I had planned to do a post "kindle-part 2" to tell you all about my kindling experiences. I had planned to list the pros and cons:
The other day I had on a shirt that wrapped around and tied "on the empire". The tie was so long that I had it in a little bow.
A Russian-speaking colleague at work walked past where I was talking to another teacher, patted me on my upper abs, and coo-ed something about a present.
I was horrified! Did I look pregnant? Having put on a more than a few pounds since I quit dancing/entered my thirties/moved overseas/began the adoption process, I don't really want anyone patting me. And, being a little sensitive about this, I was immediately concerned that she'd confused my adoption with a pregnancy--and was commenting on "my little present". This was my taste of the magnetic quality of a pregnant belly--even if it's just paper pregnant.
I realized much later that *I* was the little present, neatly tied up with a bow. Yeah. Not a comment on my curves-simulating-pregnancy at all. Sheesh, Kate. Mind a little one-tracked, maybe?
No you do NOT get pix of me in the shirt! How can you even ask that after the rest of this post?
Does this two-week wait seem long to anyone else?
eta: Oh, I've already e-mailed. Nothing. Strange "closings" on the days S goes to MOE (Another agency parent tells me he's a creature of habit, to put it nicely, and won't vary his routine. So, he'll only deal with referrals on x day, the embassy on y day.) when other agencies are getting things done. Mentioned that. Got nothing other than referral likely before JULY. Surely that's longer than two weeks?
So much for my one-sentence post.
Do you realize that next year, in 2010, Mother's Day in the US and Victory Day in Russia will be on the same day? How perfect is that?
Did you hear that Madonna is coming to play a concert in Palace Square in St. Petersburg? Russian officials have declared it a "natural disaster".
The state of the animal kingdom here, for the animal lovers out there...
Thanks for your concern. Mia was not happy with her blanket. She wasn't awake, but she'd flail a bit and try to roll up to her feet. I put her back in her carrier to contain her. Later, when the rolling continued in earnest, I let her out. She was dazed and kept trying to go upstairs. I figured she was trying to get to one of her favorite napping spots--on the heated tile of the bathroom floor--and carried her up. She fell back into that scary sleep...and seemed to be leaking. It wasn't bile or urine. It smelled (yes, I smelled it) odorless. But there were pools of it a couple of times and she was drenched. Poor baby.
I was a little worried about how long it was taking her to wake up. I've had another cat spayed here, and she woke up faster. (I had another Russian kitten who didn't get along with Beazy and went to live with a family from school. It might be because of what I named her. Seriously, did I think Beatrice and Helena would get along? What was I thinking?) But, her incision was on her hip (which I'd never seen--but I think it made for a faster recovery). Mia's is on her stomach. Different surgeons...
About 5 a.m. (10 hours later) Mia was awake and groggy. I brought her in to my room, took off her little straight jacket, and she slept a bit. A little bit. She's eaten a few kibbles and is slowly moving around. She's still a little loopy--and she's very skittish and afraid. I feel so bad for her!
I'm sure she'll feel better soon. She's hiding right now, which just makes me feel worse. She's usually very much a lap cat, much to my chagrin. Now, when I'd feel better if I could comfort her a bit, she's MIA. (ha) And I'm worried about her stitches. (Tami, any tips from Shad on how to keep her from licking them too much? Neosporin? Ace bandage? I know a little licking is okay, but how much is too much?)
eta: It's now quarter past six in the evening and Mia is much more awake. She's sore and her eyes are squinty (weird), but she's much better. She so wants Beazy to snuggle up with her, but Beazy remains wary of that vet smell. Time to break out the vanilla for the napes of both cats.
Changing animals- it's not uncommon to see people on the street with a bear cub asking for "donations". There is always a sign saying that the bear needs money for honey. Unfortunately, this ploy works. You often see children and tourists taking pictures with the bear cubs. The bear cubs look miserable and drugged. I'll go picture-taking for you once school is out. But it's sad.
The "horse girls' near Palace Square have a reputation for riding up and cornering people and being persistent to the point of viciousness in their demands for money "to feed their horses". It hasn't happened to me, but it has to three male colleagues.
At the same time, I've seen old women treat stray cats with great compassion. They feed them along with the birds in the park. I'm told by a Russian friend that the women are making amends in a way, offering gratitude for the animals that were eaten during the siege. It may be this soft spot that local people have for animals that make the ploys of the hustlers lucrative.
My poor kitty.
Today was the day that Mia was scheduled to be spayed. The secretary at school had made the appointment (my Russian is much worse over the phone than it is in person) for us to go in today at 11 a.m. It seemed like a strange time, right during the parade, but I did as told.
I got Mia into her carrier (easy because she'd never been to the vet) and walked the mile or so to the vet. My car was safely parked at school, away from the festivities. I could hear the parade going on several streets over. The streets were pretty empty and the day was sunny and warm.
When I got to the vet, I gave them my name. When they asked why we were there, I told them "She needs...scissors. No mama." They asked if I had an appointment, and I told them I did for 11.
We were taken back to an exam room shortly and Mia got the once over. Then, the vet brought in their English speaker. (SO glad Oleysia was working today!) After explaining that they would give Mia an injection and that she'd likely vomit and would be ready in 5-15 minutes, she asked us to come back later--there was no appointment in the book for us. They brought in the (note)book to show me and, sure enough, the 11 o'clock appointment had been whited out. When I asked why, she just shrugged and said, "This is Russia." We made an appointment for later in the afternoon.
We walked home, killed two and a half hours and then headed back to the vet. Getting Mia into the carrier was a little trickier this time. ;> The day was warmer and the Field of Mars was filled with people--couples enjoying the sun, boys in uniform, veterans in uniforms covered with medals, children carrying red carnations to give to the veterans.
At the veterinary clinic, everyone greeted us loudly and with big smiles. We went back, Mia got her injection, and was very quickly...still. She still had muscle tone, but was obviously not herself. The vet came and took her away.
While I was waiting for the procedure to be finished, Oleysia came out to tell me about the post-op care (put her on a blanket on the floor because she will be drunk, keep her covered, clean her stitches every other day). A man came in and asked about bringing in his wolf for care. His wolf! Oleysia had a sparkle in her eye as she explained that the wolf had a hurt foot. She also asked if I'd seen the wild cat that was in there earlier. I had--it looked like a baby snow leopard or an ocelot. I thought I'd been seeing things... Oleysia said they get pumas, baby bears and other wild animals. I told her how sad it made me to see the bear cubs out begging on the street. She agreed. I asked her where people got these animals and she replied, with the same shrug she'd shrugged this morning, "This is Russia."
About 45 minutes after we'd started, the vet brought a still anesthetized and completely limp Mia out to me, dressed in a little surgical gown to keep her from eating her stitches. I've done this once before, so I knew what to expect, but it still took me aback. Poor baby!
We walked home and she's resting on her blanket on the floor. She looks so pitiful. Beazy is a little concerned. I'm just waiting for her to wake up.
It's a little unnerving bringing home my kitten while she's in this state. But, (shrug) "This is Russia."
I'm loafing around home today enjoying the luxury of having a four-day weekend. Water was delivered this morning (on time--will wonders never cease) and the kitten is off to the vet tomorrow to be spayed. Exciting? No. But having two days to take care of these things AND have two more days off is certainly a luxury.
Today, Europe celebrates VE Day. Russia, of course, celebrates it tomorrow. (Why make things easy and share the celebration?) Here's a link to an old post I wrote about Victory Day. And here's a shorter post from last year on the same subject. (I've lived here long enough now that nothing seems new.)
(And, might I add, since I was searching through the 500+ posts on this blog for various and sundry reasons, there are many very well-written posts in the archives? I entertained myself reading them. Caution: lots of typos and they're not all gems. But, if you're stuck in-country and looking for something to read it might help pass the time. Right, Irkutsk families?)
I hope each and every one of you finds some victory, no matter how small, to celebrate this weekend.
I will not miss the fact that I live in a subterranean flat.
As I type, there is a crowd of boys outside my window, acting as if they were at the zoo, tapping on the window and trying to play with my cats. While I realize it's harmless--the boys are giggling away as they trace circles in the air, just like they do for the trained seals at the Oceanarium and my kitten is following their movements intently, dizzy with the effort--it kind of bugs me.
It's bugging Beazy, too. She's jumped up to protect Mia and is staring them down. The boys are using their best sign language to try to get the cats to kiss. The cats are not amused.
Now the boys are making raucous monkey noises. Off to rescue both the cats.
For the spring concert (like we need one more thing to do in the spring) second grade is singing "Happiness" from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. (Can't imagine who would've suggested that one...)
Inevitably, when my students hear this song, they start singing their own versions. Really, how can you not? Today, my little SM, who has provided us with the best esl stories this year, has been chirping away. Most of her songs are a variation of
Happiness is having Miss C for my teacherIt's nice to have blatantly happy children in my class. She said to me last week, in utter wonder, "But, Miss C, how you make me like you SO MUCH?" I just told her that I liked her.
And living with her in her 'partment
With my family
And Mia
(I should explain to new readers that "my" girls in 3.10 are girls that I sponsor. I visit, take birthday gifts and Christmas gifts, and just spend afternoons with them. They are beautiful and amazing. They hold a very large piece of my heart. If you click on the 3.10 label at the end of the post or in the sidebar, you can read their story. I have not yet received a referral.)
I've been thinking about a snip of a conversation that we had with the girls while we were having tea and cupcakes Saturday. (Marina was surprised that we shared teabags. I am a pro at this by now--steeping just long enough to tint the water brown before passing it on.) Marina asked if I'd made the cupcakes. "Of course," the girls and I replied. They've gone from surprise that I'd baked on my first birthday visit, to boasting on my behalf to newcomers several visits later, to now resting in fact that I do this for them every time. I really like that, actually. It sounds like they're taking it for granted that I'd make something for them, expecting this to happen. I am so glad! It's nice to be taken for granted in this way. It's nice to be expected and trusted.
Marina asked the girls if they cooked. They said no, that they didn't get cooking lessons until eighth grade. She asked them something else about cooking and it was explained to her that cooking was not allowed in the orphanage. (extrapolate the "filling may be hot" warning on mcd's apple pies and tint it with Russian bureaucracy)
Then their caretaker told a fond, simple story about potato salad. One time, she said, she'd helped the girls to make potato salad. It was all very secretive, which I can only imagine added to the delight. After they'd made it, she said, they all ate as much as they wanted. Usually, she explained, they were only given a small amount. But that night they could have it all.
Writing this makes me teary. It's not just the simple delight in a meal cooked and shared. I can see their eyes gleaming as they lick sticky fingers. I can hear their stifled giggles and loud admonitions to one another to be careful, to be quiet, to not make a mess. I am sure that Vera, my little monkey, dropped something and crinkled up her shoulders, smiling, while the others rushed forward to affectionately scold her and relieve her of her duty. I can smell the vinegar. I wish I'd been part of that feast! I would love to have seen them so full and happy, full of love and adventure and potato salad.
The fact that these girls, who are 8-13 years old, don't cook has a far greater significance than I realized when I first heard the story. When I heard it, I tucked it away in the part of my heart that holds their histories. But it rattled around in there. It niggled. And I realized, driving home, that it couldn't simply be tucked away because it was more than history. It wasn't the same sadness that engulfed me this time last year when I gave K her first lotion, (read it if you haven't) but it was similar.
The niggling came not from regret that this self-made feast had only happened once in their lives, but because this little story showed how unprepared my girls are for the real world that is facing them in just a few short years. They don't know how to cook. They don't know how to do laundry. They don't know how to shop or handle money. They don't have the life skills that they'll need to leave the orphanage and succeed.
And, oh, how I want them to succeed. (When teaching Shakespeare, I tell my actors that long vowels--especially those on their own like "ay" and "oh"-- release emotion. Read that again. It's a groan, a moan, a sigh, a cry.) And, ohhhhhh, how I want them to succeed.
There is one program here in St. Petersburg that I've heard about (though there are rumors that it's defunct) that helps eight girls each year who leave the orphanages to live outside an institution. I'll let you know what I find out about it.
I went to visit the orphanage yesterday, loaded with birthday gifts (six birthdays since I was last there in my two sponsored groups) and cupcakes. The cupcakes were baked with the last box and a half of American cake mix that a departing ex-pat had left. And the frosting...well, it's hard to find powdered sugar here. I never find it. So, I tried a butter cream frosting recipe I found that started with evaporated milk (one can left by the same departee) and flour cooked until solid. Yum, huh? Yeah, it tasted about that good, too...and it was khaki-colored had the consistency of a bad tapioca. I tossed it and made a seven minute frosting (egg whites, sugar, vanilla and hot water) that was pretty good. I was afraid it would be meringue-y, but it tasted a bit like marshmellow. I colored it pink and dashed on sprinkles. The cupcakes and presents were enjoyed by all!
One of the best parts about this visit was that I convinced a Russian friend to come with me. I've been talking and talking about my girls. Marina often helps me make phone calls concerning the girls, and agreed to come along since it was K and Ka's birthdays (they're two of my favorites). It was nice to have her tell me how beautiful, how polite, how nice they were. Shy little N took to her right away. Marina liked my favorite caretaker and confirmed my opinions about the girls' personalities. It was nice to know I was spot-on even with limited Russian. And, we found that I understand almost everything...eventually. She was very impressed with my Russian--until I pointed out that it was more likely my understanding of PEOPLE than Russian that helped me.
Three new little girls have joined 3.10. They're eight and just-turned-nine. Two of their mothers were orphans in this same orphanage. It's sad to see this cycle continuing.
The new girls are so uncertain, so needy. They talk and talk about their train journey (They're from a different part of the region, quite far away actually. I'm guessing they were brought to this orphanage because of their mother's ties to it. I'm not sure about that, though.), the long taxi ride together, when their mother's are coming. The other girls are gentle with them, especially little N. They stick close together and close to their caretaker.
Due to the economic crisis, caretakers hours have been extended significantly and their pay cut by 25%. My favorite caretaker (she's been there 20 years and actually knew the two girls' mothers--one of the girls is named after her) is worried that the orphanage will be closed and she'll lose her job. Her son has a large debt that she is paying because he has lost his job.
Her husband is just finishing a bathhouse/sauna and I'm invited to come by once fall arrives.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the weather was warm. We played a sort of combination volleyball/team handball over the monkey bars while the older boys cursed and played soccer nearby.
On the way back, always a hard time for me. I implored Marina to tell EVERYONE how amazing these children are. People are so scared by older children in orphanages (and not just in Russia). I want her help in letting families know about my wonderful children there. I just can't bear to have them be another tragic statistic.
Guess what I need.
A coke? (usually) A nap? (often) An updated homestudy? (always)
Yep--it's time to update my US hs...and my medical, my FBI clearance, my employment and my local police status.
Fun, eh?
I'm just hoping thing happen quickly enough that these updates are current when we go to court.
Yesterday my mobile rang. It was Nastia calling from school.
"Kate. I've just heard. They're towing cars on your street starting at midnight."
It may not be the call, but it was a GREAT call, nonetheless!
It should not surprise any of you that I chose the age range of d2b with great care, thought and research. Research helped me set the top end (though I'm sorely tempted to increase it). Thought and care set the younger parameter.
As I've mentioned many times over the last three-plus years, I have requested a little girl or sisters aged 4-6 years. I do not want to adopt a baby and then hand her over to someone else. That's not how I want to parent.
If I could be a SAH mom, then I'd happily bring home a younger child. But that is not an option for me either now or in the foreseeable future. I do not want to put my newly-adopted child in a Russian kindergarten (daycare). I can only imagine how confusing it would be to take a child out of one Russian institution and then enroll her in another. I do not want to hire a Russian nanny. I don't want her to be surrounded with a worldview that is at odds with mine. I don't want to be the only person in her life who doesn't speak Russian. Can you imagine how confusing that would be? Can you imagine the added attachment issues that would bring?
Even if I was in the US, and the daycare providers and/or nanny spoke English, I would not want to do this. I can not imagine adopting a baby and then handing her to someone else. It's just not kateish. I can't. I won't.
When d2b comes home, we're going to stay home for every single FMLA day that I have. By adopting a child aged 4-6 years, when that time is over, she can come to school with me. She will be in the classroom next door if she's in kindergarten and the one upstairs if she's ready for first grade. I can still be the one who kisses her scraped knees, gives her lunch and reassures her. She can pop in at recess and see that I'm still there. She will be learning English and surrounded by other children who are learning English. It's an international, multi-cultural community. And, it's small enough and flexible enough to allow for what is best for my child. It will let me parent AND teach.
And that's why I'm teaching. I'm teaching because I want to be with my child. Teaching doesn't give me the most money. It won't buy us vacations in Greece. But it will give us the most time together.
I know where I'm moving! (Jim, they like to keep all the foreign-hire teachers close, so I can't move to Vasilevsky. Too bad 'cause I love it there--although it has very poor bridge access to Petrogradsky, where I work.)
I'm moving into a flat that our school currently uses. The teachers who live there are leaving and the lease has been re-negotiated. The flat has a nice big living room and an open kitchen. It has two bedrooms and a larger bathroom than my current one (which is modeled after an airplane lavatory.) There are American appliances left from previous tenants. (A drier. A DRIER!) There is a babushka who stays downstairs all the time and the principal will live upstairs from me. That's all good!
It's on a canal and the tour boats that cruise up and down incessantly are LOUD. So, I anticipate some griping posts about that. I'm a little sad to be ending my time on Millionaire's Row--simply because of the name. But, in all, I'm glad of the move.
Agency says the MOE was closed last week. I think it will likely be closed Friday for May Day and then possibly through May 11 (Victory Day is May 9.) So, I think it could be awhile before we hear anything.
Agency asked if I was interested in younger than four (settle down, Julianne) just as a possibility and I said not really. I did offer to up my age range to seven. But, I get the feeling they don't have great contacts outside the baby homes. Hmmm... I'm sure we talked about this before I signed....
Thanks for the first-hand name experiences! I wanted to post this where it would be seen in case those commenters aren't following the comments.
My plan, right now, is to keep d2b's Russian name either as her first name or her middle name. I don't want to erase the part of her life that she lived before me. Her Russian name will be there--I'm just not sure how. I won't be sure until I meet her and hear her name. I have three English names that I just love. One of those will be added somehow. That's my gift, the part that welcomes her to my family. It lets me claim her as mine. If d2b is plural, then I get to use two of those cherished names.
For me, this seems like the best way to keep HER name and to help her feel loved and accepted. It gives her options for the day when she's old enough to choose. Being a name-changer myself, I understand the need to feel comfortable in your name.
And I said I wasn't going to write another post on names. The more fool me.
