Category: <span>Life</span>

We worry about our children when they are not even born yet. We worry that they are born without complications, are healthy, …, worry about them catching colds, and falling and scraping their knees. I am starting to believe the worrying never really stops. In fact parents never cease taking care of their children even when those children are older and have families of their own. Well, maybe not all parents are like that, but the best ones are.

Hubby had a business trip to sunny Wilmington, Delaware this past Monday that had him taking a later train back home. Business trips to Delaware have their own perks like being picked up by your father-in-law, gourmet sandwich in-hand, and dropped off at the station making sure you make a too-close train back to D.C. The sandwich my mom made was good, but it was the fact that my parents offered, that they brought it and wanted to see their son-in-law, that reminds my husband that he has family here.

This is nothing extra-ordinary for my family. My Baba passed away in June of 1989 after a long battle with cancer. My mom spend many months at her childhood home, 2000 miles away from us taking care of her. I still remember my father’s culinary repertoire which was something of a carbohydrate-laden italian wedding soup alternated with soup kharcho. My sister and I couldn’t look at either soup for quite some time once my mom came back. But I digress… There were times when my dad had business trips to Russia or Ukraine. He once took an 8-10 hr train ride completely out of the way to come and visit with my Baba and take her for a walk. She was very sick then and frail. He only had two hours there, got back on another train, another 10 hr ride and went back to wherever it is he was on an assignment. My Baba and Deda truly earned his gesture by the way they treated him and my father would do it all over again. The best lessons are taught by example.

There is nothing like new surroundings or people to break up the monotony of everyday. Hubby’s parents were down for a visit this weekend and we couldn’t have been happier to share some of Sophia’s firsts with them. First tuna sandwich, first ice cream cone (with homemade ice cream)

and…

first swim at the pool club (this year).

What is a family? I previously explored the definition here concluding that we are born into families and learn how to form our own as part of growing up. When we grow up and start families of our own, how do our newly acquired families fit in? In other words do we become family members of our spouse’s family? If so, does it happen gradually or instantaneously — as soon as we hear the newly married couple pronounced man and wife? And are we strangers until that moment?

I am certain of two things: not all families are the same and that I know how this happens in my family. Familial status is not granted in any royal decree the morning of the wedding, but much rather earned over time. By the time my parents walked me and my sister down the isle, our husbands had already become very much part of our families. They are loved, respected, and cared for the very same way my sister and I are. There is simply no distinction. They voice their opinions, offering compliments and harsh criticisms as they wish and are considered family members with full rights.

Life isn’t certain: jobs can be lost, engagements and vows of marriage broken. What is certain, and what cannot be taken away, are hope and faith in yourself. Sometimes you just have to have pride, to read between the lines and know that no matter what or who life throws your way, you’ll take the high road if not for yourself, most certainly for your young family. Out of respect, because to you, family is what matters — that is what my family taught me.

Music has a magical effect on people – it sets the mood, inspires us and helps us think things through. We often see people working out with headphones securely plugged in. They say it helps them get through a longer, more rigorous workout. I rely on music to zone out at work and write. Music was the best relief for my then fiancee and me as we planned our wedding; We mastered the foxtrot and a few other dances just in time for our wedding.

I must be old now (or old enough) that I can identify periods of life by the songs I preferred. I’ve started to get back into enjoying old Russian tunes. Perhaps I am a little melancholy since that part of me, my identity are slipping away by the day. Back in 1994, I wished only to be like all the other kids, to not be different and wanted nothing to do with my heritage, my Russian identity. As time went on and I navigated through my teenage years and young adulthood, my fear dissipated and I didn’t mind being a little bit different. I was finally able to harmonize the coexistence of my Russian and American selves. I developed friendships and relationships with people who celebrated my uniqueness. I heard someone say once that their father who is a Soviet-block immigrant was very lucky to have married a girl from a nice American family. I was disappointed to hear such an attitude toward immigrants, especially from a son of an immigrant, but relieved when my husband said that he was fortunate to find a girl who wasn’t average, run of the mill or typical.

In three years, I’ll have spent two thirds of my life in America. I fear that my uniqueness is fleeting… here now, gone soon enough. Sometimes we can’t stop time, its toll on us and how our experiences and life alters us, but we can slow it down. I started playing Russian kid’s tunes for Sophia and she couldn’t be happier. I grew up with those songs and am happy to see her enjoy them as much as I remember I did back in the day. I look at Sophia and know with absolute certainty that she will be an American. I also know that she will grow up keenly aware of her heritage and appreciation for those who came before her.

I rush home, run in tossing my shoes haphazardly. Swiftly sneaking upstairs before I am discovered, I change into sweats and run down to greet a child excited to be read to and play. Plopping down on the floor, thirsty and still overwhelmed from the hideous commute, I smile and invite Sophia to pick a book to read. How can I explain to a 20-month old that all that I need is 30 minutes, a glass of water and I’ll be reinvigorated. Besides, how can I afford 30 minutes having gotten home at 4 and knowing that bath-time is at 8? The guilt is immeasurable but it is worth it. For me. It is worth it for me.

You see, I’ve had a few reasons to re-evaluate my persuasion as a mom working outside the house (a stay at home mom is still a working mom, trust me). I feel mild pangs of jealousy over both friends and family who are staying home with children. I have, still do and probably always will. My four hours a day plus the weekends aren’t going to compare to their 10-12 hour days with their little ones. At times, I felt like I am missing out on Sophia’s everything and will never get that time back. But then, I realized that no matter how much I want to hold on to her, hold her, hug her and have her be all mine, she has and will continue to grow, flourish and pull away establishing herself as her own self.

I realize that she turns 2 this fall. She will soon enough join other toddlers and pre-schoolers at a nursery school and before I know it, I’ll be taking her to her first day at kindergarden. As Sophia begins to branch out and fill her days with extra-curricular activities, what will I do? I could and probably would take on a more active role in her school, volunteer, and apply my well-polished technical skills to something. I’d go on, until she and any other children we may have, are well into their teenage years. Time flies — of this I am sure. But then, when the kids are grown, when they leave, and embark on establishing their own lives, what will I do? My husband will hopefully still have his job and his career, and I will finally have time for tennis and golf lessons, lunches with girlfriends and the spa.

My education and degreeS will curdle faster than milk and I will be outpaced by those who come after. I want Sophia to look at me as a freshman in college and know right then and there that I worked. This isn’t to say that mothers who work in the home aren’t working. But most kids (and some husbands) don’t consider that to be “real” work. The kids will eventually realize this when they are parents… the husbands, well that’s another story altogether ;-).

If I have realized anything about life it is that you, yourself, and your worth should never diminish or disappear as you navigate life’s seasons. You should always remember that and that in itself is a critical lesson for our children.

We’ve been rocking children’s Tylenol and Benadryl to combat post-nasal drip and a mean case of teething since Saturday. Sophia’s been easier to get to bed since Benadryl is drowsy, sort of. At first, she gets a huge energy boost from it and then crashes. Yesterday evening was probably the first time where she wanted to lay down on her floor pillow with her real pillow and a blanket and just fall asleep.

I have to be honest; I have never seen this before (her wanting to go to bed… we’ve been rocking to bed since… well … forever) and credit it to the post-high Benadryl crash effect. This happened of course after we read four books of her choosing and I managed to convince her that the light and the books all have to go to bed. As I sat there making sure I didn’t breathe too loud and praying that she’d go to sleep easily and effortlessly, I realized that this is how it must be for some parents whose kids happily climb into their beds and just turn over and fall asleep. Lucky them and their kids who don’t wake up every 1-2 hrs even at 20 months of age.

Life just keeps getting more and more exciting. Friday was nocte horribilis filled with 20 minutes of sleep every 20 minutes as Sophia battled teething and what appears to be a cold. All that partying (not that I ever did that much of it, Mom :)) and recuperation didn’t teach me a single thing about recovering from a sleepless night and a cranky child. But life goes and we make do with the lemons handed to us.

Hubby and I got a chance to get away for a quiet meal (or so we thought) for our 5th anniversary. Little did we know, we were driving into the District of Columbia as it was rocking its gay pride parade. The city and its residents were out in full force making a statement for human rights. Good for humanity, bad for parking and traffic. After parking, we decided to make the  most of it… a drink atop the W hotel right next door to the White House. The views were sublime … I imagine especially so for the snipers parked on the roof [of the White House]. The snipers have binoculars and therefore must have spectacular views of all the beautiful bodies at the rooftop bar at the W hotel.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t terribly exciting. Thankfully, we ordered take-in from a small mom and pop place we know in Delaware (aka my parents). I think I baked banana nut muffins on Saturday morning, but I don’t really remember. That must be the case because I found one this morning and had it for breakfast. I do remember that instead of cooking Chinese dumplings for lunch before my parents headed out, I laid out a spanish/italian farmer’s lunch complete with burrata, jamon Iberico, baguette, basil and baby tomatoes. It was basic, easy, and perfect. We realized that Sophia is a fan of burrata and baguette.

I believe in human rights — equality for all people and the choice to live your life as you see fit with the partner of your choosing and the right to sleep at least 6 hours without interruption. The End.

I may be a city girl with light skin, wavy hair and blue eyes, but I married a country, man’s man with olive skin, brown hair and hazel eyes. And together we had a olive skinned, blonde hair and blue eyed baby who, turns out, is a country girl through and through. Nature works in wonders and our own traits spotted in our children are (at least to me) fascinating. Believe me… I’d have never wanted to do that as a kid.