What it takes for a day of Outdoor Fun, Moscow Styley...

It's been below -20degC for much of the week here, so naturally we are spending a large part of tomorrow outside at a venue a couple of hours from Moscow sledging, troika riding, and huddling round a fire toasting shashlik, hot dogs and marshmallows.

I am looking forward to this.

No, really: I AM.

I do appreciate that for those of you who are based in less chilly climes such activities may sound glamorous and exotic in a Julie Christie in 'Doctor Zhivago' type of way, and to a certain extent you're right.  There will be snow.  There will be ice.  There will even be fur (probably).  I expect that for non-drivers there will vodka, and for the kids hot chocolate. Here's hoping there will also be blue skies and sunshine, and glittery surroundings as the light glances off the frozen forests and meadows around us.  But let me tell you what else there will be...

There will be dainty footwear; think of what rebels in that frozen world on 'The Empire Strikes Back' wore on their feet and you'll be about right.  Actually, that's pretty much how we'll be looking all over.  But a lot more bulky (think 'the StayPuffed' marshmallow man in Ghostbusters), because...

...there will multiple layers of clothes; ski socks, under thermals, under jeans, under thick snow pants.  There will also be thermal tops, sweaters, additional sweaters, under-coats and padded coats.  For the kids there will be balaclavas under their hats - not for the adults, though; we'll just be wearing warm hats, because the men are too tough, and for the ladies, well, have you seen the hat-hair a balaclava gives you?

There will be handwarmers stuffed inside mittens (perfect for those 'I have lobster claws!' impressions we all love.  Oh.  Just me, then?), under which we will be wearing inner gloves.  At least, the kids and the women will be - did I mention the men are (apparently) tough?  Although quite how the shashlik and marshmallows are going to be eaten I'm not sure.  

And there will be sunglasses.  Because not only will these be necessary to deal with the bright sunshine I'm crossing my fingers for, but they add a certain glamour to the waddling penguin look that might otherwise have been missing.  

Plus, they provide a barrier to the frozen air, so can stop your eye-lashes from freezing.

Just saying.

It's been a while...

... so I figure the best way to get my blogging thang on again is to simply jump back into it.

You know that expression 'the best laid plans...' (of mice and men etc etc)?  Here, your honour, is a case in point.

It's Monday today.  I thought we were fairly well-prepared for it.  The Boys were rested after a relatively relaxed weekend, I had chivvied them out of bed in enough time (although, really, is there ever enough time on a Monday morning?) to walk to school instead of making a last minute dash in the car, and everyone had on the right gear for the -12degC outside.

What?  -12degC?  Minus 12degC is for sissies.  It's only when it hits -18degC that it starts to feel properly cold.

We were about to leave the house.  Boy #2 had forgotten to pack his lunch box.  He packed his lunch box.  Boy #1 hadn't put on his sweater under his coat (don't get me started - the boy is a regular walking immersion heater, anything warmer than -18degC seems not bother him).  He put on his sweater.  Boy #1 hadn't packed his ski socks for skating.  He ran upstairs to fetch and pack his ski socks.  Boy #1 left his gloves upstairs.  He went back to fetch his gloves.

We were still on time to walk to school.

We reached the end of the drive; I glanced at Boy #2 - no rucksack.  We walked back to the house to fetch his rucksack.  Boy #2 put on his rucksack.

We were still on time.

We walked to school - still on time.

We got to school.  I glanced at Boy #2's rucksack, which suddenly appeared suspiciously light.  Did he have his indoor shoes with him?  No, Mum - but I'm sure they're in my locker.

They were not in his locker.

That would be because they were sitting on the floor by the back door, at home.

And since the children are not allowed to wear their outdoor shoes indoors at school (or, indeed, anywhere inside during the snowy messy Russian winter), guess who had to then walk home again to fetch said shoes?

As I said - the best-laid plans...

Things I have learned so far this December...

It's hard to admit it, but I think we may have outgrown The Great Little Trading Company as a hunting ground for Christmas gifts for the Boys.  Sniff...

Acquaintances will blank you if they see you're selling charity Christmas cards they don't want.

Hell really is other people's over-excited, over-hyped, over-excited children...

...and nothing you say will stop those angelic two year old twins turning into devils as they attack the balloon arch over the entrance to the Sinterklaas celebration...

...especially whilst their mother watches indulgently from the sidelines...

...so just chill.  And get over it.

The Dutch Sinterklaas Zwarte Piet tradition is just. Plain. Wrong.  There - I've said it.  And to all those apologists out there, I ask this question; Would you think it a charming Dutch tradition if you were black?

Adding a sledge to the school run mix in the morning makes what was previously a bitterly cold trek in minus 12degC darkness less of a trial, for you and the kids.  (It's still bitterly cold, mind you.  Just a bit more fun.)

Likewise the way home.

Long socks work.  End of.

You can't skimp on price for decent gloves.  Not if you live in Russia in the winter and have Raynaud's Disease, anyway...

Check where your glove warmers are the night before you go cross country skiing for the first time, instead of rushing through the house frantically searching boxes of winter kit whilst simultaneously chivvying the Boys to get ready for school and trying to put on a dark wash.

The one where I get mistaken for security...

I think that perhaps I should be quite offended.

Today, I took a formal guided tour around The Moscow Kremlin for the first time. (I say 'The Moscow Kremlin' because most old Russian cities - and indeed, many cities outside Russia proper - have their own 'Kremlin', as the actual word means 'fortress'; not something you might be aware of if you've never visited here).

It was fascinating, and I'm very glad I did it. Shame it was ruddy freezing and that it's taken me nearly two years of living here to get round to it, but there you go...

Anyway. The moment that caused offence. To enter the Kremlin one has - of course - to go through a security gate manned by armed soldiers. You step through the metal detector, submit your bag for a cursory search and that's it, job done. At least - job done for the four ladies I was on the tour with.

However, after I had gone through the standard procedure, the soldier pulled me to one side and mumbled something in Russian. I couldn't hear it properly so asked him to repeat it - and then I still couldn't understand it. At this stage, he realised I spoke English and asked me very matter-of-factly if I had any guns in my bag.

Guns? In my bag?

Well, I laughed and said no, of course not. But when I discovered that none of my friends had been asked the same question (we were clearly part of the same group), it all became horribly clear.

The soldier thought I was their body-guard.

I guess you can't blame the poor man; two of my friends were tricked out in expensive fur coats, whilst the other two were looking significantly more designer-clad than dressed-for-warmth North-Face branded me, but still. A body guard? I mean, I knew my hat was bad, but really...