Can this be comfortable?

Toward the end of a long nap.

I'm pretty sure this isn't what you'd call progress

Dietrich has been hearing Russian regularly for three weeks now, and while he doesn't say much, he doesn't regularly complain about not understanding the people around him.

However, at church this morning, every time someone spoke Russian to him, he responded by meowing. Like a cat. Evidently "feline" is the universal language.

My birfday

Recently, Dietrich has been bringing me little treasures and saying, "This is for your birfday." When we first got back to Ukraine, he got his hands on a Spiderman lunchbox that someone sent Eric, and spent hours zipping little things into it and delivering them to us. One day, he even gave me his prized horn for my birfday -- though he took it back 10 minutes later. Still, he seemed a bit confused yesterday when he handed me two smooshed leaves for my birfday, and I replied, "Hey, today IS my birfday!" I guess he thought every day was mama's special day.

Alas, the day before I turned 33, I was stricken by a high fever, so we kept the celebrations fairly mellow. Next week, when my sense of taste returns, we get to celebrate again with dinner at our favorite restaurant.

But yesterday ...


Eric brought home pretty flowers for my windowsill.


We enjoyed tasty chocolate-almond scones from Mona Lois during Snack and Storytime.


Dietrich delivered presents, and pretty much unwrapped them, too.


We shared our excitement over a Ukrainian recipe book from the Dzubas. I was excited because I like to cook. Dietrich was excited because it stands up on a little base and forms a triangle. Yay, triangles!


We instantly put my new glass-bowl-with-lid to work. And, my gift to you, check out other people's fridges here.

New tradition

Well, there's a lot of nostalgia surrounding leaving Ukraine with a little toddler Dietrich and returning with a Big Boy Dietrich. Indeed, I am often overwhelmed by emotional floods these days.

But Big Boy Dietrich is capable of such grown-up things as walking to the market, picking out an ice cream and walking home. And that, my friends, is our new Saturday night tradition.


He ate the whole thing!


Sharing with Daddy. Do they have the exact same face or what?


Momma got a Vanillachino from a machine (notice tiny cup in my hand). Sadly, it disappointed. Next week, a Maxibon for me!

So grown up

Dietrich, who is on the verge of turning 3, upon seeing raspberries on his dinner plate:
"When I was little, I didn't like rabbidies. I like rabbidies now."

In the midst

As Eric has been getting back into the swing of things at the seminary, I've been trying to restore order to our apartment. Another family lived here while we were gone, and we'd packed up a lot of our personal belongings so that they'd have room in the wardrobes and on the shelves.

I love unpacking -- such a good opportunity to purge things that strike you as particularly unattractive or no longer useful once you pull them out of the box they've been sitting in for 10 months. Also the perfect chance to try out a new system, like storing your spices in one central location rather than scattering them throughout your kitchen.


Herbs and spices generally come in packets here. Can you tell which herbs these are?



I've hoarded empty bottles as people have sent spices from the States over the past five years.


Oh, how I love Sharpies!


The finished product. Kinda. I've already had to make some adjustments, like putting the baking soda and baking powder into wider containers for less-messy leveling.

We're back ...

... in Ukraine. And happy to be here. Though typing under the influence of jetlag is rather challenging.

The trip over was really quite smooth, once we got rid of our six suitcases and one cardboard box of theology books in San Francisco. A good 50 percent of the pre-trip stress was over whether any of our bags were overweight ... but they were all fine, and a few were even a few pounds under (guess I could have bought those flour tortillas after all). As an added bonus, all six suitcases and all those books made it to Lvov, where we're at our team's annual conference. Every plane was on time or early; we even had ample time to grab caffeinated beverages during our layovers.

Dietrich held up very well, especially considering that he lost out on about eight hours of sleep. Still, like any almost-3-year-old, he would rather be stuck like this:



than stuck on a plane for eight hours. Thankfully, it should be a couple of years before we attempt such a lengthy journey again.