A few lessons on discipline

I was listening to a radio show once, and the guy running the show said this: "The most proud I have ever been is when somebody in a restaurant came to me and said that my kids were very well-behaved." I made the silliest face at the radio. What a low expectation the guy must have for his kids - to be well-behaved at the restaurant! Giving a great speech at school does not raise to this. Defending a young friend against a bully - not even close! What really makes a father proud is when his kids sit quietly at the table without "disturbing the peace."

Another time I was reading a discussion on the Internet site, and the guy wrote: "Whenever I see a family with kids sitting next to my table, I ask a waiter for another table. How dare they bring their kids to a restaurant! You just know the kids will ruin your dinner by screaming and running around."

-Good! - I said - Ask for another table. Better yet, go to another restaurant. The last thing my kids need is a selfish jerk giving them hateful looks.

Why would we expect our kids to be "well-behaved" in public places? How often do we give dirty looks to a party at the next table that laughs so loudly that people on the street think they are passing by a comedy club? How often do we ask for a different table when a well-dressed gentleman talks on a cell-phone so loudly that in 10 minutes we know all his company's inner workings? Why do we expect "good behavior" of children, but not of adults?

One of my dear friends who still lives back in Ukraine thinks I should write a book about raising kids. For some reason she thinks that I know much more about raising kids then others do. I don't know about a book - there quite a few of those on the market, and most of them are quite good. But if I did write a book, here is what I would write.

Lesson #1. The words "well-behaved" should be applied to dogs, not to kids. Kids should be kind, age-appropriately well-mannered (same goes for adults by the way), and willing to listen to an adult's directions. And if they occasionally do disturb the peace by laughing too loudly or getting up from a chair, do not feel ashamed - we all make mistakes. However, if you think they are not ready for an upscale restaurant, be kind to others and spare your kids the hostility - take them to a child-friendly place like Fresh Choice.

Lesson #2. If you insist on taking your 3-year-old to Costco and standing in line for 20 minutes, expect a temper tantrum. No matter how well-mannered your child is, his patience at this age will only last for 5 minutes. If your child is willing to stand in line for 20 minutes, don't be proud, but rather take him to a pediatrician, because he has a problem.

Lesson #3. Don't expect your 2-year-old to "play nicely" and "share". If your neighbor's child happily gives away his toys to other children, it only means that he is non-confrontational by nature, not that he has learned to share. Children's sharing abilities will not kick in by age 3 (if that), and they all are equally unhappy about sharing their toys - they are just not showing it equally aggressively.

Lesson #4. Do not start teaching your baby the meaning of the word "no" at 6 months by explaining that it's not ok to play with your best china. Put the china safely out of his reach and let him crawl around. Your child will learn the meaning of the word "no" at his own good time (he will, no matter what your Russian grandma tells you), and he will learn a lot more a lot earlier by exploring the house freely.

Lesson #5. Don't ever spank (let alone hit) your child. Will you spank another adult for disagreeing with you? It is always wrong to spank a little child, and unless you are a giant, you can't spank a big child. You can always find another solution. If you can't, you are failing as a parent.

Lesson #6. Try to not give "because I said so" as an explanation. This should be used as a last resort, when your child is about to do something dangerous which requires immediate action. Your child still has much to learn, and if you are giving him directions, give an explanation. If you keep saying "because I said so", you are teaching your child nothing.

When I was a small child I was always shy and uncomfortable in a company of adults. The reason was I could always expect an adult to yell at me or to order me around. When I was playing outside with my little friends, there was always an adult ready to yell "Shut up!" or "Get out of here!" or "Don't you have anything better to do than run around?" This is what I've grown to expect from adults, and I hated that. If they thought we were being too loud, why didn't they just asked us nicely to be quieter? It was like kids were these second-class citizens you could always yell at.

When I was in school, it was more of the same. Most of the teachers yelled at us to get attention and used punishment to get good behaviour. I did not like it any more in school then I did earlier. But by then I held these truths to be self-evident that all men (including children) are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights. For example, the right not to be spanked. Or the right not to be yelled at. Or the right to be asked politely. And when I realized that, I started talking back. Whenever a teacher yelled at me, or somebody in my class was unnecessarily punished, I talked back. I was always a good student, and my classmates may have looked at me as a geek, but I was never a teachers' pet. In fact, many teachers hated me for "exercising my rights". This almost cost me my valedictorian medal.

As it always happens, as children we promise ourselves to be "better parents" and not inflict on our own children the same "suffering" that our parents inflicted on us. But when we grow up, we start to see the world through the eyes of our parents, and realize that our parents were, in fact, right in many cases. And when we realize that, we become our parents and inflict the same "suffering" on our children - something we promised never to do.

This is where I differ. I still look at the world through the eyes of a child, not the eyes of an adult. Of course I realize that my parents wanted the best for me. But I don't use "the end justifies the means" methods. You can reach the same end by other means.

Lesson #7. Look at the problem through the eyes of your child, not through the eyes of your parents. You will find a solution that suites both of you.

Lesson #8. Give your child, no matter how young, the same respect you would expect for yourself. One day you will need that respect.

Runaway train

Our dear friend Dima and his father, uncle Misha, share a birthday - March 16. We were at their house today celebrating it, as we did last year, and the year before. Uncle Misha was as kind as he always is - he showed little kids how to plant a cucumber and played some ball with them. Aunt Zhenya cooked more food then a Russian army could eat - as she always does. She made the best coffee in the world (as she always does) and shared a recipe with me. Their house was full of people - coming and going, talking and singing, all through the evening. The only person who wasn't there was Dima.

2004 was a leap year, and people say that leap years are unlucky. They could say that again. Before 2004 my life was at its fairy tale stage. I got married and had two wonderful kids. Nobody close to me ever got seriously ill or died. I lost my grandparents when I was very young; I hardly remember when they died. Since then, I was counting my blessings. I guess I knew that this couldn't last forever, but I remember thinking countless times how lucky I was - death was avoiding me.

2004 did not begin well. Our 2-bedroom house was getting too small for our family, and we needed a new one. Buying a house was never an exciting process for my husband; in fact, it took us a year to buy our first house because he resisted every step of the way. This time, it was the same thing all over again, and we were arguing non-stop, which we never do, except when we are in a process of buying a house. Despite constant arguing, we did manage to buy a new house, and were getting ready to move in around mid-June.

At that time I felt somewhat relieved - until mid-June, or June 16 to be exact. I remember very well driving my son to his basketball practice and waiting for him outside this warm summer evening. My cell phone rang, and at the other end my husband pronounced the unthinkable: "Dima just died." Since nobody around me ever died, I did not react at the moment, except hearing the words from a song in my head over and over:

Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track...

Dima was my husband's childhood friend. I only knew him for a few years, but he became my dear friend as well. He was over 6 feet tall - the kindest giant you could ever meet. He was the heart of every company; he was everybody's friend; he could not have an enemy in the world. We did not see each other too often, but whenever we moved, he always came to help. Every time, except that last move that we were about to do.

He was one of my husband's best men at our wedding. We got married at the synagogue, and our chupah was on the 2nd floor, so we had to walk up the beautiful set of stairs to get there. I remember walking up, when my long dress caught my high heel and I would've fallen, if Dima did not jump out to catch me. Now all I have left of him is this memory... and the song.

2004 was going on, bringing more grief. Shortly after Dima's funeral, my dear friend called me from Sweden and told me that her father was diagnosed with cancer. A week after, I called her and told her that my father was diagnosed with cancer.

Again, I did not know how to react. Ever since I remember myself, my father was my best support when my life got sour. I have to say that I wasn't always an optimist, and I did not believe that my life would turn out ok. But my father always believed it, and I could not achieve what I have in my life without his belief. I could always rely on him when my life was tough, but at that moment our roles were reversed - I had to support him, and I didn't know how to do it. I was probably lucky that the reality of his illness never got to me. I remember sitting with my father at the hospital, making silly remarks about everything, and everybody probably thought it was because I felt optimistic. Not at the least. I just never realized how terribly ill my father was, and that was probably a good thing - otherwise I would become hysterical and could not support my father in any way.

By mid-summer the stress of moving, Dima's death, and my father's illness caught up with me. My life became a black hole. I was constantly expecting somebody to die. I was crying non-stop. I did not enjoy my new house; in fact, I remember myself saying that I don't care where we live because everybody will soon be dead.

At that point I had to be put on antidepressants. They were helping me get back to reality, but 2004 was not over yet. On August 22nd, we were spending the night at my parents' house, as we sometimes do. In the middle of the night, the phone rang. My father picked it up, and from the conversation I could figure out that the call was from Israel, and somebody there just died. I have an old uncle who lived there, so I figured out that was him. It was not. When my father finally ended the conversation, he did not want to tell me that the call was really for me. My dear childhood friend just died in a car accident.

Despite my sincere belief that the world would come to an end before the year 2004 would, we all survived it. All of us, except Dima and Marina.

And everything seems cut and dried,
Day and night, earth and sky,
But somehow I just don't believe it...

My husband tells me that I have not recovered from that year. He is probably right - I have my share of problems, and unfortunately, antidepressants don't help. I am still shaking when a phone rings late. I don't deal with death well. Because I was blessed living without it for so long, I have never excepted it as a part of life, and I never will. My friends who left me that year took a part of me with them, and my life will never be the same. Neither will the life of their families, and my heart goes out to them.

It is March 16 of 2008 - another leap year. Please G-d, keep all my loved ones safe so that I don't have to write another essay like this.

What Dr. Seuss thought about global warming

Today I took my younger son to see an adorable movie "Horton hears a Who!"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horton_Hears_a_Who!

My son loved the movie because the characters looked hilarious, and there were no jokes incomprehensible for kids, which are plentiful in most Hollywood cartoons. It was truly a little kids movie. I loved the movie too, for that reason, and for the whole other, grown-up reason.

At one point or another, all of us wonder what our life is, what meaning it has and where it is going. Some people believe in G-d and some do not, but most of us try to convince ourselves that there is some purpose to our existence. We want to believe that even if theory of evolution is true, we did not appear on Earth by mere chance. And even if "big bang" theory is true, Earth is not just another rock in the Universe that will be destroyed one day by a collision with a giant asteroid, or burned to ashes when Sun starts to die. I question both theories, and I get a lot of grief from my more enlightened friends for questioning them. But now it seems that I found an unexpected supporter in Dr. Seuss.

Recently the theory of global warming has erupted out of nowhere. The theory confidently suggests that human activity put us into the path of our own destruction. I say: how arrogant can we possibly be to think that we can destroy life that we neither created nor ever really understood? Our planet is nothing but a speck of dust in a dangerous vastness of the Universe. It could've been destroyed a million times by an asteroid or a comet. It could've been burned to ashes by a close-by (in cosmic proportions) supernova explosion. It could've been pulled into a large black hole and we all would've been turned into a big spaghetti. Yet, mysteriously, none of this happened. On the contrary, our Earth was given an atmosphere that protects us from anything dangerous that might come our way, all asteroids and comets were "rerouted" away from our orbit, and the conditions on Earth were just right for living organisms to be born and strive.

Could all of this possibly be a mere chance? I do not think so. It's more probable that Horton the elephant has taken a duty to protect from cosmic dangers the speck of dust that our planet is with all its self-important little Whos that we are. Or something like that. Ok, I concede that it may not be Horton the elephant. It may be some other power that some of us like to call G-d, some like to call destiny, and others don't like to think about at all, knowing, quite rightly, that we have just as much chance of understanding this power as little Whos had a chance to understand the subtleties of life in Jungle of Nool.

Just as little Whos did in this famous kids book, we are desperately trying to make ourselves heard. Some of us pray. Some meditate. Some play musical instruments. Some tattoo weird expressions on their bodies. And some come up with bogus theories. I happen to think it's all in vain - we are not being heard. The magical superpower is not interfering in the affairs of men, just like Horton did not interfere in the lives of Whos. This power is not there to fulfill our wishes or make us happy. Its only duty is to protect the tiny planet from dangers that come our way (including the dangers that we ourselves create). That's why I stay optimistic. I say that we are not going to be hit by a giant asteroid and die out like dinosaurs. And I don't think we will bring ourselves to destruction by driving humongous SUVs. Our little speck of dust we call home is safely protected. Just like Dr. Seuss thought it should be.

The time machine

I am sitting at my desk planning summer camps for my kids . It's only the beginning of March, but it doesn't matter - I've been thinking about summer camps since January. Most of my fellow-soccer moms signed up their kids for summer camps while skiing in Tahoe.

For many centuries, humans have been trying to invent a time machine that would take them into the future. At some point, without even noticing it, American humans actually succeeded. Now Americans permanently stay in the future. In many other countries, people struggle trying to get by from day to day. But not Americans. Americans are already way in the future, waving at everybody and smiling.

It's still snowing outside in many places, but our kids are already signed up for summer camps. We start planning our child's next birthday party the next day after his this year's party. We plan weddings and anniversaries years in advance. We buy airline and cruise tickets from 6 months to a year ahead.

If I need shorts for the summer, I have to buy them now. Right now, in March, the selection of shorts in any clothing store is colorful and abundant. 4 months from now, when I will actually need to wear shorts, clothing stores will not carry them. They will carry jackets for fall.

Why do I need to buy the shorts now? I will not wear them for months. What if by summer I gain a few pounds and will need a different size? What if I decide that I want a different color? What if I change my mind and decide not to wear shorts at all this season? Why do I have to make a commitment to shorts, instead of buying them a day before I actually wear them? Because the great american time machine has transported me way into summer already.

This constant living in the future takes a tall on us. It's very stressful. If we don't sign up for a camp on time, our kids run a risk of spending their summer in their own backyard. Imagine the horror! If a mom-to-be doesn't sign up for that prestigious daycare, she will have to teach her child shapes and colors all by herself when the time comes. What a nightmare that will be! If we don't book that nice restaurant for our birthday party a year in advance, we'll have to celebrate it at home in a small company of our closest friends. How sad! And so we stress and stress and stress to make all the arrangements on time so we can enjoy them in the future.

But what if there is no future? We forgot how fragile our life is. Between now and that event in the future that we are planning, our lives will change so dramatically! Our kids will be older and smarter, and we are missing a chance to enjoy their silly babble today. Our parents will be older and less strong, and we missed a chance to take a walk in the park with them yesterday. Our friends will move to another city, but we are not meeting with them this evening for a drink. We will change, our spouses will change, our views will change, seasons will change, and planning what WILL BE we forget to take the time to understand and appreciate what IS.

The spring is blooming. Go outside, look around, listen to the birds, enjoy the warm sun, smell the flowers. 3 months from now, the spring will be gone, and you will notice the fact that it flew right by you, and say: "it's summer already, where did the time go?" What do you expect - time machine only transports you from one time point to another without letting you enjoy the things that you pass by. It's much like traveling in a car - you get from point A to point B without experiencing what's in between these points, unless you actually stop and look around.

When our family takes a car trip, we make frequent stops. We might go to a local restaurant, window-shop, take a stroll down the street or visit a playground. Trips are so much more enjoyable when you experience the road instead of just driving from one destination to another. So is our life. I am getting dizzy of a constantly speeding time machine, passing by, one after the other, precious moments of my life. Instead of looking up summer camps, I am now going outside, to get fresh air or to window-shop (and I will not buy any shorts). And if there is no space left in a camp when I actually need it, I will play with my kids in a backyard, enjoying these moments, too. Today, the great american time machine lost one of its passengers.

Too much activitiy?

Today my son's gymnastics coach told me that Mark has been doing very well in class, and taking a class once a week is no longer enough for him. The coach has been saying this casually to me for a few months now, but today he was very serious and determined. He is organizing another class just for the "strong" kids like Mark, and he really wants me to consider it.

First of all I should say that I am really proud of Mark. Second, I am considering it. But there is a problem which I am sure many "soccer moms" face today. It's a problem of "how much is too much"?

My kids have been involved in extra-curricular activities ever since they were born. When other babies were happily crawling around the house, my older son was learning his shapes and colors with me. When toddlers Alex's age were doing their first scribbles, Alex was learning to write letters and numbers. When 3-year-olds were building railroads and Lego cars, Alex was doing his first addition problems. He started gymnastics at 18 months; at the same age he started "mommy and me" swimming classes. Today, he has dance lessons twice a week, chess, and "all-sports" class that was recommended by his teacher for developing his social and gross-motor skills. He also takes swimming lessons in spring and summer. Besides that, at home we study Russian language and literature (because I require it) and elementary algebra (because Alex requires it). I would also like to enroll Alex in self-defence class (because I think it's necessary for a boy), and in tennis class (because it's so cool). And we'll do that, as soon as we find the time. So far, Alex enjoyed all of his activities, and refused to give any of them up. I am happy with that, except for the fact that he is desperately overscheduled. It's no wonder that he has not learned how to play by himself - almost every minute he has somebody (a parent or a coach) to provide an activity.

With Mark, it's been less busy so far. One of his most important activities was driving to all of his brother's activities. But that's not all. Mark also started gymnastics at 18 months, and has enjoyed it ever since. Then, he started swimming. This time I waited till he was allowed to take a class by himself, because "mommy and me" swimming is a waste of time and money (trust me). Last year, he asked me to enroll him in a soccer class, which I did. And a few months ago, he started dancing twice a week, just like his brother. Oh, I almost forgot - he also goes skating once a week this winter, but he takes a break from swimming and soccer till spring, which made his schedule manageable. Until now.

The problem is that whatever activity Mark does, he is good at it. Alex likes all of his activities, but he has not been especially great at any of them - his specialties are math and science. But Mark is really great at sports. His swimming has progressed wonderfully. He is absolutely great at soccer. Since day one of his dancing class, his teacher tells me that he is the best in class (and she is not lying). And you already know about gymnastics. So, how will I manage all of these activities, especially when he starts school in September? And most importantly, how will Mark manage them?

I have never been a sort of mom who pushes her kids into an activity because she considers it important. I still remember from my childhood a picture of my little girl-friends crying because they needed to practice their music when they wanted to go out and play instead. And how can I miss moms around the swimming pool pushing their howling little children into the water? Of course it's so important to master swimming at age 2 - waiting a year when a child will happily enter the water by himself is a crime against humanity. I've never done any of that. I only suggested activities for my kids, and they had the veto power. But they have never been good at exercising this power - they love their activities. So, now it looks like I have to exercise it for them.

Today, I have no answer. It's so hard to give up an activity that your child is enjoying and is good at. There is always disappointment, and there is guilt. On the other hand, there is lack of time for all the activities, and there is lack of money, too. And there is lack of much needed rest and free playtime. It's time for a family meeting.

See no evil

The world is a dangerous place to live,

not because of the people who are evil,

but because of the people who don't

do anything about it.

Albert Einstein

Whenever something horrible happens, such as Virginia Tech shooting, or Columbine tragedy, or Beltway sniper attacks, we start hearing a lot of the word “evil” thrown around. Sure enough, remembering the horror, it is hard to argue that the perpetrators of these murders were “evil.” Or were they? I keep asking myself. While I have no problem identifying a person or action as “good” or “heroic”, the definition of “evil” has always puzzled me.

Remember Les Miserables by Victor Hugo? Who was the true evil in that story? Was it really inspector Javert, mercilessly pursuing a good man, pathologically obsessed with following the law, and driven to suicide by his own morals? Or was it Monsieur and Madame Thénadier, soulless profiteers picking pockets of dead soldiers? For me, it was always the latter.

Looking at the terrifying and nonsensical videos the Virginia Tech shooter left behind, you are definitely staring in the face of evil. But behind this brutal face, there is a pathetically sick and helpless mind that couldn’t even make a difference between reality and delusions. The person was definitely mentally ill, and for all we know about mental illness, he was born this way. Wait. Can a person be born evil? Can “evil” be an illness?

As I look at the videos of Virginia Tech shooter, other faces pop into mind - a lot less scary, a lot less threatening, and a lot less “evil”, just by looking at them. Hitler, Pol Pot, Hussein, Stalin, and most recent addition to the list – Bin Laden – truly deserve the name of evil; nobody would argue with that. They looked civil most of the time, did not babble nonsensically, just the opposite – they were well spoken and well-educated. Yet, all of them were brutal torturers and mass murderers of a totally sober and sound mind, leaving their bloody footprints on the path of history.

I think we tend to forget that, and the world “evil” is thrown around way too often, blurring its true definition in our minds. “Evil” today may be someone who is simply misguided, deceitful, or in worst cases of dishonesty, someone who we disagree with. We hear the word “evil” said about politicians, celebrities, and even countries. I remember the late president Reagan’s definition “evil empire” in regard to Soviet Union. I grew up in that empire and I never felt that it was evil. Pathetic, oppressive, impoverished, immoral – all of those definitions are true. But I disagree with “evil”.

Now, ironically, it is the USA, that is regarded by many in the world as “evil empire”. And, as ironically, the reason for it, among others, is removal and destruction of Saddam Hussein, mass murderer and true evil. And who are the judges? They are modern day Monsieur Thénadier – Jacques Chirac and his government, filling their pockets with “oil for food” money while Iraqis were slaughtered by the thousands. Also worth mentioning, they are thousands of Muslims, embracing as a war tactic strapping bombs on their children and sending them to blow up themselves and other children.

We use the word “evil” much too often today. And that blurs the real face of evil in our minds. This is ever-important for the true evil – to make sure that when we encounter it we won’t recognize it. And we don’t.

As for Virginia Tech Shooter, or Columbine murderers, or the Beltway “snipers”, the definition does not much matter. It does not change the sympathy that I feel for the people who happened to be in their path, slaughtered by them. It does not change the sympathy I feel for their families. I think these people were mentally ill, and the tragedies could not have realistically been prevented. But other tragedies can be – provided that we recognize the face of a true evil and are honest and brave enough to confront it.

An "ordinary" child

My younger son turns 5 in two days. For all this 5 years he never ceases to amaze me by... being an ordinary kid.

My older son was anything but ordinary, which made him quite difficult to raise. Mark started walking at 13 months, while his older brother waited till he was 15 months (rather late). He started talking (fluently) at 18 months, while Alex didn't say a coherent sentence till he was 3 (rather very late). I could not leave Alex alone for 3 minutes until he was 5 - he always needed company to entertain him. Mark was quite happy playing by himself every now and then.

Every child development book will tell you that your child will start scribbling around age 3, and will draw his first "face" a few months later. Around age 3, all Alex was scribbling was letters and numbers. He was quite good at it, too. But he didn't draw his first "face" until his teacher in Kindergarten demanded that he drew a person.

With Mark, it was different. Around age 3, he was copying his brothers' writing of letters and numbers (not too successfully), but one day he brought us a drawing and said: "look, it's a tree!" We were stunned - it really did look like a tree. Our older child still cannot draw anything that remotely reminds anything real.

Alex always preferred a company of adults (preferably his parents) to a company of his own peers. At the playground, he always played alone. If another child approached him, he would get up and go to a different place. If another child took his toy, it was fine with Alex. He was not crying or trying to take the toy away. He would leave the toy and walk away.

Mark is a complete opposite. He loves to play with other kids. He does not walk away from them, and he does not share a toy (his or somebody else's) without fighting. With him, all the "sharing" lessons that I picked up from parenting books came very handy.

When it came time for Alex to go to preschool, I looked at every preschool in 15-mile radius from our home. I visited every school and interviewed every director. It was all-important to me that my child had a great preschool experience, and not one detail was overlooked. I picked a school that I thought was the best. The result was disappointing. Alex hated preschool at first, and later he became simply indifferent. He did not participate in art projects. He hardly ever listened to stories. He showed no interest in playing with other kids. Every time I came to pick him up, he was sitting next to a teacher with bored expression on his face, while other kids were happily playing.

When Mark was starting preschool, convenience was most important. Alex was already in grade school, he had a ton of afterschool activities, and I needed to find a preschool that would fit my schedule. I picked the one right across the street from our house. Mark loved it from day one. He loves everything about it - the teachers, the kids, the playground, the circle time. He tells me what his friend Jacob did and what Ms. Ann-Marie said, and that Jasmine had a birthday and they ate cupcakes. He brings home his art and hangs it on the board for all to see. Every time I come to pick him up I see him happily engaged in whatever activity they happen to be doing. Just like everybody else.

I am now used to Alex being "different" and consequently more difficult. Mark's being an "ordinary" child makes him easier to raise. With the exception that his favorite occupation is tormenting his brother (which I am sure is normal too). Mark follows Alex around the house and makes up silly names for him. He scratches, kicks, and pulls Alex's hair without any reason. Whichever movie Alex likes to see has Mark's veto. Whichever game Mark wants to play Alex is obligated to play with him, no matter how much Alex dislikes the game. I am trying to keep things civil by saying: "you can't make another person play a game he doesn't want to play", but for Mark, that doesn't cut it. After some scratches and kicks, Alex happily agrees to play.

Despite being so different, I also see (with great pleasure) that my boys are becoming best friends. Mark copies everything Alex does, and picks up Alex's interests - math, astronomy, social studies - no matter how hard it is for him. They can play together happily for longer and longer periods of time, allowing me to write this blog :-)

I consider Mark my greatest achievement. Being the only, and very often, the lonely child, I gave myself a promise that I will definitely have more than one baby. Even now I hear my 5-year-old self begging my parents for a brother or a sister. This was a wish that I carried with me my whole life. Now, at 35, I think I should be able to let that go. But I can't. That is why when Mark was born, I remember myself thinking that at this moment I achieved more than my parents. I don't know if you ever had that feeling, but I did, and I was very proud. And that makes my "ordinary" child... well, extremely extraordinary.

Ghosts

I don't know how popular among Americans http://www.classmates.com/ is. All I know is the russian counterpart, http://www.odnoklassniki.ru/, has swept russian-speaking community. It is so popular that it swept even me.
I need to say that I am not a very easy-going person who usually joins online communities. I have a small circle of long-time friends who I love dearly, and a bigger circle of friends who I like to socialize with. I am happy with that, and I stay away from either live or virtual communities of people I don't know.
I joined odnoklassniki though, because I needed to find someone. I had a dear friend who died in a car accident almost 4 years ago. She lived in Israel and had very few friends and relatives. I needed to find someone who knew her. I don't know why I needed to find them - probably just to talk about her, share some thoughts. As I told you, I have a very small circle of very dear friends, and I don't like to loose them to anyone, even to death. Odnoklassniki was my chance.
So I joined, and for a while nothing interesting happened. I could not find anybody, and nobody seemed to find me. But as odnoklassniki craze was picking up speed, people from my previous life appeared to me out of nowhere. Besides old classmates, some of whom I don't even remember, there were relatives, some of whom I haven't seen for years, some I've never even met.
I was swept by odnoklassniki hurricane. As soon as I woke up in the morning and turned the computer on, there it was: "Hello little sister!" For someone who has been an only child all her life, this is quite a shock. Yes, I know that in russian language you refer to your cousins as "brothers and sisters", so the message really was from a distant cousin. But still... for a minute it seemed like I indeed found a brother or a sister that I so wished to have all my life.
Odnoklassniki is like a mirror where you see people, but you can't touch them. You can't, because they are left in your past, and now they are just words on your computer screen. I call them ghosts. For each of them, it's the usual: - "you look great, haven't changed a bit... how old are your kids, how is work, what does your husband do, ..." After 2 or 3 messages you know everything about them that you ever cared to know, and you think long and hard of what else you can write. You have your own life, they have theirs, and those lives will never intersect again. You are tired of thinking, so you stop writing. Until you find another ghost, and the cycle repeats again. It seems rather pointless to me, except for one thing. Every ghost necessarily says to me: "I still remember you laughing."
It seems amazing to me that they all say that. I remember myself as a very unhappy and angry teenager always picking fights with her parents. Basically, I was a geek who was never invited to any parties, suffered from that immensely, and was envious of "popular" kids. Whenever I recall my teenage years, that's all I can remember - anger, suffering, and envy. And all they can remember about me is the laughter! Somebody's memory is glitching. Probably mine. It can't be theirs, because they are ghosts, and ghosts are never wrong.
It's an urban legend that ghosts appear to people because they have some unfinished business. I think that the unfinished business of my ghosts is to tell me that I wasn't an unhappy, angry, and envious teenager. I was a light-hearted, funny, and kind teenager who had her share of problems. Years passing by, like a magnifying glass made those problems seem much larger than they were. And now jealous, angry and often crying girl lives inside my head, unable to let go of her problems, unable to forgive, unable to be happy. My ghosts want this girl to laugh again. I will let you know if they succeed.

Introduction

Russian speakers will certainly recognize my last name. For their benefit I will tell you that yes, there was an actual person with this last name. Yes, he was my distant relative. And no, he was not a bookkeeper. From what I know, he was quite a respectable and educated man - nothing like bookkeeper Berlaga in the book.
For those of you who are not russian speakers and not familiar with "The golden calf", my name does not matter. I am simply a stay-home mom. I raise my two boys, ages 8 and 4, and sometimes I will write about what it's like. I have a bachelor degree in computer science. I used to work as a software engineer, and I liked it at first, and hated it at the end. I promised to never return to programming, and sometimes I will write about that too. My political views are conservative, and sometimes I will write about politics. I will write because I have always liked writing, but never got around to actually doing something about it.
When I was in college, there was no such thing as blogging, so I had to take three semesters of creative writing instead. I did not espesially like it. When I went to work, I had no time for writing - sometimes I did not even have time for anything, because I was working during the day and moonlighting at night. That was not fun either, but I needed the money. Then I had kids, and finding the time for writing (or sleeping, or taking a shower) became a problem again.
Now my kids are a little older and may even entertain each other for 10 minutes without starting a fight. My older son goes to school, and my younger one will start school in September, so I promise to devote some time to writing... unless I find a job that interests me.
Till next time,

--Tanya Berlaga