Trekhprudny Lane

I like to think I've learned to get on in Moscow pretty well, but then days like today come along and reveal that I have not, actually. 

Parents take turns bringing food to our school for the week, and we carefully purchased each item on the list last weekend, and packed them in big sacks along with some extras (baked quiche, fruit/nut bars, pasta, sauces, popcorn). A. took everything in Monday morning in a taxi; Monday afternoon, the bags were handed back to me with all of the extras tucked neatly inside. My vocabulary in Russian will not accommodate abstract discussion or nuance of any kind, so I obediently took the would-be gifts home again, no questions asked. Apparently that kind of thing is not done. Today, when I arrived to pick up EB, one of the teachers gave me another list of vegetables to buy "for a salad we will prepare with the children's help tomorrow." Why weren't these on the master list for the week, then? And three-year-olds, EB too of course, do not attend school on Wednesdays, so were it not for this last-minute request for beets, pickles, and potatoes, I would not have to make the trip across town tomorrow morning. But I agreed; it's our week to bring the food, a few things more are needed, no problem. Written above the list was "Wash!" 

Where was EB? Turns out A., who has been lobbying hard to have her stay on at school through the afternoon, though I have maintained she's not ready to go all day, had informed the teachers that EB would stay through the nap and afternoon snack this afternoon. He had failed to inform me, though. I had come at 1:00pm but she was now tucked into bed in a back room until 4:00pm. Argh! Lula and I said it in unison. 

On my way out ("See you soon!") I asked whether I might help in any other way, and the teacher thought for a moment and then handed me a large shopping bag filled with folded towels, "to be ironed." Ironing hand towels? For preschoolers? And these towels were neatly, smoothly stacked and squared already... huh? Anyway, when in Rome. I gathered Lula back into the sling and went to kill some time on the street. We found a grocery store and bought the full list of extra vegetables. I was pleased -- now I didn't need to make the extra trip to school tomorrow sans EB. We returned to school well before nap time was scheduled to end, and I held up my grocery bags and asked if I might wash the vegetables there and then (the classroom includes a petite kitchen). To my astonishment the teacher did not like that idea. She pointed out that the potatoes must be washed four times. And...? After a moment she sighed and offered to take the veggies home and wash them herself this evening. No, I said, we got it. 

EB woke up disoriented and grumpy in the late afternoon; I had to tread carefully getting her moving and avoid a meltdown. I managed to get both girls well bundled, down the stairs, and out the door, along with the bags of vegetables and towels, but when we reached the sidewalk EB whimpered that she needed a bathroom. Big sigh (cleansing breath), back upstairs, unpeel all layers, ask for a garshok, comfort EB (who was screaming because "everyone is looking at me!"), do the deed, find a sink, wash the potty, return it, rebundle the children, attempt again to leave the school. 

We get to the train station, having diligently stopped to jump in every puddle for five blocks. Tantrum inevitable at the row of entrance turnstiles: EB has powerful and very specific preferences about which ones she will we use, and the uniformed monitor in the glass booth has equally strong opinions about how children are to pass through, and they do not match. There is drama, we argue, we pass by (incidentally) the most disfigured human being I have ever glimpsed, squatting against a wall, we make it onto the escalator, we get on the train. One stop later an African man boards the train and EB shocks me by asking loud and clear "why that man has a black head?" We've been out of Chicago only six months! He's a student from South Africa, speaks English, is super gracious, even when she refuses to look at him again, but in sorting this out we miss our stop. We disembark, we catch a train in the opposite direction, but when our stop comes again, EB's oversized boot becomes entangled in one of the shopping bag handles and -- since there's no safety mechanism on the train doors; when they slam shut they slam shut, full force -- we opt not to try to squeak through at the last minute. It's rush hour now, five hours after I left home to retrieve EB, and the trains are swarming with people, packed, not much room to bend down or even move. I have had Lula strapped to my chest almost nonstop since leaving home. Each time I get on a train there is a series of unpleasant steps; I must locate a seat for EB, convince her to climb into it herself, and reassure at least one and often several well-meaning passengers who stand up to give me their seats that Lula will not tolerate my sitting down with the sling. A woman with child who will not accept a seat when offered? Unknown in these parts. Usually we're stared at, unblinkingly, for the duration of the ride. 

Anyway, we made it back, and I should stop now and begin scrubbing those vegetables. 

Addendum: After discussing it with A., who seems to think that the teacher told me to boil the potatoes for four hours, I see one thing for sure. I can no longer pretend that I'll just "pick up" Russian as I go... I must find another teacher and commit once again certain hours each week to studying.