Lifebook

By a series of disconnected events (which is the story of my life), I finished Marina's Life Book today. Winter has finally arrived; I was dressing the baby and realized that I didn't have any socks that fit him. Up until today, he hasn't needed any. I went out to the shed to search the hand-me-down boxes for socks. On top of the tough tote was a neglected milk carton with a few odds and ends left over from the move. In it, I saw a blue folder. Eureka! The lost notes from our first trip to Russia and newspaper articles of Marina's adoption. I bring them in and decide that,before I lose them again, I will type up the journal notes and put them in her lifebook. Shucks, while I'm doing that, I might as well finish the whole darn book. It's only been two years, so why not? It has been sort-of finished for a year now and Marina loves to look at the pictures. She doesn't understand it all, but that doesn't stop her from lording it over her brother that she is Russian.

Rina/pointing/: See. Look! Mommy...and Weena.../Rina/ BABY Weena. Mommy hold Weena...Wussia.
Ian/crowding in/:Yeah, we went to see that big bell and...
Rina/breaking in with urgency/:Nuh, uh! ME! Not YOU! Not Ian. Me--Wussian. Not you."
Me: She is right Ian, you weren't there. You didn't go.
Rina/smugly triumphant/:Das wite. Me-ee Wussian. Not you.

I guess that's a good start on cultural pride, yes? Or maybe just a normal start on sibling rivalry? Probably. But I'll take it. She pronounces 'Russia' so cute!
Notice that I have given up substituting initials for names. With as many kids as I have, it is rather cumbersome and they made my posts confusing. Most of you reading this blog know us anyway. And any sicko lurkers out there be advised, I have a gun and I wouldn't mind using it.