Scones

The first taste of chocolate; 

a lesson in kneading. 

There's splashing and stirring, 

flour prints everywhere. 

Baked, big eyes, blowing, '"hot"; 

dancing with girlhood. 

We Got Our Wings Clipped

                

Today marks day ten of bronculitis (that's a cold to it's fullest glory). It's not the relentless flem that's getting us down but the pending cabin fever. This morning I devised a plan to get to the library- we would sneak past the librarians, sit in on storytime, divert the coughing onto someone else's kid. I couldn't work out all the kinks, and realized the girls would probably lose their hand stamp privileges- thus we would all end up back home in tears.

Yes we're knee deep in amoxocillin, tylenol, and thieves oil. We dodged some Ukrainian home remedy voodoo- "wrap baby in heated pig fat", "pour eucalyptus oil down their nostrils", "layer clothing until children are like cabbage". We politely declined, all we have is to wait.

By now the struggle to stay entertained is real. I've found tricks up my sleeve that I didn't know were there. The q-tips in the tub trick. The dinosaurs in the stroller trick. The tutus on the teddy bear trick. Wrote a song and dance entitled "Eat Your Cheese".

This is our third bout of illness this season. But I'm thinking were just caccooning, that come spring we'll emerge as butterflies, perfectly sharing, perfectly potty trained, and using three word sentences (like "go, dog, go")- we're working on it ;) Enjoy some pics from our shut-in activities!

Their first baking lesson!

                       

snack time!

100 baths

 Our books of choice right now, they're trying a bunch of sounds out from "Go, Dog, Go"!

Googly Eye Game instructions: let the girls play with googly eyes. Spend the entire first part of their nap searching the house for them. Bonus points if you say a prayer that you don't find any in a diaper!

A package arrived from some [great]grandparents- red moccasins!

Girls are eating their bananas in the lids of their bubble bottles- nifty storage. 

Solomia is a big bad wolf. She howls like a wolf too "ooow!" Anya is Little Red Riding Hood. In our rendition of the story they happen to be best friends. 

Threading pipe cleaners into a strainer- the finest of motor skills these girls have!

Were working on coloring only on paper :)

drumset- just like dad's!

3-D dot stickers- the best Dollar Tree find

puppets

One of our favorite Christmas gifts- thanks Joe and Ky!

I'll say "do you want to do a puppet show", and they'll run to their theater, put the puppets on and say ""hi!"

Tried to do some laundry. Came running up to find that the girls got in some baking ingredients. Anya was super upset about it- tried to sweep it up. Solomia just continued to eat brown sugar, unfazed. 

endless remedies

so grainy, too classic not to post, we're trying to teach them to do some chores. They can put their legos away, throw their diapers out, and put their clean folded clothes into a drawer- all crumbled up!

[and now we sleep]

It's Sunday, about three in the afternoon. The whole house sleeps, but my the week was some kind of crazy. My husband, a preacher, burnt the midnight oil, and the candle at both ends, as they say. The price of writing a sermon is unbelievable. We feel the weight of it in every unwashed dish that accumulates and every evening walk that's just me and the girls. The light is on in his office before and after work, books piled high, French Press on empty, for days on end. Then there's that pensive look, the half-hearted smile, pleading "is it done yet?" Not yet Sweetheart.

He doesn't preach often; we dread it when he does. It always goes exactly the same way. He preaches his sermon, first in Ukrainian, then in English. He explains the text and why it matters. He presents the gospel clearly. Then we go home, say a few "I'm sorries", and sleep, simple as that. And life is normal again for a couple months.

Why do I share this snapshot of our lives? Only because it's just that. I don't have any profound lessons learned or advice to any ministry families. We don't even have a long list of people coming to faith. That's what life in Christ is yeah? Just do what we're called to do, that's it. Insert dramatic shrug, and pass the batton.

More Than I Can Chew

I was hungry and starting to feel the onset of the shakes. Rummaging through the kitchen I found the end piece of a very round and large loaf of pumpernickel bread. I covered it in salami and cheese, and topped the open faced sandwich with an entire mashed avocado. It was delicious. I devoured all of my  favorite things in just a few bites, and most of it landed on my face or the table. Good Lord if anyone saw me I would die. I looked up and there in the other room was my youngest daughter, those little eyes piercing straight through me. 

Do as I say not as I do will be my motif. 

Don't worry about what people think of you.  Don't bite your nails. Don't let the dishes pile up. Don't perpetually bite off more than you can chew. Yet nobody will know and inherit my shortcomings like my girls. Because just when I think no one is watching ... there their little eyes will be...

The Giving Garden

About six months ago my husband and I moved from an apartment in a historic part of the city to Parma, an ethnically dense town with working families. We live close to church, hoping to be a gospel light to Ukrainians, a people held captive by religious tradition, with no concept of salvation by the cross of Christ. 

Just the other day our family was on a walk. We had gotten root beer from the fruit market, and were pushing the stroller home when Bogdan greeted some neighbors we had never seen before.

Dobriy Den he called out to an older couple. They approached us and we spoke over the fence.

Their faces were worn by the sun, their hands rugged with work. 

The men argued theology in words I don't understand. He invited my husband to sit. She showed me pictures of their grandchildren, cooed over the girls, and showed me back to her garden. There she loaded me with parsley, more than I could ever know what to do with. She gave me tomatoes, basil, green onions, and garlic. She explained that if I planted the cloves I would also have garlic plants, and then she said In the springtime I will help you plant a garden of your own. 

 Come anytime, they said; we're not American. It's an interesting thing when you meet somebody that shares with you like family, especially with only a little more than a zip code in common.

The Time Keeper

It struck me the other day that the bay window in our living room keeps the time almost perfectly. While it's still dark, I watch the neighbor pull his green van out of the driveway. I wash bottles and pacifiers to be ready for the day. When the boy with large glasses gets on his bike for choir practice, it's time for breakfast. The morning passes in a blur of diapers and tummy time, but I know it's noon when Jimmy John's delivers to the house with the big round bushes. Soon enough appears a young woman, thin and covered in tattoos. She walks by with her is a bunch of children in a wagon. We too must go on a walk of our own. The mailman comes, Mama needs more coffee. As a carpool drops some kids home from school, I stop reading stories for it's time to put on dinner. The babies sleep, the green van pulls back in, I know my husband will soon be home.  The day closes with a walked pair of huskies and an older woman having a smoke in a burger king uniform. Finally the window goes silent, it's time to sleep, the day is over. It has nothing left for me, yet beckons us to contentment- for in only a moment the green van will pull out and then pull back in again, and before I know it my girls will be grown. So for now I cherish the baths, the finger puppets, the little shrieks of laughter. The seemingly endless mundane is one of the sweetest gifts I've ever known.

Babies.

                     Back in the fall we decided it was time to grow our family.

We hoped they would have my eyes and his humor. We even dared to dream that we could have twins.

"Be careful what you wish for", my midwife said.

My husband takes good care of me, and five and a half months later we're growing at the speed of light. 

Our whole world can't wait to meet them. Our family and friends have been so kind and helpful 

(ex. a whole stack of baby books from a friend at school). 

It Was Puzzling

        For our anniversary my brother-in-law gave us a bag of puzzle pieces.
                                   It was a nice gesture, we like puzzles. 

  

Soon we realized it wasn't just any ordinary puzzle. Some images started to look familiar. 

There were some strange and ambiguous messages.

It even got a little weird.

Then it came together.

                                                A friend is someone

who knows

                    

the song

in your heart

                     

                                                          and can

sing it back

to you

when

you have forgotten

the words.

In conclusion, a picture is worth a thousand words

But a thousand pieces is worth more than I ever imagined.

Taking Flight

                    Our first year of marriage was all about learning to fly. 

So was our one year anniversary celebration.

Akron to Cleveland

and a 180 around our neighborhood

It's not fair to the rest of the world that I get to be married to Bogdan. He's incredible. This celebration is even more fun than getting engaged; instead of celebrating what may be we are celebrating what is. 

I love you honey

Beats and Jams

We think my dad was in a band called "The Greasy Monkeys". He will never confirm or deny this; it's an old family legend. Regardless, my dad was a drummer, and hadn't picked up sticks since his days of glory.

My husband has had his own touch of glory, in a Ukrainian hard rock band called "Lesya."

Recently they put their genius together in a practice room of an old warehouse. This is what they got.