Moscow. A stressful, fly-all-night journey home, with our usual mountains of luggage and, naturally, several last-minute crises. But we made it.
It's nice to be home. (All these good books piled around, as if they had been selected just for me!) Set immediately to deep cleaning the apartment, pulling out art supplies, throwing away food that A. had willfully ignored since May, enjoying the unfamiliar sound of rain, and willfully ignoring Russians' remarks that it was "not real rain," but condensed somehow around particulate pollution from nearby factories. Best of all, no more waiting for visits -- everyone again in one place.
The girls got haircuts. They were absurdly expensive. A bob was the goal for both, but EB looks surprisingly chic and Lula looks like the guy who sang "Come On Eileen."
On another topic entirely, when I read this sad kind of thing, which A. sent me under the subject line "seems relevant," then I feel no rush to get back to the US. Women are made to live in burqas so that men nearby are protected from their own thoughts. Little children should forego the exhilaration, the sheer joy of streaking around wild all summer, for about the same reason? Yes, say the Mattel and Disney people. Thank goodness for parents with more imagination and more empathy than that.
No comments:
Post a Comment