I’m sure many people in the U.S. know exactly how much they pay for a gallon of milk or a box of cereal, so they notice even small price fluctuations. I never was one of those people. But prices in Ukraine are jumping so quickly that it would be nearly impossible not to notice. Take butter, for instance. A year ago, one brand cost 80 cents for a cup (200 grams). Now that same amount costs $1.20. We used to purchase a whole rotisserie chicken for just under $5. I paid $6.40 last week.
These are small amounts compared with the cost of housing in Kyiv. Our apartment, for instance, was considered expensive at $350 when we arrived. Now it’s a steal of a deal at $500 – so we expect a rent increase any day now. (A cultural aside: Leases here are rather meaningless – rent can go up mid-lease, and tenants can be asked to leave at any time for any reason, regardless of how much time is left on their lease.) Of course, $500 a month is nothing compared with California, but folks here aren’t earning California wages, either.
Even the BBC has taken notice of this trend. A recent report said, “Kiev is now believed to be the most expensive city in Eastern Europe in which to buy a home. Prices increased by 10-25% in just the final two months of 2006.” You can read the whole report here.
And you might have heard that Moscow replaced Tokyo as the most expensive city in the world in last year’s Mercer Worldwide Cost of Living Survey. But it was number 21 that mattered to us: In just one year, Kyiv moved from 54th to 21st place. That’s higher than Los Angeles (29th) and San Francisco (34th). Must be tough for those living in New York, which landed in 10th place.
In an economy like ours, you’d think people would be holding on tightly to their change. Yet, the ground is littered with kopeeks — at a fifth of a cent, they’re considered of so little value that it’s not worth the effort to bend and pick one up.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Praise for pack rats
Generally, I don’t like to collect a lot of clutter. Perhaps this is a holdover from Christmases past when my parents used to make us get rid of some of our toys to make room for the new stuff Santa would bring. Maybe it’s because our apartment doesn’t have much storage space. Or it could be work-related – my former job as a copy editor often required that I “tighten” stories to make them shorter. Now I enjoy sorting, organizing, tossing – “tightening” our possessions.
But I’m thankful that Dietrich’s grandmas – neither of whom live terribly cluttered lives – had the foresight to save a few precious things from our childhoods. Dietrich proudly wore his Daddy’s old shoes and his Uncle Sammy’s sweater and hat. And he naps in the same snuggly sack in which baby Mommy used to snooze.
It's harder and harder these days to pull that Uncle Sammy sweater over D's head. So, now that our little bug is starting to grow out of his smaller clothes, I’ll fight the instinct to "tighten," and instead enjoy saving a few favorite things that we can pass along years from now when he starts a family.
But I’m thankful that Dietrich’s grandmas – neither of whom live terribly cluttered lives – had the foresight to save a few precious things from our childhoods. Dietrich proudly wore his Daddy’s old shoes and his Uncle Sammy’s sweater and hat. And he naps in the same snuggly sack in which baby Mommy used to snooze.
It's harder and harder these days to pull that Uncle Sammy sweater over D's head. So, now that our little bug is starting to grow out of his smaller clothes, I’ll fight the instinct to "tighten," and instead enjoy saving a few favorite things that we can pass along years from now when he starts a family.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Keeping Dietrich dry
Before we left America, many people asked whether disposable diapers were available in Ukraine. Thankfully, the answer is yes. The three main brands sold here are Huggies, Libero and Pampers. Libero diapers are Italian; the others you’re already familiar with. Pampers evidently win the brand-name recognition contest: all diapers are popularly called Pampers in Russian – just as Americans call all facial tissues Kleenex and all plastic foam Styrofoam.
Pampers also win my loyalty by offering a jumbo pack of 88 for 83 hryvna – a little less than 20 cents per diaper. Other brands come in at just over 20 cents per diaper – not a big difference, but I’d say we save about $2 a month by using Pampers.
The Pampers sold in Ukraine do not depict American cartoon characters. Instead, we get a big picture of an animal (elephant, bear, donkey, dog, cat or koala) at the waistline while leaves and butterflies decorate all the other bits. Surrounding the animal is a drawing meant to represent its food of choice. For the elephant, peanuts. For the bear, honey. For the donkey, apples. For the cat, birds. But, oddly enough, for the koala, the sun and for the dog, flowers.
Today, buried in the jumbo pack we’re currently cruising through, I found a little piece of Pampers promotional material. It reads, “You fall on your bum at least 300 times before you learn how to stand and walk.”
“Ah-ha,” I thought, “Our diapers are British.” Until I turned said piece of promotional material over and found a version of that phrase translated into no less than 22 languages. Among them: Czech, Polish, Georgian, Kazakh, Lithuanian, Latvian, Bulgarian, Slovakian and Hebrew. Fifteen use some version of the Roman alphabet, while four use Cyrillic letters. And Georgia’s alphabet is the loveliest – if you’re not familiar with it, you can check it out here.
And the biggest lesson I learned from today’s pack of Pampers: the Russian word for “bum” is popka.
The elephant is my favorite. Which one do you dig?
Pampers also win my loyalty by offering a jumbo pack of 88 for 83 hryvna – a little less than 20 cents per diaper. Other brands come in at just over 20 cents per diaper – not a big difference, but I’d say we save about $2 a month by using Pampers.
The Pampers sold in Ukraine do not depict American cartoon characters. Instead, we get a big picture of an animal (elephant, bear, donkey, dog, cat or koala) at the waistline while leaves and butterflies decorate all the other bits. Surrounding the animal is a drawing meant to represent its food of choice. For the elephant, peanuts. For the bear, honey. For the donkey, apples. For the cat, birds. But, oddly enough, for the koala, the sun and for the dog, flowers.
Today, buried in the jumbo pack we’re currently cruising through, I found a little piece of Pampers promotional material. It reads, “You fall on your bum at least 300 times before you learn how to stand and walk.”
“Ah-ha,” I thought, “Our diapers are British.” Until I turned said piece of promotional material over and found a version of that phrase translated into no less than 22 languages. Among them: Czech, Polish, Georgian, Kazakh, Lithuanian, Latvian, Bulgarian, Slovakian and Hebrew. Fifteen use some version of the Roman alphabet, while four use Cyrillic letters. And Georgia’s alphabet is the loveliest – if you’re not familiar with it, you can check it out here.
And the biggest lesson I learned from today’s pack of Pampers: the Russian word for “bum” is popka.
The elephant is my favorite. Which one do you dig?
Monday, January 01, 2007
Sloancheeks taste good
Hey, Dietrich, what would you like for dinner?
My cool new elephant.
This little elephant -- or sloancheek in Russian -- is one of the many thoughtful and fun gifts that Dietrich received at his baby shower here. Because so many generous people in the States provided him with a warm wardrobe, we opted to make this event a toy shower. And showered he was! He now has quite the collection of transportation-themed toys (cars, trucks, planes and boats were all represented), plus some friendly stuffed buddies, several yummy rattles, and a beautiful, hand-knit sweater.
My cool new elephant.
This little elephant -- or sloancheek in Russian -- is one of the many thoughtful and fun gifts that Dietrich received at his baby shower here. Because so many generous people in the States provided him with a warm wardrobe, we opted to make this event a toy shower. And showered he was! He now has quite the collection of transportation-themed toys (cars, trucks, planes and boats were all represented), plus some friendly stuffed buddies, several yummy rattles, and a beautiful, hand-knit sweater.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Baby’s (second) First Christmas
December 25 snuck up on us this year. We enjoyed a wonderful celebration just before we left California with my family. Our holiday schedule: Thanksgiving on Thursday, get ready for Christmas on Friday, celebrate Christmas on Saturday. Dietrich wore his first-Christmas bibs. Christmas happened.
We arrived here, we got busy, and all of a sudden it was December 23, and we were without a tree. Our holiday schedule: Buy tree on Saturday, decorate tree on Sunday, open presents under tree on Monday. We bought our little tree when it was already dark outside, otherwise we wouldn’t have picked one with slightly yellow needles. But he’s a charming little guy for the $12 we spent on him.
Dietrich got some cool puppets from his grandma Cindy.
Sunday also included an all-day church celebration (most of which I spent in the hallway, trying to protect Dietrich from the poking, germy fingers of the 50 or so kids who performed in church), and Monday was meant to include take-out from our favorite restaurant, but strange weather coupled with Eric’s impending sore throat canceled those plans. We did enjoy chili from our favorite freezer, however.
My favorite Christmas moments were the two phone calls that bookended our day. My parents, brother and sister-in-law called on American Christmas Eve, which is Christmas morning for us. What a delight it was to hear their voices and to know that, though we were missed, the Miller household still celebrated a joyful Christmas. The end of the day brought a call from Eric’s parents, who also sent us a package of goodies that arrived that evening. How fun to know that ahead of them lay a whole day of remembering Christ’s coming, even as we wrapped up our day of remembrance.
Another highlight was Sunday night, when I asked Eric to read me the birth narrative out of Luke. I keep asking him to pause while I reflected; for the first time this year, I felt like I could (in a very small way) begin to understand the story from Mary and Joseph’s perspectives. I’ve delivered a baby boy. I’ve wrapped him in strips of cloth, a.k.a. blankets from Target. I treasure those memories in my heart.
Still, I wonder: Did Mary have a girlfriend who gave her the inside scoop on what to expect during delivery? Maybe John's mom, Elizabeth, played the role of experienced friend? Were Joseph and Mary alone in the room where Jesus was born? What kind of birth coach did Joseph prove to be? And what did these two young people think when they finally held in their suddenly very grown-up hands the slippery, red, squirmy bundle Who would grow up to be the Savior of all those who put their faith in Him?
We arrived here, we got busy, and all of a sudden it was December 23, and we were without a tree. Our holiday schedule: Buy tree on Saturday, decorate tree on Sunday, open presents under tree on Monday. We bought our little tree when it was already dark outside, otherwise we wouldn’t have picked one with slightly yellow needles. But he’s a charming little guy for the $12 we spent on him.
Dietrich got some cool puppets from his grandma Cindy.
Sunday also included an all-day church celebration (most of which I spent in the hallway, trying to protect Dietrich from the poking, germy fingers of the 50 or so kids who performed in church), and Monday was meant to include take-out from our favorite restaurant, but strange weather coupled with Eric’s impending sore throat canceled those plans. We did enjoy chili from our favorite freezer, however.
My favorite Christmas moments were the two phone calls that bookended our day. My parents, brother and sister-in-law called on American Christmas Eve, which is Christmas morning for us. What a delight it was to hear their voices and to know that, though we were missed, the Miller household still celebrated a joyful Christmas. The end of the day brought a call from Eric’s parents, who also sent us a package of goodies that arrived that evening. How fun to know that ahead of them lay a whole day of remembering Christ’s coming, even as we wrapped up our day of remembrance.
Another highlight was Sunday night, when I asked Eric to read me the birth narrative out of Luke. I keep asking him to pause while I reflected; for the first time this year, I felt like I could (in a very small way) begin to understand the story from Mary and Joseph’s perspectives. I’ve delivered a baby boy. I’ve wrapped him in strips of cloth, a.k.a. blankets from Target. I treasure those memories in my heart.
Still, I wonder: Did Mary have a girlfriend who gave her the inside scoop on what to expect during delivery? Maybe John's mom, Elizabeth, played the role of experienced friend? Were Joseph and Mary alone in the room where Jesus was born? What kind of birth coach did Joseph prove to be? And what did these two young people think when they finally held in their suddenly very grown-up hands the slippery, red, squirmy bundle Who would grow up to be the Savior of all those who put their faith in Him?
Friday, December 22, 2006
When nostalgia hits, it hits hard
Whilst writing thank-you cards yesterday afternoon, I penned the following sentence: “Seems like only yesterday we were enjoying summer in California.” And with that, a wave of nostalgia passed through our kitchen, knocking my emotions off their feet. I felt the freedom of sitting in the passenger’s seat, my legs on the dashboard, my seatbelt fitted under my bulging tummy, watching the wild sunflowers fly by as we drove up and down the 5. I felt the water nestle me as I dragged that same belly along the length of the Whittier public pool. I felt the comfort of waking up – for the first time since my sophomore year of college – morning after morning in my mom and dad’s house. I felt the elation of posing for pictures on the beach just a few days before Dietrich made his way into the world. For the first time, with my pregnancy near its peak, I loved the way I looked in a bathing suit.
But that one sentence might not have been the only cause of the nostalgia storm. It was about a year ago that our theoretical, sure-let’s-try-to-have-a-baby concept turned into a very tiny Dietrich. It makes sense to celebrate birthdays: The birth moment is clear, easy to pin a date on. But Dietrich’s life began a year ago yesterday, or the day before, or sometime around there – and that’s something to celebrate, too.
Our 12-month/3-month old.
But that one sentence might not have been the only cause of the nostalgia storm. It was about a year ago that our theoretical, sure-let’s-try-to-have-a-baby concept turned into a very tiny Dietrich. It makes sense to celebrate birthdays: The birth moment is clear, easy to pin a date on. But Dietrich’s life began a year ago yesterday, or the day before, or sometime around there – and that’s something to celebrate, too.
Our 12-month/3-month old.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
The flu bug
What a week. Last Sunday, Eric consumed a grilled cheese sandwich and promptly came down with what we assumed was food poisoning. Then, wiped out from Sunday, he spent most of Monday asleep. Tuesday night we hosted our small group’s annual Christmas party (see previous post).
Wednesday was a good day. Our good friends Jon, Andrea and Joy Hoglund rolled into town for a 4-day visit. I tried a new bread recipe, one that the Minimalist in the NY Times promised would change my life. It did, but that’s an entry for another day. We babysat for Joy and gave Jon & Andrea a night on the town. Thursday progressed smoothly, too. We all went our separate ways during the day, then in the evening, the boys participated in a theological discussion group, and Andrea and I hung out in the kitchen while I tried a butternut ginger soup recipe.
Then Friday rolled around. First, only the boys were able to take showers before our hot water was unexpectedly turned off for the rest of the day. Second, Friday was the day little Joy got sick with the stomach flu. It was the start of a very long weekend for the poor Hoglunds. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, the bug bit Andrea. By Saturday afternoon, all three Hoglunds were stricken.
You might be thinking, “A flu bug? A flu bug is not remarkable. A flu bug is not worthy of a blog entry.” But this, you see, was an ironic little flu bug. Jon & Andrea planned this trip for one purpose: So that Andrea could help throw a shower for little Dietrich. That shower was Saturday morning, just hours after Andrea fell ill. Obviously, she didn’t make it to the party. Now, we figure that the bug that bit the Hoglunds was the same one that got to Eric earlier in the week, when we thought he had eaten bad cheese. So, if the Hoglunds hadn’t come to stay with us, they wouldn’t have gotten sick, and Andrea could have gone to the shower. But, since Andrea was staying with us in order to go to the shower, she couldn’t go to the shower. Mean bug.
We took this picture of the Hoglunds this morning, just before they headed home. Momma and Poppa Hoglund feel better, but Joy is still on the mend. Thankfully, so far Dietrich and his mommy haven’t gotten sick. If you're the praying type, please ask God to keep it that way. Thanks.
Wednesday was a good day. Our good friends Jon, Andrea and Joy Hoglund rolled into town for a 4-day visit. I tried a new bread recipe, one that the Minimalist in the NY Times promised would change my life. It did, but that’s an entry for another day. We babysat for Joy and gave Jon & Andrea a night on the town. Thursday progressed smoothly, too. We all went our separate ways during the day, then in the evening, the boys participated in a theological discussion group, and Andrea and I hung out in the kitchen while I tried a butternut ginger soup recipe.
Then Friday rolled around. First, only the boys were able to take showers before our hot water was unexpectedly turned off for the rest of the day. Second, Friday was the day little Joy got sick with the stomach flu. It was the start of a very long weekend for the poor Hoglunds. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, the bug bit Andrea. By Saturday afternoon, all three Hoglunds were stricken.
You might be thinking, “A flu bug? A flu bug is not remarkable. A flu bug is not worthy of a blog entry.” But this, you see, was an ironic little flu bug. Jon & Andrea planned this trip for one purpose: So that Andrea could help throw a shower for little Dietrich. That shower was Saturday morning, just hours after Andrea fell ill. Obviously, she didn’t make it to the party. Now, we figure that the bug that bit the Hoglunds was the same one that got to Eric earlier in the week, when we thought he had eaten bad cheese. So, if the Hoglunds hadn’t come to stay with us, they wouldn’t have gotten sick, and Andrea could have gone to the shower. But, since Andrea was staying with us in order to go to the shower, she couldn’t go to the shower. Mean bug.
We took this picture of the Hoglunds this morning, just before they headed home. Momma and Poppa Hoglund feel better, but Joy is still on the mend. Thankfully, so far Dietrich and his mommy haven’t gotten sick. If you're the praying type, please ask God to keep it that way. Thanks.
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