host family updates

It’s been a while since I’ve talked about my host family here. Now that I’ve had over two months with them, let me offer you some insight on What It’s Like To Live With A Russian Family.

First, the members of the family:

Natasha. She is the matriarch of the family, and the one who is officially listed as my “host.” She is the one who is technically obligated to feed me, talk to me, etc. Feed me she does, often enough. Talk to me she does, not frequently but also enough. Our conversations seem to be the same every time, and always very benign. But that’s okay. I’m learning about the 8 different kinds of kasha, and the names for all of the ridiculous parts of a Russian bedding set.

Andrei. He is, unexpectedly, the one I have the most and most interesting conversations with. At first, it seemed like all he wanted to talk about was sports, and if you know me at all you’re probably laughing out loud at the idea of me having a conversation about sports. But we found common ground in our enjoyment of jazz, of all things, and since then finding topics of conversation has been easier. Sometimes talking to him is frustrating, though, because I will be saying something that is actually correct, but he will not agree with the substance of what I’m communicating, and so assume that I just don’t know how to form the sentence. So he’ll correct me, but the correction is more content-based than grammar-based.

Lina. She and I don’t really talk. She’s very private. 80% of our communication is her telling me to put a hat on, because it’s cold outside, and me explaining that I will wear a hood just like last time, and me trying to avoid admitting that I don’t actually own the sort of hat she wants me to wear.

Nastya. We have lots of mutual respect. I think she’s one of the most enjoyable 11-year-olds I’ve ever met (mostly because she’s not trying to act 13), and she thinks I’m a genius (mostly because I can multiply double-digit numbers in my head). Natasha and Lina seem to live in perpetual fear that she is bothering me, despite my protests that no, it’s really fine, so we don’t get to hang out too often. But she’s fun.

It’s interesting—living with a family-family (as opposed to a babushka and her cat) looks very different than I thought. I have to work much harder to get significant interaction time, because they are busy with family responsibilities, Nastya’s French homework, Andrei’s old-and-ailing mother across town, ironing… lots of things that would not be eating on the time of a retired 80-year-old woman. While this was very hard at the beginning, and I was jealous of my friends with their guaranteed conversation partners and neverending rotation of gourmet Russian dishes, I’ve acclimated. It’s actually very nice as far as my independence goes.

Also, I’ve gotten to observe a bit of how they interact with each other. They often use a tone of voice that, in my house, would mean that somebody was in trouble (or at least very, very displeased). But here it’s just normal interaction. Despite the complete benignity of my interactions with the family, it seems that, on the whole, emotions are higher than I’m used to.

…But this also means that they are rather affectionate with each other. Russian lends itself very well to cutesy nicknames, and they certainly make use of them. I can barely imagine maintaining happy relationships with my grandparents and mother if we all essentially lived in two rooms together… and I had to share a bed with my mom. Somehow, for them, it works out.