Farewell, my lovelies!

 This is it. Another year is coming to an end. And so is this blog. I guess it might be true that every end is a new beginning, so we’ll have to wait and see what 2017 brings.

I’m not going to look back at my old posts to draw a conclusion, but I shall write down things I aspire to do in new year, the so called resolutions (in a random order and in all its seriousness):

·      to read more books and work on the correlation between actual reading of a chosen book and adding books to the list (the frequency of adding the books to the list is at the moment too high compared to the speed of reading)

·      kirjutada rohkem eesti keeles (write more in Estonian language)

·      to start writing letters and/or more often long-ish e-mails, rather than: “Hello, how are you? I’m fine by the way, nothing much to report, all same old same old. Take care! Love, K-L”)

·      to watch more crime dramas (because I failed once when my new year’s resolution included to watch less crime dramas and I actually ended up doubling the amount. So this time I am hoping the opposite would happen)

·      to study hard

·      to lay clothes out flat the night before, rather than hoping that no one notices the creases… or stains… or worst of all – smell… Obviously any of this doesn’t apply to the days when I come straight back home after a school drop off and have a chance to get changed

·      to waste less, for example to eat all the chocolate before its best before date (or probably the latest: a month later, depending on a chocolate really) in the cupboards and other secret hiding places (these places exist in case of a sudden illness of course, when I’m not able to go out or send anyone else to the convenience store convincing that the only medicine is chocolate)

·      to remember the secret hiding places of the emergency chocolate and keep them well stocked and up to date

·      to start playing the piano (at least at my 7-year-old’s level)

·      to commit more time to the closest friends and family

·      to be braver

And on that note of bravery I raise a glass to the new beginnings!

Thank you everyone who has been so kind to follow my blog! I hope we’ll see soon in person.

Any doubts?

Anyone, who believes in Father Christmas, please do not continue reading, I might raise some doubts with this writing. 

It amazes me now though – what was I thinking when I was a kid and seeing so many different Santas during Christmas? Did I really believe in their existence? Although, to think about it, we weren’t allowed to celebrate Christmas during Soviet times and we actually didn’t have Father Christmas. It was Näärivana (Father Frost) who brought us presents in New Year’s Eve instead.

You could also meet several of Father Frosts when you went to see a Christmas, no, let’s say Children’s Winter play in theatre. At the end of the play quite a few old men with long white beards in red, and also blue coats would appear on the stage and the children were sent in groups to different rooms across the building accompanying one of the Father Frosts, so the kids could either recite a poem or sing a song to receive a bag filled with sweets.

It’s rather different here in the UK, where you can meet Father Christmas in their grotto or they (I should really say he, not in plural, because there’s just one Santa Claus, right?) come to visit the Christmas Fairs. There’s just one man who has to do the job for the night and gets really booked up and children along with their parents have to stay nicely in the queue waiting for their turn to see Santa close up, talk to him and get a present. But at least it’s one Santa at a time, not like I remember looking out of the window in anticipation of the visit of Father Christmas and saw lots of Santas roaming the streets to pay a visit to the homes of good children.

After the collapse of Soviet Union, we started celebrating Christmas again, but rather than Santa coming at night time and leaving presents for you to unwrap on the 25th (and because of that our kids wake up way too early!), in Estonia he visits every home on Christmas Eve and delivers gifts in person, and he still asks everyone to do something to earn the present. It was very easy when I was young, thanks to all the songs and poems I learned at school, but growing older, it became harder and more embarrassing, although at one point Father Christmas wasn’t even bothered of visiting us in person, just left the sack by the front door and rang the bell for us to know – it’s ready for collection! Ok, it was actually my Mum, who rang the bell when she’d finished with the wrapping and all the presents were ready in a sack. By that time none of us in our family (me being the youngest) believed in Father Christmas.

To be honest, first doubts about that old heavily bearded man who gives gifts, appeared when I was a little girl and was even scared of Father Frost. Obviously I was also pretty excited too and once when I heard the doorbell I ran quickly to the door, opened it... and saw him wearing MY DAD’S RED LEATHER BOOTS!!! I don’t think I ever really questioned why our Dad had to go to work every night when Santa was coming, but I did question why Santa was wearing my Dad's boots…

Scared of who is at the door...

And additionally on a similar note – this year it’s going to be crackers and turkey, although I do miss lighting the candles at the cemetery and eating sauerkraut and blood sausages. 

And to you all, my dear friends: Merry Christmas! Häid jõule!

Superstitious

It's Sunday and I'm staring at my son's long fingernails. I'm not supposed to cut nails on Sunday in England. "It brings bad luck," explains Matt. Despite of the ban I pick up the scissors. After all it's school day tomorrow and I've let him off long enough already.

It's easy with my daughter though, she likes to pull the nails off herself. And despite of the fact I've forbidden her doing that, she still does it. I wonder where she's getting it from, ignoring what's told?

Another superstition I'm failing to follow is not pointing my finger towards the rainbow. It's just pretty hard to say - look up left or right in the sky, there's a rainbow! Instead I lose my ability talking in a simple and logical manner. I'm trying to find trees and buildings that could locate the rainbow and then obviously I have to describe these trees and buildings, how they exactly look like. By the time I've finished my blabbering the rainbow is gone, and that IS a bad luck, because rainbows are beautiful and relatively rare to spot. So instead of feeling confused every single time I see one colourful beauty of nature I've decided just to point at that, because it's not bringing bad luck to Estonians. It's not our superstition I've convinced myself.

The doomed one. Can't even get the glasses right...

Actually I'm not really superstitious. I used to be (superstitious and religious at the same time, a little bit of everything, right!) and used to spit three times over my left shoulder when I didn't want something to come true. English people don't do anything so disgraceful as spitting, they just touch wood. But obviously they have lords and ladies as well. And the Queen. What have Estonians got? Hmm... I think we just keep spitting.

To be honest there's one more superstition that doesn't make any sense. Ok, which superstition does make any sense? But that one is quite strange. You aren't supposed to open an umbrella inside the house. Considering the weather here, how are you going to dry your wet umbrella then? Keeping it closed, this wet thing wouldn't have very nice smell after a while... I prefer wearing a waterproof now or just a hood, trying to avoid contradicting myself with all this opening or not opening the umbrella.

So how am I ever going to integrate properly if I can't even follow these few superstitions?!

Anyway I WAS doomed for the life as soon as I was born. It was a very unlucky day, the 13th.

How exciting!

This morning I expressed myself to my friend: “I’m really quite excited about that!”. This excitement looks good on a paper/screen and one could understand that I am really looking forward to something (ok, adding ‘quite’ to my quote, lowers the level of emotion, or let’s say it means that I didn’t necessarily want to go over the top with showing my excitement), but if you also imagine my Estonian-like intonation when saying it, you might want to ask: “Are you sure? It doesn’t sound like it.”

Yes, it doesn’t sound but could have, as I have familiarised myself how to show elated emotion and I do use a high-pitched voice from time to time (and then get mocked by Matt), but I guess by now my friends here have learnt how to read me and I’m hoping I can get away with my monotonous and rather blunt expression.

I have to point out that although I’m lacking an excitement-showing skill, I am pretty good at showing off embarrassment by blushing heavily when needed (and more often when I’d be better off hiding it) and believe me, I am the top person in sobbing. Since having the children almost anything can make me cry, just give it a try, and I’m certain I can find ‘something in my eye’. I have to admit that occasionally these tearful eyes can be a bit embarrassing but then I embrace my blushing skills and show what I can do best, using two of my top skills at once!

My excitement levels CAN be pretty high :)

To think about it though, this crying ability might actually be a learnt skill (which has amplified thanks to all these female hormones and years of developing from-girl-to-woman-to-mother), learnt when I was a child and was after compassion and understanding. For example, once when I failed at school and got graded the lowest score for the first time in my life, I went home, sat humbly in our hallway, rucksack still on my back, shoes and coat on, my parents coming to enquire what’s wrong with me, have I come down with something? And then me looking up, ashamed. The next step of action was the only option – to start crying. It was so obvious – firstly cry to get the sorrow and compassion and only then, after that tell the parents what had happened. First class manipulation! …and I’ve already spotted similar characteristics (or should I say tactics being used?) by my own children…

So I do have and show (and use) my emotions, and if you’re not sure what I’m thinking or how I feel (I watched the other night Swedish crime series and oh, how I couldn’t read their facial expressions and receive any hints from their intonation, and just had to concentrate on subtitles), but would like to know, please do ask. I don’t mind (and might be able to convince you of my actual thoughts and feelings).

And additionally on a similar note – my first blog here also explains my frustration and/or inability of being positively expressive, but I am learning to be more skilful in this field, and you never know... when visiting Estonia next time, I might frighten them off with a massive smile, overwhelming positiveness or worse, compliment them for being wonderful, fantastic and amazingly brilliant!

A few

One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, a hundred. I’m skipping (cartwheeling in my case) today’s blog.