Four Feet More

Dear Vika,

Today you turn nine years old.  This birthday officially marks your entry into tweenhood (God help us).  But those of us who know you personally know that you've been a pre-teen since the age of 4!  Don’t worry.  We all think your mature attitude is part of your charm.  When it’s not driving us crazy.  

Time to wipe off the dust and sweep away the cobwebs hanging around Four Feet More.  I've wanted to post oh so many times in recent weeks, but life keeps getting in the way.

A constant distraction is my little student (we'll call her Jane), who I believe has Oppositional Defiant Disorder.  I've begun playing a covert game of "opposites" with her, just to get through the day.  If I want her to stand I'll say, "Jane, can you please sit over there?  Thanks!"  Then she'll come and stand by me.  If I want her to sit, I'll say, "Jane, I need you to stand over here.  Please do NOT sit in that chair."  Then she'll go and sit in the chair, looking quite smug about defying me.  This of course sends the rest of the kindergartners into a tizzy, "Mrs. ____!  Jane is sitting in the chair!"  I just sigh and say, "Jane's going to do what she wants, I guess."  So far, this game has been working, but it's a bit tedious and exhausting.  And I'm not sure if it will last through the end of the school year.  Fingers crossed, it will, and hopefully next year's teacher will have more success curbing her ODD than I.  We've got just 18 days left until Summer Break - I think I can make it!

About next year... I've been told by both my principal and the union that because there are so many surplussed tenured teachers (due to education budget cuts), the chances of temporary (non-tenured) teachers getting hired back next year is, "slim-to-none."  Here we go again.  Another summer of uncertainty and that unsettling feeling of "will we make it financially?"  Part of me is looking forward to being laid off though.  I can maybe do substitute teaching, and help Jeff with his real estate business.  Or perhaps I'll homeschool Eamon (Vika would not be a good homeschooling candidate, for a variety of reasons).  With the increased class sizes, no prep time, and 10% pay cut teachers in my district are facing next year, it might be a good time to sub.  Maybe by the Fall of 2011, the state of California will open it's eyes and start making education more of a funding priority.

On the homefront, May has been a bit unsettled too.  Perhaps because of the stress I'm dealing with at work, I don't have the patience to deal with the stresses at home.  Jeff and I have been very conscious of our reactions and trying to remain calm, but the kids definitely do test us.  One such moment came last weekend.  Eamon's PTSD was in full swing and he was in a rage about something so minor,  that now I don't even remember what it was.  The rage took on a scary form though, kind of like those we saw during our first months home with the kids.  I actually had to do holding time with Eames, something we haven't done in years.  For those of you not experienced with therapeutic parenting, "holding time" is essentially when a parent holds a child through their rages, both to keep them and the people around them safe, but also to show them that even when their behavior is at it's ugliest, we are still there, helping them through it and loving them.  And Eamon's rage was ugly.  He was screaming at me, yelling hurtful things and trying to hit me.  It was almost as if I was exorcising a demon.  You have to know Eamon to understand how bad this was. He is such a sweet, affectionate child who would give up his favorite toy if it would make someone happy.  He is constantly telling me he loves me and saying "Cheek!" - my signal to give him my cheek to kiss and then kiss his cheek in return.  For him to act like this, something had to be really wrong.  The frustrating thing is, I have no idea what it was!  He has no idea what was causing him to behave that way either.  It's a problem with no clear source and no clear fix.  So, I held him through his rage, breathing calmly, telling him I loved him in a soft voice and encouraging him to calm down.  Which he eventually did do.  Then I got up, went into my bedroom and cried. 

I was so drained, both physically and emotionally, and it was incredibly painful to see my son acting that way.  While I was hiding, Eamon burst into the bedroom, perhaps ready to initiate another fight.  But then he saw me crying, and his little body just deflated.  He sat down beside me, kissed my head and began rubbing my back.  I hugged him and then asked if I could have some time alone to collect myself.  He said yes, and left the room.  About 5 minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Eamon came in carrying the drawing below.  I asked him what it showed and he said, "That's you, Mama, being calm and showing love, and that's me being angry.  But you're still holding my hand."  On the back of the paper was written in big green letters, "I am sory mama."


Poor guy.  I didn't mean to make him feel guilty, which is why I went into the bedroom to cry.  But he saw me and felt guilty anyway.  However, since that day, it seems that Eamon and I have come to a bit of an understanding.  We're almost back to the relationship we had before he started school, and he seems much happier this week than he's been in months.  So, while this incident was one of the worst ever, I think it was good that it happened.  Hopefully we'll soon get to the bottom of what's been eating at the boy so that we can deal with the problem and move forward.

On a positive note, Vika's progress report from school came back with outstanding marks!  She has struggled a bit academically, so it was wonderful to see her success.  She even received and A+ on a science test (an especially impressive achievement to her science-challenged mama)!  The girl's been devouring chapter books and really seems to be coming into her own academically.  In a month of "steps back," this was a very satisfying "step forward."  Go Vika!

So, there is it.  My month so far in a rather large nutshell.  Hopefully once school gets out I'll be a more regular blog poster and reader.  Thank goodness for Facebook, or I'd be out of the loop entirely!

Vika has been interested in writing for some time now. Normally her writing covers the events of her day, and sometimes will be a retelling of a story she's read before. But lately, she's been getting into writing poetry, and I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised. My practical little girl (remember "It's George Washington, dead, in a box"?) has now become a bit more fanciful. Maybe her recent bump on the head has lead to an increase in creativity (other than a nasty scar hidden by her hair, she's all recovered, BTW)? Last night during the Olympics, Vika had a little pad that she was scrawling on in between events. Here is what she wrote:

"Imagination Is."

Imagination is not something bad.
Imagination is creation.
Imagination is your friend.
Imagination is a unicorn dancing in the air.
Imagination is not a chore.
Imagination is a simple book or two.
Imagination is music.
Imagination is in you.
Imagination is not a bully.
Imagination is three beautiful starts shining like 3,000 diamonds.
Imagination is what you dream in your sleep.
Imagination is not whether you need time for it.
Imagination is always with you.
Imagination is what everybody has.
Imagination is what people carry in little luggage in their brain.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I especially like the part about the unicorn and the image of little suitcases in people's heads carrying all kinds of fanciful ideas. It's fun to hear her voice come through in her writing.

Vika's gotten into a bit of a scrap at school lately. Before the whole "Sassy Girls" vs. "Cool Girls" discussion, she told me a secret, which I found slightly alarming, but kept for her anyway. Well, the bag's been opened and that cat has bounced right out, thanks to a boy who likes to kiss and tell.

Here's the deal (which I can now share): Vika kissed a boy at school. A 10 year old boy, who for some reason, is still in 3rd grade. She told me about this not long after, and while I didn't scold her, I did express my concern that the boy (let's call him Cassanova) would spread the tale, and then she would be known as "the girl who kisses boys." Of course, Cassanova did not keep the secret and told all his friends. There was some chanting of "Vika and Cassanova, sittin' in a tree...." and I told Vika that she may be hearing from her teacher when she finds out what is going on.

Well, she found out today. Mrs. M called Vika and Cassanova into her classroom and said that while they weren't in trouble, they were lucky to be in 3rd grade. If they were in 4th grade or older, the police might be called about something like this (???!!!). I hope Vika was paraphrasing Mrs. M's words here, and that she misunderstood them, because I don't think making children scared of the police is an effective way to deal with inappropriate displays of affection. But I digress.... Vika said that while Mrs. M was talking to them, Cassanova started crying. Apparently, he always cries when he gets into trouble (which seems to be quite a lot).

Mom and I listened as Vika described another incident when Cassanova cried to get off the hook. I'll quote her here, because really, there's no other way to do the conversation justice.

Vika: Can you believe it? A 10 year old boy in 3rd grade is crying to get out of trouble! It's like that time, when he called this girl a "ditch," he cried, and didn't even get into trouble!

Me: I'm sorry, what did he call her?

V: A "ditch!"

Me: A "ditch?"

V: Yeah, a "ditch."

(Mom and I look at each other and burst into laughter)

V: What? What's so funny?

Me: Poor "Cassanova"...

Mom: Yeah, his mind's sure in the gutter!

(More laughter ensues while Vika stares at us in bewilderment)

V: What are you guys laughing at? Is it what he called her?

Me: (wiping the tears from my eyes) I'll tell you when you're older.

This resulted in the expected eye-roll from Vix, who was now a bit irritated with both of us. "Vika," I said, "I think maybe Cassanova is not the best person for you to be hanging around with." Fortunately, she agreed. Although this may have more to do with her crush on a nice, studious boy ("I'm in love Mama!"), rather than any words of wisdom on my part.

Anyway, the lesson I hope she learns from this enlightening experience is this: boys who kiss and tell and call girls nasty names (even if they don't get it right) aren't worth your time or affection.

God, I'm dreading her teen years....

Eamon is very preoccupied with marriage. He is always mentioning which girl he wants to marry someday (and sometimes, which boy - we do live in the San Francisco Bay Area, after all, so he's seen both kinds of couples), but the names change almost weekly. Last week it was Robin or Annie. Then it became Sophia or Vika's friend Aimee (he's branching out to older girls). He also says he wants to marry me, or Vika, or some other family member. I just remind him that marriage is about making someone you love a part of your family. Since Vika and I are already his family, he can't marry us. I also am constantly telling him that since he is only 7, he doesn't need to worry too much about marriage just yet. He should save that for when he's older.

Then came an enlightening discussion with Babushka about "Sassy Girls" vs. "Cool Girls" (you can read her write-up of it here). According to Vika and Eamon, "Sassy Girls" are girls that wear short skirts, high heels, and cropped shirts so their bellies show. They are also really flirty and act like they're so pretty. Cool girls wear cool clothes but don't show their bellies. They act like themselves and aren't mean to other girls. Eamon told my mom that he wants to marry a Sassy Girl. So she dispensed the sage advice that Sassy Girls are fun to look at, but Cool Girls are the ones you marry. Eamon nodded as if he understood and the subject was changed.

However, later he said something which showed that the topic was still clearly on his mind. "Mama," he said. "I think you're right. I shouldn't worry about getting married. It's making my head go [insert crazy face and frantic hand movements here]."

I imagine deciding which kind of girl to marry would be a bit daunting for a 7 year old. Hopefully in 20 years or so, he'll have figured it out.

Sometimes kids with traumatic backgrounds, like mine, find it difficult to deal with too many good things happening at once. They do a form of "sabotaging" with their actions, making life chaotic or unhappy. I think this is because they lived so long with chaos and unhappiness that it has become almost comfortable to them now. They think that the good times can't possibly last, and by sabotaging, they feel a bit more in control of when the good times end.

Such is the case with Vika (although she has gotten better). On Saturday, Vika had a big day. Mom and Ed took her on a birthday shopping spree and then they went to lunch at Texas Roadhouse (Vika loves ribs). Afterward, she and I went to the Kenny Chesney concert with Laurie. That was a lot of fun by the way. Kenny puts on a really good show and so did Lady Antebellum. We were surrounded by girls in Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots. In San Francisco, on the bay at night. I was more than a little amused to see those same girls shivering in the cold night air. But at least they looked cute! ;) When Kenny made his entrance (on a type of chair which swung above the audience on cables), Vika's eyes lit up. She stood on her chair and danced, a happy smile brightening her face. The three of us had a great time, and Vika chatted happily as we walked back to the car later that night (we left a bit early because the other concert-goers were getting very drunk, and I didn't want to leave the parking lot at the same time they did). It was a great bonding experience, and we agreed that Vika and I need to do Girls' Night Out more often.

Then yesterday, everything went to hell. Vika woke up grumpy and irritable. She refused to do her morning chores (making bed, brushing teeth, etc.) and pretty much fought us all day long. She yelled at me, calling me rude for asking her to sort her dirty laundry. She deliberately ignored me when I asked her to clean up the toothpaste she smeared on the bathroom counter. And when I asked her if she was going to clean her room, she looked at me with raised eyebrows and said, "No!" All in all, we had an extremely uncooperative little girl. So Jeff and I decided to be uncooperative right back and even ignore her requests, just to show her what it was like. When she asked me for something, I responded, "I have a little girl who has shown me that words are not important" and then I would go back to my task. When lunchtime came, she had to make her own (to get a rise out of me, she had 3 plates full of Lays Potato Chips - I did not take the bait, but did say that I hoped they didn't give her a stomach ache).

After some time of this, Jeff and I talked a bit with Vika about how words and cooperation are important, especially in a family. She continued her downward spiral and went outside, crying and saying how she wishes she wasn't in our family. Jeff and I both kept our calm, and her drama mostly played out. Eamon and I went to my mom's house and Vika stayed home with Jeff to finish cleaning her room (she had kind of decided that she was going to cooperate by this time).

A couple hours later, Eamon and I returned home, and Vika came running down the stairs, all smiles to greet us. She said she had cleaned her room and showed me the nails she had painted with her new pedicure kit (hot pink with white flowers). I noticed that there was a blue stain on her shirt and hands, but didn't have time to ask her about it before she ran upstairs with Eamon. However, a couple minutes later, she came back down, complaining that her stomach was hurting really bad. I thought it was all the potato chips she had for lunch, but then noticed the blue stain again and saw some blue around her mouth. In growing alarm I asked, "Vika, what else did you eat? What made your mouth all blue?"

It turns out that she had made a "scientific concoction", using the Cool Blue kids Listerene in the bathroom, some water and chalk, and had drank 1/3 of a cup of it. I ran upstairs and quickly retrieved the bottle which said to call Poison Control immediately and seek medical attention if more than a little bit is swallowed. Hands shaking in panic, I sat a crying Vika down by the toilet while Jeff called Poison Control. They asked questions such as was she still breathing and conscious (yes), was she vomiting (no), and how long ago did she drink the Listerene (about 10 minutes). The dispatcher at Poison Control sent an ambulance and within 2 minutes our dining room was filled with paramedics and firefighters examining Vika and checking her vital signs. They seemed a bit amused by the situation, which lessened my panic somewhat and helped calm us down (poor Eamon had been pacing the floor saying, "I don't like this Mama!"). After reading the ingredients in the bottle and hanging with Vika for a while, the paramedics felt it was OK for her to stay at home and get some rest. If she began vomiting or her condition seemed to worsen, we were to call them back or take her to the hospital for further attention.

It was a dramatic climax to an awful day for Vika. Her stomach still hurting, Vika laid down and I sat by her, torn between wanting to give comfort and wanting to scold her for doing something so stupid! We have had many family talks about how you "don't drink what's under the sink," and when we got the Children's Listerene specifically, we had another discussion about how you don't swallow it. So, although I decided to offer comfort instead of scolding, I was more than a little angry at my daughter. Vika looked up at me with sad eyes and said, "I don't ever want to leave this family! And I don't want to die."

Perhaps this was the "Significant Emotional Event" that will encourage Vix to start to change her behavior. So far this morning she's been a bit more cooperative, and I know it will be an ongoing process for many more years. But if something good came out of last night's poisoning scare, I'll take it!

It's been pretty crazy over here at Four Feet More. First off, Vika has turned 8 years old. I know! My little girl is now 8! She's moving into that preteen phase and is growing up way too fast. For her birthday this year, she asked for (and received) a pair of texting devices. This was her second choice after we told her there was no way she was getting a cell phone at 8 years old. On the up-side, the texters are Hello Kitty, and Vika wanted them primarily to text with me, so she's still my little girl. For a while, anyway.

My dad came out to visit from Tennessee again this summer and was here for Vika's birthday. It's become a bit of an annual event - him coming out in July. The kids enjoyed hanging out with their "Deydushka Joe," and it was good for him to meet my brother's baby Tyson as well. Even though my dad doesn't really do kids, he was pretty tolerant of Eamon's excessive manhandling and Vika's incessant chatter. He may have even enjoyed it to some extent. I think.

So, Vika is now 8, going on 18. She also, much to my dismay, loves country music. I blame my mother for this, and she gleefully takes responsibility for my daughter's crushes on Brad Paisley and Jason Aldean. Well, in an extreme show of love for my daughter, I am going to subject myself to 6 hours straight of country music this evening. Laurie, a close family friend (kind of a sister-in-law, really), managed to score us free tickets to see Kenny Chesney and Sugarland in San Francisco tonight. It's actually a big country music festival with other acts like Lady Antebelem, Miranda Lambert, and Montgomery Gentry. Whoever they are. So, Vika, Laurie and I are doing a Girls' Night Out, and I plan to get schooled in country. Hopefully Vika will have a great time and this will be a fitting finale to her birthday week!

As long-time readers of this blog know, Vika's always been pretty direct and to the point. She doesn't try to sugar-coat anything, and she definitely knows who she is. This was illustrated perfectly on Mother's Day. Jeff, the kids and I were having brunch with my mom & Ed and my brother Joe's family at a local restaurant. Vix had to use the ladies room and asked that I accompany her. So off we went, to wait in the inevitable line that always seems to lurk just inside the bathroom door.

As we entered, we almost bumped the last woman standing in line. Vika and I both apologized, and the woman (whom I'll call Stacy, because that's what she looked like) began giggling and immediately forgave us. Then she looked at Vika and said, "What a cute little girl!" Vix immediately grabbed my hand and pressed closer to my side (she gets nervous sometimes when strangers talk about her), at which point Stacy looked from Vika to me and excalimed, "Oh! Is she yours?" Her eyes darted between the two of us, clearly confused by the difference in our coloring. I smiled and said, "Yep! She sure is!" Stacy's confusion grew and she began stumbling over her words: "Wow... I mean, she's got such dark skin and you're... well, her father must be... Um...." At this point, Vika decided to clear things up. "I'm adopted," she said. Stacy began giggling some more and responded, "No you're not!" As if Vika was trying to pull one over on her. Biting back a laugh I smiled and said, "Actually yes, she is." "I'm from Russia!" Vika added.

Poor Stacy didn't know what to make of this, so she simply said, "Oh! I'm sorry!"

"Don't be!" I replied. "We're not."

In an effort to make the woman feel more at ease (but actually only making her discomfort worse), Vika went on to explain, "Both my brother and me are adopted from Russia. We have the same mother there, but different fathers." This rendered Stacy completely speechless, and her relief when a stall opened up was obvious. After she rushed in and locked the door, I laughed quietly, hugged Vika and said, "Dude, you're AWESOME!"

Vika shrugged her shoulders and said, "What? We're from Russia!" like it was no big deal. That put a smile on my face for the rest of the day. I love that both Vika and Eamon are so matter of fact about their adoption and don't see it as a source of shame. Hopefully that attitude will continue throughout their lives, and they'll always feel a little special that they were chosen to be a part of our family. And, if they do a little educating of people like Stacy along the way, more power to them!

As I've documented in this blog before, Vika is always looking for a way to make a quick buck. If she can earn the money without having to do chores around the house, even better! Usually her plans involve creating some piece of "art" and then trying to sell it to people on the street. This worries me a bit because it brings to mind a future in which my daughter runs a make-shift booth selling tie-dye t-shirts to neo-hippies on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. Not exactly ideal.

During Spring Break, Vika made another entrepreneurial attempt. She crumbled wads of paper into slightly oblong-shaped balls and then colored them with crayons to make them look like decorated Easter Eggs. I'm not going to lie to you and say they were lovely. They were actually quite bad, and even Vika began to realize this as she was going over pricing with me. "Mama, do you think I could sell one of these for $5? Or maybe 50 cents?" I suggested that it might be best for her to simply give them to the family as Easter gifts, free of charge. She considered this for a moment, and then her face brightened as she said, "I know! I'll sell them to Joe-Monkey (my brother)! He'll fall for it! He always buys my stuff!"

Poor Joe... He's bought beaded items, drawings and coloring pages from Vika in the past, usually for 50 cents or $1 each, and now he's cast himself as an easy mark for all of her future moneymaking schemes. Fortunately, Vika forgot to bring the paper "eggs" with her to mom's on Easter, so Joe was not parted from any of his money that day. I can’t wait to see what she tries to sell him during our next family get-together!

Vika's reading skills have improved tremendously over the past year, which is a wonderful thing except for one teeny, tiny problem. She now is able to read over my shoulder as I type these blog posts, and has taken to censoring or vetoing the things I write about her. *sigh* It's quite tedious, but since I am putting these stories out there for anyone to read, I should respect her right to control the flow of information. That's why there haven't been a lot of Vika posts lately. However, she and I have now struck a deal - I can post a couple of slightly embarrassing things about her, as long as I post her dinosaur report for everyone to read as well. This option is better than her earlier suggestion, which was that we print out a bunch of copies of the report and then sell them to people on the street for $5 each. That's my girl - always looking for a way to make a quick buck!

She's also a D.I.T. (diva in training). I was reminded of this fact the other day when I heard a loud pitched wail coming from her room. Thinking she had gotten hurt, I rushed over to take care of the problem. What did I see? My daughter, sitting in front of her bedroom mirror, practicing crying. Can anyone say "Drama Queen?" Since that incident, I've begun responding her crying a bit more cautiously. And now that she knows we're on to her, she's using the tears tactic less and less.

And now, without any further ado, I give you Vika's second grade masterpiece, her dinosaur report (which luckily, she was able to type up and use spell-check on).



For my research project I chose to learn about the Barosaurus. The Barosaurus lived during the Jurassic Period, which was a long time before Tyrannosaurus Rex lived. The Barosaurus looked like a big lizard with long legs and a long tail and neck. It was fat and one of the biggest dinosaurs on earth. This is why its name means “heavy lizard.” The Barosaurus lived in North American and Africa. A lot of Barosaurus skeletons were found in South Dakota and Utah. The Barosaurus was an herbivore and did not eat meat. You can tell this because it had flat teeth. To protect itself, the Barosaurus may have used its tail to fight carnivores (dinosaurs that had sharp teeth and ate meat). The Barosaurus walked on land and in water. It had hollow bones, which made it easier to move its long neck and tail. One interesting fact about the Barosaurus is that it swallowed stones to help digest the food in its stomach.

I chose to learn about the Barosaurus because it looked cool, and I thought that because it was an herbivore, it would not try to hurt people. I learned from this project that Barosauruses had hollow bones and swallowed stones to digest food just like birds do today! I liked this project and I hope you liked it too.

Here's a note that was hung on Vika's door today. Apparently Eamon's making a nuisance of himself. Never mind the fact that my daughter's spelling is atrocious.


For those of you who are non-Vika-literate, here's a translation: "Please stay out unless you are mama or papa. No one bother!"

My mom has a subscription to People Magazine, and when she's done reading an issue, she usually sends it my way. We've got a stack of them set aside for "bathroom reading" (which used to freak out one of my co-workers from Stanford), and the other day, a recent issue started an interesting discussion in our house.

Vika went into the bathroom, and a minute later she yelled from behind the closed door, "Mama! Ask me anything about the Obamas. Like how many kids they have...what they wear.... anything!" After a moment of wondering what could have prompted this Obama trivia session, I replied that I would be happy to discuss the First Family with her when she was done "doing her business." She answered that she was already done, so I opened the bathroom door to see her sitting down, reading a People with the Obamas on the cover. Ahhh... So that's what started the whole thing. Only now, she didn't want to discuss the Obamas. She had turned the page to find a picture of the "pregnant man."

Which, as an aside, kind of bugs me. I mean, he wasn't born a man! He's a woman becoming a man. Furthermore, if you felt so strongly that you were meant to be a man, and were going through a sex change to make this happen, wouldn't the whole maternal, I-want-to-be-pregnant thing go along with your former status as a female? I just don't get it. It seems like some way for this person to get an awful lot of publicity, and I hope he has plans to step down from the spotlight and give his child a chance to grow up without people treating her like she's part of some freak show.

But I digress. Vika was looking at pictures of the pregnant man and becoming very confused. How could a man have a baby in his tummy, she asked. I told her that he had been a woman who felt that she was born the wrong way and was having doctors help her become a man. At this point, Vika emphatically stated, "Well I know I was born the right way!" But then she got quiet and her little brow furrowed. "I hope Tyson was born the right way," she said after a moment. I went on to explain that people being born the "wrong way" was very rare. Most people who are born girls are supposed to be girls, and most people who are born boys are supposed to be boys. With a nod, she put the People away, smiled and exclaimed, "I sure can learn some stuff from magazines!"

Oh, brother.

Since I've been prepping for 4 days worth of subs (I'm going to a teacher training Monday - Thursday), I find that I have absolutely nothing interesting to talk about. *sigh* What a sad state of affairs. I guess I could tell you the cute way Vika pronounces "asparagus" ("spasketius") or how proud I was of the calm way Eamon reacted to a kid who was yelling in his face, but instead I leave you with this: a motivational poster of Boba Fett - my favorite character from Star Wars (simply because he had a jet pack, and my 7-year-old self thought that was just the COOLEST).


Hope you all had a good weekend! Perhaps after being "GLADified" next week I'll have more exciting blog fodder.

Overheard in our house yesterday:

Vika (to no one in particular): "You know who I want for President? Murah Ok Bonoka."

I think she means Barack Obama. But I'm not sure.

In my last post, I hinted at some surprising news – and no, it is not that my mom is pregnant (although that WOULD be surprising). Sorry. That's kind of a family joke right now since two other women in my family are pregnant with due dates ON THE SAME DAY. One of them happens to be my sister-in-law, so I'm going to be an Auntie! YAY!!! But I digress....

A few weeks ago, I was checking my e-mail and noticed a message with this in the subject line: "Friend of Vika!" I cautiously opened the message. There are all kinds of weird searches that lead to this blog having to do with the name Vika ("Vika feet," "naked Vika," etc. - is there a Russian adult film star named Vika?), and I felt a bit concerned that this message might be related to those searches. But, much to my relief and surprise, the person sending the mail actually believed she might know Vika.

Her name is Michelle, and she adopted her two kids from Murmansk, Russia ecaxtly a year before we adopted ours. When she and her husband were visiting their children in the orphanage, they noticed another little girl in their daughter Alina's group room. This girl had olive skin, dark hair and dark eyes, and was named Vika. She and Alina were best friends, and between trips, the orphanage staff took many photos of the two playing together. Michelle said that Vika had the same special spark that her own kids had, and that she and her husband had thought of her often after bringing their children home. They even considered trying to adopt her for a time, but realized they had their hands full with their two children, and so did not pursue the idea.

Earlier this summer, Michelle sent a message to Tatiana, the orphanage director at the child's home, asking about Vika and whether or not she had been adopted. If Vika had been adopted, she requested that her contact info be forwarded to the adoptive family. Alina missed Vika, and Michelle hoped that there might be a chance of reconnecting the two little girls. Knowing it would take quite a while to receive a response from Tatiana, Michelle decided to do a quick Google search on "Vika" and "Murmansk." On the first page of results was this blog. After looking through it a bit, she became convinced that my Vika was the one she had been searching for, and she decided to contact me by e-mail.

After reading her message, I was a bit stunned. Could it be the same Vika? I wasn't sure, but Michelle quickly sent another message with photos, and it became obvious that the Vika she remembered and our daughter were the same person.

The photos Michelle sent are amazing. They offer a glimpse into Vika's life at the orphanage that we had not seen before. It is also amazing to hear about the friendship between Vika and Alina. Vika has either blocked out or chooses not to talk about much of her time spent in the orphanage. She can give a variety of details about her birth family, but is surprisingly tight-lipped about what her life was like when she was not with her birth mother or Russian babushka. I do know that for much of her last year in the Child’s Home, she felt lost and alone. This was the time period after Alina had been adopted – Vika was separated from Eamon, who still lived in the Baby Home, and the visits by her birth family were becoming less and less frequent. It must have been a painful time, and it’s no wonder that Vika chooses not to relive it.

I do remember one time, shortly after we brought Vika home, when I showed Vika a picture that was taken at the orphanage of her and another little girl. I asked Vika if this was her friend, but she shrugged and said, “Nyet.” Then she said the name “Alina.” At the time, I took it to mean that the girl in the photo was named Alina. But now I think Vika was trying to tell me that Alina was her friend, not the girl in the picture. Unfortunately, her English was limited, as was my Russian, so we weren’t able to discuss this further.

It is amazing to think that through the internet, Alina and Vika have been reunited once again. Alina lives on the East Coast, so we can’t get together for play dates, but the girls have begun to exchange letters, and Michelle and I are planning a phone call between the two. While Vika's memories of the orphanage are hazy, she is very excited that Alina found her. It’s an unexpected connection to Vika’s past that, along with the birth family search, helps us piece together more of her life before joining our family. I’m glad Michelle found us, and look forward to continued contact between Vika and Alina.

Below are a few of the photos Michelle sent. Click on any image to view it larger. You can also read Michelle's blog post about Alina and Vika here.

Vika and Alina at the Child’s Home in Murmansk

Vika at age 3

Vika (far right) playing in the snow with other children at her orphanage (this is my favorite picture – she looks like a little Eskimo!)

Today, my little girl turns seven. SEVEN! It seems just yesterday she was the spunky four year old we adopted. Now she’s a soon-to-be second grader who insists she’s acting differently today because she’s no longer six. As I watch her mopping the kitchen floor in her Tinkerbell wings (she wants to earn some extra chore points on her birthday), I think she may be right.

Vika still continues to surprise me with her observations and humor, just as she continues to test me with her stubbornness and need to be right in all things. She’s a strong little girl, who is very sure of herself. As the director of her orphanage told us, “she knows her worth.”

Vika also has a very generous spirit and loves to make gifts for people. When we were getting ready to go to Disneyland, she set everything aside so that she could write a letter and draw a picture to give to Mickey Mouse. At the character breakfast, she handed the rolled-up scroll to Minnie Mouse, asking her to give it to Mickey when she saw him (he wasn’t at breakfast). Later that day, we did run into Mickey, and when Vika asked him if her got her gift, he nodded and put both hands over his heart, as if it was the best gift he’d ever received. Vika beamed with happiness, thrilled that Mickey had liked her letter.

That’s my girl. Stubborn and argumentative to a fault, but thoughtful and loving as well. It is my hope that her strength of character will serve her well as she gets older, and that her playful nature will continue to charm those around her. I can’t wait to see what the future brings.

Happy birthday Vika! We love you more than all the fish in the sea and all the stars in the sky.

School is out, and Vika's year with the Teacher-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named (TWSNBN) is finally over. Thank God. The teacher's end-of-the-year activities did nothing to further endear her to me. First of all, the school had a "Field Day," in which Vika's class did not take part. Other first grade classes participated, but her class spent the day indoors, doing math worksheets. The kids were not being punished or anything, TWSNBN simply didn't want to do Field Day. Vika was kind of bummed about it.

She was further disappointed when she gave TWSNBN a card that she had labored over for an hour. She drew a picture of her and TWSNBN with extra care, and wrote a nice thank you note, making sure to spell all the words correctly. She then wrapped it up with a ribbon and brought it to school. She saw other kids give TWSNBN their gifts, and each of them received a "Thank You" card from TWSNBN in return. When Vika gave her the gift she had made, TWSNBN did not give her a thank you card. Vika asked why, and TWSNBN said that she only gives cards for gifts from the store. Vika was extremely saddened by this, and came home from school in a bit of a funk.

All year Vika has been feeling that she is a bad reader and that she's not smart in school. This is the impression TWSNBN gave me as well during our meetings. However, when Vika reads at home, she seems to do pretty well. Sure, her fluency could be better, but she didn't seem too far out of the normal range for a first grader. However, based on what she is seeing and hearing in school, Vika's been under the impression that she should be reading chapter books. In first grade. So, it seems that TWSNBN's perception of normal may be a bit skewed.

My sister-in-law, J, is a 2nd grade teacher in a high-performing school district nearby. She offered to test Vika's reading to see what kind of work we should do over the summer to get her ready for 2nd grade. On Monday she did several tests, and the results were a bit surprising. Vika is reading at a beginning 2nd grade level. She's right on track to start school in the Fall! All TWSNBN's concerns about her being behind were basically a load of crap.

Vika was giddy when she heard her test results. She was so happy to learn that she is a "smart reader," and was very excited to read during the summer. So, this week, we've been doing the "Hooked on Phonics" program which a friend gave to me, and Vikas' been reading voraciously. On Tuesday alone she read 7 mini-chapter books! All it took was for her to see herself as normal and on-track academically to get her enthused about learning again.

As J and I left her classroom, I said, "Oh, how I hate TWSNBN." She looked at me, nodded and said, "I hate her too." :)

Sorry I've been so bad about blogging lately (and bad about reading your blogs!). I've been pretty busy and, needless to say, there is a lot to catch up on. I will attempt to do a tiny bit of that now.

The week began with a Monday, as it always does. As I was getting ready for work, I went to close my bedroom door, putting my hand around the knob with fingers holding the edge of the door. Then, I proceeded to shut the door, with my hand still in that position, and smashed my middle finger. Every time I look at the black bruise in the center of my fingernail, I am reminded of what an idiot I am.

The rest of the day wasn't much better. After school I had a meeting with Vika's teacher and the principal about the lack of interventions being done to support her learning. This was a follow-up to the meeting I had with the teacher two weeks ago, in which she said she would not be doing any interventions for Vika, would not be using her Friday afternoon movie time for additional instruction, and told me that while Vika is not meeting grade-level standards, she is also not low enough to require intervention. When I said it felt like Vika was slipping through the cracks, the teacher looked me right in the eye and said, "Sometimes that happens." As you can imagine, I was less than satisfied with this response.

At Monday's meeting, I laid out all Vika's reading comprehension tests, with big, red "F"s, "D"s and "C"s on them, and asked what we could do to improve these scores. The teacher began a relentless attack of me that continued throughout the meeting. She was very defensive that I was questioning her teaching style, and the principal did what she could to talk around my concerns. Finally, after they told me that they didn't want to do any extra interventions because they wanted all children to start out on "the same playing field," I did something I swore I would never do. I pulled the "adoption card."

My frustrated response to their statement was, "Is every child on the same playing field? Is my child, who has only been speaking English for 2 years, and who spent the first 4 and a half years of her life in extreme poverty and neglect, on the same playing field as a child who has been raised from birth with two supportive, English-speaking parents? All children do NOT start out on the same playing field, and to think so it a bit short-sighted." At this point, the principal jumped right on board with me and began scribbling down a plan to help Vika catch up with her reading comprehension. The teacher still resisted at every turn, but at least now I have a plan in place, and really, I'm just counting down the weeks until my child is out of her class. Hopefully I can do some work over the summer to get Vika more prepared for 2nd grade.

At least Monday ended nicely, and Jeff and I were able to do a mini-anniversary celebration.

Tuesday brought the dreaded California State Testing for my class. 2 and a half hours, and nearly 30 pages of reading comprehension questions! The students were definitely squirrelly after that. I can't say I blame them, really. Those types of standardized tests are enough to drive anyone mad.

Tuesday afternoon, I came home to an unexpected surprise. On the counter was a package, addressed to me and waiting to be opened. Imagine my delight when inside were my PIF gifts from Starfish! I think you may remember these from a post she did a while back:

I confess, when I read that post, I secretly hoped that she would make me similar items for PIF. I’ve already got my sock project stuffed into the sock bag (one sock is done, the other is nearly half-way complete), and now my heaps of knitting needles are carefully arranged in the straight needle holder. Thanks so much Starfish! After a kind of weird couple of days, your gift brightened my mood and left me with a smile on my face.

Wednesday went pretty well until around 5 pm, when I was suddenly overcome with awful stomach cramps. I got violently sick, but seemed to feel better afterwards. Around 5 am Thursday morning, I became queasy again. As I was trying to get ready for school I got sick, and soon realized that I would have to call in an emergency substitute. It's really no fun, scrambling around to get your class covered and make sure that testing is going to be taken care of when all you really want to do is collapse in a heap near the toilet, waiting for the nausea to pass.

Finally, around noon Thursday I began to feel better, and by Friday afternoon, my appetite had completely come back. Perhaps I ate something that was off? Who knows? I’m just glad it’s out of my system!

The week ended on a positive note Friday afternoon, when my principal informed me that she was recommending me for rehire next year. I was relieved at this news, but still didn’t quite know what it meant. I figured this was another hurdle cleared in the “re-hire race,” but that there were still more up ahead. However, when I went into the office on my way out, the principal was there, and she said, “Don’t I get a hug?” I was a bit confused and said, “Umm… OK!” and hugged her. Then it dawned on me…. “Is this it then? Am I definitely coming back next year?” The principal said that it was as good as a done deal, and that my hire letter would say 6th grade, but I would actually be moving into 5th grade. I really like the 5th grade team and am excited about working with them next year. I know I’ll learn a lot, and now will be able to complete my beginning teacher training and clear my credential in California!

What a great way to end a roller-coaster week!

Remember that period of time where Eamon was writing "E"s on everything? Well, we thought he was moving out of that phase, but this week we had a major setback. He became mad at Vika, and her doll, Katie, suffered the results. During the worst of Eamon's "E" phase, Katie's poor face had a big E written on it daily. Most often in pencil, but sometimes in crayon, and a few times in ink. This last time, her face was covered in red crayon. E's were everywhere, and Jeff had to scour her poor face to get them off. Katie's cheeks were looking a bit ragged after all this scrubbing.

What's a dad to do when he sees his daughter's disappointment over Katie's dull face? Give the doll a facial, of course!

After lovingly prepping Katie's face, Jeff rubbed a paraffin wax mixture into her "skin" and then gently buffed it away. Now, she's bright and shiny as new! And Vika is pleased. Hopefully this "moisturiser" will make it easier to wash future "E"s away as well.

Doesn't she look fabulous?

Excerpt from a conversation in the car:

Vika: "Mama, when I'm 10, I'm totally going to need a new bike!"

At least she didn't refer to me as "Dude."