"Look, Mommy! I have a new pet. It's a grub. It's a beetle. Daddy said so. And when it comes out of the cocoon, I'm going to set it free. Then I'm going to find a caterpillar, and when it makes a cocoon, then I'll let it go. I'm the bug girl, because I collect every bug I find! The ones in a cocoon, anyway. Because that's like a surprise. When it comes out I find out what kind of bug it is!"

This stream of excited bug talk came from my almost six-year-old Mackie. She and her sister have, inexplicably, always loved bugs. Kalli used to say she was going to be a bug scientist until she decided instead to be "a singer, a writer, and a mother." She's fond of hearing the story of how, at five months old while living in Africa, she picked up a giant grasshopper and bit the head off before we could stop her. This is the same girl who later cried piteously over the broken wing of a moth.

Incidentally, their interest and compassion does not extend to flies. They take great pride and delight in their pest-smashing ability. Our family goes through what must be an unusual number of flyswatters every year. Granted, there are a lot of flies in Mongolia, and since we have a huge compost pile out by the garden and no screens on the windows, they come by this pasttime honestly. Still, they adore nearly all little creepy crawlies.

We've indulged this love of everything insect with countless bug books, insect printed flannel sheets, a bug catcher's kit, a butterfly net, a bug vacuum (to gently remove creatures from the house), and countless impromptu bug lessons out in the garden. But I have to say that I've never been a big bug lover myself. I catch itty bitty spiders and take them back outside where they belong, but roaches totally creep me out, and anything bigger than a baby's fingernail I won't touch.

The girls, on the other hand, ran around the yard all last summer catching grasshoppers for Hermione the Hedgehog and petting huge, hairy, Mongolian caterpillars that look like they belong in the zoo. Even though I'm secretly squeamish, I pretend to be brave in the interests of homeschooling and fostering a healthy connection with all God's creatures.

One of the benefits of living in the capital city of a developing country is that we have access to the opera and the ballet at very low prices. Whereas we might have to pay $50 per ticket and drive several hours to expose our children to such culture in the States, here in Mongolia we can make these fine art outings on a regular basis.

This month, the Buryat State Academic Opera and Ballet Theater, a Russian troupe made up of 186 dancers, singers, musicians and stage crew, are presenting several children's performances for about $6 per ticket. Yesterday I took our girls, ages nine and five, to see the ballet Buratino (Pinocchio). The dancing was top rate, the costumes and set beautiful, and the special effects (fog and glow in the dark costumes) especially entertaining for the kids.

Next week we plan to take a group of Girl Scouts (yes, we have a troop even here!) to see The Adventures of Dorothy in the Emerald City.

So now that I've wowed you with our cultural offerings here in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, let me add a little caveat. It's not all as glamorous as it sounds. In this country it is not rude to talk during performances. One does not wear furs and formal wear to performances. And, no, it is not looked down upon to bring children to the theater, even to evening events.

The first time I went to the ballet here, it was in 2000, and I brought my three-year-old to see a special children's showing of The Nutcracker. This is, I've since learned, an annual event for Mongolian children. That year, they were handing out goody bags to all the children at the start of the show, complete with "juice" boxes, candy bars, and potato chips.

Well, you can imagine what an entire theater of unruly, unparented children whooped up on junk food must be like. Indulge me, anyway, while I paint a picture for you. Throughout the show, there was loud talking, giggling, throwing of empty packages, and bouncing in chairs. I was, to say the least, appalled. The organizers did seem to learn their lesson, however, because in subsequent years the goody bags were handed out after the show.

On a more positive note, this (ahem) relaxed atmosphere makes for some really creative and fun ideas, too. Last year I took Kalli to see the opera Carmen. During intermission, in the lobby, there were several art projects going on. They had provided paper and crayons for audience members to draw their impressions, and best of all, an easel with a drawing on canvas of Carmen herself, several paintbrushes, and oil paints. Guests were invited to add to the painting as desired.

Tonight is a showing of Romeo & Juliet. Since we just read a children's version of the story and watched the movie, it will be the perfect conclusion to a rich homeschooling lesson!

This seems a strange place to start my blog, but it does illustrate how strange our life is here sometimes. I woke up the other morning to the sound of crows cawing, which is very unusual. I noticed it but didn't really wonder why until I went downstairs to make coffee and noticed out the kitchen window that about 10 huge, black crows were hopping around on the criss-crossed power lines at the end of our yard chattering at each other. I mused about it sleepily waiting for the coffee to brew, wondering why they were suddenly so territorial.

Then I saw it. The brown lifeless body of a cat - our cat! - hanging over the top of the pole, and those crows were arguing over who saw it first. There was no doubt in my mind that our beloved Stasey was dead the way her limp form draped there, and all I could think was that I must get her down somehow before her body was desecrated by the hungry birds...and God forbid our children should see her.

I assumed she'd been electrocuted. The night before we'd not been able to find her to put her in the basement before bed (she likes to wake us at four or five AM if we don't) so we guessed she was probably out for the night, enjoying the warm(er) spring weather to hunt mice. My heart was in my stomach when I went to tell the girls the Stasey had gone to a better place.

Of course they were devastated, and the sobbing and wailing began in earnest. Let me just say that we are cat people, and Stasey had been with us for six years, a sometimes feisty, fat, loving kitty - and we were really going to miss her. I should not have been so quick to deliver the bad news, because I then realized I would have to go deal with her body and leave the girls to console each other alone. I exacted a promise before I left that they would not leave the room.

I stepped outside into the cool morning air, and unrealistically hopeful, called up to the sky, "Stasey?" Maybe she would lift her head and we could rush her to the vet. But she didn't lift her head...she came running up to the front door! It wasn't Stasey up there! She was alive! Amazingly, another cat the exact color of our unique (we thought) tabby had gotten trapped right in front of our house. What's more, that cat was alive, too! At the sound of my voice, she awoke, struggled into a sitting position atop the pole and scolded the crows who dejectedly flew away.

The girls were overjoyed (and a little irritated that I would scare them so) and Stasey must have determined that staying out all night was definitely preferable to a night in the basement, especially with this kind of morning welcome. Happy again, I left the girls to annoy our cat with hugs and kisses while I went to deal with the stuck kitty. When I came back, Germy the large German Shepherd from next door had also noticed the kitty and was keeping a vigil at the foot of the pole growling. I guessed the he was the reason kitty fell asleep up there in the first place.

Now, let me explain that in Mongolia one does not call the fire department to fetch kitties down from trees or tall poles. 1) Mongolians do not like cats, and 2) even if they did, fire fighters just don't waste their time on that sort of thing. When Naraa, our Mongolia helper arrived, I asked her to call the city to see if anyone could send out a ladder. She called, but at 9:30 the office still wasn't open, so we waited. About an hour later, with Germy off investigating something around the front of the house, kitty got up her nerve and backed her way down the long, long pole.

My only regret is that I didn't get a picture of this weirdness, but here is a photo of the pole, and of course, one of our sweetie, Stasey.