Layoffs

I still have a job, but people around me are being laid off on a daily basis. It is demoralizing to say the least, but I also noticed a strange and alarming trend that people being laid off are the people that I think are far more intelligent and much better employees than those who are staying and even getting promoted. Why do these management newcomers not recognize the brilliance in introverted and down-to-earth geniuses, and are taken with overly ambitious and overly enthusiastic bullshitters?

Vincent is gone... he just stopped by my desk and said: "that's it, i am gone." Even his good-bye message was silly and not sappy sentimental..."[Insert Product Name] - it's survived this long... don't break it!"

Hands

My hands.... just now I found someone else'a hands on my keyboard, these completely foreign to me fingers are pounding the keys... I see them (in my peripheral vision) typing away while I choose to focus on the words lining up into perfect paragraphs that resemble chinese military formations. I am terrifed of taking a direct and close look at these strange hands... either my eyesight is getting better (to the point that I can see all the individual microscopic cells) or else my hands are aging!

Сонечка

Сонечка уверена, что каждый, кто приходит к нам в дом, приходит чтобы посмотреть на неё и, потенциально, забрать её к себе жить. Она страшно боится и прячет своё смешное личико у меня в коленях... Она логично заявляет: "Дядя заберёт... или... Тётя заберёт!".... Это просто навязчивая идея какая-то! Мы все просто катаемся по полу от смеха, наблюдая как серьёзно она об этом заявляет.

My son is 11

My son is 11 years old. How amazing is this? He is 11 and I am 33... I am 3 times his age and yet he is wiser and more knowledgeable in some things... well, mostly more knowledgeable when it comes to sports, PlayStation games, Wii games, and American cinematography. He has this inner intelligence about him when he knows when not to pry, not to pester, be considerate, let people off easily when they make mistakes.... (My daughter is more of a rottweiler when it comes to asking embarrassing questions in public, or not letting go of something that makes her parents a laughing stock for all.) My son is gentle and wise, but a man nonetheless... quiet, determined, monogamous (he has liked the same girl since he was 7,) a fighter on ice, modest and funny. I love my boy and I am so proud of him.

Pierced Ears

My 9-year old daughter now has short hair, pierced ears and an eye-rolling attitude. It happened overnight, practically overnight. If anyone asks how it happened, I would not be able to answer.... how does a sweet little innocent girl turned into "mean teen parent biting machine." Sometimes I miss my little girl, but I am in awe of the new Masha... so head strong, so powerful, so fearless.

We honestly don't get it...

When I read expat posts (and I read a lot of them, because I am always curious to see how people adjust), I understand that the common problem for any expat, regardless of their origin or destination, is that we look for people just like us and gravitate towards those that speak the same language. Even those who try to swim upstream eventually end up with a circle of friends that reflects this almost subconscious need to be with those that are just like us.

That's not what I want to say though... what I noticed is that I am a person without a country. I gravitate towards the Soviets, not Russians... My eyes don't lock with the new Russians, I seek out those people from the late eighties-early nineties - the "soviets"... They can be Russian, Ukrainian (I am married to a Ukrainian Jew), Georgian, Armenian, Belorussian, Latvian, Estonian, .... I have no animosity towards Georgians despite the war... I have no dislike for Ukrainians supposedly stealing Russian gas... As an expat, I am preserved in my emotional time warp and feel completely cocooned in my circle of Soviet friends from different backgrounds that are completely bewildered by the newly found hatred, newly found faith, newly formed coalitions. When I follow the Olympics, I still sum up all those medals that are won by former Soviet Union Republics and feel great, because normally we, the Soviets, come out on top (ahead of China and the US!) I know how silly and infantile this sounds, but I can't help it.

My Car

My husband and I have owned our Nissan Quest for 10 years... This is what this car has been through during that time:

1) 200,000 miles of being driven by either me or Vadim
2) I am sure over 100 different people were passengers in the car at one point or another in addition to family members
3) Every member of our family threw up in the car at least once (frankly, every member of the family has done this more than once...)... god, I will never be able to part with this car after this revelation... (Just to set the record straight, all my vomitting was due to pregnancy related morning sickness.)
4) Thousands of pounds of food have been transported in the car (and hundreds of pounds eaten inside the vehicle while in route to some remote, or not so remote, destination.)
5) Many times the car contracted some mysterious nasty smell (clearly of organic nature) and we successfully combatted it every time
6) 5 different car seats graced the seats inside the vehicle with three babies strapped in at different times
7) Crayons melted permanently into the seat in one spot (do not leave crayons in the car!)

Bottom line, this car is like family... I will probably be driving it 10 years from now. I am sure it is doable, I see some taxis that have 400k miles and are still on the road.

Bananas

I hate the taste of bananas now that I am in my 30s. The only way I can convince my taste buds to accept this fruit is by commanding them to go back in time to the prehistoric events of growing up in the former Soviet Union. Growing up we didn't have bananas and visit to the grocery store, especially in the winter, didn't yield any tasty results except for some occasional onions, beets and frost bitten apples eroded by worm tunnels. It was wonderful to be walking down the street with my mom and come across a long line of people. We always joined the line before we even found out what was being sold... a line meant something delicious would be at the end of it. I was excited about standing in line, the longer the line the better. Bananas were always the greenest color of green and you knew that you probably had to wait another week or two to sample them. We would put them under the bed in the paper bags and every day I would pull each individual bag early in the morning to see if there were touches of gold on any of the jungle green colored fruit. The moment streaks of yellow touched the bananas, I was begging my parents to eat the fruit that tasted grassy, but oh so exotic and delicious! I try to take myself back to those times when I eat bananas now (perfectly ripe, sweet, organic bananas), but I can only muster enough memory lane imagination to get me through eating half of a banana.