Custom Search

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


As usual during the work week I picked my son up from his Pre-K class as soon as I got off work. He as usual was delighted to see me and ran up to give me a big hug. He and his friends were just finishing their snacks. My son with a smiley face took me to one of the three tables the kids were sitting at and showed me what they had for snack that day. I smiled knowing how pleased he was to get oranges and wafer cookies. It is a favorite snack of his. I started having a casual conversation with one of his teachers about his day and joking about a silly conversations I was trying NOT to have with a bunch of four year olds a moment earlier when a certain little boy in Zaichik's class commented about butts and how his Dad had boobies. I wasn't about to go there. I have no idea why it was brought up but four year olds will talk about whatever is on there mind...maybe too much....

During our conversation, the teacher and I looked over to see the other teacher with a surprised look on her face. We summoned her over and I said, "If its about butts, I have no idea where that came from." She chuckled a little at that because butts, poop, farts and all those types of things are hilarious to four year olds. She's heard that conversation maybe a thousand times. She surprisingly said, "No, I'm trying to listen to a conversation." We of course inquire what it was about. She replied with, "One of the kids was telling the other kids at the table how he is sitting at a table with no colored people." Our mouths dropped. Um...what?????????????

I was stunned. I'm still stunned. Its 2011. We live in the North where racism isn't as prevalent. Seriously? I don't ever recall hearing those conversations as a young child and we had KKK marches through our city streets and I was a kid. I couldn't believe it. I told the teacher that I don't think he knows what he is saying. Hopefully he wasn't hearing that at home. I mean at this age four years olds don't care what color you are, how you look or anything like that. The biggest thing may be girls vs. boys but that is it. I remember as a child being four and one of my classmates had one eye. His other eye had a plastic piece and it would constantly fall out on the playground. We were always having to look for Lolo's eyeball on the playground. We weren't grossed out. It was just part of Lolo and he was still our friend. We were color blind, disability blind...everything blind just as long as we could play together then it was all about fun.

I'm not sure how the teachers handled that. I left it to them but left them with instructions that if Zaichik ever says anything remotely like that I want to know and that kind of talk is not at all allowed in our home. We respect all of God's children. Thankfully the kid that I think said this is not a favorite of Zaichik's. In fact Zaichik often tells me that this kid isn't his friend. I'm not sure why but perhaps Zaichik just doesn't like this kids attitude. I just hope he isn't being taught this at home. I pray that if the parents hear about this then they correct their child. I just can't imagine teaching a child about "colored" people. Seriously?

I'll be praying for them.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Extended Family

I hate that people are greedy. I hate that people are torn apart for the damnest of reasons and while we can forgive in our hearts, we protect ourselves when people don't every try to apologize for the things they have done. The blog may be a bit cryptic to some but I am sure every family has a story where in one reason or another they are ripped apart. During this time of the year I think about a certain side of my family and can't help but miss them.

In the past, Thanksgiving was the time of the year we would visit my Grandparents in Cleveland. I had a great set of Grandparents that I knew loved me. I felt it, I heard them tell me that they did and I just felt a depth of love every time I came over to their house. I was always greeted by squishy kisses, hugs and they would listen to whatever little worry or story I had for them. I know a lot of people have or had great grandparents that hugged and kissed them, BUT when you only have 75% of your Grandparents treat you with love, you learn to appreciate it a little more. On my visits I also had an Aunt, Uncle and cousins that I loved to see and play with. I felt love from them too. I knew they genuinely were happy to see me and I cherished those play dates where my cousins and I would drive the adults a bit crazy.

After my Grandmother was dead for short period of time, one of my cousins moved in with my Grandfather. While it was thoughtful in the beginning for her to do that, she was also told that she too needed to have her own life and to not put it on hold. She should find a husband and have her own family. I believe it was one of her wishes. Years went by and we would still visit every Thanksgiving. Everything was still at it was minus one Grandparent. As my Grandfather aged he started getting alzheimer and dementia. During one point my cousin who still lived at the house told us we were no longer to stay in the house when we visited. There was no reason why. She just decided she didn't like it. My Grandfather would never want that. We were always welcomed no matter what. Other extremely hurtful incidents also occurred that I don't want to get into.. Things looked fishy. We did an internet search. We found out my cousin got power of attorney over my Grandfather and then got the deed to my Grandfathers house. We had no idea. Our family was shocked.

My Grandfather died Thanksgiving day a few years later. We believe he wanted us to come "home" one more time. We did. It was one of the hardest few days I ever had. It wasn't the loss of my Grandfather even though that was hard, but the insane treatment we received by the other side. There were a lot of incidents but a few come to memory is a cousins daughter kicked my mother during the wake, our belongings were thrown from one pew to another in church during the funeral and we were treated so badly that I believe I had my first panic attack in the restaurant of an Apple Bee's because I couldn't handle the grief of losing my Grandfather and the immense shock of how badly my family was treated. My family had no inheritance because the money that was there was taken. I can get over the money issue. However, I had to beg to get family photos of my family when we were young or even my Mother's wedding photos. I even begged for the pictures my sister and I colored with markers that my grandparents taped to their bedroom wall. We were given a few of them along with a few other items eventually. They were just tokens that meant all the sentiments in the world to us and nothing to them. To this day those memories that rush back are still extremely hurtful. I forgave a bit in my heart but they never thought for a moment they did anything wrong. I just couldn't believe that such a group of loving individuals could turn with such hatred and disgust.

Given all that, I think about them a lot during this time of the year. I swear I smelled my Grandfather for a moment when I was kissing my son the other night as a almost, "hey its just about Thanksgiving" message. I looked up and the smell was gone. I think about my Grandparents and how I miss getting those kisses and squishy hugs. I miss my Aunt talking about her dreams, my Uncle tickling us until we cried and the cousins that would giggle away and just be silly with us. I mourn for what was. I question a lot on why they would ever do this to us. I miss them. I miss my family and I'll probably never have them back. Its sad. The money isn't the issue. There was very little of it as my Grandfather never made more then 10K a year. Its the hurt behind it and the betrayal of what was done.

I'll pray for them. What else can I do? I just wonder if they ever think about us. Do they ever want to reach out and say, "we're sorry"? Maybe it will happen someday. Maybe it won't. I just wish people, especially families would think before acting harshly towards each other.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Waiting Game

My daughter since birth has not passed her right ear hearing test. It was a shock to me as they took my two day old infant, put the little tube in her ear and with a heavy sigh said, "she isn't passing". I got a somewhat reassured smile from the friendly hospital hearing specialist telling me everything is okay and perhaps there is fluid still in her ear from birth. I decided for now that was what it was as I didn't want to stress too hard about it as I was still in the ICU from severe high blood pressure. The less stress on me the better as any stress increased my blood pressure ten fold. I came back to the hospital two weeks later to repeat the test. I had prayed beforehand and assumed everything would be fine. She failed. I cried. The waiting game began.

We were referred to an audiologist for a more thorough hearing test. When we arrived when my sweet pea was a month old, the audiologist told me the test would take quite a while for all the measurements. As in, I would hold her to keep her still and we would sit there for at least over an hour. I was terrified. I held my sweet little girl and prayed to God and pleaded with him to take my hearing if needed so she could hear with both of her little ears. The audiologist told us to keep her still and fearful that any movement would skew the test, I sat there praying, holding back tears and I didn't move a muscle. If I could of held my breath the entire time, I would of done that as well. When the test was all over and done with the entire right side of my body was numb and completely asleep. Thankfully, the ABR bone test showed that she wasn't deaf. Praise God! It was concluded at the end of the visit that she wasn't getting sound through her ear canal and they weren't sure if it was fluid or something else. The next step was to continue getting measurements for the next three months to conclude she still has a problem as they said perhaps the problem would resolve itself. Again, the waiting game. I had no idea if the bones in her fragile little ear were set right or if she had fluid or something else was wrong. It was the unknown that was terrifying. I couldn't help but worry and I retreated back into my little place of worry and told practically no one.

Three more tests over four and a half months concluded the same thing, she had some sort of hearing deficiency. We were then referred to an ENT to put tubes in her ears. We did. I sat there as my little six month old got carried away by some wonderful nurses and once again held my breath. She was so little, so sweet and so smiley. I hated knowing that she trusted me and they would put her under anesthesia. I also knew it was the best thing I could do for her. I feared so much during those ten minutes I was away from her. What if this didn't fix it? What if she has a delay like her brother because of hearing? The unknowns can make any parent go crazy.

Today we went in for her post tube audiology appointment. I waited again, holding my breath, praying so hard for this little, beautiful angel that was smiling back at me during her exam. The audiologist saw my worry and reassured me the Princess has one good ear. I am thankful for that but of course I want two good ears. After what seemingly felt like forever, she passed. My baby finally passed after eight months of waiting. I held back tears, kissing my little girl. She had no idea the worry her parents had. She had no idea the countless prayers, tears, conversations with God (more like pleading) and reassured hugs I needed from my husband.

I am so thankful that my princess can hear and hopefully this is the end of her ear troubles. Unless something else comes up with infections, language issues, etc., I won't have to see the audiologist again. I feel for any parent waiting on anything that gives them worry over their child. Its the unknown that just sucks. My prayers are with those parents who are waiting on answers. God bless you.

Monday, November 14, 2011


I'm going to be a mess on Pre-K graduation day and the first day my son goes to Kindergarten. Why? My son isn't attending Kindergarten for another ten months and yet at one of my parents meetings that I attended today for rising Kindergarteners, I started tearing up like crazy. I had to stop the ugly cry with ever fiber I had. I had to think of spiderman, yucky boogers and coming up with formulas for excel spreadsheets. It was about to get ugly and I wasn't about to let a bunch of school psychologists, PAC teachers, counselors, etc., have some of their first impressions of me as a emotional mother. I just can't believe how fast time has flown and how in a few short months, my little guy will be going to big kid school and what a journey it has been to get to this point.

I'm proud of my boy. He's loving, outgoing, sweet, compassionate and so energetic . My son has also achieved great lengths as he has a bit of a development delay. His speech impaired a lot of things and we've struggled through parts of it. We've had the downs with lack of compassion from people that dislike us because of it (I still don't understand that), had to put off teaching Russian to him and every new lesson tends to be a bit harder to teach him because of communication. However, our struggles have had their positives in that we got services to help him, bonded together as a family and learned more from this experience in appreciating the small things much more then we would have had it been smooth the entire way through. He has come so far in learning how to talk and will be shortly coming to a new cross roads where he'll be entering a new arena in life. I worry for him. Not only because of the huge change going from a preschool setting to elementary setting, but also because of his communication delay.

I have done everything I could think of to help give him the tools to succeed in preschool. I think of all sorts of games to help him learn the lessons he needs to know such as numbers, the alphabet, writing, etc., His preschool teacher and his developmental teacher praise me quite often for the creative ways I teach my son the things he needs to learn for school and how often I ask questions and communicate with them on a regular basis. I make a point to talk to both the teachers in his class each day to see how he is doing, where I can help him on and what his accomplishments are. I obviously want to work on the things he is struggling with but also congratulate him on the things he has done well. Nothing pleases my little Zaichik more than to hear his Mom tell him, "good job buddy".

I also pray. I know you must use the tools in life that God provides you, but I have a lot of conversations with God. I have conversations where I thank him for giving me such a healthy, beautiful boy and thankful for the fact he's learned how to sound out a new syllable to the alphabet or finally achieved writing a legible "N". I also pray for guidance and for my son to achieve his set goals before he enters the doors of Kindergarten next Fall. Being a Mom and being how I am, I worry constantly. I want so much for him.

This blog has been a bit all over the place, but in true form as my emotions with my son are high. He and his sister are my world. Everything I do (minus pooing), I do for my family. I want so much for all of them. I want them to achieve their goals, be happy, love and be well rounded. I also want time to slow down a bit because this little person has grown from an infant, to a toddler and now kid all too quickly. I'll miss scooping him up early on the days I can get out of work because it just won't be as easy to swing by and get him. I know I'll cry when my son goes to school. I know he'll do great. I have faith in him, his school and God's guidance. I'll just need to remember to hold of mascara that day.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Home Projects

When it comes to house projects I've been in the "meh" phase for years. I don't know why. I guess I got burned out doing interior design projects while I was in school. I loved the creative aspect to design, but between the bitches and la-de-da of it all I was over it. I flat out didn't care. As long as it wasn't sequenced or neon colors, I didn't care what went on with my home for the most part. Thankfully my husband has good taste and I had glimmers of design wants here and there. I just finally had an awakening to what I want to do with my home. It has been seven years...

This weekend my husband and I picked out paint colors for the main floor of our house. Granted we...I mean he has painted various bathrooms and kid rooms in our house but our main floor has never been painted. We have been living in this house for four years and have been staring at white walls this entire time. It looked like hell. We both finally caved and decided to go for it.

I have about zero painting experience. I started off by myself by painting around all the framing and molding around my baseboard/ceiling. I loved it. Not only was my house starting to look better with each little paint stroke, but in some way it was also therapeutic. Don't get me wrong. I'm not about to attend painting parties any time soon, but just doing my thing, in my bra and sweat pants was relaxing. Seeing the end result of my hallway, now a glimmering shade of green has increased my motivation to a new high. I have thoughts, outlines in my head. I have a flow of how I want things to go. I want to get organized. Not on a nesting level of cleanliness or organization, but more so for design.

I'm excited for more projects. I want to get through painting the rest of my main floor, but I can't wait to change things up a little. I need money...don't we all, but I have tremendous plans now. Time to start flipping through magazines and starting some boards on pintrest!

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Old and New

Not our actual church. Visual representation
of a Byzantine Wooden church in Eastern Europe

This weekend will be the last weekend the usual Sunday liturgy will be said in our church. We have a new church that is almost completely built, which is a fantastic achievement especially with a rite so small as ours.. However watching this take place is somewhat bitter sweet.

The old church will remain for daily liturgies or for other liturgies as seen fit by our Pastor. Nothing will happen to it. The structure will stay there. Things will just change. Its strange really that I don't know when I'll be in this small church again. Its my church. The church where I spent many Sundays being dragged to it as a child and actually found my spirituality in as an adult. The church where I said my vows to my husband and where our two babies were baptized, confirmed and given first holy communion to. It almost seems like one door is closing, but really we're blessed. I just feel a tad conflicted. Is that silly of me?

I love the new church in what it means. It means our church is thriving. How many of you in your life time have seen your church (your existing church) being built? The new church is so beautifully decorated like many of the old Byzantine churches in Eastern Europe. The three domes (representing the Trinity) is a truly powerful representation for any church goers or people passing by. I can easily say, I haven't seen a Byzantine church like it. Its build from tradition separating itself from what was once imposed on Byzantines by the Romans. What I also love most about it, our Pastor is letting no one in until the Bishop opens the door for the first liturgy. How beautifully remarkable is that? Can I say I'm kind of glad that no church busy body thinks they have a right to see it before the other faithful? Just sayin.

I know I'll love this new church and make memories there. Its where I'll pray for my babies and have conversations with God. I just think it has to grow on me a little. I'm used to the old ways. I am grateful that our old church is remaining. I never thought I would think this 15 years ago, but my heart would break seeing anything happen to our little, humble church. I just can not wait until I see the inside of the new one. I can only imagine how beautiful it will be. I am looking forward to seeing Icon Screen and the Deacon door, a item my Family bought in order to honor my Dad. I'm ancy, but ready or not I'll be seeing it in less than two weeks!