zoinks!

I picked Marta up from preschool today and one boy came up to us and said, "Hello."

"Hi," I said. "What's your name?"

"Oliver." Oliver didn't know much more English than that, but he told me in Estonian that he used to live in the United States.

"Do you remember which state?"

"One of the northern ones."

"Maine? Vermont? Michigan?"

"Um, Washington."

"Washington State?"

"Uh huh."

The teacher said his parents were studying there when he was born.

On the way back, Marta asks me from the sled (because she goes to school on a sled and comes home on a sled):

"Issi?"

"What?"

"You know those people in Scooby-Doo, like Fred and Daphne?"

"Yeah."

"What state are they from?"

"Oh God, I don't know," I said. "California, I think." Then I start thinking about California. "Do you miss America sometimes Marta?"

Marta nods.

"Tell you what. One day, we can move back there."

"I want to move back to that place where we lived before."

"Danny's house?"

"That's the first place I remember. I don't remember the rooms, but I remember I had a flowery blanket."

"I bet if we go back there, you'd remember more."

I pull her for awhile in the dark.

"Issi?"

"What?"

"What are spooks?"

Spooks? I think. Marta must have learned that from Scooby-Doo.

"Spooks are ghosts, honey," I tell her.

"But what are ghosts?"

"Well," I sigh because I know there's no easy answer. "Some people believe that a person doesn't just have a body. It has a soul. When you die, your soul leaves your body, so you can't move or talk or do anything."

Marta stares at me.

"Some people believe that when you die, the souls all go somewhere, like heaven or some place like that. But some souls don't want to go to heaven. They stay where they are and sometimes people see them. Those are ghosts."

Marta says nothing. I realize that even if I don't subscribe to one organized religion, I do believe in souls and ghosts.

"Hey, Issi, do you see that?" Marta motions through the park towards the road.

"What?"

"Those red lights."

I don't see anything. "Where?"

"Over there, look," she points again.

Now I see it. It's the lights from the radio tower of the Tartu laululava -- concert stage. They have outdoor concerts there all summer.

"I think that's the radio tower," I say.

"No, it's not," Marta says. "It's a castle!"

marta dreams

"I had a dream last night, Issi. I took my things off, i took everything off, and I don't mean just my clothes, but my skin, and just everything, I was just bones."

Marta has a keen interest in the human body. Our house already has several illustrated books for children about what goes on inside you. Marta likes to read these alone, or look through them with us before she goes to sleep. She might have some inclination for the medical field. She tells me she wants to "look under people's skin."

In January we took her to Bodies an exhibition of, well, bodies in Tallinn. She is not squeamish about any of this stuff. She finds it interesting.

5,6,7,9

This is Anna. She's two and a half years old and she wants candy. Her favorite place to go is the "ice cream store," also known as any supermarket or corner grocery that happens to sell ice cream.

When I take her out to the ice cream store though, I don't buy her ice cream, I buy her kohuke, chocolate covered curd, usually with some kind of fruit filling. She can't tell the difference and, besides, what kid needs to eat ice cream in the middle of winter in Estonia?

It's impossible to sate Anna's appetite for sweets though. An hour later and she's tugging on my pants asking for candy, in English. When Anna wants anything else, she usually speaks Estonian. But with me, concerning candy, she unequivocally displays her knowledge of daddy's language.

"Issi, I want candy," she'll say, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, ten candies!"

At this I correct her. "Don't you mean, seven, eight, nine, ten candies?"

"Yeah," Anna says, "nine, ten, eleven, thirteen candies."

Usually, if I have candy, I can only give her one or two. She's typically disappointed, having asked for 14 candies, but at least the little girl is counting in English.

the marta maria show

Marta is six years old. She is the oldest (by a few months) in her kindergarten and detests the mandatory nap time. She is eager to learn.

At the same time, every morning it's the same. By the time Marta is ready for kindergarten she's thrown a few fits and is more often than not crying over something. Not exactly mature behavior.

Because she's frustrated and not ready or even old enough for Estonian school (which begins when you are 7), we have decided to put her in eelkool (literally "preschool") two times a week. This is a place where kids learn in a classroom environment without the big pressures of real school. Today was her first day. I asked her how it went. She said they talked about the number 7 and sang some songs. That's all I could get out of her. The teacher seems nice. We'll see how it goes.

I still haven't figured out how to deal with Marta's, well, Martaness. Sometimes, I try it the calm Estonian father way: "Marta, please put your clothes on." If that doesn't work, I try Italian-American father way: "Put your damn clothes on now before I make you put them on!" This doesn't work either because Marta likes fighting. She'll only shout louder. It's a real dilemma. Usually, I just wind up putting them on myself. But that doesn't help Marta to grow up, now, does it? Hmm.