Dirt and Danger

Becoming a parent has taught me that you don't really realize the dirt and dangers surrounding children until you have one and are toddling/ crawling at their level (or dealing with black-kneed pants and socks from running around inside)

I knew there was dirt and garbage on the street, but until I started taking Saphira out of her stroller to toddle on the ends of my fingers, I didn't quite realize how many "no touch" items there were out there . . . . beer bottles, bottle caps, cigarette butts, hypodermic needles . . . . . .

I finally let her tounch a dead and crusty leaf just to have an item that could be explored.

Secondly, after a week of visiting the playground out of the stroller, it is slightly disconcerting that the only adult name I have to show for the encounters with children is that of a probable predator. I'm assuming predator because not only was it an old man without children on the playground, but 1) he approached us 2) he asked us if he could buy us something 3) he gave us his name and asked mine (this has NEVER happened in any conversation with other adults on the playground - strictly kid talk, even obvious things, like my accent, have not been asked about - let alone a name) 4) he said that when we meet again we need to have drinks. Of course,if i'd missed any of those neon signs, there was also the older woman walking by who was also telling me to ignore him, at which point I was already bundling Saphira into the stroller and trying to extract myself.

Maybe its the fact that I grew up in a small, clean, country town with a farm to play on where the most dangerous items were piles of junk and rusty nails (ok - I suppose as a parent these are disturbing too - but I'd rather have a rusty nail over a syringe).

It all just makes you think of what is safe, and where you do let your kids play. S obviously can't play alone yet - but when she can - do I let her go in sand piles and boxes? What could be buried there? It makes me very glad that we've invested in the mud hut and that at least once in awhile we can go out and play in the fresh air and the grass and have nothing more to worry about than bee stings and splinters.

Philosophy

There are so many philosophies you have to take a stance on when you become a parent.

Feeding, Sleeping, diapering, routines, discipline, potty training, eating, learning - and my latest obsession - footwear.

Saphira has extra wide feet - and I am thankful for all the very thorough measure at home guides - especially at Startrite. And I am also thankful for all the new options in footwear (esp wide footwear) that wasn't there when I was growing up.

So I'm sorting through it - the different brands, the different philosophies, the different ways of getting stuff to Ukraine. And while the philosophy behind baby footwear in Ukraine is very far from our own (barefoot is NOT best here) - There are some options for us. (The idea to ask a shoemaker to custom make something didn't pan out- philosophies and language being the key barriers)

My most interesting find? Neighboring Poland actually invented a super flexible shoe. Maybe we'll have to investigate on a future visa run.

Until then, we managed to find some 1st shoes that were wide enough for Saphira's feet. Now when we go for a walk - she can get out of the stroller to bounce on the end of my fingers while she talks to the pigeons.

The Average Housekeeper

In grade school, my schoolmates and I laughed at the exploits of one mother who "gasp" mopped her floor everyday. We obviously didn't have mothers who aspired to such overzealous and unnecessary behaviour. Granted, she had no infants or toddlers in the house, but now that I have one, I wish I could manage to mop the kitchen floor each day. Even without adding her dropped food to the occasion, the floor is dirty enough that I just have to grin and bear her crawling on it or find that extra minute to mop it.

I finally bought a "real" broom - so that has improved the chances of it getting mopped considerably. Our old broom was a quaint, traditional bundle of twigs. In order to use it without breaking your back though, you had to be a dwarf. It was that or the vacuum. So i bought a new broom. I now manage to mop the floor at least 4 times a week - which may explain why I'm not blogging quite so often now :- )

No matter what the internet says . . . .

Maybe it's my fault - I didn't search long enough, hard enough, I didn't use the right term. I failed to find a recipe for peanut brittle that didn't call for corn syrup* - correction - I found one, read the reviews and decided I could use the corn syrup substitution I found here in a regular recipe.

I was so confident, I even doubled the batch.

I never got above 250. This is the temperature where my sugar spontaneously metamorphosed into a bubbling mass of crystals. quickly I added water and brought the temp up again. Poof. Two-hundred and fifty degrees and I have a hardening ball of grainy sugar and nuts. Maybe adding the butter and baking powder would help? Alas, no. This didn't help.

Any ideas of what to do with roughly 5 cups of super sugary peanut clumps. appreciated. My one hopeless thought is to give them as gifts anyways since Ukrainians don't know what peanut brittle is, won't know what I'm giving them anyway and will just accept it as odd clumpy sugary peanuts.

*Corn syrup is similar to golden syrup. Neither has been spotted here.

Observations on Babies in Kiev

I just remembered a story as I was reading this article and it triggered a bunch of observations on being a parent in Kiev that have been rattling around - so here goes.

I've mentioned before that baby wearing isn't really the thing to do in Ukraine, I've yet to really connect with baby wearers - but from the on-line forums we have similar stories.

On our way to church one

day- I'm wearing Saphira and makeup, and a skirt. I'm standing under the arches at Metro Teatralno, waiting for Alister, who went to talk to a babushka. A woman walks up to me and tries to hand me money (she thinks i'm a beggar because I am carrying my baby in a sling). I didn't take it, obviously - but its interesting all the same.

Now that Saphira is bigger, and its winter and icy, we are using the stroller and not relying on the carrier - for safety and also its not comfortable to carry her on my back over a coat and its cold carrying her in front with my coat open.

A stroller in Kiev is not an easy thing. There are stairs everywhere. We specifically got a lighter stroller so I can, for the most part, heft the stroller (with her in in it) under an arm and plough up the steps or down. Sometimes the stairs have these narrow tracks laid over them for pushing the stroller up. This is also awkward - if you are pushing the stroller increases in weight with the force of gravity and you are at a very steep and awkward angle - I find it much easier to pull it up backwards - but this is still not really "easy".

Most Ukrainian mothers go walking in groups of two. Two women with babies, or sometimes one woman with and a friend without. In this way they take turns helping each other with the stroller or standing outside the grocery store while one goes in and does the shopping and then waits with the babies while the other does the same thing.

When you have a baby - people are more polite and friendly. A Ukrainian friend who just visited the states for the first time observed that one of the strongest contrasts between here and America is that in the US the store clerks talk to you and have whole conversations with you as easy as you please and here - well, lets just say words are at a minimum.

When you have a baby, the clerks talk to you - or at least talk to the child. Clicking and cooing and telling the baby how lovely she is. People in line around you do the same thing. BUT for the most part, the conversation is directed to the baby.

One woman, with another baby who spotted my baby,came over and showed her baby my baby and told her baby how nice my baby was because she wasn't fussing or crying and she should do the same. I smiled and asked the woman how old her child was and the woman acted like I had descended from outer space. Now, i have reviewed the conversation in my mind, and I am convinced that i made no odd grammatical errors - I must have just crossed the politically correct border of conversation because I talked to the mother directly instead of addressing my question through the infant.

Yesterday too, I was standing in line (carrying Saphira) and a man hurried past and bumped into me. This was rather rude, but not unheard of. What was unheard of is that when I finished paying and was getting my stuff together and all balanced, he was standing there waiting and actually apologized and said he had been in a hurry and he was sorry (why he was waiting when he said he was in a hurry??) and then he went off. To get an apology - a real apology - is a rarity - but to have someone wait and give you an apology - that's a regular miracle.

Now that its cold, everyone is asking me (via Saphira) if she has frozen. (ты замерзла?) Obviously, I wouldn't take her out if she was going to freeze - and I'm never quite sure how to respond or what to say. I normally stick with - no she's warm.

Is it worth it?

So in the States - I wouldn't normally buy organic- it is just way too expensive. Here, it's easy - you just walk up to a babushka in the market and buy whatever she has. Sometimes it is about 10 cents more per kilo but way more attractive than the grocery store produce- plus you are supporting a local granny and its organic - right?

But now in the supermarket they are selling bulk frozen veggies. And they are the same price, even a bit cheaper than the same fresh produce I can buy at the market. They are already clean, already blanched, already frozen . . . is it worth stocking up on the veggies in season and buying guaranteed organic?

These thoughts came to me as I sorted and cleaned a kilo of brussel sprouts. 1st wash them, then you cut off the bottoms, peel of the outer leaves and sort them by size. Then you blanch them for a few minutes, drain them, and pop them in the freezer. It was much more time than I actually had to give to the project so we ended up eating generous helpings of brussel sprouts the next few days as I only got 1/2 a kilo processed and frozen.

While I imagine a time of people leisurely husking corn, snapping beans, and cleaning brussel sprouts, I wonder if what people really did was just eat their food with a lot more "impurities" than what we insist on today (obviously the corn still had to be husked). Even without freezers, they would have had to dry or can or pickle the produce - that is much more time consuming than freezing. And obviously people survived, though admittedly the life expectancy was shorter - but was it due to an improperly cleaned brussel sprout? For this year at least, I'm afraid the grannies will have to find another customer for their sprouts - I just don't have the time or patience for it this year when I can buy them cleaned, blanched and frozen for the same price at the supermarket.

Santa got . . .

Eaten by our cat - and it wasn't a fight over the milk and cookies.

I stopped by Nova Linia yesterday - I love hardware stores and I was surprisingly able to take care of a lot of Christmas shopping! One thing I found was some gel window clings - I was very excited. okay maybe clings are a bit tacky - but they were a part of my childhood and these ones were cute. Really.

Unfortunately the cat decided to eat it. So all I have to show for it is this picture. In the time it took to take the picture and go into the kitchen to complain to Alister, the cat had finished off the rest of the mustache and was licking his lips in anticipation for more. I had to throw it away except for the snowflakes and a Christmas tree, which I put on the kitchen balcony door. The cat looks up at it longingly, but so far he hasn't found a way to eat them.

It turns out Alister didn't like the cling either - My theory is he coated it in Chicken broth - but so far I have no proof.

Tally of what he ate: 1 christmas tree, 3 snowflakes, entire mustache, 1 eyebrow, the ball from Santa's hat.