7. Good Days and Not So Good Days

July 8, 2011 -  Friday
It’s day 11 in the ICU for Scott. He is still in medically-induced coma and on ventilator, being treated for ARDS. The next day after Steve and Kathy’s arrival we received yet another bad news - ARDS, acute respiratory distress syndrome. In other words respiratory failure, lungs can’t work. The doctors suppose it’s due to aspiration of first, sea water, and later, when he collapsed, he had probably thrown up and breathed that in. It also could be a complication from the critical condition his body was in as a result of the heat stroke. But whatever the cause, it was another dangerous pathology, the one that has no 100% effective cure for it. Still today, with modern machines and medications, ARDS mortality is 40%. It means, that together with other problems, our chances have just gotten slimmer.

Difficulty communicating with French medical personnel and inability to receive answers to many questions boiling up in my head only fuel my dispair. I need to understand what's happening. Some doctors speak decent English, but nurses, for the most part, do not. Doctors are not easy to reach for more than one conversation a day, that's why I've grown especially fond of one nurse for her talent to explain what's going on in perfect English. Her Mom is American and her Dad is French. Her Grandfather is Russian, hence the Russian name - Nadege, which means Hope. Thanks to Nadege, numbers on the monitors are starting to make sense.

When Scott was first diagnosed with ARDS the setting on the ventilator showed 100, which meant that 100% of all possible oxygen was blown into his lungs by the machine. In 4 days this number was lowered to 40. Today, it’s 50. Techically, the lower the ventilator setting is, the better. In the air that we breath, there is 26% of O2, and that's enough for a healthy body to provide its organs with needed oxygen. If we can get Scott down to 30, he will be able to breath on his own.

I kind of thought that patience was one of my virtues. But, no sir, I have never known what patience meant until these days. Nothing can compare with an anguish of my soul, which I have to discipline every hour to hush it down anticipating any signs of improvement. Doctors keep reminding us, that Scott needs time, that there will be good days and not so good days, but we must be patient and hope for the best. I used to ask the doctors: "Do you think he'll live? When do you think he'll get better?" Now I see, how unfair it is to put such responsibility on their shoulders. I now ask them just this: "Do YOU have hope?" And I am thankful that every singe time, despite new issues and set backs, they always nod their heads affirmatively. This is MY daily dose of oxygen.

It's day 11 in the ICU for me next to Scott. Time had stopped, every day is like the one before. Every morning starts the same. I wake up from a scary dream into my nightmarish reality. I fall on my knees next to my bed and pray for strength to live through one more day in my Gethsemane. I read, read, read April General Conference talks and the Scriptures. Nothing else can give me comfort and courage. Even internet is not abound with inspirational stories of people who have survived the similar trauma. I feel that I am all alone with my pain and only God speaks to me:

"Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord." (Psalms 27:14) "We must learn to trust in His love and in His timing rather than in our own sometimes impatient and imperfect desires." (Cecil O. Samuelson Jr.) "I will go before your face. I will be on your right and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88) "My beloved brothers and sisters, fear not. Be of good cheer. The future is as bright as your faith." (Thomas S. Monson)

Having been somewhat cheered up, I go take a shower and put my make-up on. Why? It's my routine, I calm down doing the same thing I did when life used to be normal. Depending on how good was the day before, I either eat or don't eat my breakfast. I can only eat on good days. After that I go to my room and bawl and all my make-up work runs down the cheeks. Then we go to the hospital. Visiting hours are 1pm - 3pm and 6pm - 8pm. First, Scott's Mom and brother take turns to visit with Scott for 10 minutes or so. The rest of the time is mine. The worst is right before I enter the ICU. I tremble, getting ready to be crucified by more bad news. Yet, I am eager to go in and I stay there until they kick me out. I feel the most at peace holding Scott's hand, massaging his legs and arms, bugging doctors and nurses with questions, and reading Harry Potter aloud. It's good that Karen happened to have HP book 5 in English. I don't know if Scott can hear me, but reading HP takes me away from this hospital room and into a happier place where I can catch my breath and turn my attention away from my problems.

July 10, 2011 – Sunday
Big change took place in the past couple of days – Scott woke up!
First time they lowered levels of anesthetic 5 days ago, he didn’t wake up "correctly." He started breathing too fast and became too agitated, which was debilitating for his sick lungs, so they put him back to sleep. He never even opened his eyes. Following this episode, the doctor rushed Scott for an EEG and MRI tests to check his brain. Waiting for the results was yet another torment. What if there is irreparable damage, what if he loses his memory, becomes handicapped or falls into a vegetative state?!

...

The results were normal.

As of yesterday Scott is not only awake, he is responding to us by blinking once for “No” and twice for “Yes.” I am joyous! Doctors don’t appear to be concerned about his brain any more. His liver, too, has made a significant progress; functioning at only 8% at the time of admittance, it has regenerated to 40% by the end of the first week, and to 70% by today. There is no more need for a transplant. I am counting my blessings!

The main concern remains with his kidneys. They are working only at 20% and are needing dialysis. Doctor Olivier's prognosis is that it will probably take 3 weeks for the kidneys to fully restore their function. But the matter of utter importance, of course, is to rid Scott's lungs from the bad bacteria and treacherous ARDS. I hope the pulmonologist today will be able to prescribe Scott an effective antibiotic for his persistent lung infection.

You know, whatever limited understanding of God's ways I have, I never cought myself wondering "Why me?" Why is this happening to me and to my loved ones? Why is there so much sorrow in the world? I figure, cultivating bitter feelings toward God and life is a waste of time. I don't want to remain invalid because God lets life strike us hard. I just want to get up on my feet, get my husband back up and return home to our children. I know God lets bad things happen to people. This much I know, the meaning of life is not in getting ourselves comfortable while smoothly gliding through. It's in facing the adversity straight in the eye and telling to it: "I am not afraid of you, I am not going to run away, or hide away, or give up, I will fight and I'll become stonger."

In theory, it is so, but practising this truth is much more painful. I am awefully hurt and scared, and it even seems that God has forsaken and forgotten all about me in these dark woods. But then, some little miracle happens and testifies that indeed, God is near. He might have thrown me into this abyss, but time and again he lights up my way and flickering hope refuses to die. I just keep on going. Еmotionally wounded, physically drained, my soul is reaching out for God's love and I feel His healing presence like I've never felt before. I am close, I won't run away, I will believe and fight for you, Scottie, my love.

6. S O S !

If I knew Morse’s code, I would still remain unnoticed in the middle of а busy foreign city bustling with life around my shipwreck. If not for the friends and family around the world that were among the first ones to sense our trouble and come to our rescue, I don't know what whould happen to us.

I said “sense” because as able as I am, I was completely petrified with shock and had no idea what to do about our abysmal state. All I could muster was to send signals into space to God Almighty hoping for a miracle. I hesitated to call for help. After all, what could friends in Germany, America, or Russia do for me, stuck in France with four little kids, without a car and with my husband in the ICU?! A vague hope was still feeding my imagination, that Scott would wake up soon enough to tell me what to do.

It would have been so much easier if this had happened close to home. Not an option? Ok, then, it would be more convinient to have an endless supply of money in my account, so I could continue renting the apartment on the seaside and have my sweet family’s support every night I’d come home from the hospital. Well, at least, how about coming across a parking ticket or something that would give me a clue to where my car is parked?

If things were easier, our story would be missing this very chapter. Only when things get uber-complicated can we humbly think that God considers us to be his strong and capable students. I am not talking about myself here; I am talking about all the helpful people that got involved. I was very much mistaken, we were not alone in this, and we were indeed rescued.

Kyle Quist, Scott’s friend in Utah, was tracking Scott’s race online and after mile 19 of his marathon, the signal got cut off. Wondering what that meant, he texted me first thing on Monday. First, he thought I was joking. I suppose, he let Scott’s family know about the accident, and that’s how I got a call from Scott's brother Steven saying that he and his Mom, Kathy, would be flying in Nice Wednesday night. Again, I suppose, that Kyle got hold of Dusty Miner, another training buddy of both Scott and Kyle. Dusty called right away and offered - bless his heart! - to come to France to pick up my family and drive them home. 1000 km from Grafenwoer, where he was stationed, to Nice, and then 800 km from Nice to Garmisch!

My sister Kseniya was making calls to the bishopric of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Nice to find local members who could provide me with any assistance: lodging, transportation, translation, emotional support... I dialed LTC Butler's number to let him know that Scott was not coming back from his leave yet. He was very understanding and the next person on the line was Royanna, his wife. She got on our case and promised me that the family will have all the help they need back in Germany. Mr. Butler notified the American Consulate in Nice. They, in turn, let the French police know to start the search for our vehicle. Mira spent her free time driving around town looking for a car.

The scale of the event was grand, but the outburst of love and help exceeded all my expectations. As if by domino effect, people learned about us, asked what can be done, offered their time, experience, knowledge, prayers, and even money. My Slovac girlfriend and a nurse, Sylvia Metzger, bacame my personal psychologist. I felt many warm embraces from my sister and many friends and family in America, my brother and friends in Russia and Germany through their frequent comforting calls. But the biggest hero in my eyes was my Mother.

The main idea to bring my Mom from Russia was to have her babysit our children for a week in Germany, while Scott and I would take a Mideterranian cruise. Her coming with us to Nice was a way to thank her in advance. This past spring she had suffered serious kidney problems and undergone a surgery which left a hole in her side connecting her right kidney with a bag through a catheter. She had to carry it around for three months until the most of the kidney stone remains have passed through the tube and into the bag. She was feeling ill and uncomfortable during those months, so I really wanted to take her to Nice with us, so she could be warm in the sun and get all better. I remember her worry about that one week that she would have to watch our 4 kids, two of which were under 2 year old. But she wanted to do this, because she knew Scott and I barely had time for each other since the babies were born.

When her favorite son in law got in an accident, she stuck with me and never let me get completely succombed by my grief. She made sure the kids and I were taken care of; she cooked and cleaned. She cried with me and made me smile through tears. She never backed out when presented with the plan of going back to Germany alone with all the kids. This tells something about her character. No matter how tired, or sick, or poor, or uncomfortable she goes and does what is required of her to make things better. So it was true now; speaking neither English nor German, with only 500 euro in her pocket and four children in tow, she was about to travel to the foreign country with an American soldier, who spoke no Russian. It was a whole other trial on her part, the full account of which she shares with me a little at a time. They are painful memories. Instead of a 2-week planned European vacation she got an unexpected 8-week long hard labor in exile, roughly speaking. She never complained; of course, she got upset, even cried sometimes, but she patiently pulled it thorough. The Russian way. She saved my brood from extinction and I am forever in her debt. I hope I can be a super-Grandma like she is, when I grow up.

***

Tuesday night I met with Bishop Lafitte and his wife Karen. They came straight to L’Archet -2 when I was there for the first time with Mira. They brought 2 missionaries with them. I was with Scott when they entered the ICU room. Remember, only one visitor at a time. An English speaking nurse with a Russian name Nadege (French version of Nadia) has arranged it so that Scott could receive a priesthood blessing. After that Frederic and Karen took me to my apartment. When I got out of the car at Lascaris 19, Karen gave me a big hug and said, that tomorrow, when I send my Mom and the kids to Germany and turn in the apartment keys, she will pick me up and I'll be staying with them. My heavy burden has just become lighter. The Lafittes felt like family to me. It felt so good. Plus, they spoke both French and English. I am so thankful they were quick to offer their help and support after knowing me for only a couple of hours. I am so thankful that the Church is really what brought us together.

Wednesday night Scott's brother and Mom flew into Nice. Dusty came from Germany that same night. Dusty had no car seats in his van which meant we either had to find my car by tomorrow, or go purchase the car seats first thing in the morning. Exhausted from their travels, Dusty and Steve still went into the night to look for our vehicle. They returned at 1 am. No luck.

So, it is Thursday, June 30th, the day we must get out of the apartment, by noon. We packed our suitcases, cleaned a bit and waited for Steve and Dusty to come back from their yet another quest for my van. Around 8 am they entered the apartment triumphant - they've found it!!! It turns out they woke up before 6 am, and after saying a prayer they set off to look for the car one more time, before they would go to the store to buy car seats. But they did not have to buy the car seats any longer!!! It happened like this: they walked into the second random parking garage and clicked the button on the car key remote. And there it was, blinking at them, waiting to be picked up. It was like finding the pin in a haystack; in such a busy city, with Mira, police, and Church memebers searching too. Of all the people, it was found by two Americans who were totally unfamiliar with the city, and, most importantly, at the very critical time! Now the babies could go home in their car seats, and I had my van to load up my stuff and Scott's bike right when we
needed to get out of the apartment.

Perhaps, these are small things, but "by small means the Lord can bring about great things." (1 Ne. 16:29)  In fact, we considered finding the car - a great thing, a MIRACLE, if you want. This was a good sign, that God was mindful of us and our needs.

***

Dusty, Steve, Frederick, Karen, Mira, Mr. and Mrs. Butler, my dear Mother and everyone who have promptly picked up our SOS signal, please, know, I am forever grateful for all of you and your service! It seems to me that I was not the only one being tested during this summer. Perhaps, God wanted to make sure, that there are enough wonderful, selfless, willing, worthy people who still walk this earth. And really, life goes on because of the people like you. Thank you!

5. Hanging by a Thread

I have been asked recently what if Scott had not made it. Would I still write about this in my blog? Would I still keep my faith?

I don’t know. Thank goodness, I had not received that ultimate trial of faith. I know it would be hard. Nо matter how much has beеn written about it, we know nothing about death. We see it as an ugly monster, because we've never experienced it. Unknown stuff is torturous and fills us with unquenchable fear.

What I know, is that I've walked in the shadow of death for 8 weeks straight and God is my judge on how I handled it. But I feel that I've learned a bit about this part of our life. No, I was not even close to solving the puzzle of death, but I grew stronger and more courageus witnessing many close calls this summer. I think I've figured out what faith means. It took some time, my eyes were not open at once. Let me remind you, I am only covering day 2 of our trial. At that moment, despite my knowledge of the gospel, I realized, my faith was very weak.

Morning of June 28th I called Saint Roch hoping to get better news on Scott. Thе same doctor as yesterday was nervously shouting in the receiver about Scott’s condition. “He is worse. Last night his temperature went high again despite our attempts to bring it down. His organs have started to shut down. His kidneys failed! His liver failed! It’s very bad! We are transferring him to a different hospital right now. You can call them in about an hour, I'll give you their number...”

...

I cannot hold my pain. I am bursting in tears, drowning in grief. With much effort I repeat to my family what I've just heard on the phone. Mom, Nadia and I fall on the couch, holding each other, sobbing out loud like at the funeral. David could not handle this and dissappeared somewhere. Unsuspecting babies continued to run about their business. As for us, girls, we were mourning Scott, who was so close to being dead. I could not get enough air, and I remember, I kept on saying as if in trance: "Oh, God, it hurts... I'm so scared..."

...

Again, it was my 10 year-old daughter, who, after wiping her tears, was the first one to comfor us: “It’s still ok. We will be together forever. If he dies, he’ll just have to wait for us in Heaven.” First, I wanted to shout out that she was much too young and did not understand anything. But instead, I hugged her and silently admired my daughter's faith. In the most difficult moment my child has become my strongest example! I wanted to be like my Nadia. Where is my faith?! THIS was the time to trust in the gospel completely and wholeheartedly! Hold on to it for dear life! I must truly believe in what I've taught my children.

We stopped crying. We tried to be brave, though time and time again, we would glance at each other to see tears running down the cheeks. It’s hard, who are we kidding?! Losing a loved one is hard. Human nature is such that we strive for family ties and yearn for our family members that leave us. Feelings of affection, that God has granted us, demand the continuation of our relationships in the next life. That is why eternal families make perfect sense and are so essential in the scheme of eternal bliss. I am so thankful for Temple marriages. We will be together forever no matter what.  And not even death will do us apart.

But death or no death, we needed to go grocery shopping. Faces are washed, shoes are on, we are walking downstairs. Our Bob stroller spent the night on the first floor by the front door. It was too heavy for me to drag it upstairs the night before. It's standing by the wall, all folded up. I even took one wheel off of it, making it inconvenient to steal. As I unfold my wonder-stroller I discover that one more wheel is missing. Actually, here it is, just on the floor. But the fastener is missing, and I can’t put the wheel on without it, it simply slides right off. We search for it all over the hallway and stairwell, we even checked the garbage cans. This is so unfair! So mean! Who could do such a thing?! Talk about series of unfortunate events. Based on a true story too.

We did not have a choice but to carry our babies in our arms to the store. And then carry them back, along with groceries.  David, the oldest man in the family at the moment, did not complain once, but carried the biggest bag.

I called the hospital where Scott was transferred to and talked to the doctor, who informed me that Scott was intubated and on full life support.

Mira picked me up as soon as she could and we went to L’Archet-2, a newer and bigger hospital in Nice. Mira has never been here before; we were a bit lost in many corridors, staircases and elevators. Soon we were standing before the door for the ICU of the Deprtment of Surgery and Organ Transplantation. I was shivering. Mira pushed the buzzer and explained to them what we wanted. The door opened automatically and we went inside. Before we could go any further, we had to stop at the small locker room and put on a hospital robe on top of our clothes and spray sanitizer on our hands. It could be because there is not a single window in the whole unit, or serious medical equipment, "breathing" and beeping all around, the feeling is truly dark and depressing. The main reason it felt like that, is that I came here to my beloved and very sick husband, whose life was hanging by a thread.

Gosh! Scottie, is that you?! All yellow and swollen, his face is deformed, hardly recognizable. The ventilator tube comes out of his mouth; many other tubes are attached to his neck and wrists. He is so cold! So, his liver, the oven of а human body, does not work. It is so horrible to be by the side of your loved one, who is barely alive, and still hope for his recovery. Never in my life have I experienced such a mighty battle between my mind, that was feeding me with fear, and my heart which, like a defeated, choking and bleeding warrior, kept on whispering with broken voice, that it is not the end, that there is no way I should be giving up.

Mira called me to meet with doctors. I was scared. I thought, they'd ask me that terrifying question: "do I give my permission to turn off the machines?" I am so glad, I am not alone in this, that Mira is next to me. Dr. Tran, who I spoke with on the phone, and the head of the department Dr. Gouboux were waiting for us in their office. Dr. Tran is really young, tiny brunette with huge eyes, full of either compassion or anxiety, I can't decide. In any case, she is very worried:

"Scott was transferred here, because we specialize on liver and kidneys. Last night, when his temperature went up very high, it caused a multiple organ failure. Since he's gotten here, his kidneys have started functioning a bit, but very poorly. The biggest problem is liver. Did he drink alcohol?" I shake my head negative. "Did he smoke?" The same answer. "Did he suffer from diabetes, high blood pressure?..." And more similar questions, followed by my "No" answer.

"How old is he?" - "38."

"There is hope that his liver will start building itself back. If it does not start regenerating in the next 48 hours, liver transplant is necessary to save his life." 

"And how long is the wait in case, it does not regenerate?.." I ask with trembling voice.

"We will put his name first on the emergency list which goes out nationwide, usually we have a liver within 48 hours."

Man, this is SO serious!

Dr. Gouboux picked up where Dr. Tran stopped: "The problem with liver not working is the complications it causes in brain, namely what we are observing in Scott. Water is accumulating in his brain, which swells up the brain and can cause pressure against the skull, which is fatal."

Thank you, doctor, for one more horrifying picture in my mind. I gulp. The most important thing now is not to pass out. Ok, continue, bring it on! Tell me more bad news. I am getting used to it.

“But if his liver will start working again, then it will drain all the excess water from around the brain, and that should put brain back to normal. We have very important 48 hours ahead of us,” he smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye that instantly wrapped me in hope, like a warm fuzzy blanket I needed so bad.

With that I am ready to wait for the next 48 hours and not get used to him being on his death bed. He must be somewhere in the realms of eternity, but only temporary. Maybe, he is there to see his Dad and his Grandma Helen Thompson, who had actually passed last week. Her funeral was held yesterday, on Monday, June 27th in Utah; naturally, we were not there. Maybe this was a way to say good-bye to her. Maybe, I made all this up. But wherever he was, I made a decision to fight for my husband's life. While doctors and nurses were keeping alive his broken body, I was pleading with the Lord to please let his spirit return to his body, fix his organs, help his liver regenerate and eventually bring him back to us. Amen. 

4. Dumbstruck

“Madame? Madame… “We rushed to the fence. I could not see people’s faces; they were standing away from the light. There were about four of them speaking in broken English:

“He is not here. He is in l'hôpital Saint Roch. Do you know where it is? Do you have car?” I shook my head no to both questions.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he ok?” I asked. 

“We don’t know. We don’t know anything. Only that he is in l'hôpital. Sorry. Good luck.” As if electricuted, we almost ran to find a taxi. I almost spaced it out that first, I needed to take the kids to the apartment.  Oh, no! Nadia’s sobbing. How I wanted to cry too, but I tried to convince her (and myself)that Daddy is probably just dehydrated and they are putting IV’s in him. It is a common thing among the endurance athletes. By now, he must be sitting in the hospital, waiting for us to pick him up. Don’t cry, my sweetheart. After a few silent steps I hear her calm and confident voice:

“He is ok. If not, the doctors will help him and he will be fine. I just said a prayer and got an answer that he’ll be ok. I know it.” I clanged to her words, they gave me such hope. And not once later will I remember this surety in my child's voice. I believed her.

We walked home fast. It must have been after midnight when we approached the building. My Mom was on the balcony waiting for us: “Where is Scott?”

“In the hospital.” My small voice carries the sad news through the dark empty streets.

My Mom was in shock from our story. After the kids were in bed, I started searching for Saint Roch Hospital phone number in the yellow pages. Got it! I dial, I wait, while worrisome music is playing in my ear. Then, a doctor picks up the phone and starts speaking to me in an agitated and urgent sort of way while my world begins to crumble like it never did before.

“Yes, Scott Thompson is not ok. We are working on him right now. His temperature is 41 degrees and he is in coma. His kidneys are bad, he is very critical.”

I asked him if I could come now.

“Yes, you... you must come now!”

Critical? Must come now? Is there a risk of him dying tonight? I hang up and started searching for taxi phone numbers. The first few numbers I called, they spoke exclusively French to me. English was not even an option. I could not understand why they were so angry with me:  that I was speaking English, or that it was 1am, or both? I finally got lucky getting hold of an English speaking girl, who sounded very sleepy. She was kind enough to agree to give me a ride BUT it had to be no earlier than 8 in the morning.  Ok. I am so tired and wrecked emotionally to plead with her. I walk the hall back and forth covering my ears with hands, trying to supress the doctor’s concerned voice echoing in my head, making me tremble inside and out. I go to my Mom’s, fall next to her on the bed and cry my fears to her. My poor Mom, like she had not had enough to deal with in her own life.

I follow her advice and try to fall asleep, but can’t. This is what a nightmare is. You are so tired and exhausted you can’t function, yet so tense that there is no way you can relax and get that knot in your chest to melt away and let you fall asleep. It was the most horrible night I have ever lived through. I was crying, praying, and then for a moment drifting off to sleep, when another wave of a new reality would flood me with despair and again I was in tears. My brain, trying to overcome my fears, would keep on sorting out all possible outcomes and options for dealing with them, which only sent me back to my fears. What to do, how to live, unfamiliar town and country, how long are we staying here, what about the kids? What about Scott? What if he dies?!  

The next morning I don’t even look in the mirror, I know make up would not help me, and who cares anyway? I leave my Mom and the kids in the apartment and go down to meet my taxi ride. She is here right on time. She is Mira from England; she runs her own taxi service called “A Friend in France.” As she listens to my story, she changes in her face and I can tell she feels bad for not coming last night. But she insists to not only drop me off by the hospital but take me inside and translate for me. Mira’s become my first friend in France.

After some waiting they let me in. Scott is in the Intensive Care Unit of Saint Roch Hospital. I see him lifeless, in coma, no reaction to my voice or touch. Even no reaction to many bags of ice covering his body. I grab his cold hand and tears burn my eyes.  Flashbacks of Scott’s Dad dying in the ICU 6 years ago are drilling through my head. “This is different,” I keep telling myself, ”he’ll wake up.” But how could this happen to my strong healthy husband? And what exactly happened to him?! Somebody, tell me! The nurse could not give me any update. The doctors were about to do their morning rounds, after which I could come back and discuss Scott’s condition. “Until then you must leave, s'il vous plait.” I wandered around in stupor trying to remember my way back to the hospital which is in the middle of Nice. It’s an old building, looking somewhat rundown. Mira said it’s because French people have a 100% medical coverage guaranteed by the government. They don’t pay anything when it comes to health care, so hospitals don't have extra money to look nice. “But the care is really good here,” she says, and adds “even better than in Britain." I sure hope so.

When I come back in an hour and a half, like they told me, I wait impatiently by the ICU door. The doctor greets me in good English. It is the same doctor I heard on the phone the night before. He is young and very serious. He leads me to the room, designated for talking to relatives. It is so depressingly yellow and cold there. So, please, tell me good news, doctor.

“The situation is very, very serious,” he starts. “What we think happened is when Scott was running a marathon, he collapsed from a severe heat stroke. When we picked him up he was comatose and had a very high fever. His kidneys are not working well. Because he was not able to breath on his own for some time, we are really concerned about his brain. The scan showed that he's got a brain swelling. All of these things are life-threatening.”

I summoned some courage and breathed out: “Do you mean people die from it?”

“Yes, depending on a person, 40% die from a heat stroke of that kind. He is young and healthy, so we have hope. He is stable right now, but in a very critical state.”

How do you live with that? I was closing my eyes slowly trying to fight back tears. The nurse came out and handed me the plastic bag with Scott's clothes, shoes and a tracking band. I left. I needed to find Scott's bike. I don't know how, but I found a booth, one of the few still standing, with Scott's bike in it. I exchanged it for the tracking band. People were asking me about how Scott was feeling, but I was numb with horror. There were also bags with his wetsuit, bike shoes, helmet, energy bars and … water! He didn’t eat or drink during the stupid race!!!

After the sleepless night and in the heat of the day all the stuff I carried seemed so heavy. I finally made it home where I shared with my family what I learned and what I saw. Everyone became quiet. We kneeled and prayed. Then we read from the Ensign. Eyes were searching for some prophetic promise of a happy end but tears were choking that hope with fear. “It is true” – we read, “We live to die and we die to live again. From an eternal perspective, the only death that is truly premature is the death of one who is not prepared to meet God.” That was not comforting. All I cared about was Scott’s recovery. Tell me, God, that he will live. Tell me that everything will be all right. And soon! Because I am not prepared to handle life on my own. I need my husband!!              

I really had no clue what to do but wait. And oh! what a torture it is to wait for the unknown in the unknown place for an unknown period of time. It’s not at all like “waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.” It was waiting pierced with pain, paralyzed with fear, enveloped in a cloud of uncertainty. I was dumbstruck; I could not think straight or act normal. I could not eat or sleep. I was holding on to the walls to keep me from falling as I tried to help my Mom to take care of kids. I felt like screaming and crying and was only saving that for later when kids are in bed and don’t have to witness my breakdown. I really thought that we were at ground zero, and things would start looking up from then on. I was so sure that if we kept exercising our faith, saying our prayers and keeping the commandments, God would fix everything and we'll get better news tomorrow. 

Only it is not exactly how God works.    

3. The Race

It looked as if a sea monster was plowing the Mediterranian. The first 15 minutes the swimmers stayed tight together but then they started to stretch out more and more. After an hour and a half I went down to the area where the swimmers were getting out of the water. I was trying to find a good spot for taking pictures. Then I waited. After 1 hour and 56 minutes since the beginning of the race, I spotted Scott. I could tell he had a rough time. He looked exhausted. I cheered for him as he paused for a moment to rinse under the shower. He looked at me with almost a smile and off he ran to his next battle. Ironman race is a battle. A battle of body and spirit. These guys don't compete against each other, they compete against physical pain and weakness. With each mile of the race they are becoming stronger. Not so much physically, but spiritually. It takes an ironwill to become an ironman. Another question - why do they need to go that far?

But let's follow Scott. I am running parallel to the wire fence with him on the other side, shooting pictures, yelling support and encouragement. In the rythm of the race he unzips and gets out of his wetsuit, pulls on his fancy bright green compression socks, then bike shoes and a helmet come on. Every move is a move forward. There is no time to waste, not even time for water and an energy bar. He picks up his bike and after one more smile he is already pedaling in the direction away from me. He is on the way to his new challenges and achievements. Here, in Germany, one of my friends told me: "It's a man's passion to conquer the world, do heroic deeds, prove their abilities." It seems like such an absurd philosophy of men. But nature arranged it so it would work. We love men for this craziness and not for lying on the couch.

Well, with the swim behind us, I started walking toward the apartment, relieved. We have a beautiful day ahead of us. Clear skies, blue coast, green mountains starting their ascend at see level - what a beautiful scenery! Scott will have an opportunity to see 180 km of Southern France! Of course, it's not an easy breezy bicycle tour, but I was a bit jealous.

The kids were already up, raiding the refrigirator. After breakfast we decided to observe the Sabbath and read an article from the Ensign conference issue. I tried to keep kids' attention to the spiritual lesson but kids tv chanel soon prevailed. I did not feel like going out with four kids. It was too hot and crowded outside. It's stuffy and boring in the apartment. But at least, everybody is safe inside and I don't have to constantly count heads. I was angxious for this day to be over. Vacation time is so much more energetic with our Dad.

...

Watermelon juice trickling down naked bellies, sticky hands are everywhere, soggy diapers running around, baby laughs get switched to screams and back. Nap time is over. Nadia and David are spread out on the floor trying to cool off, watching High School Musical for the 3rd time. Time to get out of here. Where is Scott now? I can't wait to meet him at the finish line.

The walk down the Promenade is beautiful. We pass the port with nice boats parked there. The evening sun splashes them with golden orange. The Mideterranian is magnificent torqouise blue. It conveys such serene yet mighty feeling. We steer our stroller around the bend where the whole Promenade is in view and, oh, my! The place is packed! The loudspeakers are booming, beaches are packed with tourists and Ironpeople's support groups.

Nice beaches are not stroller friendly. The stairs down from the bank are steep and the pebbles are challenging even for our 3-wheel drive super Bob stroller. We know that because we actually took those stairs, risking the lives of our babies when stroller got out of control and almost tumbled down. We also learned that pebbles are not only painful to walk on but also can be a deadly weapon in the hands of our twins. Just watch my innocent babies pick up warm smooth rocks only to smack them into my head. Ok, if it's mine. They almost hit a lady peacefully sunbathing nearby.
 
Mideterranian, as inviting as it looks, is quite deep right off the shore. It was another dangerous attraction for my kids. Nadia, a good swimmer, rides on the waves like a mermaid, which did not make me feel any less fearful. David was cautious enough to play right where the waves hit the shore, I just had to hope he would not get washed away. The twins were unstoppable little engines with no breaks. Seriously, these two need a polizei attached to them to make sure they don't hurt themselves and those around them. It's a good thing my Mom was with me. Time can't go any slower. I so need Scott to be done and help us out. Neither me nor my Mom had a chance to swim in the sea, not even once.

Babies are starting to fuss just as we sit down at the French restaurant. The first one we see. David insists on trying the sardines widely advertised in this area. Mom wants soup, and the only thing on the menu is the Poisson Soup (fish soup). It takes forever to get our food. Is it because the place looks fancy or is it because they had to go catch David's sardines?! Babies behavior is starting to draw unwanted attention. Mom buckles them in the stroller and takes them on a walk away from tablecloths and fancy goblets. 8 pm. I am thinking about Scott finishing any minute now, I am so ready to go to the finish line, where is our food?!

Sardines turned out to be a big dissapointment. Too many bones and they smell like "garbage" said Dave. Bread was great. Especially with suspiciously looking Poisson soup. That fish soup was not any old fish soup, it was da bomb! Authentic, French, yummiest one ever! Everyone turned their attention from sardines to my Mom's bowl of soup. We also ordered pizza to go for Scott to eat after the race.

After dinner Mom took Ethan and Levi back to the apartment while we sped through the streets of Old Town back to the Promenade where the finish line was set up. It was getting darker. I was afraid we might have missed him. We found a place where kids could jump out and run the last bit with Dad. He likes that. So here we were, waiting, straining to see our Dad's green socks. . .

It was 9 pm, 9:30 pm, 10:00 pm, at which time the race was officially over. But we stayed where we were, still waiting, because more people were still finishing, and maybe Scott was among them. The fireworks celebrating the end of Ironman Nice 2011 did not feel right. Cheerful sounds of the after the race party moved further and further away from us. It was dark and we were among the last few left, still hoping to see him.

Then, it was time to proceed to plan B. We agreed that in case we don't see each other at the finish line we'll go to our meeting place, which was the naked guy fountain on Malaussena. 11 pm, on we go, our feet are sore from walking, David is starting to whine and Dad's pizza is getting cold.

Scott's not there. I start to panic, but we walk back to the finish line, where we start asking the organizers to check if the yellow bike number 1499 is still there. It is! And the bag with his wetsuit and bike helmet and shoes is there too. It means he had finished the bike! He did not crash! He was either still running or being helped at the first aid station. I asked them to make phone calls to find out where exactly he was at the moment.

Waiting again, eyes fixed into the endless blackness of the sea, holding hands tighter, praying silently. . .

2. The Countdown

Exactly 13 years since our Temple sealing - June 26 - has become the longest day in my life.
    
Scott and I woke up at 4:30. Kids and Mom were still asleep. We quickly and quietly got ready, packed Scott's stuff and by 5 am were walking down the street towards the Promenade. It was still dark. Scott does not talk much, he is either nervous, or he is meditating, or still sleeping. I know I am worried. But I am mostly concerned about the logistics of things. Will I be able to take pictures of him during the transitions? Will we find each other after the race? Will kids behave and will we have any fun that day while waiting?

As soon as we came around the cliff and got a good view of the Promenade des Anglais, I got a better idea of the scale of this event. There must have been thousands of people all gathered up at the break of dawn on the banks of sleeping Mediterranian. Music blairing, causing blood run faster through our veines, beautiful fit people were definetely the center of attention. I admired their willpower and strength, but mostly, of course, I admired my husband's willpower and strength. If I only knew what a dangerous game these Ironmen are getting themselves into. . .

Just by the way, I've noticed the boats patroling the waters of the Plage du Centenaire, stretches prepared on the beach, ambulances parked on the street, and medical boothes set up along Promenade. I felt chills going down my back. I already felt bad for those less fortunate who would have to be fished out of the water, or break their bones crashing off the bike, or have an iv to rehydrate them in the shade of a first aid station. But certainly they'll all be ok. The worst pain for them would probably be not finishing the race. I live with an athlete, I know the drive behind all of this "fun".

I was confident though that this misfortune would pass Scott by. He would paddle hard through his 2.4 mi. swim, breeze 112 mi. on his bike, and run (something I was the least worried about) all the 26.2 mi. of his marathon. Really, he trained good. 3 hours every morning and about the same at lunch or afternoon. In fact, the most challenging part of the race was supposed to be the swim. So, I decided I'd stay to make sure he'd get out of the water and get on his bike.

He is in his wetsuit and after my clumsy encouraging words and a good-bye, we are separated. He joins his fellow athletes, and I walk up and down trying to find a spot betwixt the spectators glued to the railing. I squeeze in and finally am a part of the fan club, trying to spot a familiar wetsuit. It's not possible really, all the wetsuits are black, all the heads are wearing blue swimhats.

The French race announcer/dj is dancing on the platform, singing along to "tonight's gonna be a good night", yelling in French, then English, then French again. At some point he makes all athletes raise their arms, they all start to dance, and the feeling is great. I am proud of these people and root for their success. It's broad daylight, 7 am. The huge mass of swimmers enters the water, and the Ironman Race begins.

1. Off to a Dream Vacation

In the beginning of this summer we were hoping to pack a lifetime of adventures into two months of a European vacation. We started out by visiting my hometown in Russia. Then the plan was to drive to Southern France where we would play on the beach after Scott's Ironman competition. Upon returning from France, Scott and I were going to drive to Rome to catch a Mediterranian cruise, while my Mom kindly agreed to babysit. And to finish off  our european tour we were going to do and see whatever else we had not done and seen in Bavaria. Crazy, huh? But, hey, we are familiar with strenuous life routine, why not take 4 kids on an 8-hour long road trip. Plus, this was our chance to say good-bye to Europe before we were bound to return to the States the end of July. So, ready or not, here we come.

Nadia, David, my Mom and I flew from Russia on June 24. Scott and the babies met us at the Munich airport. Tightly squeezing all the people and luggage into our van we started out towards France. That's correct, we did not even stop at home to drop off Russian souvenirs and rain coats. The van was stoickly venturing a new road winding through Swiss Alps, then northern Italy with vineyards on both sides of the freeway, then, long after dark we arrived in Nice.

Our apartment is in a busy part of town with a loud pub on the first floor. No empty parking spot in sight. Double-parking was the only option for us to unload our cargo. As we soon find out double-parking is not an outrageous behavior in this part of the world. But for now, we are nervous, hurriedly emptying the car and carrying everything, plus sleepy kids, on the third floor. One word - exhausted. One more word - hot!

A cute representative of Nice Pebbles welcomed us. The apartment is very nice, spacious, carefully decorated, with many balconies, stainless steel kitchen counters, a big screen tv, and... no AC. There is no designated parking spot for our van either. So, on goes Scott to drive our faithful Honda into the first parking garage with the sign "Ouvert" (open) on it. Which is apparently a couple kilometers away from the apartment, somewhere in the woods of a busy european city. As long as Scott remembered the way back to it, we are good.

The next morning grocery shopping was the first cultural activity on our agenda. Baguettes, le lait, mousse au chocolat, fromage, ratatuille, and peaches grown in France ended up in our shopping cart. We just went with our gut feeling about the authentic French grocery list. We were clueless but eager to give it a try. Toiling our load of French delicacies to the apartment we took a short break at the boulangerie. Boulangeries are bakeries with so many kinds of different breads that you can eat a loaf a day for a month and never hit the same taste buds. Among numerous temptations, baguettes seem to rule. While we were standing there mouths open trying to pick something very authentic and French, local people kept coming in, and out they went with bouquets of those long sticks of bread.

Ironman registration was another important task of the day. It took place in booths set up in the park across from newly built fancy Malaussena street with black and white checkered tiles and a naked guy made out of white stone standing in the middle of the fountain. We split our team in two. Older kids and Dad went into the booths. Babies, Mom and I decided to take a "shortcut" through Old Town. We got a pretty good workout climbing up and down the stairs with the double stroller, trying to find our way to Lascaris, 19.

After my unsuccessful experiment with ratatuille, we ate plain normal meat and potatoes. No French cousine that day. But we were together as a whole family and that mattered the most. We were fantasizing about the rest of our Nice vacation. Not knowing what will happen to us the next day at about the same time. . .

IronSummer - Prologue

I am used to having all kinds of adventures in my life. Being married to Scott kind of guarantees that. He loves the extreme, there is nothing lukewarm about his character. He shoots high and is unstoppable in reaching his goals. The hard part is that those of us who tag along don't realize all the risks he is imposing on himself and on us.

It usually turns into an unforgettable growing experience for the whole family. We never regret the paths we took together as a family no matter how rough the terrain. There are always moderate dozes of resentment along the way but things end up working out one way or the other. I've already learned that God did not intend it to be easy for us. I've also learned that there are valuable lessons to be learned in life only through challenges.

I never expected to be smashed into a wall of such difficult curcumstances that I would evolve into a completely new being. Almost physically feeling my hair turn gray I realized I had grown (or got old) and become more sensitive and less judgemental, more meek and less ambitious. The dross of life has burned away and things I loved have now become of utter and only importance. What I knew was right, now was engraved in my heart with agony and pain. These things are - family, life, gospel, Christ.

This summer will mark our family history as one of the most tragic and the most miraculous summers ever. It was the summer of both Scott and me becoming Ironpeople. Our children, having tasted the bitterness of this trial, have also become stronger.

It was a terrible and grand experience that "grasped us by a power that is greater than we are, a power that shakes us and turns us, and transforms and heals us." It was the time of horror and humility, fear and faith, tribulation and testimony. Indeed, we've come to believe in the words of Paul: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress,, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us."

God and his angels (a.k.a. kind friends and family, doctors and nurses) have come to our rescue and lifted us up from the depths of despair. I am thankful, humbled and obligated to write about our hardships and the mirales that followed and were possible because of many wonderful people in this world and because of the Lord Jesus Christ. But mainly I dedicate this story to our sweet kids, my awesome Mother, and my strong and amazing husband. He is my Ironman forever.

Frugal Fun in Massachusettes

Just dropping off this link here for when we are in Boston.

To Russia With Love

This coming June, Nadia, David, and I are going to visit Russia. It's been 10 years since I've been there, and it'll be the first time for my kiddos.

We plan to stay with my Mom and Dad and have an open house at Church for all my friends who wish to see us. We also plan to visit the Children's Cancer Clinic where my friends' son was treated. Unfortunately, Nikas died of cancer last September. He was only 4.

His parents, Lavr and Katia were inconsolable for a long while. When asked what we could do to help them heal, their answer was: "To brighten the days of other sick children, maybe, to give them toys."

I have a big spare suitcase that I intend to fill up with toys. I dare ask for your help though. Since our PX store on base is tiny and does not have a good variety, and since toys in Germany are expensive, I want to see if any of you would like to help me by purchasing one $5-$10 toy and mailing it to our APO address which is:

Major Scott and Ulya Thompson
CMR 409 BOX 462
APO AE 09053

A few guidelines:

~The toys must be new and not used (for the fear of transmitting germs to the kids' weakened bodies)
~No stuffed animals, please
~Avoid big stuff (for the sake of fitting it all) Barbie sized dolls and small Lego sets would do perfectly
~Mail them to my APO address no later than June 1, 2011.

If there is more than I can fit in my suitcase I will be mailing it straight to Russia.

Thank you for your help. Please, e-mail me, if you're interested in this charity and/or if you need more information on where exactly it goes: kashina_ru@yahoo.com





Help us remember Nikas Kossov.



Thank you!

  

...and Celebrating!

We are not exactly consistent at celebrating our anniversaries. Partially due to Scott's being gone or deployed in the past years, and partially due to our inability to choose a reliable babysitter (because we never live in one place long enough to get to know someone perfectly well for the position.) Hence, we never plan our outings, we just wait for Mary Poppins to fall out of the sky, I guess. Or we take the whole gang and go to a family friendly restaurant where messes, noises, and tantrums are acceptable behaviors.

But, I think, I'm growing out of this sort of entertainment. I want to eat good food and discuss the details of our summer vacation without soda spills and potty brakes. And without babies crawling on tables trying to eat my anniversary flower bouquet, as shown in this picture:

Thanks to (again) my friend Amy, her daughter Kira, and my Nadia we had our babysitter problem solved this year.

Gasthaus Fraundorfer was our choice of restaurant. It's a beautiful Bavarian style restaurant on Ludwigstrasse in Partenkirchen.

There was live accordeon music inside, waitresses in dirndls, bavarian beer in tall glasses, and cute German boys dancing Bavarian folk dance. Except for beer, we got a good taste of Bavarian culture as well as generous helpings of true German dishes like spaetzle and rouladen. I highly recommend to visit this place!

13 Years and Counting...

I am scared to think of where I'd be now if Scott decided not to serve his mission for the Church. Because I know for sure, that had he not find my family and teach us, none of us would have made much sense out of this life. Not only Scott gave me himself and his love for me and for our children, he gave me hope, faith, and truth that are my everyday salvation and joy.

In my first years of belonging to Church in Russia (I was between 16 and 21 yrs of age), there were many doubts that made me stumble a lot on the way to my testimony. Many times the Mormon belief just did not make sense. But, curiously, it ALWAYS felt right. And now, that I've gotten so many real miracles happen in my life, so many testimonies form into an intricate tapestry of my faith, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that this is God's marvelous work and a wonder.

The biggest fruit of my faith is my family. And I just cannot talk about our wedding anniversary without giving God credit for bringing Scott and me together. At times rough and bumpy, I can still honestly call our marriage happy.

The only problem with happiness is fear of loosing it. But I choose faith over fear. Faith in our love will keep us together through thin and thick, through rich and poor, through sickness and health until our love is perfected and refined so it can last for eternity.

  lds bountiful temple

Visiting Viktoriya

Viktoriya is a nurse and has a floating schedule with rare weekends off. This one was a lucky weekend that both she was off work and Scott was in town, so he could watch the babies while Nadia, David and I drove to Wasserburg (50 km east from Munich) to see my girlfriend Vika (short for Viktoriya). Traveling without babies felt nice. No need to constantly be on a look out, no fussy moods, no slaving in the kitchen, no worries for neighbors' sanity when we are in the middle of a tantrum or a teaching moment. And I love my hubby eversomuch that he let me enjoy our little girls' night out on the eve and on the morning of our 13th Wedding Anniversary! It was a greatly-appreciated sacrifice on his part. I love to be at home with my posterity and make homemade bread and scrub the kitchen floors, but (who am I kidding?) I am not a superwoman, and I NEED an occasional time out. Period.  

My older kids are so awesome and easy-going that I took them with me.

We went to the humangous and totally cool park in Oberreith with all-you-can-imagine stuff to play and ride for the kids.  

The petting Zoo in the park

Did you notice what that duck was snacking on? A real frog! Now, you don't see that every day. Take a look again.

The next picture is from the series "What Does Not Belong Here?" Of course, candles and McDonald's don't go together. Unless you are in Germany. In the States, it would be a law suit waiting to happen. Notice also fresh flowers. Only in Europe!

With kiddos on board you really need not make hard choices about where to eat. McDonald's is always the right answer. I don't know how many years it's been since I ate in McDonald's but it was in McDonald's (in Helsinki)that Scott and I had our first meal as huband and wife exactly 13 years ago. It would be nice to have Scottie there with us.

We had some semechki (sunflower seeds) that we bought at the Russian Store in Wasserburg, and it was funny to watch our German and American sons and daughters clicking sunflower seeds in a totally Russian way.

On the way home, I had to turn around, stop, and take a picture of this wonder-tree. Is it real? Looks like it is!

Nadia's 10th Birthday

Onion Babies

There was no more apples left, so babies have dug out a box with onions and potatoes and decided to give it a try. They must've been really hungry or deprived of vitamin C, because they took a bite of every potato and onion there was. Without cringing. And rather with pleasure.

Which gives me an idea to put grocery shopping on hold and instead, save up some money for our Bavarian Dirndls and Lederhosen. Because, really, it's rediculous how much we spend on groceries, and we keep running out of food anyway.

I suppose, babies can last on onions just a bit longer.

Last Wonderful Wednesday

March 9 was the last Wonderful Wednesday this year for the Garmisch Elementary kids. To celebrate the event there was a race and an award ceremony followed by the bbq. Here are some pictures:

Spring!

I so LOVE spring! Do you?

The German Way - Fasching

If you see store clerks dressed up in costumes around last weeks of February or the first weeks of March, don't worry about going crazy, it's Fasching time. Fasching means Carnival. It has pagan roots (sort of like Halloween), and originally celebrated the end of winter and the start of field works (kind of like pagan Russian Maslenitsa). Later, it got tied up to Catholic Church's tradition to let people go nuts before the beginning of the Easter Lent.

In Catholic Italy they call it Carnival (from "carne" - meat), meaning that it's the time to give up meat (which is what Lent is all about). In Louisiana there is a French version of this celebration - Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday - when it's your last chance to pig out before the Lent. In Brazil, their revealing body parts are dancing samba through the streets, celebrating carnal nature of things or carnival. Get it? "Carnal" and "Carnival"? No matter how it's called, it's what they call Fasching in German, or the celebration that lets people go crazy for a day.

I heard Bavaria has the biggest Fasching celebrations in all of Germany, but I don't know, I have nothing to compare it with. All I know is that there are isles of Halloween (pardon, Fasching) costumes in every store, and Krapfen doughnuts sold on every corner. German schools are usually off during Fasching, and Tuesday is a day off for shops and businesses, even grocery stores are closed. This makes it a bit hard to show off your costume. But I saw a Grandpa dressed up as a bird riding his bicycle, I saw three witches on the streets of Garmisch, kids in costumes eating ice-cream and a dozen dressed up skiers.

What comes after Tuesday Fasching celebration is also worth mentioning. Ash Wednesday is when people go to Church and repent of all the stupid stuff they did over the Fasching (you see, there are some naughty parties in Munich, which I was not invited to and learned about via internet as I was reading up on Fasching.) Catholics also like to give something up until Easter: if not beer, then schnitzel, if not schnitzel, then knodel.

Whatever my kids attempted to give up, they could not give up school during Fasching. They could still dress up though. On Tuesday, David wore his cowboy vest inside out (I sewed on fake fur on the inside). He wanted to look like a Viking, straight from the isle of Berk. Nadia did not feel like dressing up, but attempted to give up sweets. She lasted for about 2 days.

The school provided krapfen doughnuts for all the students, and then my kids had some more at home. Most krapfen doughnuts have jam or cream inside. Some rare ones have musturd inside for surprise (that must be why when you buy 4, they give you 1 for free.) See, Germans can be funny.

Dr. Seuss' Birthday

On the 3rd of March kids celebrated Dr. Seuss' Birthday at school. Nadia's class was invited to dress up like their favorite book character. That week Nadia was reading "Little House on the Prairie" and decided to emerge herself into the past by wearing a time period dress and a bonnet. The only problem was that she had neither, and I don't sew on such short notices. Besides, there is no Walmart with Simplicity patterns in our neck of woods. What to do, what to do? Of course, ask Amy Wiggins. Amy has been busy these days making costumes for the school play, but maybe, just maybe she could squeeze out some time to make at least a bonnet for Nadia.

Bless her heart, she went the second mile for us. No, she went all the way, digging out a choice of fabric and patterns out of her storage boxes and taking measurments for the full outfit. And she was insistant on doing it for free! I could not stand that much free karma going my way, so I wrote her a check. She made a dress, an apron, and a bonnet in ONE day! She is a true friend and a talented and hardworking woman. I love her!

David's class celebrated with a cake made by the first-graders, remotely resembling the Cat's Hat. Also, they had a Poetry Recital, for which each kid memorized a poem. This is the first time ever that I saw kids reciting poems by heart. Sadly, it's not that often that you see this style of learning in American schools. Kids had a blast showing off their poems, while parents were proudly showing off their kids. My kid is the one with the shaggiest head in the classroom.

"If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good."
— Dr. Seuss

Tomatoe Mozzarella Salad

Салат из Томатов и Моцареллы

                                                    помидоры, дольками

                                                    моцарелла (мягкий сыр шариком), кубиками
                                                    листья салата, порвать на небольшие части
                                                    свежие листья базилика  целиком (самoe важнoe!)
                                                    оливковое масло
                                                    бальзамик уксус
                                                    соль, перец

I don't pay attention to proportions in this recipe, because no matter what you do, fresh basil is going to rule the show magnificently.

                                                                        tomatoes, sliced
                                                                        mozzarella ball, cubed
                                                                        iceberg lettuce, torn up
                                                                        fresh basil (a must!), whole leaves
                                                                        olive oil
                                                                        balsamic vinegar
                                                                        salt, pepper

Cinnamon Rolls

                                                                      3/4 cup milk

                                                                      1/4 cup soft butter

                                                                      3 1/4 cup flour

                                                                      1 (.25 oz) pkg instant yeast

                                                                      1/4 cup sugar

                                                                      1/2 tsp salt

                                                                      1/4 cup water

                                                                      1 egg

                                                                      1 cup brown sugar

                                                                      1 Tbsp cinnamon

                                                                      1/2 cup soft butter

                                                                      1/2 cup raisins

Bring milk in a small pan to boil, remove from heat. Mix in butter, stir until melted. Let cool until lukewarm.

In a large bowl, combine 2 1/4 cup flour, yeast, sugar and salt. Mix well (I use my KitchenAid mixer.) Add water, egg, and milk mixture, beat well. Add remainig 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring well after each addition. When the dough has just pulled together, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth for about 5 minutes. (I just keep it in the KitchenAid bowl and it does the kneading, also about 5 minutes.)

Cover the dough with a damp cloth and let rest for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, mix together brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter.

Roll out the dough, spread the suger/butter mixture on it. Sprinkle with raisins. Roll up dough and pinch seam to seal. Cut into 1/2 inch size rolls and place them on a greased cookie sheet. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled in size (about 30 min.) 

Bake in the preheated oven at 375 degrees F for 15-20 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm. 

Cream Cheese Icing: Beat 3 oz cream cheese with 2 Tbsp soft butter and 1 tsp vanilla and a bit of lemon juice (maybe 2 tsp). Gradually beat in 2 1/2 cups powdered sugar until smooth. Beat in milk, 1 tsp at a time, to reach spreading consisency.