Babushka

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all. I realized today that trying to teach the kids school after Christmas is like trying to spoon-feed a baby on a trampoline. Unusual metaphor, I know, but you get the idea. I have declared tomorrow a day off so we are all free to enjoy our new gadgets, sip some cocoa, and watch holiday classics.

That being said, I am taking some time to blog and I want to talk about somebody special. The Babushka. This is pronounced "Bah-boosh-ka". Contrary to popular opinion, it is not a scarf. It is a grandmother. Not my grandmother or yours, but somebody's. Something I have come to realize while living in Russia is that the place is teeming with Babushkas. They lurk in corners, they strut on buses, and they hit your feet with their cane on the metro.

When I go anywhere in this city with my children, we are like a parade. We hog the sidewalk and if somebody has a tune in their head (this is very common) they may gallop or skip to the beat. Babushkas are not impressed. They are looking at me with hawkeyes to make sure that my children are covered properly. Are their scarves wrapped well enough? Are they wearing tights under their jeans? In the Spring when it gets warmer, I still make sure my kids are wearing hats because out of some dark alley, a Babushka will hop out and yell at me. Not them. Me.

When I was a child my father used to yell out, "Close the door! Are you paying the bills?" In similar manner, I tell my kids each time we walk out of the door, "Cover your head! DO you want me to get yelled at by a Babushka?"

The other day I was on the metro escalator without my children. As we ascended, my hands crossed in front of me and brushed the Babushka's coat. She turned around and slapped my hands. I apologized in Russian and put my hands at my side. A minute later, she turned around, put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down one step. Apparently, this particular Babushka did not want me to stand so close. I can't imagine why she cared. If you're not shoved up against somebody here then you're doing something wrong. It's the way of life.

One last thing about Babushkas. They are always right. It doesn't matter where or when. They know all. One particular Babushka in the 1970s wanted an Orthodox church to be re-opened. Of course this was the time of Communism and it wasn't permitted. She sent so many letters, so aggressively, that the government agreed and opened her little church. They were so tired of her endless complaints. Perhaps the Communists should have hired her. She may have made their regime last longer.

(The photo at the top is of Number 4 dressed for -10F on a bus. We rode this bus for 45 minutes dressed this way. It wasn't worth the risk of a Babushka getting on the bus.)

Things Can Change

I feel like the senior in the freshmen hallway. We've been here for almost two and a half years. Most people are braving their very first Russian winter while I am entering my third.

Today it is 12 degrees. That's right-twelve. When I suited up to go outside, I smiled and said to myself, "It's kinda nice out today." When I lived in the States, I wouldn't shop for the necessities in 12 degrees, much less go out. But today I volunteered to walk to my friend's apartment to pick up my son from a sleepover. It wasn't far. Only a 15 minute walk one way. My smiling boy echoed my thoughts. "It's pretty warm out today, isn't it?"

My mistake was wearing my boots. These are Sorel boots from Canada. Russians say, "there's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." We've found this to be mostly true so I paid $200 for boots from Canada. I wore them all last winter, but today they chafed the back of my Achilles and I returned home with bloody feet. "Geesh," I thought to myself. "I should have worn my heels." For this typical comfort-over-fashion girl, things sure have changed.

This is, however, my first winter living in the city. It's beautiful. All the shining Christmas trees and traffic sounds a little bit more like "Silver Bells." Well....maybe not. When we got out the Christmas decorations, my four small people decorated everything while I sat down and drank a fresh cup of coffee. I didn't have to police their arrangement of the ornaments or remind them not to break anything. They did it all perfectly by themselves.

This morning I woke up with a sore throat, a headache, and sore joints. My kids dutifully took care of the dishes, worked on their school assignments, and tidied up the house. I laid on the couch and tried to feel better. There was a time when these little ones ran circles around me. Now they are waiting on me and telling me to take it easy. What a difference.

I know this post is random. At least I had five minutes to write it. I just wanted to stop and recognize that things can change and they often do; right in front of your very eyes.