It's been five years since my grandmother's death

Today, December 8, is the 5th anniversary of my grandmother's death. I spent it alone, hiking in the local reservoir, reminiscing and remembering the woman I loved very much.

My grandmother was a difficult, complicated person, a force of nature. To me, she was formidable and solid, an authority that you never questioned. She didn't knit, tell bedtime stories, or waited for us to come home from school, but she made the best ever cranberry-infused vodka and chocolate cake.

You would never dare to call her "granny", "grandma" or "nana". She was GRANDMOTHER, and that was all.

Her life was not easy; she was born in the 20s, lived through World War II. On one of my last visits after her death, my mom and I read the diary that Grandmother kept during that time. It was haunting. One of the most powerful entries read "The Germans are bombing us; I have to get home somehow because I want to die with my mother". She was 18 at the time.  I often think of that line and how it must have shaped her.

One of her friends brought her a rhino's hide from Africa, and she custom-ordered a coat: it was thick, unbendable and showed no signs of wear and tear for decades. If I close my eyes, I can still picture her coming home from work: purse, grocery bag, grey knitted beret and that leather coat.

She loved being the medical examiner. When I was a teen, she would spend hours sitting at the kitchen table with my girlfriends, telling us stories about her conquests, professional and personal.

She had a complicated relationship with my mother, her only child, but she loved me. She loved my brother too, but our bond was special. I miss her optimism and her guidance sometimes, and wonder what would she think about me now: would she be proud? Disappointed? Happy for me?

Her last years were marred by a battle with dementia and I couldn't be there for her. I chickened out, removed myself because it was too painful to watch the independent, sharp person turn into an angry, confused shell of her former self. I wish I was kinder, I wish I visited more, I wish I spent time with her and gave her an opportunity to see her great-granddaughters.

The day before her death from heart failure, my brother dropped her off at the hospital because she had some heart palpitations. She passed away in her sleep sometime during the night, and the nurses discovered she was gone during the early rounds.

Her last words to my brother before he left were "make sure you bring me my makeup bag in the morning".

Circling back and lurching forward: The dreaded D-word

This blog quickly became a neglected, cobwebby forgotten corner of my life. Events happening in real time took precedence. My marriage ended, rather abruptly and at the same time not surprisingly at all. The last couple of years for me were just postponing the inevitable. Waiting for the right moment, the right catalyst to begin the chain reaction of conversations, separation and divorce. I lost the essence of ME. I felt torn to tiny, bleeding pieces of Lida that were flying into so many different directions and I had to, for my own survival, to put myself back together.

The low point was reading the "Bell Jar" and contemplating if I can pull a Sylvia Platt. My bed became a pit of sleepless nights, my days filled with feeling caged. I raged, I drank, I cried. I spoke the unspeakable D-word. I got a motorcycle. I dumped the motorcycle. I ran a Spartan race. I got another tattoo.Then something else happened and the shit storm hit...

Divorce is fucking hard. I did everything wrong: timing, preparation, choosing a divorce attorney, dealing with my children's emotions, dealing with my own emotions. I lost weight and friends. I cried so hard I thought I would go insane.

Here's my post-divorce regret and fuckup list:

First, my divorce attorney sucked ass. She talked up a big game, but in reality she was the most scatter brained, overwhelmed and unorganized person I've ever met. Nothing happened on time, nothing happened the way she told me. What should have taken 6 months took a year. One very expensive, very emotional year. My advice to any boys and gals there: be very strategic with attorney selection. If you hear something that's too good to be true and gets your lizard brain alarmed, trust your instincts and walk away from the beginning. It's fucking difficult to change attorneys mid-way, so do it right the first time. I am still not done, by the way - certain financial arrangements are being done at a snail's pace and I've just about had it. Ugh.

Second, I gave up too easy. I didn't want to deal with dirt and emotions, I just wanted out. I also felt guilty as shit. So I got my wish: I moved out of the home I cared for 14 years into a two-bedroom apartment and left most of the furniture to the ex. Another expensive proposition. DON'T MOVE OUT. Divorce is very much a staring contest. When it came to the house, I blinked first. When it came to the division of assets, he was sneaky and cheap, and I didn't want to spend the money to get what was rightfully mine. Big mistake.

Third, custody. My ex is a spiteful and vengeful person. He saw me as his property and viewed our kids the same way. Right from the beginning, a man who barely spent quality time with the zaiki all of a sudden developed unquenchable love for them. He couldn't bare me to "take away HIS children". Not that I ever would. And, since New Jersey is a state that doesn't fucking discriminate, he got 50% custody. This move had a lot to do with the fact that he doesn't have to pay child support. A man always had hard time parting with money.

I HATE being a part-time parent. I have always been there: day in, day out, sick, healthy, happy, sad. Now, when the girls need me most, I see them half the time. There is no advice here: the setup really depends on each state so everyone has to work with what they have. It was painful to see what this 50/50 shit did to my children. I felt the blame, the rage, the fear. We are still dealing with it, but it is infinitely better than it was. Time heals and children are resilient if they feel loved and guided, and that's what I'm trying to do now.

 I do believe in letting the fate happen and watch my life unfold. We'll see where this path takes me.

When friendships end

So I was washing dishes tonight after another zaiki-filled day, and, as I often do, I started to think back to my carefree student days. I had many friends. In fact, there was a huge group of us who went to college together, had fun together, fell in and out of love together. I thought that this bond of youth, happiness is time-proof. So when did it end? Was it abruptly or overtime? Did it happen consciously or without us even realizing it?  People change, ties become weak and they prioritize their time and emotional investment accordingly. As someone who studies psychology of interaction, these processes are fascinating!
I distinctly remember several instances from my own experience when I just knew that this tie can be safely cut or left superficially tangling on social media. One was back during my first visit to the Motherland, when I was completely taken advantage of and this memory still makes me feel uncomfortable as it changed my impression of certain people forever; another one was when a person was in NYC and never made an effort to see me, despite having my number and knowing how close I live. I pondered the reason and then realized that we had nothing to say to each other anyway- they live across the globe and I can't offer any glamour their NYC hosts could: my world revolves around zaiki and research. I guess friendships end when you no longer have the need for something the person has to offer. I always thought friendship is selfless and now I see that it is the opposite. Age gives you perspective and I wish I had it at 18 or 20, but I think I was meant to travel the road I did to get where I am: feeding dinner to happy kids who drive me nuts. :)

"Strange Magic" review from a "Star Wars" fan

I really liked animated flick "Epic" that came out in 2013. The world of woodland fairyland appeals to me ever since I read "Thumberlina". "Epic" dealt with evil "rot" king, cute slugs and snails, unexpected love - zaiki and I watched it a number of times. So when I found out that George Lucas is releasing another fairy-themed animated adventure titled "Strange Magic", I was all about it. We made it a family affair and went to see it last night. Well...Let me just say that my time would have been better spent doing burpees, or cleaning the house, or chewing on broken glass, or shoving needles under my nails. The movie was awful. Not just cutesy-kid-movie-bad, but outright awful. It had no real plotline, instead revolving around pop and rock songs of the past few decades. Bad karaoke and bad animation. The combination raped my senses.

One of the reviews I read on it (after the fact, unfortunately) states that "the movie uses a mix of classic and contemporary pop and rock songs to further the plot". It is the worst animated movie I have seen in a while (and I LIVE in the world of cartoons at this point in my life). The only way to describe it is that George Lucas got too full of himself one night, sat down with a bunch of minions and ordered them to record his stream of consciousness while he listened to bad pop songs for two hours. I can picture him yelling "And there must be a possum-looking thing there!!! With no obvious ties to the plot! Just because I like it and I AM GEORGE LUCAS!!!!And mushrooms, lots of talking mushrooms!!"

The idea behind the feature was to empower the girls by having the girl-protagonist who kicks butt. It fell flat on its face with a thud. The main fairy was whiny and unconvincing as a warrior-princess. In the end, she picks an ugly bog king instead of pretty blond dude, and I guess that is supposed to be THE twist? Come on, Disney had done it in Beauty and the Beast many nano-years ago. Oh, and don't even get me started on the elves. 

Bottom line: Don't waste your time. Awful.

And, by the way, on the subject of George Lucas as a director: HAN SHOT FIRST.

Learning about grief

The end of 2014 has not been very kind to our little family. My grandmother, the unstoppable force she was, passed away December 8. Husband's uncle, his mom's baby brother, suddenly died from a heart attack December 9.
My babushka's heart just stopped. She died peacefully in her sleep at the ICU unit. She did not suffer, good merciful Lord took a pity on her. She had struggled with dementia and was not herself for the past seven years. Her passing was not a surprise, and she is finally at peace. And though I understand all that, I am grieving. It comes in waves and without notice. I am grieving the finality of death, its irreversible nature. I'm mourning that I am no longer the grandchild. I am mourning the loss of someone who was a force of nature and a formidable presence in my life. I was not able to go to her funeral and I can't be there to organize and sort her belongings. This feels final yet somehow incomplete. Being with the loved one is important for closure. My husband gets a chance to mourn his uncle with his family and I envy him. All I have at this point are the memories, and they are shitty company...

[Corporate] Culture Shock

There have been some changes in our little lives: I got a new job. This was a long time coming, but my natural cautiousness prevented me from taking a leap from hated, yet familiar surroundings of Dread Incorporated into the big unknown. I’ve gone on tons of interviews, some good, some bad, but nothing felt right. There were many factors to consider and no offer was worth it. It had gotten pretty bad at Dread Incorporated, though. Scheming, pantyhose-wearing, hair flipping, shrill-voiced management. Supervisors who smile in your face while collecting your mistakes to be used against you during your review a year later, but who don’t give an ass about anyone else’s work success but their own. No regular, flowing work – sporadic projects that ended up mostly in the garbage bin. Ugh.

So when I got a phone call with a job offer 20 min after I left the interview, it was a huge confidence
boost. I took the position and haven’t looked back. Adjusting to a functioning, normal work environment took some time: working with people mostly my age who are funny and interesting. Casual Fridays, relaxed yet productive work environment. Steady work flow that makes the days fly by. Ability to say “You know, I need to work from home tomorrow” and not get it tallied against you. Management that actually communicates with you regarding your performance on a regular basis. All these things have come as a huge culture shock. It’s been a steep learning curve.

the Bunnygate

Husband and I decided to take the zaiki to see the Easter Bunny this year. The one at the local mall did not look particularly mangy - so the date was set. Much talk happened on Maya's part regarding the bunny's superpowers: how can he bring gifts to all the kids at once? Dreamy-eyed, she pondered questions like where does he keep the eggs? Where does he leave the presents?

Then, in response to my question about what presents will they ask for, Sonya blurted out: "I don't want to go - what's the point? It's not real - it's just a guy in a suit". This was more than Maya could handle. Her face became all eyes, lips quivered in the unmistakable pre-sob sadness every parent of a little child knows oh so well:
"IS EASTERBUNNYNOTREALMAMAHOWCOULDHEBENOTREAL??????"

We quickly changed the topic, but the innocence was gone. Bunnygate had happened. Life will never be the same again.

On the day of the photoshoot, dresses were ironed, braids were made, special "grown up" tights were worn. Sonya received a stern warning not to ruin her sister's fairytale. Here's the final product, one for the picture wall:

 Full disclosure - I pictured the Bunny plumper and less mangy...Bad hungry winter perhaps?

Turning off my brain

I am being a complete sloth tonight. I have huge amount of work to do, but I owe myself a little bit of rest. Just a night of watching bad TV, drinking tea and not thinking. The last part is particularly hard for me, and, partly due to my sad family history, I always think of a worst case scenario: Husband is doing our taxes - oh no, we will owe thousands of dollars! Or car windshield has a crack in it - it will probably shatter while I'm miles away from home in a downpour with a dead cellphone. That's how I roll.

But tonight, I refuse to think serious thoughts. I'll watch a Family Guy episode and go to bed. Tomorrow I've taken a day off from my day job - a glorious, infrequent luxury. I have taken time off this year, but all was either illness or snow day related. This is different, and I will enjoy it to the fullest. I'll go to Crossfit in the morning and will have a lazy breakfast. I will go shopping for myself, by myself. :) Then I'll get ready for Easter - make Easter Cheese and zucchini pancakes. I will not think how a very real health issue last month showed me what is and what is not important in my life, and that the change is really, really needed.

I still have a class to teach tomorrow night, but it does not feel like a chore. My chest does not tighten as I walk through the door, I don't doubt my abilities for a second while I'm up at the podium. I'm happy, engaged, respected and appreciated. I'm lucky I have this outlet.

But that'll be tomorrow. Tonight, it's the Griffins and I. 

Girls rule!

Just one more reason why girls rule:
The zaiki are playing Husband's old matchbox cars. Rolling them back and forth, racing, etc. All of a sudden I hear:
- Are you the awesomenest car on the planet? Will you marry me?
- Sure, let's go park next to each other.
*Kissing noises*

They can play with anything and still turn it into a glamorous wedding fairytale. Love it!

A trip down a memory lane

I do not handle stress well and I blame it on my heritage. On my mother’s side, we have mid-grade Russian nobility and Jewish “intelligencia” with a persecution complex, thyroid disorders and a penchant for drama.  My father comes from a family of robust Russian and Ukrainian peasants whose only genetic defect is an occasional bout of gayness. In other words, depression, suicidal thoughts and alcoholism run ramped in my family.

My parents have very different ways of handling stress or danger: my mother sulks then goes on an attack while my father flees and hides. Their diverse approaches to conflict resolution were especially fun to watch during a very contentious divorce battle. For about a year, even after the divorce was finalized, my parents were forced to share a residence due to draconian property and residence regulations in Russia. I added fuel to the fire by posting derogatory cartoons demanding my father’s eviction. Tensions ran high and arguments were punctuated by the use of umbrellas and heavy wooden chess boards as weapons.

My poor younger brother got the brunt of the post-divorce drama. I was 16 and, at least, understood what was happening and why, but he loved both parents and saw his world crumble at a ripe age of 8. There were no counselors or psychologists available at that time and all the grownups in his life were too preoccupied with their own crap to care about his feelings. Now that I am a parent myself, I feel horrible about that and wish that I was a better, more mature older sister.

In the end, my father left and was replaced by my mother’s mother, and the benefits of this trade were, as we found out, dubious at best. When grandma moved in, I was forced to give up my bedroom to her since she was sacrificing so much for us and it was the coziest room in the apartment. She demanded respect and bent us, the weaklings, to do things her way. It was easier to submit than argue. Now, 15 years later, she still lives with my mother and is in full throws of Alzheimer’s sprinkled with dementia, making her a rather difficult roommate. Her pastime consists of napping, spying on my brother’s sex life, buying shit through mail-in catalogs and waging a war on my poor mother. In her glory days my grandmother was the one who handled stress and conflict the best out of all of us.

She was born in the 1920s, spent her youth during the worse war of the XX century and successfully navigated the murky waters of Soviet medical politics, rising to the rank of the Chief Medical Examiner in our district. She loved her job and ruled the department with an iron fist. She was finally forced to retire at 75 and I’m sure her co-workers threw a party and ceremoniously burned her chair. I think if grandma had a choice, she would rather die on the job, keeled over her pile of cases and her microscope from an apparent heart attack.

As much as she was a tyrant at work, grandma was a dictator at home. Granted, the stories passed down to me by my mother may be influenced by the childhood trauma and benign neglect she had experienced, but I suspect that they may not be exaggerated. To me, however, she was a doting grandmother and a friend. I think she delighted in the fact that I looked up to her, shared my experiences with her and mostly that she was not responsible for my upbringing. Now her mind is mostly gone and she is reduced to a crumbling, hateful being. Every infrequent phone conversation I have with her revolves around her ungrateful progenies and her fear of death.   I am lucky that I can choose to avoid any contact with her, but my mom and my brother can’t, and I feel very badly about that.

As for me, when presented with a stressful situation, I cry. Then I freeze. Then, time permitting, I get drunk. Then I get mad and try to think my way out. Processing takes time though. I like routine and predictability. So when I am faced with a leaky tire, an unexpected bill or a bad ultrasound, I crumble.   When my car got towed for improper parking this past weekend, I freaked out.

We had a shitty week: one zaika had a fractured wrist, I received aforementioned medical news, our SUV needed two new tires and an alignment, plus two more school closures. AAAAAAA!!!!!! Let’s just say my recycling bin was full of empty wine and beer bottles. I hope our misfortunes and tribulations will end for now. Life is stripy: black/white, happy/sad and tends to lean towards equilibrium. Last night, Husband made awesome shrimp/pork dumplings; his cooking mojo is bouncing back so I choose to take it as a sign of hope and promise.

zaiki and co.: 5:30 am is a lonely place in the middle of Februar...

zaiki and co.: 5:30 am is a lonely place in the middle of Februar...: As I emerged from my house at 5:30 am this morning to start the car before going to crossfit, I once again was forced to reflect on how much...

5:30 am is a lonely place in the middle of February

As I emerged from my house at 5:30 am this morning to start the car before going to crossfit, I once again was forced to reflect on how much I hate the winter. The car shared my sentiment by wheezing and telling me that -2F is clearly too cold to drive anywhere. I patted it, left it to warm up while I went inside and, since silly American temperature scale still has no meaning for me, I googled the conversion: it was roughly -21C in the normal, globally accepted scale.

I'm from Russia and that is a normal, abet a little bit cold, winter temperature. But here, in New Jersey, it just seems wrong. I got spoiled by warm-ish, snow-less winters I've mostly enjoyed, and the occasional snowfall used to bring nostalgia and joy. Not anymore. Nowadays, the winter means cold, cabin fever and school closures.

Our school system loves to close: oh, look, there is half an inch of snow on the ground: delayed opening! Oh, it's too cold, temperature dropped below 32F - let's close it down, because our precious little (and no so little) kids cannot possibly go 200 feet from the school bus to the heated school building. And to cancel the bus service and ask the parents to drop their kids off is sooooo much worse than to lose a whole day of school (insert a very, very dramatic eye roll).

I'm sure that the school district has their stupid valid reasons and any municipal official will mindlessly quote the approved policy if asked, but come on! Our kids missed at least 4 days of school in the past two weeks along, and that's not counting the holidays and the upcoming Spring break.

Along with snow and cold, this winter brought us the spectacle of Sochi winter Olympics. Oh, what a treat that is! I generally don't care about organized sports or sporting events and the athletic aspect of the games has no real pull for me. What I love, love to see is how the Westerners react to the post-Soviet reality. What seems normal and maybe slightly inconvenient for a Russian is, apparently, an unforgettable experience for a Westerner.

I myself have been excessively spoiled by my life in the States. On one of the return trips to Mother Russia I was traumatized by our hotel: the bathroom was missing the shower enclosure. It had a shower head, a toilet directly below it, a sink with an open drain and a hole in the floor, where all the water eventually drained to. I wish I photographed this pinnacle of space-saving ingenuity!

But aaanyway, back to the Olympics. Most things circulating in the Western media are easy to explain:
- orange peels in the closet: protection against clothes-eating moths and for pleasant scent
- outlets near the pillow: convenience
- mismatched windows: most buildings in Russia are built by untrained migrants under a loose supervision of an engineer, who works under tight deadlines and perpetual hangover. The governing building principle is "tyap-lyap", translated as "slapped together".
- yellow water from tap: annoying, I would not use it. That's why you can buy bottled water and use it to wash yourself. A no brainer, really!I once spent a summer at a camp that had a communal bathroom, no hot water and no showers for the children, so nothing really surprises me. You either used the cold water to splash yourself with or washed in the river. True story. At least everyone was equally sweaty.

Back to Sochi: What really made me giggle and I still have no explanation for is the photo of the two toilets next to each other with one (!) paper roll in the middle. WTF?

What does make me sad is that Russia seems to be regressing: in terms of human rights, corruption and economy it is falling farther and farther behind. We had a brief glimpse of hope in late 1990s-early 2000s that was swiftly snuffed out by the heavy boot of the former intelligence officer.

Someone recently asked me if I see myself living there in the future, and the answer was formed before the question was finished: no way! Why would I want my daughters to grow up in a place where laws are perfunctory at best, where being different is viewed with disgust and fear, and where three rebellious girls can be given very harsh sentences for performing, essentially, a prank? No way. Not worth it.

Plus, I don't have to anymore since the celebrated Russian winter seemed to follow me to New Jersey. Now we can all share the pleasure experienced by millions of my former comrades in the comfort of our own home.

5:30 in the morning is a a really lonely place to be in the middle of February. Especially if you long for summer days, warmth, ocean and running in your newly purchased Vibram Fivefinger KSO shoes... :)

zaiki and co.: Why 5 is so much better than 4

zaiki and co.: Why 5 is so much better than 4: It's really been a while since I even thought about writing anything here. The long break had to do with the feeling that I cannot hones...

Why 5 is so much better than 4

It's really been a while since I even thought about writing anything here. The long break had to do with the feeling that I cannot honestly write here without some kind of backlash. Then I decided: fuck it, it's my space, my thoughts: if don't like it - go away. And immediately after that thought I got so busy I could barely contemplate creative writing for fun, let along to sit down and put together a post.

Lots is happening: zaiki are four and a half and enrolled at a private pre-k half a mile from our house (happy-happy-happy dance, no more traffic or driving, yo!), I am teaching public speaking at a state university in addition to my regular day job and life has gotten a little bit easier. The biggest change comes from a different approach to things: nothing is permanent, and thinking about the present greatly reduced the feeling of weight on my shoulders. I took a clue from the girls: they change so quickly, nothing can be taken as an always-and-forever thing. One day Sonya loves her smoked salmon, the next she can't stand it. Go figure! No planning! Pass the wine!

I think sometimes that if I had another baby, I would totally rock the baby stage knowing what I know now about child development. Oh, the little precious one is not sleeping through the night? Just wait a week or two, she'll be snoozing like a champ. LOL.

But alas, no babies here. I've said before I am not a fan of babies. That is still true: if I meet one and is offered to hold it, I usually politely decline. That's how out-babied I am. Raising twins would do that.

I much prefer my children now than I did even two years ago. They are turning out to be really cool almost human people. For instance,they just began to dress themselves in the morning.

 

DRESS. THEMSELVES. WITHOUT ME!

 <Insert here a moment of silence so I can savor this delicious developmental milestone>

Those of you who say: "Humph, what's a big deal about getting your little ones dressed?" know nothing. Every morning, around 7 am, was the time for my own small personal rodeo: by the time I was done it felt like I unsuccessfully tried to saddle up two robust and very unwilling ponies.

Husband is the one who implemented the dress-yourselves routine using the slightly gentler version of the drill-sergeant techniques picked up in the military, for which I am eternally grateful.

Now all I have to do is lay out everything the night before and they do all the work. The infuriating fact is that it only takes them a few minutes to get fully dressed, which means the stinkers long had the ability, but prefered the fun game of "let's see who can kick mama the strongest".

This new milestone brings me to the topic of today's post. Here is why 4.5 (let's just round it up to 5 for easy typing) kicks 4's ass. These are all the things zaiki learned to do in the past few months:

1. Dressing themselves - as described above, huge for a parent of twins. Cuts down the morning to-do list by at least half. Shedding happy tears.

2. Wiping their butts. Another biggie. See numero uno for the reasoning. Plus, less exposure to kid poop, which ruled my life for 4 long years. Do ya all like how I strategically placed this improvement under number two? Tee-hee.

3. Self-play. I believe that self-play is the first step towards independence, self-regulating and creative problem solving, even if it sometimes means kick-stomping your sister skinhead style to get the coveted doll. All of these are crucial to surviving their school years, and if they can dodge a dropkick, then I feel secure for their place in the school foodchain.

4. Improved fine motor skills: now I can actually ask them to bring me something or to turn up the volume on the TV and not only do they understand me, they are actually able to perform the required task. This makes my job as a mother easier while fostering independence and self-actualization, so everyone wins.

5. They are funnier and get humor. They make me laugh on a regular basis. The jokes are just too much. For instance, Maya was talking about God and the communion: "Mama, does it mean that we all have a piece of God inside us?"
           Me (melting at the spiritual awareness): "Yes, Maya, that's what it means"
           Maya: "Ok, then I got the God's head..."
Hysterical laughter ensued and the discussion degenerated from there...

So I'm remaining optimistic for the upcoming year ahead: I hope for more independence and less whining, free-ish time for the Husband and I, but who knows...:)



 

zaiki and co.: Midsummer post

zaiki and co.: Midsummer post: It's the middle of July, and still feels like summer had just begun. Many things are new, many things are unchanged, life goes on. Zaiki...

Midsummer post

It's the middle of July, and still feels like summer had just begun. Many things are new, many things are unchanged, life goes on. Zaiki turned 4, grew a bunch, know all the letters. On the verge of reading. Great power comes from knowing how to read - they were amazed the first time they put letters together and the letters meant something! I guess for a small person, discovering a whole new super power is amazing. :)

As for husband and I, work and more work. Sadly, we had to say "good bye" to some very good friends who went back to Russia, and next week will bring more good byes for both zaiki and us - other people who became dear friends are moving. Not Russia far but the girls will lose some awesome playmates. That's ok, I believe that life has more good people for us to meet.

During our travels, girls, namely Maya, discovered three new dinosaur species:

• "Mintosaurus" - dinosaur that eats mint exclusively, which causes it great stomach pains and so it poops on our lawn after it gorges itself on mint

• "Carosaurus": this one eats cars sprinkled with insects (HuH?), ONLY after it turns off the overhead light. (When asked why does the dinosaur have to turn off the light, she shrugged and said that it just what it does)

• "Fruitosaurus" eats fruit, and it's the nicest dinosaur of all, and it smells really good

I love how their imagination takes them to places unexplored and unexpected. :)

Oh Twightligt, where do I begin?

It's official - "Twightlight" movies are awful. I accidently tuned in to watch a snippet of "Breaking Dawn Part 1", and oh what a throwback to the 1950s mentality it is. Oh, I think it even trumps Disney in its objectification of women, and that's saying a lot!

I ended up watching the whole thing, just so I would be fair in trashing it. Here's a list of WTFs of "Twighlight":

1 - vampires don't burn up in the sun, they "shimmer"...Umm, ok...

2 - vampires have venom, that is collectible and injectible...Venom? What are they, rattlesnakes? And how would you milk one? I know with snakes the ranglers latch one onto a jar covered with gauze after sufficiently pissing it off. I guess with "Edward" they had to dangle a blood covered teenage virgin behind a gauze screen or something...

3 - getting married right after high school graduation is an awesome life choice. Parents weeping with joy as they watch their little darling marrying the creepy pale dude, not a one raised eyebrow between them.

4 - little women are supposed to let big strong men make all the decisions and worry about the important things in life. Because, you know, women are fragile little things that need to be protected and can't handle life on their own. Examples include, but not limited to: buckling one's seatbelt, making decisions about honeymoon destinations, control over one's fate, that kind of stuff.

5 - oh, the sex scene...Besided the fact that sex is another part of life where man executes full control over his wife, as in where, how and how often to do it, there are so many other things that go on...Per genius who created the books, vampires are cold and hard like marble. So...how would you have sex with one?  Wouldn't IT be cold as well?

6 - pregnancy at an accelerated rate? Really? With a baby vampire? Really?

Besides these genius plot twists, the overall take-away message is this: women must be pure and chaste, only then they are worthy of marrying a rich dude who will love them. Women can't be trusted to make decisions since they always make wrong ones and then the men are left cleaning up their messes. Sex is ok, as long as it is with your husband and on his terms. So just sit there, look pretty, drive a fancy car and play with make up.

The target audience for these movies are teenage and pre-teen girls. What kind of message does it send about love and marriage? About their place in society? What about education and independance?  Per "Twighlight" universe, it is leave your ambitions at the door, your only goal in life should be marriage. Oh, and give your child a really awful, unpronouncable name like "Renesme". The whole series, based on this one masterpiece, scores -11 on my 10 point scale.

The kids ate my brain

You hear a lot about "pregnancy brain", when moms-to-be become forgetful and unable to concentrate, but in my case this affliction had stuck around, flourished and turned into "post-kid brain". I forget things, mishandle schedules, payments, forget new purple water bottles at the gym, purses at grocery stores, you name it! This last thing, however, had topped everything that happened before it:

I have poor eyesight and wear contact lenses and glasses. I take my contacts out every night and keep
them in a pretty pink and green case that I firmly close if my contact lenses are chilling in there. That's the routine: If the lid is closed, the contacts are home.

One morning amids usual early zaiki-hassle I looked over at the lens case, found it closed, and didn't have time to put the lenses in. "I'll just wear glasses today" I said to myself. By the time the kids were loaded in, buckled, and we were on the highway I realized I forgot my glasses, but I can see ok. Plus, I know my route and don't really need to watch out for unfamiliar markers/signs, so not a biggie. Ok, zaiki dropped off, I rushed back home since I was working from home that day. Get back, put my glasses on, and my vision gets all fuzzy. Take the glasses off- vision all clear. Put back on - fuzzy. I did this, like a doofus, about 5 times: on-fuzzy, off-clear. Then I looked around and I COULD SEE!!!! The strong black woman who lives in my head did her "Alleluia! Praise Jesus!" song, and I happily called my husband to let him know I got my eyesight back. He was skeptical, but the evidence was there: I could see the TV, the digital clock on the coffeemaker, the leaves outside. It was magical.

So I went on about my day. By the afternoon I developed a headache and started to get suspicious. (You can tell where this is going, right?). Then I finally realized I don't remember taking my contacts out a night before, looked in the mirror and saw a tell-tale bluish rings around my irises. What threw me off was the closed lens case: I'm such a creature of habit. Well, that and the stupid kids who make me unable to think straight in the morning. So had to call husband in shame.

Now I'm wondering what's next: leaving a kid at a store? Showing up for work in slippers? Stay tuned...

on becoming "THAT" person

It's been really a while since I wrote anything here. But I still like to check and scribble something in periodically just for my own amusement, my ambitions of joining the ranks of mommy bloggers fizzled gone along with my hopes for promotion and a meaningful raise at my place of employment.

So, what have we been up to? Not much and yet so much...The year flew by, summer is almost here. The girls will be 4 in June, and they are almost reading!! Reading!!! They like their school, and we like it too. The prices for childcare in this country are still appauling, but since I chose it as my home, I have to reap the consequences of my decision.

We got the girls baptized, I found a nice Russian Orthodox community, and I'm enjoying going to church with the girls. My mother is coming for the summer to zaiki-sit, so it'll be a nice relaxing (hopefully) time.

This year does not only mark positive changes, but new challenges, financial and personal. On the financial side, we are barely holding our heads above the water, but found a solution to this perpetual problem, so I guess that's good.

Personal challenges are more difficult to solve. I've always been a person who likes to be good, to do things the right way:to show up on time, do your homework, sit in the front of the classroom, that kind of deal. Over the course of this year, however, I have been slowly morphing into a person I don't recognize and don't like: I'm always late, I don't pay attention, I. JUST. DON'T. CARE. About anything. I've become so tired of struggling, forcing schedules, forcing friendships (on that in a bit), that I don't want to get up in the morning. So I became "THAT" person, you know, who everyone looks at, kinda crinkles their nose and exchanges meaningful glances with people next to them. You know the type: unhappy, quiet, distracted, harried mouse.

I haven't painted in a at least 6 months and I can't sleep without pills. I force myself to go to the gym mainly to offset crap I'm eating because I'm constantly, perpetually stressed.

At times like this a girl needs some friends. I'm lucky I have them, but in the past year it had become crystal clear who is a friend and who isn't. There is this one person who I've tried to be friends with. At first, we kinda clicked, and then it gradually became one-sided: I would call, I would invite...Almost never a reply, or "my phone was somewhere and I didn't get to it in time" excuse two days later. It didn't matter if I invited them to go to the park or my house, there's almost always a "we'll see"...And I felt so left out, wondering what was wrong with me, why am I being excluded? So I eagerly jumped each rare time we were so graciously invited in return.

One small positive side of having kids is the expansion of social circle. I became friends with some very cool like-minded people that I no longer cared about the one who repeatedly snubbed me. I also realized something: frienships shouldn't be forced. If you don't want to see someone, then just say "no, I can't". What really pissed me off were always bullshit excuses, "let's-do-this-some-other-time- call-me-laters". It's dishonest and misleading. Much like dating. I stopped calling and inviting. I chose to communicate with people who enjoy my company. As my wise Husband put it "being friends with someone shouldn't make you feel bad", and he is right, as almost always. Life is so much like high school. Oh wait, is it the other way around? :)

So back to becoming "THAT" person. In addition to my much internalized friendship drama, I had an unpleasant conversation at my place of employment about my tardiness, and that somewhat snapped me out of my haze. So, as usual, I'm pulling myself by my lazy self-loathing bottom, buckling up and making sure my rigid schedule sticks. So far, so good (it's been a few weeks, wait for the update in a month or so). :P

Missed opportunities

I get all these funny crazy good blog post ideas late at night when I'm fixing zaiki's lunch for the next day or cleaning the kitchen. By then I am usually pooped and the idea of staring into a computer screen for another second makes me want to throw up. But I cannot allow my mind scramble brilliant thoughts to remain undocumented. So I came up with a very clever idea to have a list of "missed blogging opportunities" to be eventually maybe expanded into witty posts that might win me a book deal (HA!):

1. Vacation->Staycation->Sickcation. This was supposed to be about our past Christmas. We had the flu the whole Christmas/New Year break, and Husband and I came up with "sickcation" - it's a step down from a staycation (when you take time off, stay home and do day trips to save money) which is a step down from a vacation (when you go away from home somewhere nice). Occurs when you take time off in anticipation of a holiday/spending time with family and then your children spread a death virus that causes you to have days of fever and hallucinate about "30 Rock" cast.

2. Americanization of workplace. More on this later. Has to do with gender expectations in America and how work is very much like high school.

3.  When babaika comes a-knocking. An imaginary monster that lives in a fire (or Wegmans, depends on who you ask), steals toys and misplaces hats, especially Sonya's.

4. Russians in America. Turns out, I know a lot of Russians here, especially with kids zaiki's age. As a social scientist that I am, I have a need to categorize things and thus divided the Russians I know into several groups: Full-Fledged Russians, Old-School Proud Russians, Reluctant Russians, Non-Russian Russians and Obnoxiously Arrogant Wealthy Russians. (I used the word Russian 11 times in this paragraph). :)


These are all I can remember. I know there were more and I'm sure that tonight, when I am putting together lunch for the girls, the rest of post ideas will come and flood my poor overtired brain. By then it'll be too late, as usual, and I'll put it off till another time. And so the cicle will continue. :)