Hoping to someday find M's brother adopted in the U.S. -
Myckola Oleksandrovych Markov - 8/26/2003

Friday, November 26, 2010

The Calzone

So we'll start with the title of this post. If in a far east city in Ukraine, and you stop at a place called Pizza Bella and you see a Calzone on the menu, DO.NOT.ORDER.IT. At least not if it has salami in it. Phillip and I got pizza to go last night for dinner since we have had a hard time finding a grocery store nearby to buy food to cook here at the apartment. Anyways, it looked good. Smelled good. And I was ready to claim my half. So I took a bite and O.M.G. WHAT is in that thing? So I spit out what was in my mouth and found this piece of meat that had a very offending flavor. So I did what any good wife would do. I nibbled my half even and stuck it back in the box and told Phillip he could have the whole thing. I'll eat MY pizza.

Haha. The look on his face was priceless. Well, you ordered it, Babe.

The salami here is NOT American salami. No the smell and flavor that comes to mind is....raw deer. Mmmmm....

Thank goodness we had my "Fungi Pizza." Yep, that's what they call pizza with mushrooms, but it was good and we operated on the cold calzone this morning to remove the salami and eat just the bread because we did pay 35 grivna for it.

We are required to visit our girl at the orphanage at least 3 hours a day. We can go from 9-12am and 4-7pm. So we go twice a day for around 2 hours each time. We are not allowed to see the other kids in her grouppa. They said its because even very little children have an accute awareness that we are a mama and papa and they recognize this and become upset. We've seen some little ones walking down the hall with a nannie or two, but for the most part its just us and our girl. We have a very, very, very long hallway full of chest high windows and its lined with lots of large potted plants. The worlds longest runner carpet runs down it and that's where we walk up and down with our girl because she likes to just walk back and forth.

We found a toy store today and bought a few new toys to play with because the ones we brought were getting old. She likes to color with markers and crayons and she really likes to take things out and put them away, then take them out and put them away... wash. rinse. repeat. You get the idea!

We bought a slinky but the stairs here are too wide for it to work so we demonstrated it on the couch and our hands which resulted in excited sqeals and a demolished slinkly. RIP slinky. Your 10 minutes of fame made a child happy.

We also found a container of super huge beads that can be threaded on a shoelace. Huge hit. Not so much the threading part, but the fact that it can be dumped and filled, dumped and filled, dumped and...

"Squish" is still the favorite. She holds the bag of playdoh while we walk the hall. She also likes Papa to hold the squish while she pulls it apart and you guessed it; stuffs in back in the bag.

I also found a cute little headband with a pretty flower on it. I know that we might not get it back, but I gave it to her today anyways. She loves to have her hair decorated with bows and clips. We have to stop to fix it if any of them get frazzled. The day we met her, I know she had at least 30 flower clips in her hair. Today we were down to 4 plus the headband.

Its supposed to snow tomorrow so I'm wondering about our drive to the orphanage in the snow. I swear I will never complain about Charlottesville drivers again. They are tame sweet little lambs compared to driving in Ukraine.

Our regular driver had a very very well used car and we noticed that it had a miss a few days ago and it had progressed to a dead miss yesterday (one cylinder not firing at all) and we tried to explain that Phillip was a mechanic and could look at it for him. We were concerned we'd break down somewhere ya know? He spoke no English though and I finally told him that Phillip was a "mashina vrach" (car doctor) but he didn't seem to understand that he wanted to look at the car. So today we were standing outside waiting for Sergei and were approached by a younger man who asked if we were waiting for our driver? Umm.... dude WHO are you? We kinda said umm yeah we are and he said oh ok its me. Get in the white car. My mind went wild with assumptions of what COULD be going on, but no he was a nice guy and drove us to the orphange. Well, he drove us near it then we had to remember where it actually was and tell him how to get there. Then we had to tell him how to get back to the apartment because you have to go a different way. "Turn on the street with the BIG egg" Yeytsol Balshya! Yes, there is this HUGE concrete egg on the street corner... I will get a picture but what I really want to see is the chicken that laid it.

1 comment:

Healy Family said...

wonderful story! it's interesting to visit the orphanage. in our girls orphange they had a super long hall downstairs with a runner too, only we were told not to walk on the runner - just the tiny narrow strip of wood floor on either side of the runner. i'm glad things are working out well, so far anyway. interesting on the rules of visitation, we never heard anything like visiting hours or minimum time required, but i'm glad you're getting plenty of time! when do you expect to hear about a court date?

and in case you found the green box of oatmeal - i took my empty box to the russian store today and asked them to translate the contents - corn. who would have thought? apparently the red box is oatmeal, the brown box is buckwheat (i almost bought it once thinking forsure it was brown sugar and cinnamon...that would have been the shock of a life time, have you tried buckwheat before? our girls love it).

continuing to pray for you!



We witness a miracle every time a child enters into life; but those who make their journey home across time and miles, growing within the hearts of those who wait to love them,are carried on the wings of destiny; and placed among us by God's very own hands. --Kristi Larson

 

ALL CONTENT IS COPYRIGHT AND MAY NOT BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED WITHOUT WRITTEN CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR. COPYRIGHT 2017