Which is Worse?

Our little Bruce has almost always been a finger sucker.  As a newborn, he humored me and occasionally took a pacifier, but not always.  Then, one day he completely refused any pacifier, and even an innocent offer of one was considered the worst of offenses by him, even treason!

I won't deny that it was the most adorable sight to watch him comfort himself with those two little fingers, but I always knew that one day it would be difficult or even impossible to wean him from doing it, OR that we'd have quite the orthodontist bills in the future.  For a short time, I tried to discourage him from sucking his fingers by continuing to try the pacifier as a better option, but he'd already firmly made up his mind that he preferred his fingers.  It wasn't worth the fight, so I finally put away the pacifiers.

Those two little fingers served him well for the next three years.  They were always there for him, even when his special blanket or his Mommy was not near.  Unfortunately, last summer Jon and I began to notice a significant alteration in how his teeth were growing.  His finger sucking was definitely affecting his bite.  Eek!

Something had to be done, but what?  However, his new sibling was about to be born and an incredibly large move was looming before us and so I held off worrying about trying to wean him.  I respected that he may still need his trusty fingers while trying to adjust with all the changes.

While I waited for a more opportune time, I did my research on how to wean a child from sucking their fingers.  Sadly, there was not a lot of reassuring advice.  Just like I already worried, everyone said how hard it would be.  I checked out products online.  Amazon had some plastic finger sucking guards (one for thumb suckers and a different one for finger suckers) that you placed over your child's fingers/thumb and secured at the wrist.  I was intrigued by them, but at over $75, I wasn't willing to make the investment if it didn't work like a few of the reviews claimed.

I had often heard about THUM, a liquid that you paint on fingernails to keep children from biting or sucking them.  So, while we were still living in Upstate New York, we special-ordered some through our Target pharmacy.  We packed it up, still in it's original package, and brought it with us to Moscow.  When the time got close for us to wean Bruce, I opened the bottle of THUM.  Ugh!  It smelled terrible!!  Like paint remover or something.  I would NOT be putting that stuff on my child!

It was back in December when we first tried to wean Bruce from sucking on his fingers.  We talked to him about it beforehand to prepare him, and then when the first evening arrived, we gently wrapped medical tape around his fingers and hand.  It seemed like a good idea, but it only worked until he learned how to remove the tape.

I'll write a different post on how we personally found success in weaning Bruce from his finger sucking, but this post is devoted to our concerns.  You see, only a day or two after we first attempted to wean Bruce, he started to stutter.  It was one of the most heartbreaking experiences, as a mother, to watch my little boy struggle to talk.  If you haven't experienced it yourself, I don't know how to describe the helpless feeling.  Since the stuttering seemed to come out of nowhere and so near the time that we were trying to wean Bruce, we decided to immediately back off weaning him.  Maybe he just wasn't emotionally ready.

Bruce's stuttering wasn't horrible at first, and it eventually got a lot better.  I researched about stuttering and decided that Bruce probably had "pseudo-stuttering", a form that children grew out of.  I was relieved.

Unfortunately, the stuttering continually came back in waves.  Sometimes it wasn't bad,  and then it suddenly came back just as strong as or worse than the last time.

Bruce's most recent wave started about a couple weeks ago.  In times past, Bruce didn't seem to be bothered by his stuttering; he'd just keep going until he got out what he wanted to say.  We knew to be patient with him and give him our full attention without trying to fill in the words for him.  This last wave, however, came on really strong!

Poor Bruce!  His stuttering was the worst it had ever been.  His little face would go red as he tried to get out the words, he'd gasp for air between stutters, and finally, worst of all, he'd just give up.  He'd say, "I can't say it."  Even more heartbreaking was when we noticed Bruce would avoid talking to Jon and me.

Jon and I watched him and noticed that his stuttering was only prevalent when he was talking with adults and especially when we was tired or stressed.  However, when he was playing on his own or with Kate and James, it didn't seem to be an issue for him.

I pulled up another article online one day.  It didn't mention anything about pseudo-stuttering, but it told the story of another mom's experience that was similar to ours and because she was told that her son would grow out of it, she didn't get him the necessary help early on and it became a permanent problem for him.

I panicked.  What were we to do?  How were we going to find help for our little Bruce?  What if his stuttering did become permanent?  Would our happy, charming, social boy suddenly become self-conscious and withdrawn?  I knew he wouldn't get through school without being made fun of.

Then, to top it all off, Jon took James and Bruce out for a slew of medical testing to get them into kindergarten/preschool next year, and Bruce had to meet with a speech pathologist who was Russian.  Jon said she hardly talked to Bruce (and, of course, he felt under pressure talking to this strange woman), and then she went off telling our interpreter that Bruce's stuttering was ONLY because we were confusing him by teaching him two languages (which we were awful to do) and we should make sure his English was established before we taught him Russian.  We did not agree with her, but it still made us feel bad and question ourselves a little.

We sat down one night and had a family discussion.  We explained to the children what was happening with Bruce's speech, what we should never do with him (thankfully, they've NEVER made fun of him), and things we could all do to help him.  We also requested that everyone start praying for him.  The children responded well to our discussion and have done great in helping their brother.

Bruce's stuttering has seemed to have subsided a lot the last couple of days.  Thank heavens!  I imagine it will come back again, though.  Thankfully, Jon's sister, who is a speech pathologist, is visiting us next month and she'll give us some tips, advice and exercises to help him.  What a blessing!  Hopefully this stuttering is not going to be a lifetime challenge for him.

The reality is that when we weaned Brucie from sucking his fingers, it was probably the trigger that brought on his stuttering.  So, I ask myself, "What is worse?"  Crooked teeth and orthodontist bills or stuttering and speech therapy bills?  Did we do the wrong thing in weaning Bruce from sucking his fingers?  Or, would the stuttering have surfaced anyway, just at a different time?

We can't second guess ourselves, I know.  We're doing our best as parents.  We sure love our children and feel so blessed to have them, and would do anything for them.  The sad truth is that no matter what, you can't protect your children from challenges and struggles, as much as you'd like to.  It's a part of life.  The great thing about being a family is that we are there for each other and helping each other through life's bumpy roads.  Making it through those bumpy roads is worth celebrating and they help us to enjoy the smooth roads that much more!

Guilty Pleasure

Mmm, Ritter Sport marzipan-filled chocolate bars -- my guilty pleasure!

These candy bars were available at Target in Upstate New York, but they were definitely not my favorite back then.  Of course, I thought they were okay, but I much preferred other specialty chocolates.

After we moved here, my yummy specialty chocolates were nowhere to be found.  There are not even chocolates that are comparable to them.  I miss them.

So, I went in search of a new chocolate to fill that void.  You gotta have a little treat every now and then, you know?  There are the familiar candy bars like Twix, Snickers and Kit Kats available, but those just don't cut it.  I devoured peanut M&M's for a short time, but decided I had zero self-control with them and chose (for my health) not to even buy them anymore. 

Then, like a gift from above, I decided to try the marzipan Ritter Sport bars again.  Oh!  How did heaven fit into such a tiny bar?  These are definitely better than the ones we bought in Upstate New York.  For one, I think they're fresher.  I prefer dark chocolate, and these deliver!  Dark chocolate is not as common in Russia (at least that I can find).

Jon and I like to occasionally have what we call "Ritter Dates".  While dinner is simmering and the kids have their attention glued to a DVD or their toys, I slip a bar in my back pocket and we sneak into the empty living room and shut the door behind us.  We split the candy bar in half, making sure that we each get an end row and a center row -- gotta be fair! We like to play a game together on my iPad while we savor the flavor.

Sometimes, one of the kids will catch us, but we don't share with them!  Ha!  Yes, that may be horrible of us, but we do make it up to them by giving them a different treat.

It may be that I like the stolen time with my husband just as much as I like the candy bar.  So, maybe I could call it a double-guilty pleasure.

Looking Back: Our First Week in Photos

September 1-7, 2011

Despite the fact that we have had to deal with all sorts of other unpleasant creatures in our home, this is honestly the one and only spider that we have had so far!  We found it in the hall the day after we arrived (probably from our landlord moving out the previous day).  Of course, at the time I didn't realize it would be our one and only spider, so I panicked, wondering what a poisonous Russian spider might look like.  (He looked MUCH bigger and creepier in real life.)

My sweet boys watching Russian Muzzy uploaded on my iPad.

This bitty, microwave-looking, thing is actually our dishwasher.  We rolled our eyes and laughed when we first saw it.  It only holds 12 plates, plus a little room for a few mugs and/or bowls.  We wondered what good it would be for a family of 6, but the little devil has been a lifesaver (though, we do have to turn it on at least 2-3 times a day).  

When we first arrived, we could NOT find dishwasher detergent to save our lives!  So, we kept hand-washing everything.  It got pretty old with everything that needed to be washed, and it was really painful for me to stand at the sink too long with my plantar fasciitis.  We soon gave Kate the chore of washing dishes, but she was still in the learning stages of doing it, so there was some post-washing that would still need to be done afterwards.  However, no matter how hard we searched, we just could not find dishwasher detergent.

Well, our third day at the apartment, Jon got fed-up and decided to just try using liquid dish washing soap.  He didn't use tons, but many of you may be able to guess what happened next -- bubbles, bubbles everywhere!

Our dining room table has a shelf right underneath that the boys liked to stick their feet up on and kick back and relax while eating.  It was something we had to immediately break them of before it became a habit because a lot of food was ending up in their laps.

On our fourth day, we had a hail storm.  Ice pellets were bouncing everywhere: on our cable dish, our air conditioner boxes, and tapping on windows.  We had our porch windows wide open, so we had to run on both sides of apartment to shut them up.  These were a few that got in the porch, though.  

We were just glad we weren't outside in that!

There were not enough beds for all the children when we first arrived, so we had to improvise.  William slept between Jon and me in the king bed, James slept on a couch (yes, the beetle infested one) in the laundry room, and Kate and Bruce shared a double bed in the center bedroom.  This double bed is in HORRIBLE shape!  It's more like a bowl than a bed, and you can feel the old springs digging in your back.  Since the Kate and Bruce were short enough, we thought it would be more comfortable, and they'd have more sleep space, if they slept sideways on the bed.  We inserted two pillows from the living room couch between the mattress and the sheets to divide up the bed for them.

Since we live so high up in our apartment, we have a great view around us!  It was so fun to catch this firework show not too far from our apartment building.  I think it was on this night that Jon and I decided that there were definite perks to living in a high rise!  We had never considered ourselves as city people, but suddenly we could see ourselves enjoying it.

I know we shouldn't have laughed at this, but when Bruce came to Jon and me with this bucket stuck around his neck, it reminded us of a poor little duckling caught in one of those soda can rings.  I just knew I had to get a picture before we freed him.  I'm not sure how that kid got it over his head, because it was a little tricky to get it off!

Our living room couch has these movable armrest pillows and they were perfect when William was smaller to help him sit up.  Jon or I had left that book there, but it looked more like William had gotten exhausted from studying about Moscow and he fell fast asleep in his little corner.

This is our little park inside our court.  I found it weird that the equipment was on dirt instead of wood chips like most parks in the U.S.  We like the colorful equipment, though.  They seem very Russian.

There are four horses on this merry-go-round, so when William is old enough, my children will fill the whole thing!

At this point, however, little 2-month-old William only got to watch his siblings playing without him from his stroller.

James and Kate play perfectly together on the teeter-totter (they're the perfect weights), but if Bruce wants to go with one of them, they have to do all the work, otherwise, Bruce just gets stuck up in the air.  They're really sweet with him, though, and they don't mind.

Sandboxes seem very popular in Russia.  (You should just see the sandy mess in our hall by the elevator -- it never seems you can get it all with the vacuum!)  My big concern is that there are A LOT of cats that wander around the area and I hope they don't use it as a litter box!

King of the castle!

These are what our swings look like.  No chains; no floppy seat.  I think they're a fun change.

We Are THAT Family

You know, that family -- the one that makes you take a second glance, the one that you wonder what their story is, the one you may feel embarrassed for, and the one that you can't wait to tell so-and-so about?

We are that family.

Case in point:

1. We're that family that when we come around, it seems we have so many children they are practically spilling out of the wood work.  It's an invasion!  Ahh!

(Russians usually only have one or two children, generously spaced apart.  Three is a big family.  So, when we go around with our four, we get a lot of looks from people.  Some babushkas exclaim, "Chetyre (four)?!"  Usually, if they ask, they generally have more of a friendly disposition, and they end by sending us off with a "molodets (good job)!"  Those who don't ask, watch us pass with a confused look on their faces or they sometimes just give us an unmistakable stink-eye of disapproval.  At those times when I'm able to brush it off and laugh at the situation, I tease Jon that I want to buy a pregnancy pillow to wear and see what those people think then!  Mwahahaha!)

2. We are that family that fills our grocery cart to the brim and takes FOREVER at the check-out line.

(To be fair, the grocery carts here are much smaller than the ones in the States, so it's really not that hard to fill one up with our size of family.)

3. We're that foreign family that lives in the neighborhood.  People wonder why we are even here, especially because we didn't already know the language before we came.

4. In particular, I am now that foreign Mom that stays home all day, hardly knows a lick of the language, and depends on my husband and child to translate for me.

5. We're that family that lives in an upper apartment and bugs the living daylights out of the neighbors below us.  It's either the thump-thump-thump of small, running feet, or an annoyed parent yelling at said small, running feet.  We do honestly try to be respectful!

6. We're that family that will go out in public with our children looking like ragamuffins, and to top it off, there's dried yogurt on one of their faces, and I don't even notice until we're already out and it's too late to do anything. 

7. We're that family whose boys wear everyday shoes as their church shoes as well.

8. We're that family who you can hear coming before you see us.

Yes, we're THAT family, and we're proud of it!

Is there anything that makes you that family, too?  Come on; admit it.  Come and join the club!

And, if you're not a member of the "THAT Family Club", the rest of us appreciate your tolerance.

Wipe With the Rainbow!

Forgive me if you feel that some of my posts are pointless and of little value.  Since I am not an adventurer by nature, all of the differences we find in Russia compared to the U.S. are fairly interesting to me and I want to share them.  That is why I am now writing a post about toilet paper.  I know, exciting, right?

The toilet paper we buy in Russia is quite different from what we used to get back in the U.S.  It's not as wide, though each square IS longer.  It's definitely not as soft, but you can wonder if the rougher edges scrub ya clean a little bit better.  And, it comes in a variety of colors and smells.  That's right; I did say "smells"!

You can buy pink, green, orange, yellow, blue, natural brown (but only because it's not bleached), and, yeah, there is some white, too.  Some of the scents you can get in your toilet paper are raspberry, apple, floral, etc.  The scent usually "matches" with the color of paper you have. 

I just think that having your toilet paper scented is such an inane idea!  I mean, you stink down there anyway, and no amount of perfume is going to change that.  That's what showers are for!  And, for the sake of the men who may read this, I won't even go into the female-sensitivity issues with having those chemicals laced throughout your toilet paper.  Thankfully, you can find unscented toilet paper (though you have to look for it) and that's what we buy whenever we have the option.

Also, is it really necessary to have your toilet paper colored?  Don't we have enough decisions in life without adding what color of toilet paper we want to buy?  "Hey, Honey, will you pick up some toilet paper on your way home?  My favorite is the pink raspberry, but whatever you do, don't buy the green apple -- that clashes with the bathroom."  Pleeeeease!

As I said, each individual square is longer than U.S. squares of toilet paper.  So, technically, I guess you'd call it a rectangle of toilet paper in Russia.  It really threw me off at first!  In America, I had a system down of how much toilet paper I needed per visit.  I didn't even have to count squares; I just pulled and ripped to exactness each time.  So, once we moved to Moscow, I'd pull and try to rip, but it wasn't a perforated area and would just tear haphazardly.  I would have never thought that something as simple as the length of toilet paper could throw me off so badly, but I'm used to it now.

Now, as far as softness goes, that wasn't too much of an adjustment.  Sure, the toilet paper in Moscow is a lot rougher than what we were used to, but we were poor and bought cheap toilet paper back in the U.S., so at least we weren't used to the "plushy cloud" stuff anyway.  However, I will say that when we visit friends who work for the U.S. Embassy, and they have their toilet paper shipped to them, I'm always in immediate heaven when I use their toilet paper.  It's a pleasant surprise each time.  I forget that toilet paper can be so soft and luxurious!

Just before we left the United States, Jon and I starting seeing commercials for "Respect the Roll" -- a plastic container to store one roll of toilet paper in.  My thought was, "Do we really need to respect our toilet paper?  It has a dirty job, no matter how it's stored.  And, do we really need one more thing to buy, particularly something that's plastic and is going to end up in our landfills at some point?"  I don't know.  Go figure!  Anyway, I just have to say the Russian's have figured out a more classy way to "respect the rolls" (if we must).

(Actually, we could have used one of these in our last apartment back in Upstate New York.  Our dispenser was attached to the side of the sink and it was always getting wet from the children washing their hands, so this cover would have been great.)

Although, the toilet paper in Russia is quite different, we have learned to be relieved (no pun intended) when it's available in public restrooms.  In some places, toilet paper is not always provided.  (Don't think about the consequences of that too much!)  If you're lucky, you can grab a few squares at the entrance of the bathroom.

Ignorance

Last Friday (a week ago) I was washing dishes for lunch and noticed that my hot water wasn't so hot and then after lunch, when I was washing the boys up, there was no hot water at all; not even a trace of warmth.  I shrugged it off, thinking it could only be a few hour thing.  Perhaps they were working on the hot water somewhere. 

It got annoying that night when there was still no hot water and Jon and I had to wash our faces in ice-cold water.  Brr!  Still, there was hope that all would be right by the following morning on Saturday.  Nope.

Saturday evening, with all hope lost, we started boiling pots of water on the stove top so that we could get the children bathed.  What a pain!  Jon and I have often joked that many of our experiences in coming to Russia have been very pioneer-esque.  Waiting for over an hour to get a tub of water warm enough to be comfortable was just another thing to add to our figurative list.

On our way home from church on Sunday, Jon had me take a picture with my phone of this note hanging by the main entry door.  We're not sure how long it had been there, but since it was written in Russian and we couldn't read it, we overlooked it.  Now, it seemed important.

My goodness!  For all we knew, it could have been an eviction notice for everyone to vacate the building because it would soon be leveled to the ground, but in our ignorance we would have still been right at home when the demolition team arrived!  (Okay, I realize I'm being a little dramatic about that, but sometimes it's just fun to be a tad dramatic for effect.)

Anyway, after glancing over the paper, we sure hoped we wouldn't be without hot water for 9 days.  That's A LOT more shared bath water than I wanted to deal with!  But, after whipping out Google Translate on my iPad, it certainly looked that way.

It's the 18th today, and we're still just living on cold water.  As far as life challenges go, however, this isn't too terrible.  The biggest inconvenience is bath time, which is farther between than it used to be (now I know why the pioneers didn't bathe as often!).  Boiling water on the stove sure makes things "tropical" in our apartment.  The worst, though, is when I forget about the water on the stove for too long and I come back to the kitchen with water from the steam dripping down the tile back splash.  Also, the (sometimes yellowish) water tends to leave a nasty residue on our pans that we, later, have to treat with vinegar overnight.

We have our fingers crossed that the hot water will finally be turned on tomorrow, but with some of the experiences we've had living in Russia these past 9 months, we'll believe it when it happens.

Talking to our neighbors, Jon found out that this is not uncommon and was not a surprise to anyone else.  Apparently, the hot water gets turned off every spring or summer for maintenance.  So, we just survived our first experience.

I'm kind of used to washing my face in frigid water and my teeth don't hurt so bad when I rinse, but I won't deny that it will be really nice to go back to using warmer water.  There's nothing like appreciating something that much more after loosing it!  I'm just SOOOO grateful that we still had running water in the apartment at all!

Extra Protein

As we were leaving our apartment on the morning of Victory Day, we greeted our door lady.  She only speaks Russian, though she can speak a few words in English.  She enjoys talking to our children (Kate, in particular, is her little pet) and giving them treats.  Honestly, as well-meaning as she is, she kind of creeps me out a little.  I think of her as the nice witch that works down stairs.  Even when we've only just stepped off the elevator, I can tell it's her day to work just by the smell.  It's not dirty or gross, just an odd smell; a mixture of perfume and musty-old-lady-house perhaps.  She's fairly forceful when speaking to us, even when we tell her we don't understand, and she'll correct the Russian we do try to use.

My thoughts of her being a nice witch came about after we moved here when she handed my children a bag of dusty cookies one day.  They brought them up and started munching on them.  Slightly curious about how they tasted, I hesitantly pulled one out of the bag.  Just as a side note, I seemed to be cursed with always being the one who gets the hair in my food, the bone in my meat, the chunk of baking soda in a baked good, or a shell in my eggs.  This time I took one look at my dusty cookie and spotted an empty insect husk stuck to the top.  Ew, gross! Jon thought I was mean when I whisked all the children's cookies away and threw them and the rest of the bag in the garbage.

Well, on Victory Day, this old lady handed everyone a cookie on our way out the door.  Jon grabbed mine for me.  It was a very kind gesture from her and, of course, the kids were thrilled about it, but Jon looked down at one of the cookies in his hand (probably mine) and noticed he wasn't alone with his cookie (said dramatically).  See for yourself:

*Mmph*  Sorry, I just had to suppress the gag reflex again!

Do you see our little friend at the top? I'm guessing it's a grain-eating moth larva.  It was alive and squirmy, obviously doing well for itself sitting atop an entire cookie.  Jon didn't feel so bad this time about throwing away everyone's cookies.  (Obviously, we did it very discreetly where the lady wouldn't see.)

Kate complained, "But why do we have to throw away our cookies?"
I replied, "Do you want to eat a cookie that might have a worm inside?"
She answered, "No."
"Well, then you have to throw it away."  Then I reassured her and the boys that there would be plenty of treats on our outing that day to make up for the loss of their wormy cookies.

Wasn't there a book in Judy Blume's "Fudge" series where the kids thought that their neighbor was a witch and that she put earth worms in her cookies (or was that another book)?  It's been FOREVER since I've read those books, but I seem to remember that and that's what this experience reminds me of.

We don't mean to be ungrateful to our door lady.  We still appreciate her kind gesture!  But, honestly, what would you have done?  Would you have just brushed off Slimy to the ground and noshed on his cookie?  My other thought, though, is how many of his little brothers and sisters were also on those cookies and where did he relieve himself?  I'm just saying...

Victory Day

We had a great time on Victory Day on May 9th!  We met our friends at the Moscow Zoo and then had a barbecue together at the US Embassy. 

The previous day, I was nervous about the weather being bad.  We had had a lot of rain and, of course, it was forecast to rain on our zoo day as well.  So, I emailed my friend, Melissa, to see what we should do if it rained.  That's when she told me that Moscow was planning to send the air force to "shoot the clouds down" with some spray to ensure good weather for the parade.  I just laughed at that and thought it sounded quite convenient!  Then, that reminded me that I'd heard a few years ago about some big city in Russia (I can't remember if it was Moscow or St. Petersburg) was looking into spraying the clouds during the winter so that they didn't get as much snow in the city.  At the time, I thought to myself, "Gross!  All those chemicals!  I'm glad I don't live there!"...

The day was still overcast and looked threatening, but we went ahead to the zoo, being optimistic that the spray would do the trick.  We weren't sure what to expect from public transportation because it was a holiday, but thankfully our metro rides and transfers went really smoothly.

The entrance to the zoo.

The minuscule family in the center front is Jon with our kids.

We met up with our friends, the F. family and the D. family, inside the zoo gates.  In total, there were 10 children between all of us and only three of them were stroller-bound.

Bruce and Leah excitedly greet each other with a hug...

Then, they walk off holding hands.

(Just look at those two extremely pleased faces -- too cute!)

We didn't get to see the entire zoo, but what we saw I was impressed with.  I will say, however, that for us adults, the children were the best part to watch.  They would move in a tight little herd, running to each animal exhibit.  They were really super-interested in each animal and it was actually the adults that had to encourage them to move on to the next animal.

Beautiful sights of spring!

I think our most memorable animals were the two otters, playing heartily in the water (the children thought they were fighting), and DEFINITELY the polar bears!  We saw one polar bear in his exhibit.  He paced back and forth, looking rather irritated.  We watched him for a while, but it wasn't until we moved on to the next exhibit that we realized why he was so irritated.  He missed his family!

Most of the children watching the polar bear pace.

The adjoining exhibit seemed empty at first, except for an awesome snow-making machine doing its magic, but after closer inspection, you could see a little hole in the far wall (looking like a den).  We saw another large polar bear inside and wondered if she had babies.  The mother remained in the den, however, and we were soon distracted by a cart of cotton candy and popcorn nearby.

Like a ginormous Snoopy Snow Cone Maker!

Leah and her cotton candy.

What an exciting surprise it was when we looked over again and the mother had surfaced with three little cubs.  Oh!  The cubs were just adorable!  My favorite part was when one of the cubs climbed up the mountain of snow and then slid all the way down.  What fun!

After the polar bears, we discovered another gate to the zoo that led out to the Victory Day parade that was going on right then.  We still had our tickets, so we were able to go out, watch the parade for a while and then return to the zoo.

Jon, like a giddy boy, posing in front of this...uh..."big thing" at the parade.
Do you know what it is?

William was SO happy to be out of his stroller and pose on this gator.

James and Bruce (below) at a cute little playground at the zoo.

Before we had gone to the zoo, Kate enthusiastically talked about the animals we'd be seeing.  After talking about the normal animals like elephants, giraffes and monkeys, she said, "And, maybe we'll see cows and chickens.  I replied, "No, Kate, those are farm animals; they wouldn't have those.  It would be lame to have farm animals at the zoo."  Wouldn't you know it?  As we returned from the parade, we saw ducks, geese, cows, goats, sheep, chickens and roosters, a skunk and most "exotic" of all, a special exhibit of squirrels!  We all laughed at the squirrels, especially since we'd all previously lived places were squirrels were as common as the backyard birds.  I was wrong, however, about the farm animals being lame.  On the contrary, it was kind of exciting to see them.  Although all those things were common to see in Upstate New York and where Jon and I grew up in rural Utah, they just aren't around in Moscow.  That made them a comforting sight.

Kate REALLY wanted her picture taken in front of the chickens -- funny girl!

We also saw some monkeys in the monkey house (and all the children complained about the smells) and we saw some giraffes far off, but we soon decided it was time to head out.  Rain started to sprinkle a tiny bit on our way out of the zoo and on our walk to the Embassy, but it wasn't bad and the Embassy was only a short walk away.

Kate, puckering up to a "seal".

James and Leah sitting on a coiled snake -- Eek!

We weren't able to get any pictures of the barbecue or playing at the US Embassy because all guests are required to leave electronics at the security gate (so I didn't have my camera and phone -- boo-hoo!).  But, trust me; we had tons of fun with the F. and D. families!  There was lots of yummy foods, lots of playing hard for the kids, and lots of visiting for the adults.  It was a perfect day!

We found a lady selling these hats in front of the zoo for Victory Day.  We thought they would be fun souvenirs for the boys. 
James LOVES his and still wears it all the time.

Looking Back: Moments of Grace

My new blogging friend (hi!) asked what our "moments of grace" were that helped us make it through that first week.  I immediately knew of two BIG ones, but I'm glad she asked, because it helped me start to think about the small moments of grace, too, something I hadn't really taken the time to consider before.

First of all, I hate to admit it, but the age-old term "comfort food" definitely rings true for us as one of our saving graces.  It's extremely annoying, but nice, that food can have the effect to comfort us.  It was a challenge to go to the grocery store and not recognize the majority of the food that was before us.  What food was good to eat?  What would be palatable?  What should we avoid?  What would compare with some of the foods we were used to?  These were some of the many questions that would run through our minds as we shopped.

However, in our state of food confusion, we usually seemed to find ourselves, at the end of our shopping trip, in the cookie, pastry, and candy section of the store.  The sad truth is, as I've said before, it's hard to go wrong with white flour, sugar, and fat or chocolate.  If all the other foods we had purchased turned out to be gross, we knew we could trust these little food items to be good, and they definitely didn't disappoint.  We found that these sweets were usually superior to what we could buy in the US; they weren't as greasy or sweet.  So, as our stomachs worked to become acquainted and used to all new foods, the sweets helped pull us through.

Another saving grace was some of the Russian people.  We had been warned that people here would be cold and unresponsive and sometimes even downright rude.  So, it was a pleasant surprise for us to find some people in our community that were encouraging (even while speaking in Russian) and friendly.  We had hoped that more people would speak some English, but most of them didn't.  However, those who did would try to attempt some small talk with us.

That brings me to one of our big moments of grace.  One afternoon I sent the children out to the stairwell to take out the garbage.  I warned them to be quiet, however, so that they would not disturb the neighbors.  After they had been gone, for what I thought was a bit too long, and I could hear their talking and giggling echoing through concrete stairwell, I sent Jon out to fetch them.  I was in the middle of washing dishes and my hands were all soapy.  Well, then Jon was gone with them for a long time!  If it wasn't for the fact that I could still hear them talking and giggling, I would have assumed they'd all been murdered.  Just the thought made me shiver.  Just as I was drying my hands to see what was going on, Bruce came in to tell me that they had met a new friend.

Well, come to find out, one of our neighbors overheard my noisy children in the stairwell and were quite curious why they were speaking English.  The father and the oldest son speak English fairly well, so they popped out of their apartment to talk with the children and then Jon.  These particular neighbors have been AMAZINGLY supportive to us, and especially the husband has been instrumental in helping us adjust here and helped show us so many incredible opportunities and experiences for our family.  It was one of those rare times that it was a darn good thing that the children didn't obey me!

Our other BIG moment of grace was Church.  I had a professional acquaintance in Upstate New York that was Russian (even grew up in Moscow), but had relocated to the US decades ago to raise her family and work in her profession.  She was VERY discouraging to us over our decision to move here.  She warned us about how bad of a lifestyle it would be, how miserable we'd be, how terrible it was for children, and how everything was different.  As we talked, I mentioned that it was nice that we had our church as a support system.  She only shook her head at that with complete disagreement -- No, everything was different in Russia, even church was different.  (She was very depressing to talk to!)  However, she didn't know anything about our church.

We arrived in Moscow on a Wednesday and although by Sunday we were still quite a bit jet-lagged, we went out of our way to go to church.  It was our first attempt to ride public transportation as a family, it was early in the morning, and we only had an idea where we would be going, BUT we went!  Unlike the buildings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints that are usually immediately recognizable and similar in the US, this was an unmarked building and located only on the main floor.  We nearly walked right by it without knowing, but another family who noticed us all clad in Sunday attire, called to us from across the street, asked us if we were looking for church, and directed us to turn around.  As we did, it was then that I noticed several other families.  Families with children in Sunday dress all headed towards the front door.  It was a sight that I had seen nearly every Sunday of my life, but I had taken for granted up until that moment.  But, suddenly this familiar sight (even in Moscow, Russia) made my heart jump for joy and I knew, I knew for the first time since we arrived, that we were home.

Another blessing was having our own stuff!  What little we were able to bring with us helped us make this strange, unfamiliar apartment into our home.  Having a few familiar things around us was so comforting, like the five framed pictures we brought to display and the children's toys and special blankets.

And, last: I realize, now, that I was mistaken -- There was one more large, LARGE saving grace.  The biggest thing that pulled us through that first week and helped us get through each day was our family.  The fact that we have each other.  I have my BEST friend, Jon, right next to me every day.  And, the children?  Oh, the children!  They make us smile and laugh constantly.  Even on my hardest days when I was fighting depression, I would look at my little lambs and think, "How can I be sad when I have such beautiful children?  I can't!"  Ultimately, with everything we lost, we gained the most important knowledge through this experience: We have everything we need!

Looking Back: Our First Day in Moscow, Russia

Warning: This post is long, yet important.  I had to write it down for my family's records.  So, congratulations to you if you make it all the way through!

August 31, 2011

When we arrived at Domodedovo airport in Moscow, things felt surreal and almost like a dream (or nightmare).  I was so tired from my lack of sleep the night before and I felt numb with anxiety.  All I could do was just go through the motions and move forward.  There was a lot to get done that day.

Just before we had landed, a man who was sitting across the aisle from me was visiting with a flight attendant.  The flight attendant was asking him about his trip to Moscow.  It was purely for business.  The man did not hesitate to say that he did not like Moscow and he would never live here -- "it was a dirty city".  I thought, "Shut up, you!"  It was so easy for him to pass judgment; he didn't have to live here for the next three years without much hope that he could return and visit family in between.  I tried to push what he'd said out of my mind, determined not to let his tarnishing words affect me.  I would make my own opinions, thank you very much!

The airport was crowded and everything seemed foreign and strange.  I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but neither Jon nor I speak Russian.  We maybe knew two or so words before he was offered the job.  He would be teaching in English, so that's what made that aspect doable.  But, even after the little studying we did over the summer, we were still far from being able to talk or understand anything in Russian.  I half wondered how we'd even make it out of the airport.

Instead of both Jon and me trying to wrangle the children while gathering our baggage, Jon had me sit down with our crew while he grabbed the luggage.  I sat down on a dingy bench.  Nothing was warm or welcoming about that airport.  I held William in my arms and the children played close around me, slightly barricaded with all of our carry-on luggage.

Jon had completely disappeared, but I could see up ahead that they had brought the check-on luggage out and slapped it on the floor.  Our stroller was sitting there, so I quickly walked over and grabbed it.  I set it up and buckled William inside.  Right after that, Bruce crawled into my lap, replacing William.  This is proof how tired and wound up I was, because about 5 minutes or so later, I looked at Kate and James playing and I completely panicked, realizing I couldn't see Bruce anywhere.  I wondered how long it had been since I'd last seen Bruce as my eyes scanned around the airport.  Frantically, I asked Kate and James, "Where's Bruce!"
"Mommy, he's sitting on your lap."
Oh, right.  William was in the stroller; Bruce was in my lap.  Whoops!  Good thing that nobody around me could understand what an idiot I'd just made of myself.  Ha ha!

Jon was away for a long time, though he did not have an easy task.  Although Jon's job had offered to pay for a certain amount of weight for us to ship our belongings, we had heard terrible things about shipments getting stuck in customs and then months later you'd have to pay duties on them, sometimes adding up to more that your stuff was worth.  After discovering this, we had contacted our airline, found out how much luggage we were allowed to bring with us, and consolidated all of our needs and wants into that amount.  We had 15 large items in either suitcases or boxes and 8 carry-on bags.  That may seem like a lot, but the majority of it was clothing (summer and winter, and then some clothing for the children to grow into).  We had to leave A LOT behind!

Jon had found a large luggage cart and took it to the luggage return area.  Unfortunately, after he'd stacked it already with the majority of our luggage, a crotchety Russian woman came marching over and yelling at him in Russian.  It was apparent that she did not like him using the large luggage cart, so after removing our stuff, she took it away with her.  Our only option after that was the small, common luggage carts and in order to get all of our stuff gathered together on them, we had to use five!

The math is not hard to do (5 over-stacked luggage carts, two adults), but the solution was much, much more difficult.  How would we get all of our stuff, including the check-on and carry-on baggage, through customs along with four small children?  Well, we did the only thing we could do, we enlisted the children.  We threw whatever had straps over our backs and haphazardly stacked the rest of our check-on and carry-on luggage on top of the already overfilled, rickety luggage carts.  Jon and I took two carts each (pushed one several steps then pushed the next one several steps), Kate took one cart, and James pushed William in the stroller, and Bruce lay on the ground, crying.  What a circus!

After we made it through customs, we met up with one of Jon's coworkers.  He had brought his assistant with him and they helped us the rest of the way through the airport.  They suggested that if any of us needed to use the restroom that we should do it before we left the airport.  After what I'd already seen of that airport, I had NO interest in entering one of their bathrooms, but we were warned that the traffic would probably be really bad and it would be a long time before we made it to our apartment.  I sighed and gave in and Kate and I headed to the women's restroom.

Everything we brought with us to Moscow:

2 adults

4 children

6 boxes

9 suitcases

8 carry-ons

2 booster seats

1 infant seat

1 stroller

Again, everything seemed foreign inside the rest room.  The doors locked differently, the toilet was shaped differently and the toilet paper?  Well...it might as well have been bark peeled off from a tree outside.  It was brown and rough and I feel like I remember that some of the "wood pulp" was not ground quite as fine as the rest making it obvious that it was made out of wood.

We had warned Jon's coworker about how much luggage we had, but unfortunately, he was optimistic that it would all fit in only two cars.  Compact cars, no less.  After shoving things tightly here and there, losing all rear-view vision and storing smaller bags under the children's feet, we finally got everything inside.  It was tight!  Towards the end of our shoving, however, it looked doubtful that it would all fit.  So, the sweet assistant, who was Russian, suggested that I just hold William for our drive.  The suggestion took me completely off guard, at first.  That would NEVER be an option in the United States!  But, in Russia, car seats are actually optional and are even considered more of a luxury item.  Thankfully, Jon's coworker answered for me, saying 'no', he was sure I wouldn't feel comfortable with that.  Thank you!  I had heard horror stories of the traffic and terrible driving in Moscow and I was not interested in having my baby fly out of my arms and die in the event of an accident, especially on our first day in Moscow!

Jon's coworker took the train and metro to our apartment, while Jon and Kate drove in a cab, and I rode in the assistant's car with the boys.  She and I made small talk.  She spoke English well, but I was sure exhausted and struggled to stay awake.  The drive was a long one, with heavy traffic, and I felt overstimulated and weirded-out by all the signs along the freeway that were in Russian.  Nothing was in English.  We were definitely not in America anymore!  I wondered if I would ever, EVER be able to read or understand any of it.

During our drive, William began crying.  Although he is an incredibly patient baby, he was long over-due for being fed, but we were stuck in the car.  What could I do?  So, I just let him cry, sometimes talking gently to him in hopes that he'd calm down.  The assistant suggested several times that I remove him from the car seat and feed him, but he was in the back seat and I was in the front, passenger seat.  I just could do it!  United States car seat laws were too firmly instilled in me.  It just wasn't safe!

After we pulled off the freeway and began entering into residential areas, I scouted the apartment buildings.  When the assistant told me we were getting close, I would count the floors on the buildings ahead of us.  Our apartment would be in the mid-teens.  Many of the building were not pretty and some looked downright scary.  I would think, "Man, I'm glad THAT'S not our apartment building."  Most of the buildings were not as tall as ours would be.  However, I finally spotted a building that was tall enough and had enough floors.  The assistant turned onto the sidewalk and drove along it for a short time and then she turned into rather tight parking lot.  I sized-up the building that was before me, that would probably be our home for the next three years, or so, and I bitterly thought, "Ugh!  Of course, this would be the place we would live."  It wasn't as dirty and shabby as some of the buildings I had seen, but it still reflected a feeling of being tired and slightly run down.

The assistant parked and got out of her car.  "Should I follow her?" I wondered.  I was tired, hungry and definitely car sick and I didn't want to move, but she called to me, and so I climbed out of the car.  The boys had all fallen asleep, so I gently nudged them awake, grabbed a few things out of the car that I could and grabbed the infant seat with William inside.

We met up with another lady from Jon's work who would help us sort through what we needed to with our new apartment and landlord.  I followed the assistant and new lady to a metal door -- the entrance to our part of the building.  They spoke to someone sitting in a tiny office at the entrance (our door person).  We walked up a short flight of stairs and then faced two elevators.  One set of doors opened up to a tiny elevator.  We had to split up between the two elevators.  I entered one with William.  The elevator was dark and felt dingy.  I wouldn't touch anything.  It moved slowly up the floors.  Sometimes I get motion-sick and don't do well in elevators and that was one of those times.  After our rickety ride up the elevator, I stepped onto our floor, but the ground felt like it was still moving.  I felt sick and wished that I could lie down, but I couldn't.

It's a sign of respect to remove your shoes when you enter a Russian's home.  I was still suffering pretty badly from my plantar fasciitis (sore feet), and although I really wanted to keep my shoes on, I worried it would be rude if I did (even if it was to be our apartment soon).  So, I removed my shoes and regretted it.

I was given a tour of the apartment.  I honestly don't remember what my first impression of it was, except that it felt bigger than we thought it would be from the pictures we'd seen.  I do remember that as I walked through, it felt odd that this would be our home.  It certainly didn't feel like home at that point.

The children and I settled in the living room with the landlord's mother.  She only spoke Russian, so we didn't visit together much.  She seemed to rave about the children, though.  There were people all over inside the apartment and I didn't understand at first who they could all be and what they were all doing there.  There was quite a bit of paperwork to sign and things to get done, so Jon was busy doing that.  He had to leave to the bank to get our shockingly large first, last, and current months rent payment exchanged to rubles.

Thankfully, the children dove into their very own carry-on bags and played with all the toys and activities that we didn't get to on the plane.  Poor William was about ready to implode, but I didn't feel comfortable whipping "things" out right in front of that busy apartment full of people, despite the fact that I would use a nursing cover.  So, I asked Jon's coworker, who was there, if there was somewhere I could go nurse and he directed me into the master bedroom.  The only place to sit down was the bed.  I sat right on the side of the bed while I nursed William and looked around my new bedroom.  The bedroom was decorated in a way that I would have never done in a million years.  The mattress I sat on felt like the thin cheap kind you buy for children's bunk beds, the wall paper was bronze-ish with big, busy flowers, and the bedroom set was hard plastic and BLACK.  Whatever happened to the simple beauty of natural wood?    I thought, "No, this certainly can't be my bedroom.  I just can't imagine staying in this place for an extended period of time."

While I waited for Jon, I asked his co-worker all sorts of questions: Where certain things were in the apartment, like a broom and vacuum.  Was the tap water was drinkable?  Does Russia sell disposable diapers?  Etc.

After what seemed like forever, the papers were signed, the rent was paid and many of the people started to leave.  The landlord, his brother, his mother, the house cleaner (she handed us her phone number before she left), the assistant (who was anxious to finally get back home to her family), and the other lady from Jon's work who had helped find the apartment.

I was tired and hungry and looking forward to just being alone with Jon and the kids, but there was no food in the kitchen or necessary plates, bowls and utensils, cookware or bakeware.  Except for the appliances, the kitchen was empty.  We were not expecting that and, of course, had not packed any kitchen items.  And, unfortunately, we were in Russia now and we couldn't just call for a pizza delivery.  So, Jon's coworker took Jon out to a shopping center at the nearest metro station, while I sat alone with my children in our strange new place.

Sometime later, Jon and his coworker came back with bags of food, plasticware, and a few other essentials.

Soon, Jon's coworker left to his family (we were so grateful for his help and time), but although I was craving the thought of being alone with just my family, once we really were all alone, we suddenly felt abandoned and crippled in this new, huge city and country.  What were we doing here?

We ate a simple meal of bread, fruit and cheese for dinner, and then we split open several boxes and opened suitcases to find pillows and blankets for the beds.  Jon and I helped the children get ready and sent them all to bed.  Kate and Bruce shared a double bed in the center room, and James camped out on a couch in the laundry room.

The children fell asleep fairly quickly.  With everything suddenly quiet in the apartment, Jon and I sat on the sofa.  Unfamiliar sounds traveled up to our apartment from below and came through our open window in the front room:  People talking, car alarms going off, eerie squeals from somewhere in the distance.  Jon and I held hands, our eyes wide, and could only think one thing: "Oh, crap!  What have we done?"

Yes, Jon and I got to bed that night, too.  The bed was a king sized bed and, of course, we'd only brought queen sized sheets, so we just laid a flat sheet over the top of the mattress.  William did not have a crib, so he slept in between us in bed.  The city lights outside made the room too bright, but shutting the blackout curtains made it WAY too dark.  There was no comforting glow of a digital clock, and all night long I kept waking up, uncomfortable on that unfamiliar, hard bed, and always wondering but never knowing what time it was or how long I'd slept since the last time I woke up.  When William woke up, his cries echoed off the concrete walls and through the apartment and I worried about the other children waking up.

I guess I'm not sure how to conclude this post.  I think back on that day and a flood of all the feelings and emotions still wash over me: fear, uncertainty, exhaustion, hunger, homesickness, discomfort, an all new level of mother-bear protection for my children, support for Jon, faith, hope and definitely prayer...

Nobody else but our Heavenly Father could help us through this new challenge.  This particular one was a BIG one for Jon and me!  I admit, I couldn't help but think sometimes, "Okay, we came to Russia.  Now, let's go back.  I want to go home."  There are still many things that are a challenge for us right now, but especially those first few days, we could only take things one day or even one hour at time.  I would, and sometimes still, reassure myself, "Okay, we made it through one day.  I really don't know about three years, but I know I can make it, at least, through another day."