British Mummy Blogger of the Week

I'm posting this week's BMB of the Week early as tomorrow it's Victory Day here in Russia, and we're going out to see the celebrations and join in the fun. Which you should, of course, expect to hear all about on this blog next week...

I've been clothes shopping today, for the first time in Moscow. This is not as simple an exercise as it sounds - stick a premium of at least 50% and more often 100% on a lot of brands you recognise from back home - but I managed to buy 3 tops and (thank GOD) some new shoes. Thank GOD on the shoes, because I left all my summer ones in London and as it warms up the appeal of putting on winter boots for yet another day has begun to pall somewhat.

Also, the option of wearing some pretty sandals or sneakers has vastly opened up the chances of my wearing some of my summer clothes (the ones I remembered to pack, anyway). Again, jeans are all very well but it's 25degC here today (bet you never thought you would read that from a blogger in Moscow), and since our house doesn't have airco, well, it's best for everyone that I dress a little more coolly...

On top of which, anything which means I can minimise my time spent in shops is a good thing, not only because it's so galling being faced with the requirement to spend $100 to buy a pair of sandals from Zara or similar. It's also because, like this week's recommended British Mummy Blogger, I hate changing rooms with a passion.

Henrietta Pretty of From Marketing To Milk writes of herself:

'One day i woke up and Mrs Digital Marketing Manager had somehow become Mrs “no my son can’t swim yet, and i’m not sending him to french lessons with Daphne”. I decided to write this blog to chart my journey from successful career girl to stay at home mum, with a little bit of what i think about stuff along the way.'

Take a look at her musings on changing rooms and how the ageing process affects everyone but us - we like to think - and enjoy.

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).

The Grumps...

My parents arrive for their visit to Moscow today. There have been flurries of e-mails and telephone calls, threats from my father to wear a novelty lobster baseball cap when walking through customs, and panics from my mother that they would be stopped and the Weetabix she's bringing in for her beloved grandsons confiscated.

I've just had a phone call from Husband to tell me that 'the package is in transit' and that they are all on their way here now from the airport. Hold on to your hats, it's going to be interesting cramming 4 adults and 2 children into a house with only 2 proper bedrooms and one loo (but two bathrooms - those crazy Russian architects!). I may not be posting much for the next few days, so I'm taking the opportunity now to break the habit of the last few months and do a meme as requested by my good friend (and the first blogger I ever met in person), Frog in the Field.

She has asked me to write a list of 7 things that make me grumpy, because, and I quote have 'lots to grumble about in Moscow, I'm sure...'

Frog, this came at a very good time. Although interestingly I don't think my grumps will all be about Moscow - but let's start typing and find out...

1. Fussy tenants. We've just let out our flat, and they specifically asked us to put in a sofa as they don't have any furniture in the UK right now. We did. They moved in this week. And have asked us to take out the sofa as they don't like it. (What the hell were they expecting? B&B Italia, for a rented flat? I think not. We have to live with Ikea, so can they...)

2. Fussy tenants. We've just let our flat (did I mention that already?), and I got a note from our 'account handler' at the estate agents who shall not be named, saying the new tenants don't like how stained our granite work surface is and would we consider replacing it. Would we WHAT? When they saw the flat it was empty - they signed on for the worksurface, stains and all. Suck it up, baby.

3. Pathetic tenants. Apparently a light bulb has gone in the sitting room. Can we send in a handyman to replace it? (I'm not going to tell you my response to this one. But are they Russians, or something?)

4. Shoddy Estate Agent Account handlers (see, Frog, told you there might not be much Russian about this list...). I've asked 3 times for our final meter readings. Today I have resorted to telling her that if she doesn't supply them I will be forced to use the ones I took when we left the flat in January, and since I'm sure there has been fair amount of electricity and gas burned since then (we had to leave the heating on for viewings etc), that wouldn't really be fair to the new tenants. (She of course doesn't need to know that I have no idea where those readings are right now...)

5. OK, here's a Russian one. The bloody weather. All this cloud seeding is one thing, but as I have since been told (and am now experiencing), the beautiful weather it results in is swiftly followed by cold, clammy rainy weather. I knew no good could come of tampering with nature...

6. Other parents. Well, specifically other parents at PTO meetings who insist on using valuable air time (don't they know I have a very important rant to write on my blog?) to follow their own agenda and talk about how 'special' their own child is. Does anyone realise, for example, that poor 6 year old junior, speaking 4 languages as she does, never gets the chance to practice them at school, and couldn't the teachers making class selections for next year make sure she gets the chance to be in a class with other children who DO speak those languages? (I refrained from pointing out that the parents of the other children concerned might have a problem about their child being encouraged to speak a language other than English when they are paying vast sums of money for them to go to - and be taught in - an ENGLISH SPEAKING SCHOOL).

7. Oh. And last, but not least; my washing machine is shrinking all my clothes. Either that or I'm putting on weight - and there is nothing guaranteed to make me grumpier than that...

I'm supposed to tag 7 people, but my parents are getting ever-closer and I still have toys to tidy away so I'm afraid Frog that I'm just going to say to whoever fancies this one: go for it. Let your grumpy self go free...

The Long and Short of it...

Me: "So, how about wearing shorts today? It's lovely and warm..."

Boy #2: "Weeeeeellll... Can I see them?"

I show him a pair of navy blue knee-length Gap shorts inherited from his older brother. (Thank god for shorts, by the way; at least they can't go at the knees). He looks at them critically; it's the first time they've seen the light of day this year and after a winter in snowsuits and thick trousers, they're probably not something he remembers.

Boy #2: "OK.

I help him put them on. He stands up as I do up the button, and glances down, then lets out an almighty wail.

Me: "What? What's the matter Boy #2? Use your words, what's the matter?"

Boy #2: "But... But... But..."

Me: "What?"

Boy #2: "But... what about the REST of my legs?"

Needless to say, he's wearing trousers today...

The Gallery #10: Beauty and the Beast

Week 10 of Tara's Gallery and the prompt for today was to paint a picture of the world we live in. I've titled this post 'Beauty and the Beast', so let's get the bad stuff out of the way first and start with... cue 'Jaws' type music... The Beast.

Doesn't look very beastly, does it? Just some yellow paint or pollen on the ground. Of course, this being Moscow, that's not what it is at all. What you see before you is the remains of the most recent 'cloud seeding' episode over the skies of the city. Husband used to tell me when he lived here in the mid-90's that before major celebrations the City would send planes up to shovel various substances into the cloud to disperse the rain and ensure fine weather for important events. Like, for example the forthcoming 65th Anniversary Celebrations of Victory Day in The Great Patriotic War (World War II, to you and I - more of which another time). I didn't really believe him. It sounds like something out of science fiction, right?

Wrong. They do do it. And whilst it doesn't seem to have any environmentalists up in arms right now, personally I can't believe that shovelling concrete dust, dry ice and and various other chemicals (which are apparently a closely guarded secret) into rain clouds can be such a good thing, either for the fabric of the city or the people living in it. Of course, I wouldn't want to rain on anyone's Parade - pun intended, obviously - but I can't shake the feeling I should be running around in a biblical styley shouting 'Doomed! We're all doomed! No good can come of this!' every time I notice the stuff on my car... (Click here if you want to find out more about this...)

And now, since this is the Gallery and you really came here looking for pretty pictures, here's some Beauty; a shot of the view this morning from the back of our house. Please note - this is not our garden...

Question;

Starter for Ten...

If you are a supplier of a service that might require your customers to hold whilst waiting for one of your operators to become free, and if you decide to put - for a change - mildly acceptable music on for said customer to listen during this period, do you really think that breaking into the tune Every. 5. Seconds. to announce 'Thankyou for holding; one our operators will be with you shortly' is really necessary?

Don't you think that we might know we are holding? And don't you think that we might have a longer memory than a goldfish and have remembered from the first time time you said it that you really are trying to deal with our call as soon as possible? Or do you worry that if we don't hear whichever of your employees has won the 'most acceptable telephone voice' competition constantly reassuring us of your continued interest in us, that we might assume that everyone is off at the coffee machine swapping tales of yesterday's Krazy Kwizz Nite down at the Bull and Bush instead of dealing with our calls?

(Oh yes, I worked in a call centre as a student - I know what goes on...)

Just wondering, anyway...

T. I. R.

When we first moved to Moscow I met a lovely lady who's favourite phrase is 'This is Russia'. (TIR, for short). She uses it whenever confronted by a situation that falls so far outside our normal home life expectations that really, one has to ask oneself how the hell one got into it. I've had a number of those moments since arriving here; the heating, the driving, and the weather are just three examples.

But you begin to suspect your home is indeed far far away when you pop over to a neighbour's for an informal lunch and the lovely couple and their children who join you, and for whom you've cooked your best Deep Filled Meringue with Berries, turn out to be an Ambassador and his family. Long term readers; please be advised that I managed to avoid liberally peppering the lunchtime conversation with that famous Ferrero Rocher catch-phrase. Actually, I think I deserve a medal for that since the temptation was almost overwhelming when he proceeded after pudding, very tunefully and charmingly, to serenade us with lullabies from his home country, shortly before which our host had brought out a copy of his (as in, the Ambassador's) latest volume of extremely good poetry to be signed by the author...

But that's not all that happened this bank holiday weekend to emphasise the fact that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Lunch was followed the same day by a girl's night out where - this being Russia - taxis were not required (since most people are far more sensible than I am, and use a driver to chauffeur them around), there was bear - BEAR - on the menu, it was cheaper for the seven of us to drink cocktails than to order a bottle of wine (mmm - yummy mojitos....), and our table was visited by someone wearing what must have been the hottest and sweatiest grisly bear costume around. (And did I mention the children's party where the entertainment consisted of live animals featuring a monkey, parrots, a crocodile for chrissakes, and not one but two - real - bears? All of which are apparently considered suitable guests for a child's 6th birthday celebration).

Then - because yes, it goes on - I collected Boy #1 from another party yesterday afternoon where my outfit of tunic and jeans - perfectly acceptable clothing when you consider the former was by a (minor) designer and the latter were clean - let the British side down markedly when faced with the much-further-upmarket Russian mums attending. The birthday child's mum, for example, was sporting a turquoise and blue halter-neck maxi-dress with a plunging neckline, accessorised with an artfully tousled blonde mane, a truly splendid cleavage, and a lacy g-string displayed to maximum effect through the clinging material of her dress.

The sad thing is that I didn't even manage to get the name of her stylist because she, her husband and their friends disappeared half an hour before the scheduled end of the party without saying goodbye, leaving the clutch of children and a few less fashionable guests (like myself) watching cartoons and in the charge of the nanny and the housekeeper.

Oh well. This Is Russia, I guess...

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

It's Sunday night, and I'm sitting here watching and listening to the most monumental thunderstorm here in Moscow. It's at times like these as I bustle round the house unplugging computers and telephones that I realise how 'middle-age' is no longer a far off event that might happen to me some time in the future, but a real-time, in your face car-crash that can't be avoided any more. Of course, it's not as if I don't have this realisation every day during that first horrific look in the mirror every morning after I put my contact lenses in but before I have the chance to apply any mascara, but I can usually lose that thought in amongst the sandwich-making, boy-wrangling, traffic-negotiating fun that happens shortly afterwards.

(Note to self; ignore thunderstorms in future.)

This week's British Mummy Blogger, Hari Vaudrey of Thankyou for the Days, writes of herself:

I'm a hypnotherapist and I have three children, 7, 4 and 2. I live in a village in Oxon, UK. I spent many years travelling before I settled down and got divorced... I'm looking for a pyramid selling scheme where I'm at the top. So send me a tenner and forward this to all of your friends.

I recommend you take a look; if nothing else you may, like me, find a couple more uses for baking soda that you didn't know of and which your middle-aged brain might decide to file away for future use...

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).