I got my new shoes on...

The Boys have needed new shoes for some time now. I have to admit, I've been putting it off. I picked up a couple of pairs of canvas sneakers for them when I was back in London a few weeks ago, and they've been wearing those inside and their still-fine snow boots outside. However, as Husband rightly pointed out, we really needed to get them both new indoor shoes and trainers, so last Saturday that is what we set off to do.

It shouldn't be difficult really, should it? They have children in Moscow who have feet and wear shoes too, don't they?

But I knew that it would be. Which is probably why I had been putting it off until a day when Husband was foolish enough to be available to accompany me to translate as necessary.

Why? Well, the service culture in Moscow has come on in leaps and bounds in the last 16 years since I started to visit here, but some aspects of it still leave a little something to be desired...

Last Saturday then, we set off for one of our local shopping malls where we knew there were kids' shoe shops aplenty. I drove, and the Boys and Husband went by tram, and as any Moscow residents will not be surprised to learn, they got there first. Husband decided at this point to take matters into his own hands re; the shoes ('What's that stupid woman making such a fuss about? I shall buy both my sons shoes before she even gets here, and demonstrate to her how easy it is!') and he and the Boys went on up to the largest kids clothing store.

They stood around in the well-stocked shoe section being ignored for a few minutes, until Husband took matters into his own hands and asked an assistant for help. This is the conversation that ensued.

Husband: "Can you help me, please?"

Store lady (sigh): "Yes. What do you want..."

Husband: "We would like to buy some shoes."

Store lady looked blankly at my husband, and then with an all encompassing gesture swept her arms around her and said: "Shooooeees."

Husband (somewhat taken aback): "Yes, I can see they're shoes, but I'm not quite sure what size my sons take, can you help us with that please?"

Store lady (sigh): "OK." She looked at my sons' feet, and started pulling out boxes.

Husband: "Hang on. Can you measure their feet first, please?"

Boy #2 sat down and began to pull his snowboots off. Store lady picked up the first boot from the floor and checked underneath for the size.

Husband: "No, I don't want you to check these boots. I want to know what size his feet are now. Can you measure them, please?"

Store lady picked up Boy #2's foot and looked at it. "I would say..."

Husband: "No, I would like you to measure them. Can you do that please?"

Store lady sighed. "No, we don't do that. Just try a few pairs on until you get some the right size."

At this stage Husband turned and swept grandly out of the store, two Boys (asking loudly when they were going to get new trainers) in tow..

At this stage I was still stuck in traffic, so he moved next door, where they also sold children's shoes. And then, after repeating the whole sorry process, left that one too. By the time I finally got there, he was on store number 3. And this time when the assistant - on being asked to measure the Boys' feet - pulled out a dressmaker's tape measure, Husband kept quiet and counted himself lucky...

Potski Spring Watch and a little local drama..

So I promised it, and here it is; the 2nd week of the 'Potski Front Flower Bed Spring-Watch' series. Catchy title, huh?

Just to refresh your memory, this was last week's shot.

And here is this week's shot.

Hmmm.

A bit less snow, a few more scrubby plants showing through. I know, I know, I promised you action. I promised you explosive adventure, Nature-style. Well hold your horses, it will come, I promise. Just not quite yet...

But wait! What's this? An everyday drama unfolding before our very eyes! Look, just there at the front of the flower bed. (Click on the photo and look for the only spots of colour amongst the varying shades of grey)

Mr Everyman has been stopped on the side of the road by the police. Oh foolish Mr Everyman! What were you thinking, driving such a swanky car to the office? Don't you know it makes you a target? Probably, that's just what the nice friendly police officer is about to tell him. (And note how Mr Everyman is shielding his face from the camera. He's been around the bloc before, that's for sure...)

Yes, that's right, see? The nice friendly police officer (who seems to have lost his hat, how unfortunate), is taking Mr Everyman to sit in the police jeep to continue their conversation somewhere quieter.

There you are; Mr Everyman is safely on his way back to his vehicle (and no doubt to his girlfriend GT waiting for him in the passenger seat). No drama, no problems.

His wallet might be unaccountably lighter, but he can probably afford it. Well, you have to expect that, when you make yourself a target by driving a flashy car like that...

Note: All events depicted are completely fictional and bear no relation to anyone's reality...

And if you're wondering 'why the dog?' well, this is Moscow. There's ALWAYS a dog around somewhere.

Oh, and want to join in the 'Front Flower Bed Spring-Watch' fun? (I must do something about that title). Feel free to add your post to the McLinky which I will add below just as soon as they've acknowledged receipt of my subscription (why is nothing ever easy?).

The Gallery; Mother-love

This post is for Wk 53 of The Gallery; Mother Love. Click here to see the other fabulous entries...

Mother-love is being handed the creation above and, rather than shrieking in horror and wondering where you've gone wrong in your parenting style, listening seriously as your younger son tells you that this is in fact a model of a man with spiky hair. And then giving it house-room (at least, until he forgets about it).

Or, on a more serious note...

Mother-love is collecting someone else's children from school having left your own in the care of close relatives on the other side of the world. Mother-love is decamping to a country that is freezing cold 5 months of the year, living in cramped accommodation (often sharing a room with up to 6 others), and being at the mercy of police officers who are liable to pull you out of the bus queue, drive you to a remote spot and demand money before dumping you in the middle of nowhere. If you're lucky. Mother-love is looking after other people's children when you are desperately missing your own and know that you may not see them for up to two years. Mother-love is cleaning other people's toilets and then asking their permission to get a glass of water from the cooler. Mother-love is doing all this so that you can earn enough money for your children to complete their education and hopefully go to university so that they won't have to live the life you have. Mother-love is doing all this and believing yourself fortunate.

Too good not to share..

This post is written about one of my sons. I'm not going to identify which, although long-term readers probably won't have too many problems working that out, and I'm going to write it in code so that it doesn't show up on any unpleasant searches but again, I don't think - if you have children - that you'll need an enigma machine to work this one out...

Me: "OK, time to get out of the bath now."

Unspecified son climbs gingerly out of the bath. It is immediately apparent why.

Me (choosing to ignore said reason) "Right, let's get you dry..."

Unspecified son: "Look. "

Me: "Yes, I see..."

Unspecified son (very seriously): "I think, I think, that it just wants to... take a look around..."

Me (keeping an amazingly straight face under the circumstances): "Yes, you're probably right."

Unspecified son: "It does that sometimes. And then it just goes back to sleep."

So wise, so young.

Silent Sunday

First grey hairs, then this...

How do you know when Middle Age is upon you?

There are many answers to that question (most of them - for women, anyway - related to corrective underwear and the use of moisturiser), but here's another.

You're with friends at a gig, and the lead singer kneels on stage for a moment, stands up again and notices he has chewing gum stuck to his trousers. He curses prodigiously, asking 'Who threw the fxcking gum on the stage?'

It is at this point that middle age hits. What do you shout back? Something cool, witty, or hip? Or:

"You want to put those trousers in the freezer mate - that'll get the gum out for you!"

Please note: this happened to someone else. No, really. Me? At a gig? With a haaaaandbaaag?

Acorns, trees, and not falling far....

Isn't modern technology a wonderful thing? Yesterday morning, my dad and I had a text conversation via Skype and it occurred to me that anyone who's trying to 'get' the British sense of humour might find this exchange helpful:

Dad (in answer to an email I wrote telling him I was looking at the AMAZING train journey site Seat 61 whilst considering a trip on the Trans Siberian Railway this summer): Send me the link then

Me: No sooner said than done: http://www.seat61.com/Trans-Siberian.htm

Dad: I'd heard about this site but never used it. Fantastic.... I've got a blue tit* hanging upside down from the gutter looking at me!

Me: Too - many - jokes - but I'll start with, is it still cold there then?

Dad: No, but it really is a great tit**.

Me: Speaking of birds, will e-mail a photo for you to identify some that were outside this morning... (note; My dad is a font of knowledge about such things...)

Dad: Go ahead. I'll just go and get the anorak on.

Me: Just sent them...

Dad (around 60 seconds later): Waxwing... Probably en route to Siberia after winter in W. Europe

Me: Thankyou. Did you have to look that up?

Dad: No. It's been a good year for them here in the UK. Probably because of severe weather in Scandinavia.

Me: And of course the beer's cheeper in the UK, too... (two jokes in one. I am on FIRE)

Dad: And more opportunities for tweeting.

Me: A truer word...

Dad: PS They enjoy the tits*** in the Sun as well!

Me: Thankyou very much, I'll be here all week.

Ends...

Explains a lot about me, doesn't it...

* For those outside the UK, a 'blue tit' is a type of bird/

** As is a 'great tit'

*** Here, we're not talking about birds. Not the feathered kind, at any rate.