Growing Up Savvy Posts

It is a rarity now-a-days that we have the whole weekend to ourselves. It just so happened that our Purim plans had to be cancelled and so we spent the whole weekend at home as a family. Here’s a recap in pictures:

Starting with Hearts and Flowers

 

We toddled, and we baked. Hamantashen

 

We crafted with our crayon rocks and counted them too.Crafting

WalkingWe walked and then we enjoyed a lazy Sunday night pizza (Pizza Margherita in case anyone is wondering. Home-made of course).

Pizza

 

Crafts Life Present

I am not certain, but quite sure that Sophia has entered the terrible twos at 16 months. She is all of a sudden a different child. My attempts to reason and explain why something cannot be done are so far in vein. Topping off our newly mutinous Sophia’s less than stellar behavior is her newly found regression in sleep topped with an only Mama can comfort me at night cherry.

While operating (not living, just operating) on 6 hrs of sleep broken up in four increments, I called to whine and complain to my mother. Why is it that MY child was the ONLY one I know who is sleeping so poorly?! Instead of attempting to calm me down and reassure that this too shall pass, I was greeted with a heaping serving of tough love. No “it will pass”, no “i love you, this is hard, and you’ll get through it”. Instead I heard “you are not the only one, but you complain as if you were”, “deal with it and if it doesn’t break you, you’ll be stronger”.

For those who know my mother, and my parents in general, this is par for the course. This is nothing new, just how it always was. I don’t recall my mother every praising my sister and I — EVER. Never about our looks, grades, accomplishments or achievements. Yearning for that, we always worked hard to try and somehow reach what seemed like the unattainable — validation. And reach it (self-validation) we did, of course. We both have graduate degrees, both work and manage our own households with children and spouses.

I am not saying that my parents are not supportive. They worry and care just like every other insane parent. They bring chicken soup and call. In fact, there hasn’t been a single morning that my mom hasn’t called to see how Sophia slept.

Even though they obviously care, they have never worked to solve our problems for us. I did my own homework, packed my own backpack and lunch since the second week of first grade. I bought my first car with my own money – from my own parents – because I wanted to own it. It was mine, not theirs, mine and they couldn’t take it away. I wrote my own college essays (as it should be for everyone but is far from reality). I applied to be a research assistant in college and didn’t use any of my parents’ connections (and there were none to be used). Similarly, I searched for jobs on my own and then hubby and I planned our own wedding, he found his job, we moved to Maryland ourselves and found our own home.

Actually, I am not being honest. There was one time when my mom praised me. After my graduation ceremony (I was awarded a Bachelor and a Master of Sciences in Computer Science simultaneously), she told me that she was proud because she didn’t know if I could do it. It was a compliment, presented the only way my mom knows how.

No matter how sleep deprived I am as I write this, I cannot help but wonder if this is the type of parent I will or even want to be. Will I be this tough on my daughter? Will it work? If I am softer, will she grow up to be less independent and call me to get help with the most inane decisions? Here is what I do know: no matter our situation, Sophia will not grow up with an attitude of entitlement. She will be self sufficient and self-reliant by the time she graduates from college and enters the workforce. I am about to sound just like my mother when I say that “I am not working this hard so that she can grow up to be a disappointment. Children are supposed to be more successful than their parents”.

Life

I remember our summers to be extraordinary. We spent the majority of them at my maternal grandparents’ house. My paternal grandparents both passed away before I was born (I am named after my dad’s mother) and my maternal grandparents were the only grandparents I have ever known.

Baba and Deda as I called them, owned a house with a large garden. They built that house with their bare hands after the war. My mom still remembers moving into the house before the floors were down. Thankfully, the floors, heat and plumbing had all been there by the time I came around :-).

Baba and Deda’s house, garden and yard were magical. There was a vegetable garden where they grew delicious things like red and black currants, gooseberries, strawberries, rasberries, and rhubarb. There was what seemed to be an endless row of fruit trees of every kind — tart cherries, bing cherries, peaches, apricots, apples, pears, plums (red and yellow), and walnuts. There was the vegetable garden where they harvested potatoes, beans, peas, carrots, squashes, tomatoes, and peppers.

The gazebo right outside the front door covered by grapevines that provided a welcome, shaded refuge from the summer’s sun. Everything tasted better, brighter and more special when consumed while lounging in the gazebo.

Last, but not least and perhaps what I cherished the most, was the flower garden that surrounded the house itself. I remember vividly, springtime’s pungent aromas of peonies, tulips, lilly of the valley, daffodils and roses and a faint buzzing of the bees as they worked their magic on the garden and flower beds. The flowers at our wedding reflected my Baba’s garden. We didn’t miss a single flower, each had a meaning and that is how I made sure Baba and Deda were there with me on my wedding day.

Past Present

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Moment

Uncategorized

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you already know that travel is a passion of mine, my family’s, and one day, hopefully Sophia’s. And while I enjoy travel to places, I have long thought about taking myself and those who surround me on a literary journey — back in time.

I’ve been reading blogs written by many different people — travelers, cooks, authors, moms, and political scientists for a few years now. I thought hard about starting this blog, the real motivation behind it and what I wanted to get out of it. On the surface, this is where I share my family’s life, the trials and tribulations of raising Sophia. But really, this isn’t just about that. This is a conduit for the output of self introspection, a cathartic release.

And so this series is born… a set of posts where I will share my life’s story (until now, at least) and in the process, maybe understand and share with you, why I am the person you “see”.

Born in Ukraine into a Russian/Jewish family of a mother, father and an older sister. My father was in the army (a Major at the time of my birth) and my mother was and still is a pharmacist.

My mother’s family lived in Haisin (Ukraine). My maternal grandmother was a loving early childhood educator and my grandfather a technician of sorts. I to this day don’t really know what he did. I do know that my grandfather was born in Poland, ran from the Nazis, was captured twice, escaping once and released (by a soldier with a good heart). His entire family perished in the Holocaust (his father, step-mother and sisters).

My father’s family lived in Kiev (Ukraine). My paternal grandmother was a child of Polish immigrants, married young and had two daughters. Her husband was accused of treason by the Stalin regime, tried, killed and [much] later absolved. A widow at the age of ~21, she married my grandfather. He was a gentile from an upstanding family in the suburbs of Moscow. He had fought in, survived the war and studied law.

My parents, set up by mutual friends, met in Kiev in 1972. They were engaged three months after meeting and married within the year. That is how it used to be, by the way. To contrast, my husband and I dated for four years, were engaged for two more and have been married for five come this June. My mother became an army wife and followed my dad to his first exciting posting (Almaty, Kazakhstan). My sister was born there.

My sister and I
My sister and I

After Almaty, they went to Moscow where my dad pursued his graduate education at the prestigious Frunze Academy, and then Baku which is where I grew up. By all accounts, we enjoyed a comfortable living affording a car and vacations on the shores of the Black Sea. My dad insists that my mom never had to work, but she always did.

More to come…

Past Present

One of the best things about being a mom is that you get to learn how the world works through a child’s eyes and hands. It outweighs all the sleepless nights (16 months and still not sleeping through the night, by the way… just saying!), all the messes, the tears and tantrums.

One of my favorite things to do is read to Sophia. It is an incredibly peaceful time at the end of a long day where we both settle in and immerse ourselves in a series of magical worlds. I must say, that nothing has really changed and I still prefer books with pictures 🙂 and thankfully, so does she. Some books, like the Dr. Seuss series are fun and lighthearted and I can see Sophia tracing the various characters with her little finger. But then, there are those books that seem fun for her and are just magical for me. The Duckling Gets a Cookie is one of those books that she is starting to really enjoy and I can’t get enough of.

The Duckling Gets a Cookie: Courtesy of Amazon

The book, a gift from Sophia’s thoughtful aunt (my sister), is about a duckling who gets a cookie by asking for one and then tells a birdie how he acquired such a delicious cookie. The duckling ends up sharing the cookie with the birdie because it has nuts in it, and the duckling apparently doesn’t like nuts. The plot seems simple, but it teaches an incredibly important lesson: asking for something politely will almost always guarantee success.

We are still working on our courtesy words and their utilization, but reading the book this past few evenings has made me think about my life and reminded me that being polite, courteous and patient always pays off. Furthermore, it never hurts to admit that you cannot have something you want, that others may be better at something and that you need help. It is a mantra I repeat to myself often: don’t be too proud to admit that you need help.

Life Play

As you can see here, here and here, we’ve been very loquacious about travel lately. There is one destination that is and always will be among the top and that place is Philadelphia.

Many of our friends and family don’t understand our ardent affinity for Philadelphia. Besides having a great social, art and food scenes, we love it so much because it is where we fell in love and grew up so to speak. We discovered it, explored it and lived it for years. To some, Philadelphia is rough around the edges, a little grimy and hot/stinky in the summer. To us, and those in the know, it is real, young, alive and always changing.

Even though we don’t live there anymore (we will do just about anything to move back sooner rather than later), we still come back and visit when we are home with our families. Here are some of our favorite places to see, be seen and enjoy.

  • Watching People: Parking ourselves at the Rittenhouse Park with a cup of La Colombe Coffee (Latte in the AM, Cappuccino in the PM)
  • Looking at Art: First Friday in Philadelphia – an open house for Philly art galleries. Coincidentally  this occurs in mostly in Olde City which is where we lived for ~5 years
  • Taking in High Culture: The Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts – when we have a craving for some high class culture
  • Keeping It Real: Midnight Pretzel Run – one of hubby’s favorite things to do: a perfect reflection of the young mindset in Philadelphia
  • Learning Like it Should Be: Sunday School — for the oenophile at Tria
  • Watching Movies: Kid-free, not-mainstream movies for the savvy goer at the Ritz Landmark.
  • Being a Big Kid: ICE CREAM… YOU SCREAM FOR CAPOGIRO‘s ICE CREAM. Alternatively, you can go old school with The Franklin Fountain (which was right around the corner from where we lived).

So the next time anyone has a day to spare, come and visit and enjoy this beautiful city because I am sure you will love it.

Life Travel

From the Rocking Chair Life Play

16 Months

 

… and a blooper

16 Months Blooper

Life Moments

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Moment

Moments