From the mouths of babes...

I am a foreigner.  I do not belong.  I cannot even pretend I do. 

Standing in the middle of a children’s playroom, Claire looked up at me with her big blue eyes, sweet smile, and said, “I have a secret.  Don’t tell anyone.  I wish I was Russian.  But, don’t tell them.” 

I knew what she meant.  She wished she could understand.  I do, too. 

I want to cry, for her, for us.  It’s odd.    

Today had been seemingly victorious. 

To start, I was able to locate Rory’s bus stop.  To feel the magnitude of this may be impossible.  Children take public transport to school in Russia.  Having a bus pick a child up for school sounds as far-fetched as if I grew wings, and flew her there myself.  In short, private bus stops are uncommon and tricky – particularly, when the landmarks and language is different from your own.  However, this morning, Rory gladly climbed aboard said bus for her second day of school, and waved to me.  Hoo-rah!  I did a fist pump via text to my husband. 

With that success under my belt, I, then, decided to visit Fitness Mania (my new gym) for the first time.  With Claire and Jane in tow, I somehow hopped on the right bus to the fitness center, AND exited at the right stop.  MIRACLE.  I congratulate us all!  High-fives!  Praise!  And, we keep going.  After a short tromp, we arrive at the doors to our new gym.  Hot air blasts from within.      

What happens next, I will include because it adds a bit of humor, and gives a sense to what normal, daily life is like.  If you would like to exercise, you must follow these steps.  First, visit the reception desk.  Hand your membership card (and the cards for your children – yes, they are members, too) to the desk attendant.  She gives you a locker key for each card (3 for me), and thin, white palm-sized squares (these are used to pick up towels in the locker room); again, I get three.  Next, you walk to the coat check area.  You pass each coat over, and the clerk hands you a metal tag; I have three more items in hand.  Take a moment to picture this.  I stand in the front hallway of this massive Russian club, with two bags (one for me, and one for C & J), a purse and two little girls.  In my hands are nine small objects, and I think… “You really do have to want to exercise…” 

With hands full, we climb a spiral staircase to the upper floor.  I pass a juice bar, a boxing ring and a fairly competitive ping pong match before reaching the children’s playroom.  I kiss Claire and Jane; they remove their wet boots and run off to play.  I head to the women’s locker room.  I use one of my three keys to open a locker.  I exchange my slush covered boots for my tennis shoes (in 1 of 2 bags), and cram the other stuff inside.  I use the afore-mentioned white square to get a SET of big, fluffy blue towels.  (They must have a dryer here!)  Apparently, they expect you to get very sweaty… Or, take a shower.  J   I turn left out of the Women’s Locker Room, and see exercise equipment.  Ahhhh…  After working out and/or a shower, simply reverse all previously mentioned steps.                

When I return to pick the girls up, Claire shares her secret wish.  Her words echo my thoughts.  If we were Russian, we would understand. 

We are outsiders, and we know it.  We feel it.  We see it.  We hear it.  Today, the sense of that is bearing down upon me.    

At lunch, the girls tell of their experience at the fitness center.  An elephant slide into bouncy balls.  A toy microscope that shows GERMS!  A miniature globe.  Drawing.  It was during the drawing.  Jane pretended to be God.  Claire was at the table writing her name.  She was writing her name in English so that her Russian caretaker would know her.  (Breaks your heart a little, doesn’t it?)  Jane called to Claire, “Don’t forget me…”  Afterwards, Jane dove down the slide into the colorful balls.  As Jane explains this event, she says, “Then, God was damaged.” 

I ask, “When?” (I suspect the bouncy balls as the culprit.)   

Claire chimes in, “On the Cross.”

Jane adds, “Yeah, when they killed Him, but He rose again.  They don’t know that, though.”

But, we do.  We know that.  I had anticipated a silly conversation.  But, what I received was encouragement – from a three and five year old.  I needed a focus shift.  It happened over goldfish -- the Russian version, anyway. 

Later, something else at the table caught my eye.  Last week, I asked Rory to write out her own thoughts about living here in Moscow.  She was used to such requests – not yet forgetting homeschool routines.  Her paper was at my elbow.  Below are her reflections; I have not corrected any spelling.  I like it better her way.

“I do not like that we always have to walk.  But it has been very fun.  Mommy bout new dolls (the kind you see at a supermarket – small and cheap).  The days have been going fastly.  But I like it.  We live in a Big apartment.  And we went to church.  I really liked church (in Russian).  I am going to school soon.  We went in some taxis.  The store (that we shop at every other day) is called Parikroystak (sounds that way, actually).  We gave our dog away.  That was sad.  We have a pull chain toilet.  Mommy gave me her (old) iPhone for the bus (maybe).  It is very snowey.  I ment a girl named miss yawna (our moving contact).  We have to go to the store a lot.  Daddy just got his car.  And I rode the train (the Metro/subway) for the first time.” 

So, that is what “this” looks like from around four feet.  I marvel at what’s missing.  Rory does not say: "I miss my toys and clothes and books" OR "my family is driving me nuts" OR "I want to go back home" or a thousand other things...  No frustration.  No whining.  No self-pity.  Maybe, it’s because she knew I would read it.  But, knowing Rory, I doubt it.  And, that blows my socks off.  Wow.        

I never realized how much I would appreciate (or be convicted by) the perspective of a child.  I never anticipated receiving such encouragement from pre-schoolers.  But, of course, there are lots of things I never expected happening all the time… Praise God.