Listening to my own children start talking, I remember words our family used when we were little which were purely invented. Monie for tomato, bogga for spider, the niche-filling doon-doon, described elsewhere, my youngest brother’s ‘butter-up-top’ for the peanut butter which was kept on the top shelf.
Janek and Maja are making their own contributions. Some words are just bastardisations of words as yet too difficult to say (neczko for słoneczko- sun) or molot instead of samolot (plane.) Others are more mysterious. Gloom for milk is purely their own invention. And the other day Maja was sitting in her high chair licking a lemon and saying over and over again, Fushka! Fushka! When she got down, she went to Marcin in the bath to tell him all about her fushka too.
We are quickly infected. Our own language is peppered with gloom and fushkas and molots. I hope I can keep it contained and out of the workplace.
I forgot to publish this post in May and just found it in my archives. In a bid to regain some credibility after so much slacking, I’m publishing it now.
After starting the day with a weary sense of generalised despair, and plodding off to work in a very negative state of mind, whining to myself about how I didn’t want to, and how I just really needed a nap, I was uplifted first of all by a not-disastrous class ( I don’t require too much in this respect) and secondly, by the boys who work in the courtyard underneath the building where I work, who came up to talk to me all star-struck by the beauty and usefulness of my bike, which they alone in all of Warsaw recognised (If anyone steals it, it will be us, they said. Nobody else realises.).
Instead of being annoyed that they were bothering me as I tried to go home late in the evening, I found myself simpering away as I told them what this bike (and me on its sturdy steel back) had done. I didn’t believe it myself. I felt like I had just been introduced to somebody who had done something amazing, but no- it was me! I rode home feeling smug in the twilight on my bike which had taken me over the Kizil-art Pass into Tajikistan and through the Japanese Alps and other places too wonderful and distant to list here.
I have been slacking on the blog front. For the whole of July I have been teaching 5 hours a day, and I am stretched in so many ways that I can hardly believe I am still standing at the end of the week. I spend all day (beginning at around 4:30 in the morning) in a ferment of lesson planning and teaching, and come home to the whirl of dinner-bathtime-bedtime. After which I fall into bed myself and the whole cycle begins again.
I’m happy and relieved to find the teaching exciting instead of terrifying. I have a class of 11 young Belarusians who amaze me and amuse me (“Rose, your tights remind me of a rabbit”) every day. Their neurons are also firing madly, so we are in it together. They do not realise the extent to which I am experimenting on them-I feel like I need to try out any new trick I can think of while I have such an energetic and responsive audience.
So much of this is new. For the first time I am developing warm and constructive relationships with my colleagues. For the first time I am farming out my children all week long, so that I hardly see them. Sometimes I hear their sleepy early morning jabbering building as I exit the flat in the morning- more often, everyone is still sleeping when I leave. I know that my parents (who have the kids 3 days a week and often do overtime on weekends) are stretched as well, and I barely see them either. I call in the afternoon to remind them I’ll be late and hear the sounds of their secret life together-we’re just in the kitchen having our nana, says my father, and then, he’s escaping too! We’ve got two Trobriand Islanders, and they’re not wearing their leg ropes!
I don’t plan to live like this on a permanent basis, though I know that many people do and somehow manage. But I don’t feel guilty either. For this month, I can wallow in work and see how it feels.