The Unwritten Code

So now that it’s Christmas time and all the private school kids are on break, we seem to have more friends in the neighborhood with which to play. While this is wonderful, and certainly a big change from our usual homeschool group, there are drawbacks. The hard fact is that I that I have felt like the Wicked Witch of the West recently. Here’s why.

On Christmas Eve, we received some boxes from friends and family. Some were packed full of gifts and presents, and some with special treats for the kids. One in particular had some hard-to-come-by edibles that are special at our house. Namely: microwave popcorn, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and fruit snacks with absolutely no nutritional value. These came from a lifelong friend who knows exactly our hankerings on cold, blustery, Russian winter evenings.

My first mistake was to unload said boxes in front of neighborhood children and then display them neatly on the kitchen counters. My second mistake was putting them where little hands could reach them to kindly say, “can I have some?” I like sharing with my neighbors. In fact, it’s a common theme in our home especially among siblings who we should consider “neighbors.” I like bringing friends cookies, treats, breads, and the like. I do not like sharing packaged goods sent all the way from America, full of unintelligible preservatives, and wrapped in brightly colored wrappers. Don’t judge. Just try to understand.

Anyway, the other afternoon we decided to have a box of Macaroni and Cheese. We haven’t had a box of Kraft in 4 months. I just make mac and cheese the good ol’ fashion way; with noodles and cheese. Crazy I know! But this was the day after Christmas and it deserved something special.

At that time there were precisely 8 children in my home, including my own. When I said out loud, “I’m going to make macaroni” 8 hands went up with squeals of delight and “I’ll have some!”

I said no. I looked into their sweet, rosy cheeked faces and said, “I cannot share this with you today. It is a special gift from a friend. If you want macaroni, go home and ask your mother.” They put their hands down and said gloomily, “we understand.” Not to mention, all these kids have either been back to visit America for long periods of time or recently arrived in Moscow all together. My kids haven’t been stateside in 13 long months. Geesh, what a Grinch.

Anyway, I have taught my kids to never ask for coveted American items in someone else’s home. However, if another mother offers you some fruit snacks, you are welcome to accept. I’m sure there are all kinds of clauses and exceptions to this rule, but if I could post a sign on my door it would read:

Please don’t send your kids over here during the hours of when they are hungry and when they will be eating at your house.

I am trying to rectify the situation immediately. I ordered a case of mac and cheese and 64 fruit snacks from walmart online. Maybe next time the mail truck comes I can invite the kids over for an American food festival. Then again, maybe not.

Break Down

Sometimes in a woman’s life, there is this explosive need to cry and yet no outlet or appropriate reason in which to release the deluge. For whatever reason, this happened to me this week. I knew during the weekend that I should have watched some ridiculous Hallmark Christmas movie with cheesy music, crummy acting, and a predictable outcome just to lose the internal torrent. But I didn’t. And I paid for it.

As I started the week, we were dealing with an appliance situation trying to get me an American style laundry center instead of the inefficient, ridiculously slow European model I was using. It was finally delivered to our garage and then my husband and some neighbors moved the old unit out and the new unit in. This was a massive task and will literally change my life in Russia.

The very next day, I was doing lessons with the kids and for some reason, I had a melt-down. It could be from the four small voices constantly needing something or from the awareness that I was so stinking excited about a washing machine. Anyway, Number 1 needed help with a science experiment involving simple machines. They may be simple to the scientific mind, but let me tell you for a fact, there was nothing simple about these stupid plastic pulleys, yarn, and some metal washers.

Which is when the floodgates opened.

Right in the middle of lifting the movable pulley, the string fell off and I lost it. I started sobbing-not just whimpery crying. Sobbing. I apologized to the kids, went to my room for a time out, and got a grip. The rest of the day went fine and the laundry saved me so much time that I messed around with my graphic design software for two hours that afternoon.

Later in the evening, Number 2 had a nightmare and came to talk to me about it. He said, “Hey Mom, do you remember earlier today when you were sitting there---all----cryin’ over the pulleys?” I was trying to help him feel safe after his bad dream and yet I was stifling the laughter from my own ridiculous behavior.

I learned my lesson. Next time I feel the need to cry, I’ll quench the urge and make it happen. Maybe over a lever or an inclined plane.