Tag: Czech

I’d Love to Have a Minute to Be Myself, Please…

… so I can finish some of my stuff. Like, uhm, the crocheted blanket I wanted to have finished by December. I am about 90% away from fulfilling that particular goal. Maybe a tad more. Note, that the blanket is supposed to cover a king sized bed.


Abbas, however, disapproves of my idea of spending free time and still – yes, still, darned Velcro baby – hangs on me with all twenty fingers. No space to breathe, that’s how I feel time to time (which forces me to tears and than being upset about how silly I am).
On the other hand, I do enjoy the little hugs he gives me on occasion when he’s particularly happy to see me; usually due to me carrying a bottle of milk; and I do enjoy the cuddle as I know very well this won’t last. Soon in the stores – The Baby Who’s Ashamed of his Mother. But for now, now I am that Milk Goddess to him. And I will remain one for at least six more months.
I still would like to finish my blanket, though.
I mean, is it really that hard and psyché damaging to lay right next to me while I crochet a bit? Well, tell me, is it? I sing to him, talk to him, pass him toys, while trying not to entangle my index fingers in a ball of yarn. (Did I ever mention, how gorgeous the Fishermen’s Wool is? I’d just buy a whole room of them and sleep on them. Just like that. No need to crochet it. One day, when I am rich…)
Sometimes I would just needlessly rage on them kids, and than realize how stupid that is; sleep frustration and feeling pregnant even though I gave birth (now stop that thought, not weight wise, all right?!), like we never parted with Abbas, makes my nerves… melt away. Mostly, I can stop myself from being upright abusive (in a sense of being much harsher in requirements for a “clean” room, “well done” homework, or a “good enough” nap). On occasion, I do explode and insist on goals being met and after that getting frustrated when they aren’t – getting myself in a pretty loop, I can see here from perspective of a well-slept person now (very first night since birth my sticky baby slept from 9pm to 5*30am in his own bed, oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!). But. That is really not a standard here. Mostly (they come at night, mostly) I am fine. Ask my daughter. Really.
My husband promised me to take me away for a day, after Abbas turns year and a half. I don’t think I will live up to that day in pure sanity, but OK. Effort is what counts.

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So, Who’s Gonna Move with Me to Europe?

The end of summer is near, well, at least in Czech and such, not here – here we will enjoy insanely sunny weather for few more months. Even than, it will be sunny. Just not so baking-biscuits-on-a-car hot.
Abbas grew up in strength and voice, that’s for sure (alhamdulilah), went through two rounds of vaccinations already, I went through one attempt to make my husband aware of the risks of that, especially the recent link of MMR vaccine to autism; needless to say unsuccessfully.

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The Case of Potatoes

For the past several weeks of my 2in1 period of life with nr.2 addition to the family I seem to be rather craving one basic (Czech) nutritive – potatoes. Usually boiled, but in any case, I need them. I like rice, don’t get me wrong, but seriously, the amount of rice consumed in Kuwait is just way too much! I was born and raised in a potato country and as such I believe irreversibly in the power of a raw potato (good for your bones, my grandma used to say. True, she used to say fresh yeast is good for skin too – which probably is considering the heaps of vit. B contained in it – but my joy of eating that was much, much less visible.), and I believe that potatoes contain a lot of vitamins and minerals and generally stuff your average mid-European body needs for it’s survival and hence my insane craving for them in the third trimester is actually easily explainable – back to the roots, back to the healthy body with true balanced diet!
Well, whatever it is forcing me to eat ‘tatoes; Abbas maybe, considering how skillfully he made me eat a bunch of steaks – and still want them – although I am normally red-meat non-eater; today’s lunch for me is decided.
Škubánky!
[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][pr.:shkoobahnkee] (Or you prefer to call it kucmouch? [pr.:cootsmokh])


It’s a sort of potato boiled balls with flour mashed together and that ripped apart with a spoon dipped in butter (or lard), served with whatever you prefer – sweet with powder sugar and ground poppy seeds and a spoon of butter over it, or a certain kind of hard quark (curd) which I reckon I can’t really describe unless you are raised in Czech, or salty variant with salt and pickles, or bacon – in which case you can also dry/lard fry the potato mash.
It’s rather versatile and very cheap when it comes to materials needed for cooking – just butter, potatoes, flour, water and something to add as finishing as mentioned above, and it’s a traditional Czech meal, which I believe was also widely sported during both WWs in my country – or so said both of my grandmothers.
I believe my Kuwaiti (read: harees, yareesh, maraaq and machboos raised husband) will once again wonder what’s so wrong with his wife, that she cooks something which looks so stomach unfriendly and weird – but hey, not as if harees looks delicious on the first glance!

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… and 38

…which is, supposedly, the temperature in shade (in Celsius) we’ve reached today. Well yay (nay), it’s 8th of April, and I am not prepared to get barbecued yet!
Yesterday I’ve optimistically opened the nice, rounded window in my room to get some fresh air for the morning, and equally quickly I’ve shut it back, as instead of some, at least little bit, refreshing air, I’ve got a heat slap. Big time.


April is the month of storms in Kuwait which according to my husband means a weather change – or so to say a year time change, and I suppose we could call it a spring, the stormy thing, because it seems to happen when winter ends and summer starts. And we’ve got not real spring here, so let’s call it spring; shall we?
Cats are shading hair as crazy and I don’t blame them, I feel like shading my pants and shirts off me too. I am just so not build for heat.


Often it’s somewhat between dusty and rainy, which creates a rather interesting muddy-in-the-air (picture of my window after one of these inserted above).
Nevertheless, summer is here, inevitably and irreversibly and I can stand on my head and it won’t change a thing about it.


We’ve finished shopping for the nursery, inshallah, and now I am just waiting for a call from Kaifan station to pick up my packages coming from UK, Turkey and Czech, containing just a little bit more for the baby, clothes and diapers mainly. Aaaand yes. I actually do blog about diapers. And I fear it’s going to get worse.
When we arrived from the second wave of baby shopping my husband looked like a true Kuwaiti man, with a balcony puckering his lips, desperate face, empty wallet, dozens of bags hanging in his hands, and with a smiling, content wife nearly jumping a step behind him. (Photo of how relaxed can a man be after one big shopping is below).


Aaaand yes – I am ruining my husband’s bank account. No better reason than preparing for the bundle of joy, right? (I have this feeling that this is just a sarcasm used by childless people, really.)

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The Hell of a Choice

Yes!
I got major baby brains. Be it due to the due date approaching, very slowly, but surely; be to due to the fact I chose to go the alternative way once again and than found out it is far more complicated than just slapping a Pampers on the bum, I don’t know; or maybe just to keep myself somehow busy, I dug into the deep waters of cloth diapering, feeling a little odd watching a whole channel dedicated to that on Youtube, and feeling a little bit odder browsing all these forums and articles recommending here and there, this and that.
Needless to say, I’m still aimlessly swimming, though with a little bit better idea as of which way should I direct my tries.
Nevertheless, and no matter on which crazy diaper island I will end up, it will be a damn pocket slap.
Buying a whole new cloth kit to start with – especially if you don’t really know what is the best for you, can be pretty expensive and freaky. I’m counting with a great hole in my pocket money as well as my husbands money, but what wouldn’t we do for the little ones, right..?
I’ve been on three months long blogging break, for some reasons, mainly the fact there’s really nothing much to blog about. Weather is still the same (nearly cold for Kuwait standards), however we’re already third day switching on the AC, which is a big bummer, for me at least; life is still flowing slowly, and nothing much changes around, really. Boring, but settled. Now with AC.


I’m obviously eating healthy. Bananas are healthy, right?


Roger grew up a bit…


While the tomcats didn’t as much…

Being pregnant during summer in Czech sucks; and I can’t really imagine how it will feel in 40+ degrees in shade over here. I’ll probably hang myself very close to the AC outlet. In bikinis. Some really spore ones.
I’m 30 weeks as for today and slowly starting to have nesting reflex. Which is a bit awkward with a housekeeper in. So I at least take care of the growing (and increasingly rude) rabbit, and dig through internet for info I don’t really need and most likely won’t ever use. But it doesn’t matter, because I need to keep myself somehow busy.
My weight gain is scary and even the doc said I should take the doughnuts easy, which I forcefully and under the eagle eye supervision of my husband did (while I started to actually bake cakes, so perfectly negating any no-doughnuts-at-home policies with even sweeter sugar bombs). Recently, I was forced to give up on Coke as well, and most fizzies. Shame. I am however still a major red-eat-consumer, as opposed to the time in before pregnancy when I rarely actually even came across meat, or even thought about it. The baby makes me. How else. (Same applies for doughnuts!)
We’ve visited Dar Al-Shifa hopital, where I am supposed to give birth, and caused a bit (a lot) of hassle about my weird and underground techniques and wishes, such as daringly having the baby with me on room 24/7 except doc check ups, vaccination and circumcision; or even weirder “I want to breastfeed fully,” and the fact I really don’t like the idea of testing the proper latching and sucking reflex on a bottle ( O_o ). Good they’ve got no idea about my cloth affinity, than. Or that I intend to carry my child in a baby scarf. Phew!
Sometimes I assume the atmosphere will be better here (compared to over-medicalized and over-technicized West) due to the society and emphasizing the family and life within, and get rather surprised how far I’ve overshot with such a thought.

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