Homophones (Sort Of)
Our children take delight in homonyms and homophones. Misha told me two of his own jokes today as we drove to school. They're not all that funny, but he liked them a lot.
Why did the monkey need some coffee?
Because he had a cough.
Why did the hippo do the hip-hop?
Because his name sounds like "hip-hop."
Other "homophones" that the children have either noticed or that have caused confusion are:
taxes
Texas
algae
LG (a cell phone manufacturer)
ivy
IV
The last one was a big issue with Luda. When she had adenoid surgery last summer, she looked around the room for plants, but to her dismay found out that they were bringing needles and a bag of saline solution instead!
Adoption Myth
Before the kids came, we lined up a few Ukrainian speakers who were willing to translate for us by telephone. But after the kids arrived in the U.S., we didn't need translation help. After six months of meeting with a tutor, as well as six-plus weeks in Ukraine, our language skills were sufficient to communicate with the children.
But many people, myself included, assumed that if the kids could meet people here who speak Ukrainian or Russian, they would feel better psychologically. Surely the children would enjoy speaking with someone in their native tongue, with whom they could freely converse. And it would be even better if they could also discuss topics related to Ukrainian culture and places.
I learned quickly that Ukrainian and Russian speakers are usually viewed by our children as more threatening than "warm and fuzzy." If we adults can put aside our own opinion, and view this issue from the children's perspective, their fear makes perfect sense.
Our children lost their parents, relatives, friends, home, school, neighborhood, clothes, toys, etc., etc., etc. (not once, but twice, since they left the village first, and then the orphanage). They assume, even if only subconsciously, that it could happen again. Now, in a new home, with new parents they've only know for a short while, someone approaches them and speaks the language of the country that they've lost. They assume that person must be a social worker who will send them back to Ukraine. They think, "It's happened before, so why wouldn't it happen again?"
Our two older boys refused to attend Ukrainian school when they first arrived. Five months later, as the second semester started, Jonathan and I told them that they were required to go. Their resistance was very, very strong. They finally told us why they refused to attend the school--we must want them to keep up their Ukrainian so we could send them back to Ukraine.
Jonathan and I immediately assured them they didn't have to attend Ukrainian school.
Prepositions (continued)
look over the book
point to the book
leaf through the book
gaze at the book
glance above the book
think about the book
search for the book
do it by the book
place it next to the book
move it toward the book
lay it beside the book
hide it under the book
ponder the meaning of the book
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Now try teaching prepositions to someone whose native language is not English!
David's Thanksgivings
Our piano is covered with Thanksgiving creations by the children. (We use the piano since the refrigerator door isn't big enough to hold it all!) I looked through their handiwork this morning and found three essays by Misha, one that I had saved from 2006, and two others that he wrote earlier this month.
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[November 2006]
My thanksgiving
On thantsgiving
I play outsid. I stay
at my hose. I eat
turke [
rewritten with a "y" added later over the "e"]. My dad cook [
rewritten with "momand" added above "dad"].
I lik the pie best. I like taking woks
aftor we eat.
David
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11-16-07
Dear mom and Dad
I learned the difrents of there & the
other their. I like reading. I still
want to learn about pilgroms. I
like2nd grad.
your sun
David
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[November 2007]
Dear Mo mdad Paul
Rachel Sara Adam,
happy thanksgiving!
I am thankful for you
becaues you are the
Best family I evar
had.
love
David
Prepositions
Last summer, the extended Stahlke family spent a few days at Lake Corpus Christi in southern Texas. We rented cabins at a large KOA and did some boating, fishing, hiking, etc.
Before arriving, I explained to the kids that "our KOA was on the lake." Bogdan looked at me with a quizzical expression: "So the cabins are built on a big platform above the water?"
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Driving to work today, I saw one of those pithy church signs. The message, which relies heavily on a preposition for its meaning, seemed appropriate for the day before Thanksgiving.
We don't need more to be thankful for
We need more to be thankful
"Sarah with an H"
In the orphanage, when we first told the children about their English names, they didn't react very much. We knew that they didn't comprehend the importance of this information. Now, over two years later, they definitely get it.
Olena was the first to embrace her new name. It helped that "Sarah" sounded just like the surname of her best friend in the orphanage. Once she was in the U.S., she quickly met several teenage girls at our church named Sarah or Sara, and she was very happy to be named like them. As our most precise child, she always has a question for any new Sarah/Sara that she meets: "I am Sarah with an H. Are you?"
Some of the other children didn't take to their new names quite as quickly, especially the older ones (understandably--could you imagine changing your first name?). About five days after arriving in the U.S., we were preparing them for their baptism at St. John's. Jonathan's father, who officiated at the ceremony, asked each of them what name he should use for them at their baptism. He went around the circle, starting with one of the younger children. They knew that Ruslan didn't like his English name, and that for such an important event, they needed to do what he would want. As we asked each child around the circle, they all gave their Ukrainian name. Then it was Ruslan's turn, and he thought about it for a long time. Finally, he said, "Paul," to everyone's astonishment. You should have seen the other children backpedal as they "changed their minds" and asked to be baptized with their English names!
I've mentioned before that the children use their English names in public and their Ukrainian names at home, and that I must remember to use their English names when anyone else can hear me. Between school and playing with neighbors, the children spend most of their day using their English names, and about six months ago, they started using the English names with each other. Jonathan has also made the switch, so I'm the only one in the house consistently using Ukrainian names. I've decided, however, to wait until they ask me to switch, because I feel it's important that they be the ones to decide.
Last week Misha asked me why I call him David at school and Misha at home. My response was to ask his preference. "Call me Michael!" (Michael is the English equivalent of Mihailo, his Ukrainian name, while Misha is like Mike.) "No, Misha, Michael is not one of the options for your name. You can be David or Misha." Confronted with the choice, he decided to keep the status quo: "You can still call me David at school and Misha at home."
A few days ago, the younger children had another conversation about names. They commented how Luda's name sounded very similar to their birth mother's name (Luba). Misha explained to me that shortly after Luda was born [years before his own birth!], it got confusing in the household when anyone yelled for Luda or Luba and both would answer. So, Misha explained to me very seriously, his birth father decided to call her Rachel to clear up the problem!
Nightmare
November and December have always been very busy months for Jonathan and me. Besides personal holiday preparation, he is concluding the fall semester at Concordia, and I am planning and implementing multiple festival services at church. Other busy times of the year alternate between us (e.g., Holy Week and Easter first for me, and the end of the spring semester for him), but right now neither of us has much margin to help the other. And the ordinary daily work load grinds on--two loads of laundry, three loads of dishes, homework, driving kids to and fro, yardwork, cleaning, etc., etc.
I often dream at night, which I've heard helps one work out problems subconsciously. Jonathan rarely dreams, which I envy sometimes because it means he can sleep very soundly. But he had a vivid dream the other night. My normally systematic husband loaded the dishwasher by tossing the dishes into it, with no rhyme or reason to their placement.
That's a sure sign--he is definitely stressed out!
(And I took the time to write this today, despite my schedule, and now I feel a little better. Thanks for listening.)
Properly Dressed
Jonathan and I can always tell when an occasion is important to Ruslan--he insists on wearing what he considers to be the proper clothing. In Ukraine, Jonathan and I prepared for the court appointment by purchasing dress shoes for all the children (the orphanage provided dressy shirts and pants for them). The boys were very happy to have new shoes, and they latched onto almost the first pairs we showed them.
Less than a week after the children's arrival in Chicago, we pulled out their Ukrainian dress shoes and some formal shirts, pants, and dresses in preparation for the baptism service. The children were nervous about the coming event, but most were happy to wear their new clothes. Ruslan, however, complained that his dress shoes were too small and hurt his feet. I believed him that the shoes were small, in light of how speedily he had chosen them. We were pressed for time, however, and figured he could wear them just long enough to get through the worship service. He had, after all, worn them for hours on the day of our Ukrainian court appointment (less than two weeks beforehand).
As we drove to St. John's for the baptism service, he insisted that he couldn't be baptized in those shoes. Jonathan and I had to figure out what was going on--this was his way of telling us the importance of baptism. His shoes had to be right, out of respect for the occasion, and in addition, he didn't want his feet to hurt when he wanted to think about other things. So . . . we stopped at Walmart on the way to St. John's, and bought him a pair of dress shoes. We arrived at the church with three minutes to spare, rushed in with children in tow, made the obligatory bathroom stop, and then sat in the front pew. For many of our friends, this event was their first view of the children, so lots of people were watching all of this (and smiling). Whew, we made it!
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Last Friday, Ruslan saw a Chicago Blackhawks hockey game with one of our neighbors. The event was not only his first time in Chicago's United Center, but it was also his first ever attendance at a professional sports event in the U.S. He was nervous but wanted so much to go. We knew how much this game meant to him when we saw what he chose to wear. The basketball team at his school had started practices last week, with the first game scheduled for today (Tuesday). On the very day of the hockey game (last Friday), the school had issued him his basketball uniform. One's first professional game requires the best athletic clothing available--a brand-new uniform!
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This morning, Wendy visited us for the inspection to maintain our foster home license. It went just fine--our water temperature was on target, all the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors worked properly (except for the one that was slow to stop its test beeping!), and no unforeseen issues came up. Nevertheless, it's always stressful to have someone inspect your home. I've talked to lots of adoptive parents and discovered that this stress is a female thing. The husbands seldom seem to care as much as the wives.
In the half hour before Wendy's arrival, Jonathan and I were washing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, and packing away some recently-given boxes of clothing. The telephone rang. Ruslan had just learned that his team needed to dress in formal clothes (with a tie) for the hour before their game (while they watch the girls' team play). Oh my! I'm trying to get the house in shape, and suddenly have to find him some dress pants, a nice shirt and tie, dark socks, and dress shoes. And this for a child who doesn't like to wear formal clothes and therefore doesn't have many of them! And of course the laundry is behind because I've been preparing for the inspection!
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Well, I found the clothes, we had the inspection, and afterward I treated myself to a full breakfast at our local diner. I gave myself permission to blow my diet on a day like this!
Home Inspection
Wendy, our social worker, will visit tomorrow for her twice-yearly inspection of our home. Like many prospective adoptive parents in Illinois, we maintain a foster home license. It's not required if both Jonathan and I travel to Ukraine, but just in case one of us gets sick and can't go, we maintain the foster home license so that only one parent can still complete the adoption.
In her inspection, Wendy will measure the temperature of our water and make sure that all the smoke detectors work. She also checks for major safety issues affecting children, such as the boxes we FORMERLY stacked in the hallway upstairs. Starting January 1 of this year, foster homes are also required to have carbon monoxide detectors within 15 feet of every bedroom.
Wendy also chats with us about non-required subjects such as parenting techniques. In a previous job, she was a dorm "parent" at a home for delinquent teen-age boys, and at times supervised up to fifteen of them. She's an expert at discipline techniques, which benefits us. For example, when she visited us six months ago, we were just too busy to have the kids clean their rooms before her visit. After seeing the bedrooms in their true state, she had lots of advice about helping kids keep their stuff organized.
What she, and actually no one, is able to do for me is to manufacture more hours in the day. Oh, well, I guess twenty-four hours is what I get!
Like Father, Like Son
Ruslan and Misha are two peas in a pod. No, they don't get along very well, because their ages are thirteen and eight. In addition, their personalities are very similar, which also causes them to clash. But Misha definitely looks up to his oldest brother:
Ruslan went fishing a month ago with a church friend. When he caught a fish, the friend bet Ruslan $2 to kiss the fish. The friend figured it wasn't enough money to do such a thing, but Ruslan quickly kissed the fish and took the money.
Misha must have been impressed by this transaction. The next week at school, he also took a bet from a friend--
To kiss a toilet! YUCK!
Postcript to Halloween
The best way for me to survive the logistics of a big family is to delegate, delegate, delegate. But there's always the catch-22 that the time to teach and supervise the task is usually much greater than if you just do it yourself.
We have yet to find a way to assign independent chores for each child. But what does work well is a chore time after supper, where everyone works simultaneously. The tasks vary--folding laundry, picking up toys, cleaning bathrooms, doing yardwork, etc.--but they seldom last for more than 30 minutes. Fourteen hands makes pretty quick work of most jobs.
What bothers me immensely are all the complaints I hear when the job is announced. I know that they are just being kids, but my stomach always knots up when I hear the griping, especially considering the amount of time (more than 30 minutes a day!) that Jonathan and I spend on housework. So I decided to retaliate a week ago last Monday:
The kids started asking in the afternoon what the job would be. I told them that it was a secret, and they wouldn't find out until after supper. They were very curious, and even though I didn't tell them, a few of them figured it out.
For those who didn't, however, my plan worked. When it came time to announce the job for chore time, I told them that I hated hearing their complaints about housework, and had therefore decided to give myself some peace and quiet by not assigning any job that evening. Three of the kids cheered, but the others started protesting: "We WANT to do our chore today--it's picking Halloween costumes from the costume bin, isn't it?"
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In the last two weeks, they still complain about chores, but at least ONCE, I heard them beg to do them!
Halloween and the Pipe Organ
Halloween is such a big day for children. And it was great fun to watch them last Wednesday.
Wednesday is also confirmation day for Ruslan and Bogdan. So at 2:30 pm, having gathered a portable snack, juice, and coffee for everyone, I ran out the door to start picking up children at school. While leaving, I saw a package left by our mail carrier on our front porch. It was a box with Halloween gifts from Jonathan's parents. There wasn't time to open it, so I put it on the table and continued on my way.
Not only do Ruslan and Bogdan attend confirmation classes, but I also serve as one of the teachers. Having my own children in 6th and 7th grade helps me to better understand the psyche of junior high children. This year, I assigned the 35 confirmation students into three handchime ensembles. One of the groups has very limited experience with music, while another group contains all instrumentalists. The middle group lies just there--in the middle as far as musical ability. Each Wednesday, I get fifteen minutes per ensemble, so we work fast. I also make sure that all the parts are doubled or tripled, so that absences on performance days are not so glaring. My goal for the confirmands is to increase their musical literacy, which should carry over into their worship life.
But as I prepared for handchime rehearsals on Halloween afternoon, it didn't take parental experience with teenagers to anticipate the potential pitfalls awaiting me. Spotty attendance, bodies buzzed on sugar, severely diminished attention spans--all made even worse by the timing: rehearsals in the late afternoon on Halloween. It was clear that a change in plan was needed.
As the students entered the darkened church balcony, the only visible light glowed from behind the organ console. The sound of tinkling bells (
Zimbelstern) filled the air as they gathered behind the organist, dressed in black. The high bells ceased, followed by a low bell tolling continuously. Then the "tell-tale" heart started beating, as the organist played a minor 2nd (two notes together) in the lowest notes of the pedal. Some of the students went over to the pipes to feel the air emerging from them.
After the sound effects show was over, I showed them a handout with the beginning of Bach's Toccata in D Minor. Each student took a turn practicing with me, and then we jointly played the first line (with the organ at full volume, of course). The student played the first mordent (a three note theme), then I followed with the next few notes. They then played the next mordent, and so on. To end their organ-playing experience, the student hit the low D on the pedal with their left foot, while I played the full, rich chord above it for them.
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After confirmation was over, we drove home and found out that the package from Jonathan's parents had been opened. Among the items they sent was a Halloween greeting card for Jonathan and me. It had music notes on the front, and when I opened it, guess what melody it played?
