This is not ideal, I know...*

*For those of you who have read my dear friend Amanda's post, you'll find this one very familiar. It's not my intent to copy her idea (and I could never come close to the amazing writer she is), but many scenes in her life mirror my own since our husbands work in the same industry, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to get out the frustration I feel sometimes when we have to face days like this.

This is not ideal, I know.

And as he said it while standing in the kitchen that morning, he looked pretty defeated. And it probably didn't help things that I was pretty angry and frustrated. So we stood there, trying to smile and avoid the inevitable goodbye kiss that precedes a 9 hour day at work while I was at home trying to enjoy what was left of our holiday.

The mister and I promised each other that we would have a nice, relaxing holiday from Dec. 22nd until Jan 2nd. No work, no phones, just planning for family to arrive and organising our Christmas and spending some much needed time in each other's pockets. Hmm.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

What actually happened is that I ran around like crazy preparing the food for the 2-day feast that lay ahead of us, and the mister stayed until the wee hours at work every day until the 24th, working on a new business pitch. We then had 5 frenzied days with family visiting, and then on the 29th (yesterday), he got up at 7:30am to go into work again, and stayed until the evening. We were planning on potentially taking a few days out of the country to spend some time together, but he had to go into work again today. So New Years Eve will have to be planned at the last minute.

This year he's worked so hard and has missed birthdays, trips, etc. And to be fair, I can't be angry. Because this is what his job is, and he's good at it. And perversely, the powers that be reward him for sacrificing his entire life to prove his commitment to the agency. And as much as it aches that he can't spend time just relaxing with me in bed and is shut into a white cube during the brisk sunny days of winter here, I'm fiercely proud of him for keeping it together and just trying to do his best and ride out this recession for the both of us. In an attempt to hold together what's left of our frayed sanity, we have to remind ourselves that every day is always a new adventure and a new challenge for us. So, really, the only thing we can do to survive this hurricane of chaos is just to smile and think of the future that lies waiting for us on the other side of tomorrow.

This morning as I lay in bed and smell the cologne that lingers on my t-shirt after he kissed me, I promised myself that I would just enjoy today and take in as much sunshine as possible. I slowly shuffled into the kitchen and noticed a piece of paper lying next to his now cold half-drunk cup of coffee. The piece of paper had a little smiley-faced self-portrait of him on it, and in his impeccably neat handwriting, the note:

I'm sorry I had to work today, but I hope you have a peaceful day my angel. I'll see you later. I love you. xxx

It's days like today that make me remind myself of how lucky I am that my best friend remembers to make me smile. Even through the rough stuff.

Are women that complicated to shop for?

Okay, you'll have to give me ideas about what you want, I'm going shopping on the 23rd.

Well... umm.. I don't really need anything.

I have some ideas, but do you want anything specific? Something other than your annual request for sparkly jewellery?

Well, I want something that I can keep. Something that will give me memories. Not an experience like bungee jumping. Something that maybe you've made, or something that I can keep with me.

Uh.. yeah..hmmm. Okay.

The answer to the title question from the man's point of view? A resounding YES.

I've already gotten about 5 little gifts for the mister, and am in the process of making a card for him (I do that every year, it's my little craft project ritual). While doing that, I've managed to start making food for the 2 Christmas dinners we're going to cook, I've sent out all 40 of our Christmas cards this year, I've wrapped all of our Christmas presents, balanced our UK and US accounts, and I've battled a horrendous bout of sickness. And yes, I work every day until 6pm, and no, I do not rely on pharmaceuticals for help.

No, I'm not nearly as gifted as you out there that have a few children under your feet. But I'm just sayin'.

Yes, to be fair, the mister has had a horrible amount of work to do that keeps him in the office until about 1am every night, and on top of that because he's faced with the prospect of working over Christmas, he's been out with colleagues until early in the morning very often getting drunk (I love the mister very much, but this British version of therapy gets on my nerves a bit).

So, has he had time to even consider that Christmas is on the doorstep? Not really.

I realise that Christmas isn't a time for presents, it's a time for reflection on family, friends, and excitement for the New Year. It's a time of togetherness. To be honest, my Christmas list doesn't consist of things, really. Maybe the odd book.. but what I really want is time. Time with my handsome man.

Life goes by in such a blink and what I'm enjoying most right now is trying to grab the moments in between. The stolen kisses under the covers before our respective work days start. The quick "goodnight"s before I drift off to sleep in the nook of his shoulder while he reads a book. The affectionate pat on the bum when he passes me in the hallway. The exhausted hugs after 2 days of being tense and angry. The hand that reaches over to mine in the car.

Those are my Christmas presents. Those are the gifts I remember to cherish.

That, and maybe a pair of diamond earrings or a Leica camera?

I'm just sayin'.

Not giving our bodies enough credit.

The past two weeks, I've had what could only be described as a dry, tickly, highly annoying cough. The one where you hear it too often on the bus and you end up giving someone the fish-eye. And I'm not even a smoker anymore, so who the hell knows where I got it from.

And then last Friday, it abruptly morphed into something that made me thisclose to calling a local priest and having him shout at me "the power of Christ compels you!"

I was sneezing, chilly, hot, sweaty, coughing up gross things, losing my voice, you name it. It wasn't the flu, though, I know myself pretty well. So I shuffled off to the doctor on Monday morning and had him check me out, silently praying to God that he would reach for loads of antibiotics so that I could remain in a stupor drooling in front of my Lara Croft playstation game for 3 days. Not so.

You see, doctors here are much different. In the US, you grow up with knowledge that if you're sick, you see a doctor for drugs. There are many different variations on this theme, but in general, this is what it boils down to. Doctors are always likely to throw some pretty, flourescent-coloured drugs at you and even give you free samples of stuff you don't need, just in case. This is probably because doctors are incentivized by pharmaceutical companies to do so. More drugs = more money= everyone in the medical profession is happy, and can buy themselves another limited edition Ferrari.

Luckily, I was brought up to not always believe doctors 100%, and to always know my body, how it works, to read about medicines and their effects, and to always question things (Mamo was a supervisor at Sloan-Kettering in New York, and she witnessed some horror stories). Now, I'm not a total granola-chick, but I do think that there are some things that we can do ourselves, rather than rely on a quick fix, because once you do that, after a while, the body just uses it as a crutch and becomes immune to the effects, and you'll need stronger doses of whatever you were taking originally. The mister is now used to me saying "listen to your body. if you're tired, don't use a sleeping pill, take a calcium/vitamin D and magnesium with some warm milk. The tryptophan in the milk will calm you down and the magnesium and calcium will help the restlessness in your legs...if you're tired and need a pick me up, eat something with Vitamin B in it.." Yes, for us, these things work like magic, it's amazing.

Anyway, I'm pretty good at using natural remedies for things, but this beast sitting in my head and chest would not go away, so I decided to look for the white coats. Plus, I was concerned because I had serious pneumonia twice in my life and I really didn't want to go through that again.

The NHS here is pretty great- very organised, very honest, and free. Some of the state tax that we pay here goes into making sure that you're taken care of. You have the option of paying for "private" medical care (which is the equivalent of you taking $600/month out of your salary in the US to pay for general health care), but if you don't, you're still fine. It's a good feeling.

I went into my doctor's office and in between fits of coughing, I explained to him what I had. He listened to my lungs, felt my glands, looked at my throat, took my temperature, etc. And he said, work for word:

There's nothing wrong with you other than the fact you have a bad cold and a bit of sinus congestion. Plus, you're tired. You just need to rest, steam your face over a pot of boiling water with some eucalyptus, and have some chicken soup.

Umm...if this were in the US, I wouldn't have been in the office for more than 10 minutes before my doctor would've prescribed me an antibiotic, given me some cough suppressant, given me a cough expectorant*, and handed me a handful of samples for a revolutionary antidepressant that just came on the market, for good measure.
*I'm not kidding, this actually happened to the mister- my doctor that I used to have (an NYU physician with a great record) gave my mister once for his cough- both a cough suppressant, AND an expectorant (one to stop the cough, one to remove the phlegm) to take at the same time. When I saw what he gave him, I immediately threw them both in the trash and helped him get better MY way. Ridiculous.

Well, after I asked this doctor if he's sure, he said just ride it out. Let your body build up its defenses against stuff like this. You don't need a flu shot, no one does. But everyone is so scared to get sick, they don't let their bodies build themselves up on their own.

I left there feeling a tiny bit skeptical, but really energised. And I came home and made chicken soup from scratch, and huddled under a blanket watching movies like Atonement, surrounded by snotty tissues. Two days of that, and I'm sat here almost back to normal, with colour back in my cheeks.

I keep forgetting the lesson that my body tries to teach me sometimes: it's okay to take a break. It's okay to rest. Your job isn't going to fall apart just because you took two days to heal. And when I do let it repair itself, it does. Our bodies are amazing machines that I think a lot of us take for granted. We're made from pretty solid stuff, and I'm happy that I was reminded of that the other day.

Now, my question is... what are the healing properties of chocolate and Gin & Tonics, pray tell...

Countdown has begun

Oh, Christmas. What a great time of year. During the weeks leading up to it, I always feel like things get a little more special. A little more magical. A little more serene and forgiving. Even in the most crowded of department stores, I actually don't feel like murdering the girl who dug her stiletto into my foot.

This is my second Christmas here in London, and it feels amazing. My first Christmas was also fantastic, but it still felt a bit new and unsettled. This time it feels like home.

My parents are coming up for the holidays, so it'll be their first Christmas over here in the UK. I haven't seen them since April of this year, and the reunion will be so precious. Plus, we've decided to pull out all the stops and cook a traditional Ukrainian feast on the 24th, and then a traditional British lunch on the 25th. Two days of cooking where one day happens to be all these complicated Ukrainian dishes from scratch? Yeah, I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

Just a little information to help you: Christmas lunch in the UK is sort of like America's Thanksgiving- a big bird, lots of veg, loads of wine, wrapped presents called "crackers" that you pull apart and reveal surprises, and then lots of amazing cheeses, biscuits, coffee, etc. It takes a bit of time to prepare, but it's not too bad. And the mister is an amazing cook, so he and I get things sorted quite well.

Now, for the Ukrainians, Christmas (which is actually on the 7th of January, traditionally) is a much more protracted (and meatless) affair. Why meatless? Because traditionally, Ukrainians were said to believe that the farm animals needed one day off a year, so it was therefore frowned upon to eat meat or eggs.

The dinner consists of a total of 12 courses, one for each of Jesus' disciples. No, I will not be attempting to cook all of them.

When Babchya was growing up, she told me that the evening started off with caroling, in about 2 feet of snow. Then, she and her 5 siblings would go back home and wait for the village priest to come by and make a blessing. He would take hay that has been formed into the shape of a man (called a Diduxh- pronounced deeDOOXKH) and bring it three times into the house to bless the house. Then he would place it in the corner of the house by the religious icons. After that blessing, the dinner can begin.

The dinner starts with a prayer, and then while everyone is standing, dry cubes of bread soaked in honey are passed around- from oldest family member to youngest. The bread represents a version of communion. Then, everyone sits down and the first dish that is eaten is called Kutya (it represents the sweetness and richness of Ukraine's land). Kutya is a wheat berry dish with poppy seeds, walnut pieces, dates and honey. The head of the household also takes a spoonful of this and throws it onto the ceiling of the house and if the kutya sticks, then it means that the harvest will be good that year. I can't imagine what 5 years' worth of kutya buildup does to your walls..

After that, comes Borscht (beet soup). This soup is SO delicious, and it usually accompanied with a dollop of sour cream in the middle and a nice crusty piece of bread.

Next we have 2 types of fish dishes (and if you ever forget which goes first, the soup or the fish, we remind ourselves by saying that the soup goes first, so that the fish have something to swim in...): fish in aspic, and white fish in a vegetable/tomato sauce.

After that, come the Pyrohy (Pierogies, as some people pronounce it). It's pretty common to see them around now, but for those of you who don't know, Pyrohy are like Eastern European dumplings. They're shaped in a crescent moon shape, and are filled with either mashed potato and onion, or sauteed sauerkraut and onion, or mushroom and onion. You boil them and serve them with some sour cream (yes, Ukrainians have a habit of drowning things in sour cream). What's really great about these things is that when you have leftovers, the next day you get to fry them up in some butter for breakfast- they're even better on the second day. Yum.

After that, you'll have to unbutton your jeans- because there's more.

Now we have Holubtsi. Holubtsi are boiled cabbage leaves that are stuffed with a rice/mushroom/onion mixture, and covered with a delicious mushroom gravy.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur, because growing up, I remember waiting impatiently for dessert (poppy seed bread, sugared walnut butter cookies, honey walnut bread...mmmm) and then waiting even more impatiently for the adults at the table to finish their drinks and their coffees already so I could launch myself at the presents.

So, how will I attempt all of this? Well, I'll attempt to pre-make certain things the night before, and then when my parents arrive, the mister will take Tato to the pub and get him out of the house and Mamo will help me prepare dinner, so I won't be doing this all by myself. I am amazed that when Babchya had her own family and friends would arrive, she would end up cooking this kind of dinner for 20 people!! All from scratch! I can barely make it through cooking for just the mister and I, so I'm sincerely hoping it'll turn out okay.

But hey, it's the magic of Christmas- even a burnt meal would be special (yes, I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst).

Anyway, here's to Christmas. Lots of food and wine and hugs and togetherness.

Maudlin. Thanks, my dear friend.

The mister and I went to a dinner last night and saw two of our closest friends on the planet. We ate, drank lots of wine, and talked about our lives, our futures, our dreams. For one of these men, life has opened a new chapter, as his wife has just had a baby, and celebrations were in order. For the other of these men (who actually was the person that first brought the mister into my life), life seems to be becoming more adventurous and more amazingly exciting. Both of these men we love dearly, and couldn't imagine life without them.

At some point in the evening, there was a comment made about my blog. It was described as being "maudlin". And the mister, without skipping a beat, nodded his head and said "yep. a little bit glass half empty."

And for once, I actually stopped to have a think about how I write. I love to write, and I've gotten loads of lovely feedback from people who have always loved my writing and continue to follow my stories (thank you so much). But to have people echo the same feeling every now and again made me self-indulgently introspective today.

I used to be offended when people would say to me "Oh, your face always looks a bit melancholy. It's in your eyes- they have this unknown sadness to them" or "Are you okay? You seem pissed off or a bit sad". I used to battle against this perception and try to explain to people that no, I'm NOT sad, I just happen to have that kind of face. No, I DON'T see the world as glass half-empty, I would rather just see it as a glass of something yummy. No, just because I am NOT smiling doesn't mean that I'm dwelling on something.

I stopped knee-jerk defending myself a long time ago, and last night, my gut reaction to the comment that I seem a bit "maudlin" surprised me. Because I felt for once like I didn't get defensive, and that I could actually articulate how I feel about that perception.

Being Ukrainian, I sometimes feel like I was born with this very very latent, very subtle melancholy hidden in the depths of my DNA. It's not unhappiness, it's not sadness, it's not discontent or depression. It's a very beautiful melancholy. It's as if my life were scored in the key of D Minor. And the things I love, the things I react to, are a bit related to that. I love Gorecki's music. I am obsessed by the contradictions of dark and light in the music of Sigur Ros (this song was my wedding processional and still makes me cry). I adore Shakespearean dramas about love and loss. I love the contradiction I feel when I sing a happy aria, but that the subject matter makes me burst into tears. I love the poem "Because I could not stop for Death". One of my favourite lullabies that Mamo used to sing to me is all in a minor key (it's a love story about a King, Queen and Prince. They get eaten by a cat, dog, and mouse, but it turns out in the end that the people were all made of cookie dough and sugar, so it was okay because they were treats for the animals). Yep, don't adjust your glasses: it's a lullabye about death that is actually sweet and comforting.

Our wedding was in this black church in the middle of a lava field in Iceland, and it was something out of Wuthering Heights. The sky was partly pale blue, partly dove grey, and really blustery. And when the doors opened and I walked towards the church as the processional music swelled, my dress was dramatically blown to the side and looked like a grey, green and black cloud. It. Was. Perfect. And yes, on the happiest day of my life, there was that bit of romantic melancholy- and flatteringly, people said it made an indelible impression.

Have you ever heard the Carol of the Bells? Yes, that's Ukrainian. And it's a very beautiful song about a bird that flies around telling everyone through her song about how joyous the holiday season is (it wasn't translated correctly for the English version). And you know what? A lot of that is in a minor key.

What I'm saying is, I am definitely not a morbid person, and I never have been. I'm happier than I ever have been in my life, and I am blessed with so much. But there is a luxurious and delicious quality about melancholy. It's like this romantic, poetic blanket that I like wrapping myself up in sometimes, and relishing what that moment brings. It actually enhances the creative part of my brain, and I end up writing, painting and dreaming. Happiness and contentment is a blessing, but there is also a hidden magic in exploring the other side.

I like the fact that I am as completely comfortable talking about death and tragedy as I am about love stories and happy endings. I get curious about things that society says we "shouldn't" know about. Some people find it uncomfortable to talk about those things because they're somehow afraid it will make them sad or frightened. For myself, I've never felt that. I've always been curious about the world and have questioned everything. I like how it feels. If I've ever sounded negative or low in my blog, it's only because I think it's healthy to explore those feelings to get them out of your system. I recognise them and then I move on.

I'm not saying that all Ukrainians or Eastern Europeans are like this, but a lot of us are. It's in our blood. And I feel so lucky that I get to be a part of that. It feels like a sparkling little secret that I will always carry with me, and hope to someday pass on to our children.

So, if you think I sound a bit melancholy, or you think there is something behind my eyes that you can't place your finger on, thank you for recognising that. That's just one of the many pages of the Book of Myshka.

And as far as glass being half empty, well, it just means that I'm pacing my drinking, and savouring every single drop of what I've been given.

Is it just me, or has the world changed a lot (or am I just getting older)?

This may sound like me standing on my soap-box and delivering a judgement, but it's not. I promise, it's just an observation.

The other day, the mister sent me a link to look at Sweemo (Sweet Moments). Apparently, this site lets you bid on having a "second life" and pay for an experience like swimming with the sharks, or going backstage at a gig, etc. It has a lot of info on the site and is very confusing, and you don't even know the people and the companies you're bidding on. Huh?

You know, maybe this is just lately, but I feel like people drown themselves in the virtual seas of Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Sweemo, Second Life... the list goes on and on. I understand that some of these social tools are good to keep in touch with family and friends, but some people seem to live their entire life online. Not with real people, real family, real friends, or just real experiences. They just lose themselves in the blue glow of their computer.

So, my question is this: Have people completely lost the urge to just go out and explore this world? What happened to all of the adventurers out there?

Yes, there are responsibilities of jobs and families, but if you're spending 8 hours on the Internet looking at experiencing a second life, shouldn't you use that time to plan an adventure of your own? Or if you have a partner, plan something amazing with them? Or your family?

I remember what life was like before the Internet. I was blessed to have a great childhood, as did my friends. I played kickball in the street in the summer, and I didn't know what a cell phone was. We didn't have You Tube, so we were blissfully spared videos of 16 year old girls beating the shit out of each other, or videos of people committing suicide. I had books that I read until they fell apart, not books online that kids can access now. I liked going to the library and being surrounded by that musty old-paper smell. I did have a computer- it was a Tandy 2000TX, and the printer printed out grey text off the screen that nowadays would look like aliens had transmitted it. And I actually spoke to people on the rotary-dial phone, rather than sending texts to my friends like "C U L8R, LOL".

Nowadays, I see kids as young as 8 carrying cell phones so that when they "go out" with their friends, they can call their parents. I'm torn as to whether that's good or bad. And really, whether 8 year olds should be hanging out with their friends without adult supervision. I see girls that are 7 years old that complain about the calories in a cupcake, and I hear 12 year olds talk about oral sex.

All of you out there that are parents must be torn, and you deserve a medal, each and every one of you, for being brave enough to tackle this world with your little one in it. I am truly astounded. Some day the mister and I will decide that we'll join your club and probably end up worrying about the exact same things, but in the meantime, I'll sit back in my quiet corner and make my silly observations.

Let's keep making our own adventures. And here's hoping that this fast-paced modern world won't result in our children's children talking about oral sex when they're 5.

I'm going to rant a bit. Because I'm worth it. Sort of like L'Oreal.

I'm feeling quite low and negative at the moment. Well, actually, just today really. I've been fighting a cold for a couple weeks, fighting the urge to smoke (yes, stress makes me crave it), fighting the stress that comes along with dealing with the current economic climate, fighting the urge to spend money on fabulous things (I've been a non-shopper going on 4 months now!), fighting the urge to worry if our jobs are safe.

While I've been fighting all this and keeping positive, I have been the housewife, the banker, the cook, the cleaner, the grocery shopper and the all-around Wonder Woman. And yes, I'm thinking what you're thinking:

She'd look really hot in that satin outfit with those gold bracelets.

The mister has been busy with his work battles and parties, so I've been picking up the pieces around us and getting us organised for Christmas.

And my body has thanked me in the only way it knows how: by shutting down my immune system and making me sick and weepy and feeling sorry for myself.

As I'm writing this, I feel like there are white blood cells scattered on a battlefield gasping for air while the little germ beasties are standing over them with sword held high, victorious. You see, the last time I got sick was.. hang on.. I think it was a year ago, so I'm not used to feeling like this. Plus, I hate that I cannot snap my fingers and fix it immediately, so I end up pushing myself even harder, and wonder of wonders, making myself even worse.

But anyway, I'm sick. And tired. And fed up with being negative. And fed up with being stressed. And it all came crashing down on me today.

And to top that off, Christmas party season in the UK is a nightmare, because I end up worried if the mister will be ok with so many late nights/early mornings of letting his hair down.. It's not a pretty sight (I know, because I've been there myself a bit).

So today, for once in a very long time, I feel like my spirit is a bit broken and needs MacGuyver-like mending.

I need hugs. I need kisses. I need someone to stroke my head and tell me that all of this will pass soon and normality will set in. I need someone to take care of me and not expect me to be fierce and fabulous and fun every day all day.

Even Wonder Woman's bracelets get dented from all those bullets hitting them, you know?