Annika Liepa - 37

One ordinary day in the life of 37-year-old woman in Karlova neighborhood, Tartu, Estonia

Short Bio

Annika lives with her spouse, Mart, and their daughter, Liis, in a compact apartment in Karlova, a neighborhood of older wooden homes in Tartu. She is the lead teacher in a municipal kindergarten group for four- and five-year-olds, a job that requires equal parts preparation, patience, and quick judgment. At home, she is usually the person who notices the empty mitten basket, the unreturned school form, or the approaching payment date. Mart shares the work of the household, but Annika keeps many of its practical details in view. Their income is steady, though they still weigh grocery prices, utility bills, and the cost of children’s activities before saying yes to an extra expense.

Karlova makes that balancing act easier. The neighborhood’s colorful wooden houses, small courtyards, bike paths, and short distances mean Annika can reach work, shops, and Liis’s activities without maintaining a car. The family’s apartment has painted floorboards, a narrow bike-storage area by the entrance, and a drying rack that is almost always holding gloves, socks, or rain gear. It is not large, but it works because everyone knows where things belong, at least on the better days.

Before the Household Wakes

At 6:05 on a wet October morning, Annika wakes before the alarm completes its second ring. Rain has darkened the window, and the streetlamp outside gives the bedroom a faint amber edge. Mart is still asleep beside her. Liis is across the hall in the smaller bedroom, where library books, stuffed animals, and a half-finished drawing occupy most of the available surfaces.

Annika pulls on wool socks and goes to the kitchen. Her chestnut bob is flattened on one side, and she pushes her round glasses higher on her nose before starting the coffee. The apartment is warm enough, though the floorboards remain cold in the mornings. Near the radiator, yesterday’s gloves hang from the drying rack beside Liis’s rain trousers. Annika checks them with her hand; the gloves are nearly dry, which is good enough.

Breakfast is porridge for Liis, black rye bread with cheese for the adults, and an apple sliced into a small bowl because Liis says whole apples take too long to eat. Annika packs a spare pair of mittens and a rain jacket for kindergarten, then adds a kohuke (a sweet curd-cheese snack covered in chocolate) to Liis’s afternoon bag. She knows it will be found before the fruit, but she packs it anyway.

Mart comes in wearing a gray sweater and opens the weather forecast on his phone. “Rain until lunch,” he says.

“Then we will have a hallway full of shoes again,” Annika replies.

By 6:45, Liis is awake but not yet cooperative. She wants a different shirt, cannot find the hair clip she wanted, and asks whether the rain will cancel outdoor time. Annika tells her that children at kindergarten go outside in most weather, as long as they are dressed for it. Liis considers this seriously and decides her waterproof boots are acceptable.

Before leaving, Annika checks the family chat. There is a reminder from the children’s choir about an upcoming performance, another message about Liis’s beginner basketball session later in the week, and a question from a parent who needs help with pickup on Thursday. Annika does not answer immediately. She makes a mental note to ask Mart which evening he can leave work on time.

A Bicycle Ride Through Karlova

At 7:20, Annika puts on her navy waterproof parka, wool scarf, jeans, and ankle boots. Her practical silver bicycle is waiting in the building’s storage area with a reflective pannier clipped to the back rack. Liis rides beside her on a small bicycle, practicing the cautious stops Annika insists on at every crossing.

The trip toward the kindergarten takes less than fifteen minutes, although rain slows them down. Wooden houses in muted green, ocher, blue, and red line the streets near Tähe Street. Birch leaves collect along the edges of the cycle path, sticking to tires and shoes. The low northern light has not fully reached the street yet, but the route is familiar enough that Annika knows every uneven patch of pavement.

For her, the city’s cycling network is not an abstract civic achievement. It is what allows her to leave home after breakfast, get Liis to kindergarten, and still arrive before her own group begins to gather. It saves money, avoids parking, and gives her a short stretch of quiet before the working day becomes noisy.

At the kindergarten gate, Liis spots a friend in a bright pink rain suit and hurries forward. Then she turns back for a quick hug. Annika watches her daughter disappear into the entrance with an assistant teacher and feels the familiar shift from parent to colleague. It happens quickly, but never completely.

Teaching Through Play

Annika’s municipal kindergarten group includes children who are four and five years old. The day is built around play, conversation, movement, art, meals, rest, and outdoor time rather than formal desk lessons. Her classroom has low tables, blocks, picture books, paints, puzzles, and a wall covered in leaf prints from the previous week.

Before the children arrive, Annika reviews the plan with her assistant teacher. The day’s topic is autumn weather. They have set out magnifying glasses, a basket of leaves, and chestnuts gathered from a nearby park. The children will compare shapes, make bark rubbings, and talk about rain, wind, and clouds. It sounds simple, but Annika has already considered which children will need help with scissors, who may find the transition from free play difficult, and which pair should not sit beside each other during painting.

By 8:15, the room is full. One child arrives crying after a difficult separation. Another announces that he found a worm on the sidewalk and wants the entire group to hear how large it was. Annika kneels to greet children at eye level.

“Tere (hello), Rasmus,” she says to a boy in yellow boots. “Those are serious puddle boots.”

He looks down, pleased, and stops crying about the missing dinosaur sticker on his sleeve.

During circle time, two children both want to hold the weather card. Annika asks them what a fair solution might be, then guides the discussion when the louder child tries to decide for everyone. Her voice stays even. She does not need to win a small argument; she needs the children to learn how to move through one.

The morning passes in close attention. She helps with a zipper, wipes paint from a cheek, writes down a child’s new phrase, and sends a brief message to a parent about forgotten indoor shoes. Outside, the children splash through shallow puddles in rain suits. Annika follows them toward the sandbox, watching as two children try to float a leaf boat across a puddle. The boat sinks almost immediately, but the experiment holds their interest for ten useful minutes.

Lunch, Notes, and an Online Form

The children eat vegetable soup, bread, and milk for lunch. Annika has her own meal later in the staff room with two colleagues. They discuss a missing set of paintbrushes, a parent meeting, and the cost of heating older apartments. One teacher jokes that people assume kindergarten staff spend their days drinking coffee and making crafts. Annika laughs, because the joke is close enough to the truth to be irritating.

During the children’s rest period, she completes development notes and prepares materials for the next day. She records a child’s improving language skills, another child’s difficulty taking turns, and a reminder to speak with a parent about winter clothing. Much of her work is visible only in fragments: observations, lists, conversations at the door, and a steady effort to make sure no child is overlooked.

Before putting her phone away, she opens a municipal online form connected to Liis’s activities. Estonia’s digital systems allow residents to use Smart-ID (a secure digital identity service) to access services and sign documents from a phone. Annika confirms her identity, checks each field twice, and submits the application in a few minutes.

The process is convenient, but it also means there is little excuse for postponing paperwork. Messages from school, the municipality, the bank, and activity organizers arrive in the same place. Annika and Mart discuss larger expenses together, yet she is often the first person to see a deadline. Their household is secure, but not careless with money. Winter boots, food, electricity, hobby fees, and repairs to a bicycle can all become expensive in the same month.

The Afternoon Relay

At 3:30, Annika leaves the kindergarten after tidying the classroom and setting aside supplies for tomorrow. The rain has eased, and a pale strip of light shows beneath the clouds. On the way home, she stops at a small grocery store for milk, bananas, goat cheese, and beets. She compares prices, chooses the smaller packet of cheese, and leaves the smoked fish she had considered on the shelf.

At home, Liis is on the floor with crayons, drawing a picture of her class outside in the rain. Mart is finishing a technical-support call at a small desk in the bedroom. Annika hangs her parka, starts a load of washing, and checks the family chat again.

The choir organizer has sent a change in pickup arrangements, and the basketball coach has reminded parents about indoor shoes. Annika replies to both messages, then asks Mart whether he can manage Thursday’s basketball pickup if she stays late for a planning meeting. He answers with a thumbs-up and a note that he will move one call. The exchange takes less than a minute, but it is the sort of adjustment that keeps the week from becoming difficult.

Liis asks whether she can wear two braids for choir. Annika says yes, although she has not yet decided when she will make dinner. They sit at the kitchen table while Liis tells a long story about a friend who sang too loudly during rehearsal. Annika listens, then reminds her that every group needs both strong singers and careful listeners.

Dinner and the Last Tasks

Mart takes over the evening washing while Annika prepares dinner: roasted beet salad, goat cheese, rye bread, and keefir (a cultured milk drink). She puts on Puuluup, an Estonian folk-pop duo whose music gives the kitchen a lively rhythm without demanding attention. Liis hums along while arranging beet slices on her plate and then announces that the cheese is touching them incorrectly.

At the table, Mart talks about a software problem that took most of his afternoon to solve. Liis sings part of her choir song, stops when she forgets a line, and starts again with more confidence. Annika does not expect the meal to be quiet or perfectly orderly. She is satisfied if everyone eats something, says something about the day, and remembers what needs to happen tomorrow.

After dinner, Mart loads the dishwasher while Annika wipes the table and checks that Liis’s rain clothes are ready for morning. Liis chooses pajamas and requests the same library story as the night before. Annika reads beside her bed, pausing for questions about a fox in the illustrations and pretending not to notice when Liis tries to delay the final page.

Lights Out

By 9:15, the apartment is quiet. Annika opens her laptop at the kitchen table to revise Wednesday’s lesson plan and order replacement art supplies through the kindergarten system. She checks the household account, transfers money toward next month’s electricity bill, and adds “winter boots” to the shared note she keeps with Mart.

Before bed, she steps onto the shared courtyard balcony. Most of the basil has finished for the season, but the chives are still green in their box. On weekends, when the weather is kinder, she and Mart sometimes take Liis on longer bicycle rides beyond their usual streets. For now, Annika pulls her scarf closer and goes back inside before the damp cold reaches her hands.

She gets into bed shortly after 10:30. Rain taps lightly against the window, and her phone charges screen-down on the dresser after one final look at the next day’s forecast. She is tired, but the ordinary tasks of the day are mostly settled: Liis reached kindergarten and choir, the paperwork was signed, dinner was made, and tomorrow’s lessons have a shape. Annika closes her eyes before the rain stops.