Mall Day

I'm sure you already know by now that my husband is a government employee. Therefore, all of the fantastic special days are considered paid holidays. These include Washington's Birthday (thanks George) and this week's "Defender of the Fatherland Day", somewhat equivalent to our Memorial Day.

Since he was supposed to have two days off, we decided we should at least give the kids one day off of school and have some fun. For my amazing man, this meant the mall. He loves that place. I only wanted to go because of the stuff I needed at IKEA and because the kids had some Christmas money to blow. Plus, I knew it would include lunch which means slightly less time in the kitchen for me.

It was a seemingly normal Monday and the roads were moving well and freely. We arrived at the mall in very good time. IKEA was fun, as usual, and lunch was delicious and reasonably priced. Then we went into the mall to grab a couple of other things. When we passed a play area, we couldn't resist letting the kids run around for a little while. My hubby sat in a bench to supervise and I went to the OBI, the Russian version of Home Depot, for some blue painter's tape, a personal vice of mine. When I returned, we switched places so he could go check something out at another store.

While I was sitting there, a Russian couple came up to me and started talking. I could tell by their hand gestures that they were asking me to watch their stuff, and presumably, their kids. I explained kindly that I didn't speak very good Russian. They apologized and repeated, in English, "Vill you vatch our theengs? We need smoke?" What else could I say? I nodded and chuckled to myself. Their kids played around in the area and didn't even notice the absent parents. I grew up in California in the 90s when kidnapping was a really big deal. This was against everything in me to watch parents walk away from a public setting and leave their kids. But, this is Russia.

Next, we went into a store called Dyetski Mir, Children's World, which is like Toys R Us. Our kids were looking everywhere, eying the possibilities to spend their money. Four excited kids headed in four different directions. This always causes me a little bit of panic. Reasonably so. Over the loud speaker, in Russian, I could tell they were saying my name and the word for daughter. I started rushing around the store trying to find where the heck I was supposed to retrieve my daughter and which one had been found doing what? I bumped into my hubby on the way and he struggled to understand my peril. Just then, announcement number two came over and my family began to pop out of Lego and Barbie aisles. We eventually left the store, all six of us.

Manic Monday

I hope at the sight of this title you are humming a nice little 80s diddy by the Bangles. I know I am. For a scheduled, organized person like me, Mondays are great. I get to start a whole week over again. No mistakes. No limitations. Just seven days waiting to be filled with excitement. I forget sometimes that I live in Russia and in Russia, all plans are tentative, but certainly not concrete.

So I woke up on this particularly cold Monday and grabbed my grocery list because I was taking a friend to the store. Next time I will remember that if I wake up and it's -25F, stay home. The vehicle did not comply with the cold. Even though it was parked in a garage all night, that wasn't enough. I did what we always do in this situation; plug in a heater and turn on a shop light under the engine. It's amazing what 100 watts can do.

End result: No grocery store, which equals no bread, no produce, and no beer. No biggie though because at noon, we were going to some friends' house to shake things up a bit. The van didn't start then either. My dear friend was anxious to visit as well and so she and her four kids made the trip out to us. Her vehicle which was parked outside all night, started right up. Ridiculous, I know.

After a lovely couple of hours, it was time for them to go to music school where her eldest had a competitive exam of sorts. They were off and on their way with plenty of time to spare. Just moments after they left, a huddled group of five appeared in my doorway. They had only made it out of the driveway when their car started leaking gasoline all over the pavement. I ran out to the garage and my van started right up! Literally, a complete miracle. I drove them into town to get a taxi and went back home.

I'm sure I've mentioned we live in a gated community. Not just anybody can come right in. Therefore, I learned the word for tow-truck so I could call security and let them know who was coming. Mission accomplished. School was done for the day and I was ready to teach my Monday piano lessons a few houses down. Just as I headed out to teach, the tow-truck arrived. I had the key to the broken down vehicle and my friend told me how much to pay him. This was the easy part. It was when he asked for the registration to the vehicle and more money that made it complicated. He didn't speak English and my Russian is limited to grocery store terms.

So I called my friend and he called his friend. Simultaneously, we handed each other our cell phones. His friend on the phone is my friend's friend too so he says, "Hello, this is Sergei!" I was so happy to hear his voice. He explained I needed to give the driver more money. Well, geesh, that was easy.

The tow truck drove away and I went to my piano lesson. I was already running very late and so I gave lessons, ran home, and whipped up some eggs. Oh yeah, hubby had to work late. I shoveled some food into the kids' mouths and remembered that I told my earlier friend I would take her to the store tonight if the van started. I also remembered that I forgot to give Number 1 money for her gymnastics class that she was in right that minute. I started up the van again, went to the sports center and paid for class, and then on to the store. No big adventure there except when my overly-nice American friend tipped the grocery cart guy 500 rubles for helping with our bags.

Last week a friend who is stationed in Colombia sent us some chocolates and coffee. Somewhere during this crazy afternoon, I ate a couple chocolate covered coffee beans. I definitely got a good kick of energy but man, did I pay for that. I usually fall asleep instantaneously when my head hits the pillow. Not that day. I laid in bed and talked to myself until midnight when I knew there was a new day coming.

Beer Bread

I have made a decision. I'm going to post a recipe. I don't think it's a coincidence that my subtitle is a Russian saying about food. Before I lived here, I used dried garlic and onions. I cooked with things like canned chicken stock and frozen vegetables. I'm not saying that it wasn't okay. It's just different now.

The other day we went to church in -10 and sat through a 2.5 hour service. When we came home, I fell asleep in front of the fireplace and lost my whole afternoon. When I woke up at 5pm, I panicked because, of course, the small people still need to eat on Sundays. In some ways, I despise weekends because everybody in this family gets to kick back, do something fun, and relax. I suppose this is what working moms feel like. I revel in the joy of being so involved with my family, but sometimes I just want to punch out.

So I ran to the kitchen to get started. Usually in the evening when I'm cooking dinner, I wind down with a beer and some good music. Why should this day be any different? I popped the top of my favorite Czech beer and took a sip before analyzing the situation. Since it's pay-day this week, the fixins were pretty scarce. I looked it over and whipped up a savory beef and cheese soup with plenty of fresh cut vegetables. As I stirred the colorful mixture, I knew it needed something else.

Eureka! Beer bread. I grabbed another Staropramen and magic happened. Here's the recipe:

12 oz beer
3 c. flour
3 3/4 tsp. baking powder
3 TBSP. white sugar

Here's the tough part. Mix the dry stuff, add the beer, mix with a spoon, then your hands. Put it in a greased loaf pan in a 350 oven for 50 minutes. I was just kidding about tough. This bread smells amazing and tastes even better. The first time I cooked it I used 1664, a famous French beer, thinking that French bread is so good, of course French beer bread would be good. It was, but the kids didn't love it. This time, they asked for seconds.

I like cooking now. In fact, it's also part of my winding down. We still have our hot-dog and chip nights, but I've noticed they're fewer and farther between. Nothing brings a family meal together like some fresh bread. Try it, you'll be surprised.

Winter has finally arrived in Moscow. Last year at this time, we did not have the luxury of a vehicle so we stood at bus stops and waited in the subzero. We are more pampered now and accustomed to hopping in our warm shuttle to get where we want to go.

Earlier this week, my husband worked late and so he parked the van near the metro station. On his way home, the van began to overheat because the coolant had frozen inside the engine. It's hard for me to imagine anything overheating when it's 10 below, but whatever. Anyway, he ran a heater in the garage overnight, put a light underneath the engine, and covered the hood with a blanket to try to help it thaw. This worked successfully as I was able to start it easily and drive the next morning. However, when I whipped the blanket off the hood, remnants of the blue luxe remained in little clumps of frozen, fuzzy pockmarks which made the front of our van appear to have some type of venereal disease.

Our van is already easy to spot in public because we have a special colored license plate and we only wash it once in a while. This is because the local car washes charge 20 bucks and it's prohibited to wash your own car. Also, we were given a beater because our contract didn't allow us to bring an automobile with us.

That being said, the next morning I went to Bible Study. I just started attending with this group of wonderful ladies and I thoroughly enjoy their company and the study. But most of their husbands work for corporations who hire them drivers and cars for their goings-about. So as I was leaving I started up the growling, freezing engine of my mid-nineties vanmobile and made a three point turn. As I drove down the narrow driveway, I passed five, sleek, black, luxury cars, all with drivers waiting for the ladies to exit. But it was okay. I felt proud that I have the privilege of driving myself around this crazy city. I also felt proud that my friends are my friends because of me, obviously not my housing or my vehicle. I feel the same way about them.