might even be tempted to stick around a while. Really. This is nearly my perfect house. Of course, I have yet to see it...but I'm just sure it's great!

(I don't know any logistics of the actual move aside from the date. When I moved here, the school took care of everything--packing, shipping, unpacking. The same will apply when I leave. Since this is mid-contract for me, I'm guessing that I'll pack and the two men on the school staff will move me. That's just a guess, though. We'll find out soon.)

at odds

I've been feeling at sixes and sevens lately. Last week I couldn't settle my mind to anything--reading, cooking, walking, cleaning, watching a movie. My mind just danced about and refused to be still. This week is better than last, but I still feel a little unsettled. I'm not sure exactly why.

I started packing last weekend. That makes it sound like I did a lot more than I actually did. I packed up d2b's hanging clothes and took down the poster and packed up the crib. It's a strange feeling to know that the room I'd prepared and little-girlified is never going to be d2b's room. I've napped there, prayed there...and now it's packed away. The bed is still made and there is more packing to do...but it's being dimantled. I actually think the new room will be better--bigger, lighter...but it's still strange.

I find that my waiting is much longer with new agency. Yes, I think they are more active. I have greater trust in them. But they don't always respond to e-mails. About 20% of my messages (and that's generous) will be acknowledged--even when they contain a dircect question or a request for a reply. Old agency had many flaws, but they did reply to every e-mail I sent. People at new agency go on vacation and I don't get a heads up or even receive an auto-response. And, because they don't all work on Fridays and I live here, that dreaded weekend silence that others have mentioned and blogged about stretches from Friday morning before school until Monday night (They get into the office around 6 pm Monday my time.). Maybe that's what has me unsettled.

I really am excited about my new agency, my new flat...but maybe it's too many "news" all at once. I'm not excited about my new region, and the added expense that travelling out of St. P will entail, but I am excited about how quickly things seem to move there.

I miss my friends. I have colleagues here, and we are friendly, but I miss my FRIENDS. I am very blessed to have wonderful friends that I've known for decades--friends made when I was in elementary school, in college, doing theatre, teaching school. I've collected kindred spirits along the way and hung on to them. I am loyal, as one of those long-time friends pointed out to me, and I keep my friends. I am much more of an introvert than people think. I don't reveal a lot of myself (contrary to this post!). So, the friends I have, the ones I've invested in and shared things with, I hang on to tightly. They know too much to be cut loose. ;> So, maybe missing them has me out of whack.

I don't know. I just hope I'm back in my own skin soon.

mom sense

I know I'm setting a dangerous precedent by posting twice in one day...but I couldn't wait until tomorrow.

for the Gosselins

Last week (not last night) on Jon & Kate Plus Eight, the Gosselins were talking about chores. Kate said that soon she was going to assign chores to each child, but she wasn't sure how.

I have the perfect plan for her! I set out to e-mail and tell them ('cause I really do think she'd like this suggestion--it's what I'd do if I had three or more children...and I'm the kate-est of Kates). I know they said on another episode that they read emails (Well, that Jon read e-mails and shared the good ones with Kate. THIS would def be a good one.) so I figured that the address must be on the TLC website. If it is, I can't find it. So, I'm posting it here. (I'm sure they're lurking.) If you have their address, let me know or tell them to stop by the blog.

Sadly, I can't claim to be the originator of this idea. My sister's neighbor is the inspiration. I haven't met the neighbor or her children (aged, I'd guess, 7-10 at the time). But, when we were taking care of their animals one Christmas, I saw this little gem: Clipboards. Choreboards.

Hanging in a row were three hooks, one for each child. Each hook had a child's name above it and a clipboard hanging on it. On each clipboard were a list of jobs. These must have been jobs for the week. Each clipboard had different jobs on it (empty upstairs trash, empty downstairs trash, take out trash to curb). I'm sure that each week the clipboards rotated so that you had different jobs. Isn't that great?

The Gosselins also came up with a mission statement for their family. This was great. It reminded me of teaching in a Christian school. I had one rule--that you had to be loving. (This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. John 15:12) Then, on a huge bulletin board that took up a whole wall in our classroom I had the love verse from Corinthians (Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 1 Cor. 13:4-5) Then, the only reminder that class needed was for me to ask, "Are you being kind?" or "Are you being patient?" In our Friday letters we would reflect on the week--what we learned, what we liked, how we would improve and, sometimes, how we were being loving (or not self-seeking or not boasting...). It was such a simple and such an all-encompassing reminder.

So, Jon and Kate, this post is for you!

paper trail

Fed Ex confirms that my documents were delivered to new agency on Thursday.

New agency says they will review them next week.

Forty-six days until my lease expires. That's plenty of time...right?

in response

This was in my inbox:

Thank you for contacting Teleflora to share your thoughts about the
"Telefl0ra presents America's Fav0rite M0m" program.

In response to your concerns, Telefl0ra is immediately changing the
name of our "Non-Mom" category to "Adopting Moms." After closer
examination, we can see how this may have been offensive to moms who
have adopted children -- moms who are indeed real moms to their
children in every sense of the word.  In fact, many of us at
Telefl0ra are "adopting" parents ourselves, including our president
and owner.  The essence of this category still focuses on a
grandparent, neighbor, step mom, or mom to adopted or foster
children, each one raising and loving a child.

This show of insensitivity on our part was in no way intended and we
deeply apologize for any concern or distress we may have caused.  It
was always our intent to salute and celebrate all moms.

In closing, all of us at Telefl0ra would like to offer our sincerest
best wishes to all the many women throughout the world who have
worked so hard and given so much to earn the name "Mom."

Sincerely,
The America's Fav0rite M0m Team

non-mom

One of the three major networks, the one starting with N, is hosting a television show called, Americ*'s F*v0rite M0m. There are different categories: single mom, military mom, working mom, coe mom ...and non-mom.

I find all of these distinctions offensive. Maybe it's just me. After all, I do think we should all just be Americans. I think distinctions are divisive.

Should you wish to nominate me next year, once d2b is home, you would not enter me under the categories of single mom or working mom. According to the rules, after more than two years working to bring d2b home I will be a non-mom.

Non-moms are those who take on the role of mom-- Grandparent, stepmom, or mom to adopted children, each one raising and loving a child. A priceless gift for everybody.

Things like this don't usually get under my skin. They're semantics. I think the network was trying to create a way to have more winners, more "favorite moms". I'll give them the benefit of the doubt regarding motive.

But.

I don't like the way they did this. At all. "Non mom" was a very poor choice of words. Very poor. NON mom?!? NON?!

Who wouldn't be offended by their categories? I think they've managed to alienate everyone. My sahm friends don't even have a category of their own. (Unless that's what coe means...I don't know...one of the coe nominees was blind, one had fertility treatments and multiples and the third...I don't remember.) Sorry, guys. I guess you're not even non moms.

And so I e-mailed and told them I thought they'd made a poor choice. Here's the address posted on one of my adoption lists: support @ americasfavoritemom . com . I also went to the NBroadcastingC website and used their feedback form.

If you find this inappropriate, I would encourage you to tell them. And to turn the tv off.

victorious

Happy Victory Day (known elsewhere as VE Day or Victory in Europe Day). New Year's Eve is undoubtedly the biggest holiday in Russia. Victory Day and Women's Day are a joint second. While Women's Day is celebrated with friends and family, honoring all girls and women, Victory Day is a public holdiay, a spectacle of military might. It celebrates the end of The Great Patriotic War (WWII). Parades and ceremonies across the country are held to thank the men who fought for their country. (eta: Russia celebrates Victory Day on 9 May unlike the rest of Europe which celebrates on 8 May because when the peace treaty was signed, it was already 9 May in Russia.)

These orange and black ribbons are passed out at places all over the city. People wear them or tie them on their cars. The orange and black are meant to symbolize fire and gunpowder and are (perhaps) derived from the tsar's coat of arms--the black Romanov eagle on a golden background.

Yes, I moved my car. Just think, in another six weeks or so I'll never have to do that again!

I'm opting to stay home this morning as

1. I don't really like watching parades
2. I don't really like crowds
3. I can sit in my window and watch the after-parade drift past
4. my camera is at school so I can't record it for you anyway
5. Russian parades are heavy on military might and light on the entertainment--no catchy Broadway tunes (the image of Russian soldiers kick-stepping to show tunes has set me giggling)
   

Maybe next year I'll take d2b to watch the tanks and soldiers. For now, I encourage each of you to claim a victory, no matter how small, and celebrate it today. Wear a striped ribbon. Be victorious!

i forgot

Umm, when I said that we might know something today, I forgot that I live in Russia.

The principal did, indeed, go to talk to the realtor today. That, however, does not mean we know a thing. That will happen...sometime. I'll share when I do.

tra-la, it's may

(title courtesy of Camelot)

What a wonderful, wonderful day!

Yesterday the chokecherries bloomed which meant (according to all my Russian friends) it was time for a cold spell. Sure enough--it was 1C today!!! That means whatever has been allergying me for the last WEEK died or froze or retreated and I can breathe again. I have no headache!

Yesterday, I sent off my homestudy to the embassy in Moscow to get my I600 extension. Woo-hoo! Paperwork out of my hands.

And, today I Fed-ex'd all my paperwork to new agency. All of it. No more paperwork in my hands. OOORAH! It's my friend's birthday today and she used her birthday wish to send off my documents with hopes and good wishes for "the little girl we've all prayed for to quickly make her way home."

Also today, my principal showed me pictures of my potential flat

in my current building
in the courtyard and not on the street
with its own parking space
and it's infinitely more kateish than the flat I'm in now (amazing as it is, it's.not.me).

She's going to negotiate for a long-term lease tomorrow. TOMORROW. I won't share details until I know for sure, but I'm so, SO EXCITED!

Tra-la!

maybe...

my new flat will have courtyard parking.

on the up

Yesterday, just so d2b knows one day what happened after the emotions; how strong women cope and get things accomplished, I came home, put on my summer nightgown, my favourite charcoal sweatshirt and some cashmere socks. I ate some pasta with ground turkey and cheese while I watched Desperate Housewives. And then I got to work. I did everything I could to have things ready to send as soon as the courier from Moscow arrives with my work-letters. I even found an extra certified birth certificate!

I called new agency today and told them the news. New agency says everything can be handled.

Told the principal it would really, really, really be a good thing if I could stay in my building.

Am hoping for less orange and brown and fewer pine boughs on the walls in the new flat. I wonder what it will look like. I do love taking a new space and making it home. I think I'm pretty good at it. If only they'd let me paint...

I was a kinder, gentler teacher today. And I didn't leave any tearstains or runny-nose-puddles on anyone's shirt. Still a little battered and bruised, but am on the up.

april showers bring...

Thanks. And special thanks to Jim for reminding me that just because I see possible difficulties in this, doesn't mean that is true. This could make things easier in ways I can't even imagine. My old landlord wasn't keen on officials being in the flat...

Look at the May picture on my calendar:

too good (eta)

Here I was, feeling pretty positive. Almost all of my paperwork was ready. I was just waiting for a few bits to arrive from various states, and then we'd finally, FINALLY be READY!

This morning my principal let me know that my landlord is not renewing my lease.

You know what that will mean.

A new homestudy. Another sw flown in to see the new flat. New pictures. New lease. And another reason to claim my lifestyle is too unstable to adopt.

I'm going to see if we can push and get everything filed before my lease expires and then amend. But, I just didn't see this coming.

I don't think I'll be a very good second grade teacher today. I'm typing this with my back to the class and struggling to breathe and not cry. Silly. It's not insurmountable. I'll have a cup of tea and get on with things.

Aw. A student just said, "Oh good! This will be fun! I LOVE a-b-c." He was excited because all our words start with un- this week. Maybe second grade is a good place to be after all.

ETA: Also had a cc of an e-mail from my sw saying she's not certain the new rules in Russia will apply to associations of social workers as opposed to sw affiliated with an actual agency. Am counting on the stellar reputation of my new agency to work this one out for us.

There was no reason given for the landlord's decision. It could be they want to sell, to convert it for business, to have it available for family...

We've heard there's another flat in my building that may be available from a different landlord. Please send up prayers fot that to be my new flat! At least it would have the same street address...if not the same apartment number and landlord. That's gotta be stable...

Tina, I'm in Russia for another school year. International schools sign contracts early and I'm already committed for 2008-9. I have good friends here whose shoulders are very damp today! I'm grateful for them and their support.

clarification. not complanining.

I don't actually land on the floor. I wake up half-way through and do some kind of half-gainer to get myself back in bed. Leaves my heart racing!

Black out drapes aren't an option because they also block out AIR. There is no air conditioning in this flat (not much in the city) and it gets very close and very still in the flat if the windows aren't opened to the "fresh" air. I'm thinking black posterboard on the windows...

And, I DO have drapes that black out all light in the guest rooms. It doesn't help, even when it's cool. I can feel that the sun is out.

For now, the psych minor in me says to treat myself like a child--with a strict bedtime routine that signals "time to sleep" since the darkness doesn't. So, it's lavendar bath, brush teeth, melatonin, story and sleep. Fan on (lowering body temperature is the biggest thing you can do to bring on sleep. Marie are you reading? I learned that at the TS seminar we attended!) is important for noise and temperature. It helps...but I just don't sleep well.

It's just the way it is. It will be better in September. Even summer is a *little* better because I can nap during the day and sleep the odd hours my body prefers.

Thanks for chiming in!

let there be dark

I promise not to spend the next four months complaining about the light. Entirely. I mean, I've done that for the last three years, right? Time for something new. Who wants to hear complaining? And, I realize those of you who haven't experienced White Nights might think it's amazingly cool. (I thought so before I moved here...even though I knew what a hard time I have further south in England in the summers, I still thought it would be a fun thing to experience.) I don't want to dampen your enthusiasm. And, truly, my Russian friends LOVE it. I'm just not assimilated. ;>

Two things before I abstain from light complaints. Entirely.

1. My cat, Beazy, now expects to be fed at 4 am because it's light. She becomes very affectionate and then very vocal. I, not wanting to reinforce this unwanted behaviour by feeding her, spend the following two hours arguing and reasoning with a cat: (surely that's a sign of sleep deprivation--cat arguing)

No, Beaze, it's not time to eat.
It's only 4:00.
Just because it's light doesn't mean it's morning.
I am not getting up. You are not eating.
No. NO.
I am not going to feed you so you might as well just stop.
Beaze, seriously--NO.
(Flails leg so cat jumps from bed. And returns.)

TWO hours. But I didn't give in...I also didn't sleep.

2. Sleeping with a mask on must make me lose all depth perception. I know this may not sound odd. Surely, with a mask on one has no depth perception.

The curious thing is that I start falling out of bed when I sleep with a mask on. Several times a night. Usually headfirst. Very. scary. feeling.

Does this mean that when I roll over I am actually opening my eyes unknowingly and I can't do that with the mask on or does it mean that there is some sort of sensor (maybe on my eyelids) that I'm blocking with the mask? Hmmm.... I know I can FEEL the sun out even with my eyes closed *and* my mask on... (I have no idea how that ties in, but just wanted you to have all the information possible before you made your hypothesis.)

T, please

I think if I could only shop at stores that began with one letter for the rest of my life I'd choose "t".

Target
Trader Joe's
TJ Maxx
The Gap (It counts. I made the rules**.)

And I bet there are more...
But, really, who could need more than that?

The mall doesn't and would never count. I am mall-phobic. Too many people there. And, as my friend Marina told her husband about me, after he was protesting that she shouldn't say that they didn't like people, "It's okay. Kate doesn't like people, either." I pointed out that I greatly enjoy persons--many individuals. I just don't like people--a big group of them. (It counts. I made the distinction.) Actually, I like to be in FRONT of them, just not in AMONGST them.


Okay--choose your letter. What letter would you choose?

**"The" counts only if it is now or ever was on the store's signage for as long as I can remember. It does not count when applied in the (infuriating) midwestern tendency to refer to all places as "the + proper noun"--the Kroger, the Target, the Applebees, etc. And I really, REALLY wish people would quit saying "you welcome" instead of "you'RE welcome, but that's another post.

Yes, this flash of insightfulness came upon me all of a sudden last night...much like the time I decided if I could only eat foods starting with one letter it would be "p".

digressions from the theme (long)

**Warning: As I was writing, I realized this post meaders the way my speech does. But, it's staying as-is. My friend Suzanne says of me often, "Segues are for children". (Hey, I should add that to the quote rotation.) when I mentally leap without warning. They don't seem like leaps to me...

May the force be with you as you read. (That's another one for up top.)

What a loooong week. It was good, just long. (Note: This turned in to a looooong post. Feel free to read in installments. Do not attempt to cook while reading as you're likely to burn your food if you're at all like me.)(And like Anne of Green Gables.)

On Monday, I sliced my index finger and fingernail (it's a sharp knife) while I was slicing some ciabatta (it was a little stale) for lunch (turkey breast--roasted in rosemary--and homemade honey mustard...which is honey and mustard). It hurt then and still does. And, typing with a band-aid (part of my d2b stockpile, but I didn't think she'd mind) is both difficult and frustrating. So I did as little of it as possible.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, second grade hosted a living museum about the culture of children around the world. They researched, wrote their own monologues, painted backgrounds and gathered a costume. I was really proud of them! It was great. But, I have some students who have great difficulty with any changes to our usual classroom practices. I was a happy, but tired teacher.

On Thursday (Here's where it gets long.) I went to pick up the paperwork my former agency (Still am hesitant to name them.) had. The rep here has been hard to get ahold of to schedule a meeting time (or to ask her to just post it) so I finally sent a message that said, basically, I'll be there Thursday after school. See you then! A Russian friend of mine called the office to confirm. This was a good thing becuase they've moved their office!

New address in hand, (Prospekt Stachek 47) I left school Thursday afternoon. I had to stop and get gasoline. My gas tank has a leak in it, and it can only be half-full. (We had a funny situation the day the torch came through. I had filled the car up, thinking I'd be going to see the girls. But, as already mentioned, the roads were closed. So, my car dripped. The fire department was called! They were there, keeping a steam of water washing the benzine away. They got ahold of me through the consulate and we moved the car so that it dripped into soil instead of on pavement...where a stray cigarette spark could do damage. It was, of course, much more involved than that. But, I digress.) (And, yes, a repair is in the works. It's just taking awhile to arrange.) I had enough fuel to get to the closest gas station and then I'd be fine. That gas station was closed. It's hard to gas stations in the city centre, but I knew of one more that was on my way. I made it, praying all the while. God is very good to never let me run out of gas...especially in Russia! (Have I shared with you my mental picture of the angels all sitting around a waiting room, all light-and-cloud-filled, playing cards? Then, the invention of the car occurs and all the angels scramble out of the room. They have had much more to do since then.) The gauge was below the thick, empty line. I really wish it had a light. A light is so much more helpful. In my last car, the light meant one gallon left. I could hit the counter and know just how far I had left. Yes, I know it's better to keep the tank half full. That way, if you get some bad gas it will do less damage. But, somehow, it doesn't work out for me to apply that knowledge...

I still had plenty of time to get to the office. And, after taking stock of the building numbers (This is no mean feat as they're about six inches square in most places and very difficult to read whilst driving. That's part of my ever-evolving post "open letter to the minister of transportation".) I was pleased to discover that the new office *should* be closer to me than the old one.

I was very pleased when I saw 41-47 on a building. I needed 47, so I parked at the end of the block (these are long blocks in this part of the city) and got out. (Did you catch that I actually found a parking space where I wanted? I'll let you wallow in amazement for a minute. I did.) I couldn't see 47. I walked back up the block and confirmed 41-47. Yep. I walked back. I went in to a random shop and said, "Hello. I only speak a little Russian. (apologetic, imploring and winning smile) I need to find Stachek 47. Do you know where? Is it there?" [Much like Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride (Our kiddos could choose that for yesterday's movie night--more on that later)(I love parentheses within brackets!)(But, I don't like having to go back and change the initial parenthsis to a bracket--because I don't often know that I will parenthsize further when I beging parenthesizing {It should be a word.}. Shouldn't that happen automatically? It should def be an auto correct option.) I would repeat this phrase several times. You can join in, if you like. (I should insert the audio of me saying this in Russian so you can learn this useful phrase. Nah.)

(I'll try to keep the paragraphs shorter so you can follow along more easily.)

The first man told me to go further.

The second man (when I'd walked another block and thought surely I *must* be there...even though it said 45 outside), who was in the second shop (It was actually the second to last shop from the direction I came.) (The first/last was a militsia station--no thanks. And, the second shop in the second block is much more lyrical.) told me to go futher, past the bridge.

The third person in the third block (who was a woman) told me, after a long conversation, that there was a business center in the *next* block. It was past a bank and then there was another bank. (I don't know what this place was, but it was *high* security and she was dressed in camos.)

The fourth person, in the second bank, in the fourth block (this is now about a half-mile from where I parked) took me outside and showed me where to go. When I started to pass the door (it was right next door, but I didn't catch that) he called out and set me straight.

The fifth person I asked was a security guard who was not allowed to speak.

The sixth person (whom I hadn't asked instead of the fifth person because she looked busy and he, clearly, was not) quickly changed from being irritated at being interrupted to being irritated with him for not helping. Fun. I could see on her list the office number! But, I didn't know what the firm was called here in Russia. (Can you sense how UNhelpful the contact here was in NOT providing me with any of this information!?!??) I kept repeating the office number to her, telling her I needed papers, adoption papers. She finally said part of the name of my agency's sister agency! I leapt on it (DA!) and completed it. (It was like a test in a fairy tale or a password in a spy novel.) We were both beaming.

She took my passport details (nach), (Rach, I was carrying it in one of your little bags! It's a little big, but easy to find in my bag.) issued me with a security door-swiper, and let me in. Oorah!

I found the office and walked in. It was not the English-speaker I knew, so I stared in Russian (I'm italicized and she is not.) --

Hello. My name is Kate Xxx. Do you have my documents? I need my papers.
Hello. Do you speak Russian?
Only a very little.
But, you speak Russian.
Just a little. I speak a very little Russian.
But, you DO speak Russian?
(in English) A little.
(in English) Actually, I am the translator here. (Must have replaced V.) So, I think we can understand each other well. (!!)

She gave me my papers to look through and left. I was surprised to see only the English paperwork and nothing in Russian. My first $6000 fees, that were paid long ago, were for document preparation and translation. I think I'd have a good case for getting some of that money returned, but just can't face more conflict there. I'd rather just move on and not look back.

I left, found my car, made a wrong turn going back that I've made before (frustrates me no end), and was singing from Secrect Garden, "Getting lost is how you learn." (I had to sing it several times before I could remember from which musical it came.) I wiggled around and was in the right place again. After ages and ages sitting in traffic, I made it home.

At home, I marvelled and fumed at the cleaner's constant inability to pick anything up and clean under it! I know this seems like poor-me... Whoever thought I'd have a cleaner to begin with? She only charges 500r for three hours. And I'm complaining? YES. I am paying her. I have told her. Repeatedly. And she just cleans around things--a piece of paper on my desk means the desk doesn't get dusted, the cd player in the bathroom sitting against the wall has footprints, a book leaning against the tv means a triangle of dust, a cat toy on the carpet means she'll vacuum around it. It's nuts. NUTS. If I take everything off a shelf she'll clean it. Otherwise, it's unlikely. This is an old building in a dirty, polluted city on a busy road, so a cleaner is not only culturally expected but almost necessary. And she doesn't clean!

I then popped 17 bags of popcorn and divided them into smaller portions (Remember the sliced finger? Adding salt tothe wound was not fun.) for student council to sell tomorrow. My microwave's timer doesn't work if you set it for over two minutes (I learned that the hard way. I reccomend wiping all the burnt scum out and then microwaving a lemon cut in half and squeezed several time to get rid of the smell. It works better than baking soda, vinegar, candles or bread.) so I had to stand there while they popped and guess when they were popped.

On Friday, we had our first Lower School Student Council (I'm the faculty advisor.) bake sale to benefit endangered animals. We also had movie night. Students could choose to stay and watch either The Princess Bride or Annie (the old one with Carol Burnett, Ann Reinking and Bernadette Peters). (These movies were chosen by LSSC. The second grade girls had danced to Hard-Knock Life in my dance class, so they were eager to see Annie.)

Last night I caught up on Grey's and today I watched Lost! This afternoon, I have to print out some photos of my flat so that I can fed ex everything [except the psych eval--further instructions from the St. P MOE (even though I won't be in St. P they have to be involved) are needed] on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or as soon as the office can arrange it.

So. Nothing big. Just a lot of littles. (Hope you don't feel cheated if you've actually read all of this and nothing big happened.)

k ;>

changing seasons

It's 9:54 p.m. It's overcast, but not yet dark. Behind the purply-grey clouds, the sky is still blue outside my window. You know what that means...

It's time to say goodbye to mud season and welcome sleep-deprivation season.

a lighter note (eta)

Thank you all so much for letting me share, for your encouragement and your good wishes. You really are too kind in your opinions of me!

I thought it might be a while between posts. But, walking to school today was certainly postworthy.

It was a nice walk to school--a bit crisp, but the sun was up. The streets were fairly empty of both cars and people. I thought I might have spotted my friend walking across the Field of Mars, but didn't want to shout to find out. I started across the bridge.

About a third of the way across (It's a long bridge...maybe...a quarter of a mile? I'll go check. Aha. It's 578.3 meters. That means nothing to me. Wait. I'm amazing! I went to onlineconversion--a fav of mine--and found out it's .36 miles. ) a man stopped and asked me where the Aurora was. This is a common request. I, ever wanting to be helpful, and always a little proud of myself when I can answer in Russian, told him where it was. (Not that amazing. It was, "There. Not far. To the left.") The man thanked me. And fell into step. He seemed friendly and chatty.

Soon the conversation was beyond me and I told him that I only spoke a little Russian. He asked me if I spoke German. (Ususally it's Finnish...) Nein. He asked if I spoke English. I said I did. By this time his arm was around me. I didn't think much of it. It's a narrow sidewalk on the bridge and it just seemed a friendly gesture. Really. Just friendly. It's a touchy-feely walking culture here which I like. Usually.

He continued to speak Russian to me, telling me he was a sailor and lived on the water and then declared in English, "I am submarine captain. I have no money. I want you." To which I replied, "You can't have me." (I can say this in Russian, too.) and laughed it off. (The Russian office staff thought this answer was hilarious when the story was retold.)

He persisted (I'm guessing) in Russian. I stopped, shrugged out of his arm, and bent to tie my shoe. (Um, it didn't really need to be tied.) I hoped this would allow him to carry on walking without me. It didn't. He waited. Patiently. When my shoe had been untied and retied twice, I started walking again.

He went to put his arm around me again and I straight-armed him, firmly but not violently, and told him no. I then looked back and saw my friend approaching full-speed ahead. "Maya padrooga!" I was rescued. He thought was obviously of the more the merrier mindset! He welcomed her to our little walking party and started to tell her about his submarine. She stopped to tie her shoe. (Great minds, eh?) When we started walking, he started to tell her he had no money. I told him she didn't have any money either. Neither of us had any money. (I can say that in Russian, too. ;> )

And we left. We just picked up a little speed and walked the rest of the way to school. He called after us, but we didn't look back. Okay, friend kept a close eye on his progress. He didn't follow us. He headed toward the Aurora and stopped to talk to the street cleaner on the way. Really, he was harmless and probably a still little drunk from last night.

But, it made for a good story this morning. That's certainly one thing that's never happened to me on the way to school at home!

eta: It really wasn't a scary or threatening situation. He was harmless. It was just a quirky little experience.

just.plain.wrong

I've been rather disengaged from the blogoshpere...and life in general...lately. My apologies. It's been a tough time for me. This last week has been particularly difficult. I guess after 2+ years waiting, I was due.

Last Monday's visit hit me hard. Every visit with the girls is more precious as I see more and more of who the girls really are--Children's Home: Uncensored. I know them better and enjoy them more. But, it's also harder to leave. Knowing who these little people are that I drive away from, covered with hugs and kisses and good wishes, just makes it that much harder to leave them behind.

I visited the girls in the orphanage to celebrate K and Ka's birthdays. Ka was happy with her requested present of a hairdryer. K had asked for shower gel. (LUSH fans, I gave her a giant bottle of Happy Hippy.) I also put some lotion and body spray I'd been given, a hairbrush, some funky soap, a shower puff and some ponytail holders into a pink gift bag.

K looked through the bag, smelling the gel and spraying the body spray. She didn't know what the lotion was. She asked me if it was for her teeth. She is 12.

This just shattered me. This is an amazing little girl that I love. And it's not the fact that she didn't know what lotion was that hurts my heart. It is all the simple love and care that lotioning represents that she's missed out on in her life. She has never been lifted, warm from the bath, and cuddled in a towel and been lotioned from head to toe. No one has seen her winter-day hands or windburnt cheeks and smoothed lotion on them to stop the itching. Her painful, sunburnt legs have never been eased with lotion.

I explained it was cream for after her shower. She, very seriously, in my exact words, explained it to the caretaker later. I didn't cry then. But, every time I think of this, I cry. I am not a cry-er.

My next plan for the girls is a manicure/pedicure session. I've already bought the foot soak, scrub and cream. I've got everything needed to put on and take off nail polish. But, it doesn't really ease my heart. It's a very small drop in a very large bucket. I'm literally sick about what K's missed. I've had a week of headaches and spontaneous teary outbursts. This is very, very unlike me.

Please, my praying friends, pray for my girls in room 3.10.

stupidity

i am not in the best frame of mind. haven't been for awhile. i don't think i can even manage to capitalize today. and, i was ambushed by my pet peeve (see title) and realized all over again...

people are stupid.

i actually went out A SECOND TIME today (did i mention that i don't feel like getting out of my pajamas, much less my flat?) to get a phone card so i could make some "paperwork" calls from a friend's (because my phone isn't working) to arrange for my bank statements, etc. to be sent.

stupid dixis. stupid, stupid, useless, stupid dixis. they didn't have an apollo card. (apollo cards are excellent, reliable, inexpensive, non-stupid international calling cards.) they sold me a matrix card. (i have neither heard of nor used a matrix card prior to today.) it's useless. USELESS.

i call. i enter my pin. they prompt me to enter the phone number i'm calling. i do. they prompt me to enter the phone number i'm calling. i do. they prompt me to enter the phone number i'm calling. i don't. i am connected to customer service. (*note: this is the number printed on the card for english speaking customers. no one there speaks english. stupid, useless customer "service".) customer service says blah blah blah after i give them the pin code and number. i ask, "karta ne robotat?" yes. it doesn't work. i can't argue with them. all i can say is it's a new card. i do the shopping today at dixis. transfer, transfer, transfer. vivaldi over and over. (coda) finally someone in english says, "you should try to connect again." and hangs up. i do.

(please read the previous paragraph through to the coda and then continue below.)

they connect my call. great, but i'm wondering how i'll make the other calls i need to after this. use customer "service" each time? groan. but, BUT the man at ing cannot hear me. at all. i repeat myself. i speak louder and longer. i shout and startle the cat. the ing man (whom i picture wearing an orange tie) cannot hear me. at all. the card is useless. USELESS. stupid, stupid,useless matrix people/card.

but i'm not getting dressed to return it until tomorrow. return something. in russia. HA! but i'll try...

quickie

* Old agency has been gracious and forthcoming. Refund of ppr deposit is on the way and I can schedule a time to pick up documents. They've even asked for news and pictures when I adopt.

* I woke up Saturday with the luxurious feeling that comes with knowing I have a whole.week.off. I love that.

* I tried to visit the girls to celebrate birthdays on Saturday, but was thwarted by the Olympic torch. So, I watched the flame instead. Pix later. Mostly, it was a madhouse.

*I did visit the girls yesterday. It was a surprise visit and they tore down the stairs shouting my name after someone spotted my car. I love the "all access" pass that I've earned over my visits. Yesterday I ate lunch with them, watched them sort through donated clothes (very interesting dynamics) in their sleeping room (bright quilts and what looks like new paint), and then had tea and our "party" with them alone.

*I love the way L always takes charge of me and makes sure I know that to do. I love that they take turns trying to make me understand what everyone is asking. Yesterday they figured out what my zholty kneega (yellow book) actually was--an English/Russian dictionary!

* There is a lot of repair work going on that the orphanage. Hooray!! I'm thrilled. There are new window and walls being installed. The girls were excited but didn't like the mess and the smell. They say the repairs will continue through the summer.

*Birthday gifts were well-received. Everyone enjoyed planting sunflowers, eating brownies and ice cream, and getting a blanket for their kookla (doll). The blankets were a big hit. So was taking pictures with my camera.

*I'm paperchasing the rest of this week.

rook

Jim sent me this photo of a rook that he took last fall. Believe me when I say that this is a small specimen. He seems to be bowing to Jim's photographic genius. Don't let this submissive act fool you.

Thanks, Jim!

(Thanks, too, for all the offers of tuna! I'm tempted...Tuna is not a big craving of mine, but it might be nice to have some in the house. How long of a shelf life do the pouches have?)

nevermore

I am really, really afraid of birds. REALLY afraid. I don't feel safe walking past one (let alone a group) without my glasses or sunglasses on my face and protecting my baby blues. This fear started when I read The Last Battle at a tender age (An eagle pecks out people's eyes. It was a good eagle, but still...It was too much for visual, imaginative me.) and was reinforced by the movie The Birds in junior high. You need to understand this to appreciate the creepiness of the following story:

I cannot find good, canned-in-water, white tuna here. (Creepy, eh?) I have tried and have only found what would qualify as cat food. I can get a tuna steak, but I don't like tuna salad enough to go that route. Knowing I'd forget which brands I'd tried, I decided to buy one can of each and bring them all home. Our one springlike day last week made me want a tuna sandwich. I had pita bread and olive-based mayo. I just needed the tuna. So, I started opening can after can after can.

The cans are kept in the refrigerated section of the supermarket, so I followed suit at home. Yes, it seemed ridiculous to refrigerate sealed cans, but I thought maybe they knew something about the Russian canning process that I didn't. Seeing the congealed oil and cat-food-grade tuna in can after can was disheartening. And smelly. I didn't want to put them in the trash, so I set them outside on the window ledge until I was going down to the street. I thought about pitching them out the window and hoping to hit the dumpster below, but as I did not have success with that when I tried it with a friend's baby's diapers on a previous occasion, I decided against that.

While watching tv later, I heard a Poe-esque tapping at my window. There, not five feet from me, was a rook! Rooks are horrible, horrible scary birds. They're so scary that I don't even have a picture to show you. I've never taken one. They're all over the place here. They're fearless and tenacious. They have long, cruel beaks, strong claws, and malicious, mocking, glittering, black eyes. They look like ravens wearing grey waistcoats. I shudder just writing this.

It took a bit of tuna, fixed me with a wicked glance, and then flew away. I was creeped out and didn't do anything. I hoped it would just leave. I feared it would return with a flock of other huge, scary, carnivorous birds. It came back and I knew I had to do something. This was the stuff nightmares are made of, and I have been sleepless enough. (Beazy, nach, was nowhere to be seen.) So, I banged on the window and then quickly gathered up the tuna when it flew away. There was a tense moment when I was exposed--the screenless window was wide open as I gathered the malodorous cans--trying to avoid both (possibly) returning rooks and spilled tuna juice. Fortunately, as the presence of this post attests, I survived to blog another day. Those cans stayed inside until I made it down to the dumpster.

So there you have it. Not earth shattering. But, the bloggy blurb over at the top doesn't promise eath shattering--only what daily life is like for me here. Bad tuna and rooks. That's daily life.

bits and bobs

Thank you. I knew you guys would appreciate how difficult it was to hear her hysterics. (She indulged tearfully in them.) Fortunately, I have Russian friends at school who basically told her to snap out of it and count her blessings.

Second grade wrote her a great book entitled Baby Care Advice. It included gems like:

If your baby is sick, you should take it to the doctor. But, don't leave it alone there.

Always carry extra nappies.

If you don't like what your baby is doing you should tell it and then leave the room for five minutes.

If the baby is stinky, don't put it in the trash. (They thought that was hysterical.) Give it a bath and change its diaper.

She neglected to look into visas. She's going to have some hurdles bringing him back to the US.

Allison, I LOVE your elephant sightings!! I'm putting an elephant pic up on d2b's wall. It's a mother elephant smiling (really) at her baby.

Old agency is not responding to e-mails--not the one graciously saying I was leaving, the one asking for my ppr deposit or the one asking for my documents. Guess who's turning up at the local office next week?

New agency is helping me get a dossier together for a new region. (Still sad about that one...) It looks like I'll need TWO dossiers--one like any US citizen and one that the Russian citizens submit. Stay tuned as my adventures with local police checks and psychologist visits unfold...

slow?

Our new art teacher, like the staff member mentioned last time, is a Russian citizen who is married to an American citizen. Our art teacher hasn't been back in Russia long. While she's been here, she and her daughter have done some volunteer work at local orphanages. They identifed a little boy they wanted to adopt. He is quite ill and in need of a home. She had her court date yesterday and her adoption was granted! (She adopted as a Russian citizen.) During her wait, as she had some paperwork issues to sort out, she's been frustrated by how slow the process is.

She started pursing adoption just after Christmas. Three months ago.

vigilance

eta: I don't really think the book mentioned below is a security risk. I was mostly laughing at the way I instantly donned my superhero cape upon seeing that book, determined to keep America safe. The military scholarship for non-US citizens doesn't sit quite right...even without the cape.

Earlier this year our school hired a new staff member. Over dinner one night, she told us that she, a Russian national, went to the US during high school as part of a student exchange program. Great. I would've loved to be the one exchanging places with her. After her time in the US was up, she wanted to stay. She applied and received a scholarship to The Citadel.

The Citadel, founded in 1842, is a coeducational military college with a rich and storied history. Located in picturesque Charleston, South Carolina, the institution offers a classic military education for young men and women who seek a college experience that is intense, meaningful and academically strong.

Her acceptance there came shortly after the Citadel became co-ed. Hmm...the fact that a citizen of another country was allowed to attend a US military college unsettles me--especially since we've not historically been on the friendly terms. Doesn't that just seem wrong somehow?

She eventually married a US citizen. When she applied for her name change, it was discovered that the terms of her visa (issued by the previous administration--chalk another one up for Bill) did not allow her to remain in the US. The terms of her visa, as she was on a student EXCHANGE, called for her to return to her country to share her experiences and what she'd learned. She was supposed to be in her home country for at least two years before applying to return to the US. Whoops. Instead, she was allowed to attend a US military academy. So, she's back in Russia now to fulfill the two years back in her home country that she should've after her exchange program.

(My friend, Suzanne, always says of irl conversations with me, "Segues are for children." Just stay with me here. You'll see.)

Our library is discarding books that are too worn or too outdated to remain. We have little space in our library, so this weeding out was necessary. The books were given to me to donate to orphanages. Well, naturally, the orphanage don't want books in English. So, I thought about sending them to Star of the Sea. I opened the boxes of books to sort through them and see what if they were appropriate for the children there.

Much like when I heard the story of the Citadel scholarship, I was overcome with a feeling that all was not right. The safety of the American public could be at risk. I knew that this book should not be loose on the streets of Russia:

A Day in the Life of an FBI Agent in Training

Rest assured, the book, complete with many photographs of the FBI training headquarters, is safely on d2b's bookshelf and not at liberty on the streets of Russia. I just wanted you to know that I'm doing my part from across the pond to keep America safe. I remain vigilant!

Happy Easter

note: this post and does not contain any bunnies, chickes, eggs, peeps, or new dresses.

...Death in vain forbids Him rise...

Wouldn't you have loved to've been Mary Magdalene when she realized what the empty tomb meant and went running to tell everyone? For me, that's Easter summed up in a moment. Yes, they doubted her. People probably thought she was crazy. But she wasn't. She was certain and filled with joy and wonder. Later, I'm sure, as she realized what this meant, she was humbled and grateful beyond measure.

Wishing you joy and wonder and certainty. Wishing you a humble, grateful heart.

still

I took this photo while walking home the other day when the Neva was eerily still. It was very close for about a day and a half. Nothing moved. The air was still, the water was still. The city felt wrapped up and waiting.

This is the angel atop Peter and Paul Fortress. My class thinks this was named for a person named Peter Paul. Education is not always enough to combat the conviction and common sense of a seven-year-old.

spring?

A friend asked me to write about the spring in Russia. I touched on it last year in this post, but started mulling it over. How do Russians feel about the oncoming of spring? I'd say...skeptical.

Our winters are typically long and dark here in St. Petersburg. Last winter was mild and this winter was even milder. We don't have the frozen layer of snow (that reveals all sorts of unsavory things when it melts--litter, dead animals, feces...) this year. We might miss some of the gluey mud that adds an inch to your height with every step because there's less to melt. So, without the usual signs of spring, how will we know it's here?

If my Russian friends run true to form (and there's no reason to suspect they won't) we'll know spring has arrived when it's clearly SUMMER. Until then, until the grass is green, the lilacs are blooming and the days are becoming unbearably long, we'll just to see if spring arrives.

Really. That's the way it works. And, I guess it makes sense. Last Monday it was gorgeous--14C! It was sunny and everything in my flat got cleaned down to my curtains which were washed, ironed and re-hung. (Of course, it was Women's Day and the government always arranges nice weather for holidays. Well, they did during Soviet times. Since then, people have just looked back fondly on the times the government would implant the clouds with the proper secret-weather-stuff to ensure a nice day. I kid you not--this is believed.) Tuesday was nice in the afternoon--so nice second grade had no homework so they could play outside. Wednesday it snowed. It's still spitting snow. So...it's not mud season yet.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.

Did it help, S? No one is searching for crocus. No one is stepping lightly or doffing coats. (I was scolded for wearing my lightest coat to school. I had a hat, so they let me off with a warning.) I truly think that rejoicing in the oncoming of spring is viewed in much the same way smiling is. The common thought on smiling is, "What do you have to smile about?" The common thinking on spring is, "You never know. It might not last. It will probably snow again. I've heard it's supposed to get really cold next week."

Not a very happy, butterfly-filled post...the butterflies will be here in summer.

old timeline

March 2006: adoption plans announced
April 2006: hs visit
July 2006: hs finished
October 2006: I-171H
November 2006: agency says hs must be completely reformatted
February 2007: hs v. 2 & 3
March 2007: dossier to Russia, accreditation expires
May 2007: sw1 quits, sw2 found
June 2007: hs expires
August 2007: SW 2 returns from holiday
September 2007: hs updated. sw visit now required
November 2007: sw 2.5 visits
December 2007: accreditation
As of today: still waiting for the bus

two years later

Were you beginning to wonder if you'd ever get an adoption post again?

After months of trying to make things work with my agency (long phone calls, explicit e-mails, much head banging, etc.) and contacting any agencies that work in either St. Petersburg or Leningradskaya Oblast to facilitate an ex-pat adoption it looks like...

I'll be changing both agencies and regions. Nearly two years to the day from my first adoption announcement, I'm starting over again.

I'm quietly optimistic but not jumping for joy. I am happy to be moving forward but heartsore to know that there are children here in St. Petersburg--special, amazing, wonderful children--whom I thought might be mine but aren't. Now. I've got ten names added to my constant and fervent prayers. I am trusting these little sparrows to His care. But I still miss them. I still can't erase the pictures I have of them playing on my living room floor. And I feel a little guilty about leaving them behind.

I really love my city. I love its glorious past--rising from the marshes, home to the tsars, the window on the West. I love wandering its gardens and streets. I love its beauty and crumbling grace. I was looking forward to bringing home d2b from the home of the Romanovs. (Ann Marie will tell you, this city is unparalleled in Russia.)

But, what matters is getting d2b home, not where she is before she is home. Besides, she'll be a St. Petersburg devochka very soon!

That's all for now. I don't want to rehash all the craziness of the last weeks. My current (soon to be ex?) agency knows I'm looking for other representation but doesn't know I think I've found it. Please, those who know them, keep this quiet for now.

welcome, spring!

It's Maslenista this week! Click on it over
<-- there under FAQ posts to learn more about this Russian holiday.

It's worth celebrating.

indulge me

I am a healthy eater--no red meat, naturally low-fat foods. As few pesticides and nasty things on my food as it's possible to get here. (Now I'm missing my fruit stand in Chattavegas and those free stone PEACHES...) I eat in-season foods. I don't eat desserts or sweets or junk. No chips, no cookies, no ice cream...just good food. Great. Gold star. Low blood pressure and cholesterol. And, although it doesn't have the effect on my weight I'd like it to, I feel healthy.

I'm out of sorts today. When I was at the grocery store earlier I took my cart down two aisles I generally don't. One was the out-of-season fruits aisle. On my counter right now are blackberries (my favourite!) and blueberries (my pseudo-niece Maddie's favorite...and a sentimental choice).

My second atypical purchase was made to make my most indulgent junk food choice. Sometimes I crave brownies. But, after years of Bill Cosby proving that chocolate cake is a healthy breakfast choice (huh--not on y*utube. go fig.), they don't scream junk food they way they should. No, what I bought today was peanut m&m's. I put them in a bowl of popcorn to make a treat that I crave maybe once or twice a year. Popcorn with peanut m&m's makes me think of my friend Grace. It makes me think of the time we went and saw Moulin Rouge for my birthday. (We laughed so hard! That is a great film cleverly made by a person who loves musicals.) It makes me think of living in London.

I ate them curled up in my favourite armchair under a lavender-and-chamomile-scented green blanket watching last week's GH. That is the epitome of indulgent.

Time to share! What are your favorite once-in-a-while indulgences?

pockets (longish)

*please note: blogger's spellcheck is still not working, I'm tired, typing in the dark on a keyboard with keys that stick because I've dropped it twice and am not going to proofread

In addition to my visit to 3.10 last week, I also joined V on two orphanage deliveries. (She works for Orphan Grain Train. They deliver shipments of goods to people in need worldwide. The shipments didn't make it safely to the intended recipients here in Russia, so donations are sent to V who then purchases and distributes needed items.)

We went back to the IKEA orphanage(not its real name, nach). I had purchased little dolls (Polina Pockets) for the disconsolate O and her good friend, L. I also had mini cars for L's brother and his friend. V hadn't been able to deliver them, so we brought them along. I wondered aloud on the drive there if O would be happy with her little dolls or if she'd burst into tears and tell me the hair color was wrong and she didn't like the dress. V thought this was hysterical! In fact, she was more disappointed than I was when we weren't able to see the girls. (They were still in school. It took a long time to figure this out. We were sent from room to room with promised that L & O were there. Finally we learned they were still in class.) I think coming home from school to find a surprise waiting would be great!

In return, their caretaker gave me a beautiful beaded rose that O had made and a matrushka that L had painted. Their generosity is always astounding!

We went to a new-to-me orphanage after that. It was a really nice one. The director was so soft-spoken. The "children" there were all happy, well-spoken and respectful. They were all busily working and playing--whether they were two or sixteen years old.

I brought some little squeaky bath toys with me in the shapes of all sorts of "machinas"--cars, motorcycles, helicoptors. Fortunately, they were young enought that machina (car ) and samolyat (airplane) sufficed for everything. ;> They loved them! We played and played. It is so easy to entertain them. Silly little games like squeezing the toy so the air blew on their cheeks were a big hit. One little girl who was an apt mimic quickly started speaking English (It's so nice!) during this game. Where's-the car? (Gdye machina?) was a big hit, too. They'd hide the car behind their back and I'd look for it in their pockets, their ears, tickling their tummies... They'd laugh delightedly and show me it. Then, of course, it would start all over.

One of the girls, D, was quick to notice my cross. She showed me hers...and all of her friends'. She was the oldest in the group and definitely the ambassador.

When I visit the baby rooms, I'm always touched. This orphanage had happy, healthy "babies". (They were mostly two-to-three-year-olds with a few four-year-olds, I'd guess.) Even here, in this well-managed facility, there was behaviour that I find atypical of preschoolers. I don't know if it's cultural or institutionalized behavior or a combination of the two, but it's consistent with behaviours I've seen in other baby homes. I don't know if others have noticed this, but in the ones I've visited, the children will flock around, crowding my legs like peguins huddling from the wind. They don't raise their arms to be picked up, but this is what they want. They just inch closer and closer until you reach down and pick them up, many of them with their head bowed. They won't instigate a hug and don't really know how to return one. They want to be picked up. They want to be roughhoused with and tossed and tickled.

One little pixie named K claimed a spot on my lap after playing with me for a while. Others would come and go, playing with V and each other, but K stayed with me. She had sparkly blue eyes and dimples. She was hesitant to leave and go eat her snack when her caretaker put an end to our play. And, she craned her neck for a last look as we headed to the door. The rest of them were happily eating.

I just wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home.