At the споривная

Mose and I went to the park today with a two-year-old who only speaks Russian.

At one point, she pissed on the slide, a little puddle at the top, which I threw sand on, the way I'd seen old stable managers do. I thought that was pretty clever until, later, I had to come back and sweep it off the backside of her fleece pants after she'd sat in it.

At another point, a woman arrived with her two-year-old son. She asked me how old my daughter was, and I said, "Two," since that's all I knew how to say in Russian. Only later did it occur to me that this was probably the first time in my life that I'd ever lied and said I had a child.

"Do you think there'll ever be a time when I lie about having a child and it matters?" I said to Mose.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe."

"Do you think I'll lie about having a child and not have one, or do you think I'll lie about not having a child and have one?"

Mose didn't answer right away. Then he said, "I really don't know what you're talking about."

Nonplussed

For the last two days, I've tried in vain to make conversation with the Russian girl that lives next door.

She's three years old.

"Do I need a partner?"

I enrolled in Salsa classes, and so am part of the burgeoning Latin dance movement in central Russia. Now, I'm getting e-mails that include lines like this one:

В городах всего мира обычные люди сталкиваются с тайной, со сладкой меланхолией, с чувственным удовольствием и удовлетворением от общения через танго.

Roughly translated:

"In cities around the world normal people collide in the mystery, the sweet melancholy, the sensuous pleasure, and the satisfactory contact/intercourse of the tango."

I asked Mose if he wanted to come with me. He wouldn't look at me.