Our children are growing up with their own unique version of the American immigrant story. They were born here, but their parents were not, and their grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins all still live in Bulgaria. Bulgaria is a country they have never visited, even though Sava understands the language perfectly and speaks it almost fluently. They've met all four of their grandparents, always one at a time, except for a brief couple of days last year when my parents overlapped as my mom was ending a "shift" and my dad starting another one. Sava has flown on an airplane only once, to Montana, but he has been to the airport many more times, greeting and sending off grandmothers and grandfathers. Since Raya was born, we've had only one month of being on our own. The rest of the time someone has been here to help us, and by now Sava assumes that this is how life will always be: we'll always have someone with us so that, as he put it the other day when I asked him whether he was tired of having grandparents here and wanted us to be just us four for a while, "that way there's one more adult in the house to play with me when you and tati are busy with Raya." I explained to him that it will not always take two people to feed Raya--one to hold the spoon and the other to sing songs, bring toys, distract her in every way imaginable--and that at some point we likely will be on our own. I don't think that he liked the idea a whole lot.
So, this week we made two trips to the airport, sending off Rado's mom first and then greeting mine. Sava loves riding the movable walkway, and we always do a mandatory loop on the airtram.
*****
We spent much of the rest of the week on our own, filling the days with games--
--and parks and friends--
--more friends--
--lots of friends--
--all of whom we love so dearly--
*****
These two are really starting to develop a relationship, which consists mainly in Sava trying to be nice to Raya--coming over to her, and reaching out to hug or kiss her, and Raya rejecting him ever so indiscreetly, by shouting or grunting, "Ne!" (No). He is a sweet soul, and she is bossy pants. He likes to stay out of the limelight, and she is a drama queen. He has trouble asserting himself, and she is a control freak. The only book I've read about siblings cautions parents against pigeonholing kids into stereotypes and categories, which means that I committed a cardinal sin by writing the last three sentences.
We try not to verbalize any of our observations in front of the kids, but it is hard not to acknowledge that they appear to have very different personalities. It is going to be interesting watching them develop (or not) a sibling bond.
No comments:
Post a Comment