Market tips from a nine year old.

It was raining for much of today, so in an attempt to delay the dreadful moment when I had to give in to Boy#2's demands that I sit down and play Monopoly with him (he loves it, I hate it - mostly because my children show no mercy and bankrupt me every time), I took the boys to a local shopping mall this afternoon.

Officially we were there to visit the supermarket for a light top-up shop before we head off for a week's holiday in a few days.  Unofficially we were - in my children's minds, anyway - there to put a dent in their ruble-based savings as they took the chance to visit the local Lego and Detsky Mir (Children's World) outlets.

The boys had visited both stores before - but rarely to spend their own hard cash.  It was interesting to watch them walk around the Lego store and realise the cost of the toys that they normally take for granted.  I didn't get involved in their choices, just stood back and let them get on with it under the eagle eye of a shop attendant who was clearly having too quiet an afternoon.

They wandered around for about ten minutes, Boy #2 becoming increasingly disconsolate as he realised that most of the Lego kits he wanted were at least twice the amount of money that he had to spend.  His mutterings became gradually louder until Boy #1, older, wiser, and less surprised by the negative difference between his disposable income and his toy-based aspirations, asked his younger brother what the problem was.

"It's all so expensive!" Boy #2 protested.  "When did it all get so expensive?"

"I know" answered Boy #1 resignedly.  "You're right.  There's not really anything worth having that we can afford here."

Boy #2 sighed heavily.  "Yep.  That's what happens in a Bull Market, I suppose."

I blinked.  What?

We left the Lego store shortly afterwards for Detsky Mir, where both boys found something that they wanted and could afford, and after they had made their purchases I asked Boy #2 if he knew what a Bull Market actually was.

"Yes, of course.  A Bull Market is when stock prices are rising.  And when stock prices are falling, it's a Bear Market.  So, it's a Bear Market for flat peaches at the moment, because they're not very expensive (even though they are very yummy and will probably get more expensive when people realise that), but it's a Bull Market for Lego."

"And where did you find out about this, Boy #2?"

"My 'Ask Me Anything' book, Mum.  Obviously."

So there you have it; buy flat peaches, sell Lego.  And read 'Ask Me Anything' when you have a spare moment.

Say what you mean (or pay the price...)

We tried out a new babysitter this week. Normally our cleaner comes over to look after the Boys for us if we need help; she's good with them, they like her, and she knows where everything is so it's all simple. On this evening, however, I decided to try something different, and asked the 16 year old son of one of our neighbours if he would like to look after the boys for us.

It didn't work out quite to plan.

Don't get me wrong; he was courteous, kind, left no mess, and did not empty the fridge or drain the vodka bottle. The boys loved having him there, and strutted about the place with mysteriously deepened voices, no-nonsense attitudes, plastic hammers in their pyjama waste-bands (metaphorically speaking only in the case of Boy #1), and bid me goodbye with matter-of-fact 'haven't you gone yet?' expressions.

I left their new babysitter proving more than a match for Boy #1's encyclopeadic knowledge of Star Wars (this morning's Star Wars Mastermind Tournament at breakfast featured the question "Who was the "Chosen One', Mama?" and then a lively debate about whether it was Anakin or Luke. I favoured the former but Boy #1 reasoned that because Anakin failed to live up to his billing it was Luke who properly fitted that description. Ah well. He may be right; of such important issues are a 7 year old boy's world made...). He helped in the creation of their latest Lego creation (Star Wars, obviously),and then when the time was right, got their teeth brushed and put them to bed.

Perfect.

Except... Well, when anyone asks me what time my sons go to bed, I invariably answer "7.30pm, or thereabouts" but as any mother knows, '7.30pm' can just as easily mean 7.45pm, and as Boy #1 gets older it can even mean 8.00pm. Oh, who am I kidding? It's almost always closer to 8.00pm than 7.30, and the Boys have become used to that.

But of course our 16 year old babysitter, eager to do the right thing and follow my instructions to the letter had them in bed with lights out by 7.30pm. I was, of course, delighted.

Not quite so delighted the next morning though when they both work up at 6.15am, an hour before I normally wake them, on a day when in fact we were in no rush and I had planned a lie-in until 7.30...

I believe the expression is 'hoist by your own petard'. And next time I will say what I mean; "7.45pm (but 8 at a push...)"

Excellence in PR, Lego-styley

Dear Lego,

may I congratulate you on one of the best scams I've been suckered by since arriving in Moscow. And no, I'm not talking about the vastly inflated prices charged here for some of your 'hot' items, such as $60 on your US website for Emporer Palpatine's Shuttle vs $130 in your Russian catalogue. Masterful... Or the Droid Tri-Fighter for sale at $50 here vs $25 in the US? Awesome... (And yes, I do know that you also charge higher prices in the UK than the US, but that's a subject for a whole other post - and Lego is 'still' only 50% more expensive to buy in the UK market, rather than 100% more expensive, as in Russia).

No, I'm writing to congratulate you on the PR masterpiece that is Lego World in downtown Moscow. 300R (£6.50) for a single adult or child to gain entry to a large room filled with boxes of Lego which - amazingly - they then get to play with? Wow. That must have been some brainstorm. And the master-stroke of having the room staffed by young adults who, whilst perfectly pleasant, are not actually assisting the kids and for the most part are totally over the whole Lego thing (apart from those busy with their own creations, obviously)? Spot on. Oh, and I must give you a special commendation for the extra touch of having that guy walking around with a mic who never stopped talking, adding to the generally frenzied air of "Quick! Quick! Must play with Lego before my time runs out and I have to go home, where I only have Lego to play with!". Yep. He was great.

Of course, I really shouldn't forget the placement of a large product fixture directly by the exit to the show. What parent could leave without wanting to buy their little darling more of what they have just been playing with, so they can take the whole experience home with them and add it to the boxes of the stuff their children already have? (Well, I can think of one or two, but...)

So yes, Lego, I have no doubt that your Russian pr department are currently patting themselves on the back for a job well done. You can be sure that this event will stick in my mind, at least, for some time to come.

Best wishes

Potty Mummy

Note: in Lego's defence, I must say that both my sons - and plenty of the other kids there - loved it. Boy #1 in particular loved the opportunity to watch other children playing Lego games on the PSP, (without being allowed to participate himself, obviously). My issue is not about the experience per se, so much as the amount of money we were charged so that they could spend an hour, 1 and a half hour's drive from home, doing exactly what they do at in their own bedroom...

Where, oh where, have they gone?

There are some important questions that need answering, in my humble opinion as a mum.

What happens to all the missing socks? Hmm? I know they're 'out there', somewhere, but where is 'there' exactly? Because every time I go back to the UK I stock up on socks for my sons and every time, within 2 months, on average 20% of them have gone. Pffft! Disappeared! What are the Boys doing with them? Eating them? Using them as stuffing for the insides of their beloved soft toys? Trading them for Bakugans when my back is turned? (This last is possible, I suppose...)

Where do the Boys water bottle tops go? I went to considerable trouble to source non-BPA-containing water bottles and hey presto, the lid have disappeared. So now we're back to using disposable plastic water bottles. Not that I'm worried, to be honest; the day those water bottles come home from school with even one sip drunk from them has yet to dawn. (Although of course there are water fountains in the school, which I suppose are far more fun to drink from, what the opportunities for soaking yourself, your friends and the surrounding floor and everything). And yet still I laboriously fill the bottles each morning and send them out in the hope my sons will re-hydrate at some point during the day...

Where do the library books go? Actually, I know the answer to this one; our much-valued cleaner is of the 'if I put your mess into piles it all looks much tidier' persuasion. This is fine generally, but does mean that the kid's library books (which, no matter how often I try to corral them into one space, miraculously scatter like mercury spilt from a smashed thermometer the moment my back is turned) are randomly mixed with piles of other books, newspapers and important papers on her visits. Admittedly, the piles do look tidier, but it gets a little expensive when you have to finally come clean with the school librarian and admit that 'The Price of Victory', last sighted before Christmas, has gone awol indefinitely and yes, here is $20 to cover it...

Were do the lego figurine heads go to? Now I know, I shouldn't be bothered by this one, but as shown by this post and this one, I have an unhealthy level of interested in lego figurines. To say that I spent nearly 2 hours searching for GT for this post would not be overstating it.

Where do the hours go? Actually, scratch that. I know the answer, it's staring me - and you - in the face.

What have you inexplicably lost recently?

Potski Spring Watch and a Nutty flight of fancy

Week 4 of Potkski Front Flower Bed Spring Watch (yawn) and I have progress to report. Hallelujah, the snow is gone! (Mostly). Look at this beautiful picture of Spring exploding into action, Moscow-styley...

Ahem.

I know. I promised you verdant growth and astounding astoundingness. Instead, all we've got is bare earth and a few scrubby dead plants. I admit it; this is taking way longer than I thought it would.

Which is why, when a certain blogger foolishly agreed to story-board the next Potski lego adventure, I took her at her word. Thankyou, Nutty Cow for your inspiration and perseverance with g-chat...

So, let's look at that picture again.

Why, who do we have here? It's GT and her buddies, out for a stroll in the blazing sunshine! (Cut me some slack here, please. Relatively speaking, this is blazing sunshine). I do hope she isn't going to catch cold in that skimpy bathing suit...

But look, I see someone lurking in the bushes (top right of the picture. Top right!); oh no, it's Mexican Marraca Man! He's tracked the beautiful GT all the way here, to Moscow. I wonder what dastardly plan he has up his sleeve?

Ah, the day is saved. GT's handsome local liaison officer, Vlad (no jokes about impaling here ladies, it's not tasteful) has arrived and she's gone off to chat to him. Her buddies don't look too impressed but I guess that when you hang out with the beautiful people you have to take what you can get.

Hang on - what's this? Looks like Mexican Marracca Man has brought help; it's Sergei the Inconspicuous Hit Man (inconspicuous as in; he blends in so perfectly with the flower bed you can barely see him. That's his skill, don't you know). But surely there's nothing he can do now that Vlad is around to protect GT?

Oh no! He's summoned futuristic powers to set off a tornado! Hold on, GT! Don't let go!

Phew, what a relief. GT and Vlad are safe. The same can't be said for her buddies, unfortunately; 2 of them appear to be stuck at the top of a tree, whilst the third is desperately trying to rescue them. Surely our two lovebirds are going to go back and help?

No? Oh well. I'm sure GT's unfortunate friends understand. I mean, that's what you get when you hang out with the beautiful people...

All requests & queries re: rights etc should be forwarded to Potty Mummy and Nutty Cow. No lego figurines were harmed during the making of this storyline.

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; 24 Hours in GT's life...

The prompt for Tara's Gallery this week is '24 hours'. Not wanting to bore you with details of snow, snow, and more snow (which is what we've had here in the last 24 hours), I decided instead to show you 24 hours in the life of somebody else.

Apologies in advance for any offence I cause by using Lego stereotypes...

Hi! My name's GT, and I'm a lifeguard in Moss-cow, Russia!

I'm not originally from here, you understand; there isn't much call for red swimsuit-wearing lifeguards in this part of the world. I arrived on a witness protection scheme carrying only my floatation device and wearing my uniform...

.... after tangling with the wrong guy out on Malibu. He kept trying to get me to run off with him and his marraccas and start a family. I mean, I like Latin Amerian music as much as the next girl, don't get me wrong, but the constant shaking? Drove me crazy, so I told him to beat it, at which point he started to threaten me with the castanets and it all began to get a little ugly. That's when Mitch - my boss - decided it might be better for me to lie low for a little while...

Anyhoo, that's how I ended up here, where the powers that be decided I couldn't get into any more trouble. My days here are pretty samey, really. I hang out with the guys *...

and sometimes I meet up with my ski buddy. He's always trying to persuade me to try snowboarding but I have to tell him, in this costume? Think of the snow burn on my butt if I fell over...

I guess I'm a bit of a celebrity round about. It's lucky that the local branch of the witness protection scheme hired Igor, my body guard; he soon sees off any troublesome attention...

What else? Oh yes, sometimes I meet up with my handler. He's a bit of a dish to be honest, or at least I imagine he would be if he ever took his helmet off...

And sometimes I just take time out with a cup of coffee and think about the good times on Malibu beach..

So, that's my day! How about yours?

* Author's note: The use of alien lego figurines to represent 'the guys' in no way reflects the author's opinion of the quality of men in the general locality...

It wasn't like that when I was a girl...

Lordy, the times they are a-changing.

Firstly, I read this post by Lindsay Ferrier on 'bare-floor' teens that showed me just how behind the curve I really am (note; whilst the post itself is illuminating, it's the comments box that you especially need to check out). And then yesterday we had a new arrival Chez Potty.

This is GT. She arrived via a partybag (well, of course she did; she's a party kind of girl) in a Lego Minifigures pack.

Since she's arrived she's made my older son cry (because she wasn't a cowboy), made my younger son giggle (because she's wearing lipstick & has boobies - nothing wrong with his powers of observation then - although I knew that already...), and made my Husband and I suspect that someone on the Lego design team is having one hell of a laugh right now. (Seriously, I used to work with toy designers; I know their sense of humour first-hand).

She's also caused me to check out the cast list of Baywatch on Wikipedia (neither Husband nor I could remember Pamela Anderson's character's name, which was CJ in case you were wondering), and to need to explain to my sons that the red thing she's carrying is a flotation device whilst simultaneously withholding the fact that the original woman on which this doll was modelled had no need of such things since she had two inbuilt flotation devices all of her very own...

And to ask the question; am I imagining this, or is she REALLY wearing a swimsuit with a thong?

See what I mean?

Note to self #167

1. Whilst out shopping in your local mall do not wander into the newly opened Lego store to check out a particular object of desire for your son. (You don't have your children with you, for chrissake. Why on earth would you go into a toy shop?)

2. If, however, you do find yourself in this situation, do not pick up a copy of the latest catalogue.

3. Especially, do not leave said catalogue sitting on the front seat of your car.

4. Where it can be found by your children when you pick them up from school...

5. Or you will find that it will be studied, pored over and salivated on by both sons (even the older one who you didn't think was really into all that stuff), enabling them to extend their Christmas lists and even provide an object of desire to replace this in your younger son's affections. (Airplanes are yesterday's toy, apparently. The cool kids now want red trains).

6. But most importantly, should all of the above happen, ensure that said devilish book / innocuous catalogue is stored somewhere in plain sight so that when Boy #2 wakes up at some ungodly hour, weeping and wailing when it is not immediately to hand (sorry dear neighbour for what must have been a very rude awakening this morning), you are spared a 15 minute search for it in the pre-school run madness.

7. And which may result in mother-driven-to-the-limit outbursts that almost - but not quite - require the replacement of yet another bathroom step...

Big Train Love and Boy' #2's Burgeoning Christmas List

This afternoon Boy #1 and I arrived to collect Boy #2 from his once a week post-school Dutch class. Bearing in mind that all three of us are still recovering from our late arrival back in Russia on Monday night after a busy half term, and that the Boys' body clocks have been thrown completely off by the 3 hour time difference, I wasn't at all surprised to find that Boy #2 had nodded off in the book corner whilst playing with cars. And bless his Dutch teacher, she had let him.

We gently woke him up and he did that unbearably cute thing of looking around all wide-eyed in surprise (was I asleep Mama? No, of course not...), before walking over to the door of the classroom to pick his stuff up before we headed home.

I went to help him on with his jacket, and suddenly encountered an unfamiliar, squarish lump under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It was so well hidden in fact that if I hadn't been assisting a tired sleepy boy to find his coat sleeve, he just might have gotten away with it.

"What's that?"

"Ssssshhhhh Mama" he whispered, sotto voce. I can't believe it, but he really thought I was going to buy into this heist... "Don't tell anyone. They'll see..."

See what? Well, I pulled a green wooden double decker Brio train - belonging to the school - from his sweatshirt sleeve. This boy loves trains, you see, with a passion. Well, he loves all forms of transport if I'm honest. Prior to this attempt at The Great Train Robbery (see what I did there? Huh? Huh?) his most recent object of desire has been a red Lego plane (and - obviously - the accompanying Lego airport) that he spotted in a catalogue he found in the back of one of his brother's birthday presents (also Lego). He wants this plane. He NEEDS this plane. His life is not complete without this plane. It looms large in his legend and is mentioned whenever possible. He's developed quite a sales patter actually; Husband reported the following conversation:

Boy #2: "So Santa's going to bring me a red Lego airplane. This one." (He points firmly at the relevant page in the brochure,which rarely leaves his side)

Husband: "Really?"

Boy #2: "Yes, yes he is. Because he knows, you see, that I don't have one."

Husband: "Well, you do actually. A Lego airplane and a Playmobil one."

Boy #2: "Yes. I do. But this one, this one is red. And he knows I don't have a red one."

Husband: "OKaaaay."

Boy #2: "Plus, plus, this one comes with it's own airport. So I can fill it up with petrol and everything..."

So Santa, baby, can you put one under the tree for Boy #2? Although Christ knows how we're going to fit that in our luggage on our way back from the UK after Christmas...

Question(s);

Is there anything quite like:

Being woken half an hour before the alarm goes off by your younger son shouting "I need a poo! I need a POO! INEEDAPOO!!!" at the top of his voice?

Treading on lego shrapnel with bare feet in the dark, as you negotiate your way through his bedroom to try and get him to be quiet and not wake your long-suffering neighbours?

Discovering by the time you get back to bed after the loo incident that it is now only 20 minutes before wake-up time, and there is no way you will manage to get back to sleep before it's time to get up? In short, you have been cheated of 30 precious minutes of sleep.

Finding that not only are your socks too thick to wear under the boots you had planned on putting on, but that your only remaining pair of - shudder - pop socks has a hole in the heel?

Being greeted by a rainy Autumnal Moscow day.

Attending a meeting about a forthcoming craft fair at the school and suddenly realising you have spoken out loud what you were thinking, and have inadvertently promised to try and collect 200 pine cones to allow the children to make attractive Christmas (sorry! Holiday, HOLIDAY!) tree decorations?

Still, life does provide the odd compensation...

Today's definitions...

Today's definition of 'WTF Were You Thinking?'...

... is agreeing when, during a post-school play-date, your children ask to continue erecting the lego monstrosity they started and abandoned yesterday afternoon. (And which you had since hidden in the study in the hope they might forget all about it).


Today's definition of 'Diplomacy'...

...is working out how best to deal with the discovery that your son's playdate visitor is a bit of a lego fiend and has issues with 'sharing' and 'taking turns' when it comes to deciding who gets to put which piece of useless moulded plastic where.


Today's definition of 'Relief'...

...is when 2 out of 3 participating children decide after 15 minutes that lego is 'boring' and you see an end in sight to the horror, the horror...


Today's definition of 'Dashed Hopes'...

...is when your younger - and more obstinate - son refuses to give up the ghost and insists on continuing to build the police car that comes as an essential part of the 'City Police Station' kit.


Today's defnition of 'Pain'

... is the sensation in your knees as you 'find' yet another tiny walkie-talkie / street sign / railing / choking hazard without using your hands.


Today's definition of 'Frustration'...

...is when you spend 20 minutes looking for the one tiny piece of plastic shrapnel without which said police car cannot be completed.


Today's definition of 'A Sense of Achievement'...

...is when you find the piece and can finish the damn thing.


Today's definition of 'Resignation'...

...is when you look up from attaching said piece and find you are alone in the room, surrounded by a sea of brightly coloured plastic, and realise that no child has been involved in this project for at least a good 15 minutes.


Today's definition of 'Groundhog Day'...

...is when you hand the finished police jeep to your delighted son, turn around to start the clear up operation, and hear the crash as the dratted thing falls to the floor and disintegrates into a million tiny pieces.

Who is She?

Who is She, this other woman who supplants me between the hours of 7.40pm and 7.55pm each evening if the Boys don't get to bed on time? Because I've got to tell you, she's pissing me off, with her temper tantrums and her short fuse.

For the rest of the day, there I am, (mostly) sweetness and light - or at least, quite reasonable, anyway - enjoying spending time with my Boys, delighting in their quirks, cracking jokes with them, rolling my eyes sure, when I have to ask them for the 5th time to put their shoes on when we leave the house in the morning, but generally fully aware of the fact that they are (mostly) great to be around.

This afternoon, for example, I was 'present in the moment' enough to be able to enjoy it and make sure that I remembered it when my youngest son suggested that if I was going to call for Jesus (following an unfortunate tripping over a crack in the pavement incident on my part), I should make sure to do it loud, so that he can hear me.

And I was able to sit down perfectly happily with both my sons after school and start the lego equivalent of a 5000 piece jigsaw in the full knowledge that we would never finish it today, and that the 'City Police Station Construction Project' is likely to form a core part of our activities for some time to come.

(I should add here that in addition I finally got to make use of what I think is probably one of the best pieces of advice a friend ever gave me about bringing up boys; when you start with the Lego, do so on a sheet on the floor so that when you need to stop / finish / give up because it's time for tea, you can simply pick up all the corners and tip the remaining plastic shrapnel back into the box. Sammie, at the time I didn't know what a gem you were passing on, but now I finally get it; thankyou.)

So today I was aware of how fleeting these moments can be and am now able to sit down and record the memories here, safely storing them away so that I can pull them out at some indeterminate point in the future and turn them over in my hands like lucky pebbles...

And yet, the moment the Boys reneged on our deal regarding an extra 15 minutes of 'Wild Russia' on National Geographic Channel in exchange for not having a book read to them in bed, She arrived. I mean, it's not like they were watching 'Deal or No Deal', for chrissake. This was interesting, riveting stuff; of course they wanted to watch more on how the brown bears like to eat flies on the shores of Lake Baikal. (I know - don't ask). In hindsight, it was perfectly reasonable for them to want to push the envelope and nag me for a story as well after they had previously expressly promised they would go straight to bed. They're 3 and 6 - that sort of double crossing is their job.

Not that She sees that. She felt taken advantage of, exhausted, put-upon. It was all shoutiness and crossness and general childish behaviour for a good 5 minutes. There may even have been a Thomas Tank Engine book flung to the floor when a plastic cup (it wasn't even a breakable glass, for goodness' sake) got knocked over necessitating a swift clear up with a hand towel. Which can, of course, be washed, although you wouldn't have thought that from the huffing and puffing that ensued.

And then, as ever, She left as quickly as she arrived. Two minutes in the kitchen refilling the spilt water glass was enough to bring to me to my senses and send Her packing. She's gone, and I'm left with a sense of shame, a guilt hangover and a resolve that tomorrow I will be a better mother to my two darling Boys.

She should be ashamed of herself. And I am.

It's not all a barrel of laughs, this parenting lark, is it?