stealing Christmas

Turkey, a country with Muslim religion as part of their culture as much as Catholicism and Protestantism is a part of the US - has stolen the Christmas tree, the lights, the ornaments, the exchanging of gifts and the Turkey . . . but they do it all on New Year's Eve instead.

I realize Christians have diluted Christmas too - turning pagan traditions into religious ones.  In fact we've added so many "traditions" - I guess its not a surprise the meaning has been buried so far under activities.  Think about the things we do: the Christmas tree, decorations of lights, holly, tinsel, etc.  Santa Claus, stockings, and candy canes.  Caroling, singing, special meals, and ginger bread houses.  Presents.  "Christmas" music that ranges from religious to ridiculous ... (Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer?).  The nativity scene that has morphed into an entire Christmas village.

We stopped doing Christmas for a number of years when I was younger, because of its commercialism.  Moving here, and seeing all the commercialism of Christmas grates on me because my students think New Year's and Christmas are the same thing.  Even Tolga's family is somewhat confused on the topic.

Christmas is just not a tradition here.  And when I see it being celebrated far away I miss it - the tinsel, the lights, the wrapping paper and I'd really like to make a ginger bread house.  But then I ask myself why - why?  What am I missing?  It doesn't take much to celebrate Christmas: family, remembering Christ as born to save us all, thankful hearts, love.

Gokhan wants a big Christmas tree for New Year's.  I said, "But it's not Christmas!"

I think I've lost some meaning of Christmas.

the brain of a child

We were talking to my nephews on Skype the other day.  I asked the boys what they thought I should get Tolga for Christmas.  Asher said,
"A spitball."  Owen said,
"A ring, because remember when he lost his?"  I sure do remember, but I'm more impressed my 8-year-old nephew remembers.

The boys were showing us their Christmas gifts.  Owen got a lego set that had occupied him for hours for the last couple of days.  Tolga had joined the conversation and asked,
"Is it a Chinese restaurant?"
"NO!!  It's a Japanese ninja base!"
"Can I order sushi there?"  This went on for a little bit until Owen said,
"You're annoying."  And he turned the iPad face-down - not off - so we were looking at the darkness of the floor, but he could still hear us.

Unfortunately we were laughing at his virtual punishment.

Growing up sure is something.

many pieces

I'm getting more tired and its becoming harder to post.  Mostly because of being 34 weeks pregnant.  Partly due to our new 3000-piece puzzle.  There is something about having a picture, and a problem, and a goal - there is something neat about a puzzle that I think appeals to everyone because its a little bit like life.  It's an addiction, I have many other things to do - but you can't help being drawn to the puzzle table and that insatiable desire to make everything fit in its place.

I don't recommend 3000-piece puzzles.  Even with a family of five.  We are on day three and we no longer have a dinner table.

My husband and I always make a good team.
My father-in-law said he could do it in a day.  He lasted about twenty minutes and then took a nap.
My mother-in-law kept looking for numbers to match and mismatching pieces.
My brother in law shows me EVERY SINGLE PIECE that he has matched.  I don't think I can take it anymore.

big picture

I visited the government hospital today.  I brought my camera in the spirit of adventure, but I never pulled it out.  I didn't want to act like a tourist in the midst of more serious issues - but at the same time - I was tired of everything being so serious and dramatic.

I was going to the government hospital to get my 32nd week report in the 33rd week.  There was a question as to whether my previous reports were acceptable - and so in order to erase this question, we going to get this report for insurance.

A private car took me, and English department colleague to translate, and an HR assistant.  The hospital was a big complex close to the school with a line of cars waiting to drop people off or pick them up.  We walked into the foyer and it smelled like poop.  We walked down the hallways and I felt like we were at a crowded mall.  A mall that had no shops.

Zeynep led the way in the woman's birth center.  A small crowded room of chairs, filled with not-pregrnant looking women and numbers posted.  Zeynep budged the line, speaking to several people and getting us to sit right down with a doctor within about 5 minutes.  Zeynep gave my information, the doctor asked me two questions, and sent me for an ultrasound.  The ultrasound was in the line right next door - which we skipped as well.  The woman zapped my stomach for the umpteenth time this year, reciting measurements, and sending me out.

Zeynep went to the doctor to get the report, but came out empty handed.  I pushed my translator to push her to get the report - but they wouldn't because I was in my 33rd week.  When weighing the consequences of losing one week versus four months of pay - I pushed some more - but Zeynep kept repeating, "We'll talk about it back at the office."

Frustrated, I gave in and we returned to the office.  When the HR head came, she translated the issue - it wasn't the 33rd week that was the issue, but it was the doctor who was insisting that I quit working immediately because the baby was underweight and my water level was low.

I was speechless on many accounts - this new shocking information from a government hospital doctor that saw me for less than five minutes, the fact that I was just whisked around like a product with no one informing me of what was happening - not being able to ask questions, and so on, the remaining issue of the missing report, the new issue of what to do now . ..

I wanted to cry even though I knew logically that it was probably an invalid measurement.  I think I just wanted to cry because I was tired of all these issues that leave me at the mercy of so many different people.  Where I am just the silent foreigner.

I left school early and checked in with my regular doctor.  All appeared normal to her.  My boss told me to take the day off tomorrow.

It's all making me tired but in the big picture, we're looking forward to the birth of a healthy boy.  My own doctor did another ultrasound and we printed a picture.  Tolga and I can't help grinning every time we see our son on the ultrasound.  Tolga decided now that he had has his forehead.

When we got back to the house, Tolga's mom, dad and brother all kissed the photograph. Our baby is being showered with love before he's even born and I'm thankful for such a world to be born into.  Tolga's dad said, "He has your forehead Tolga!"

my way

One bad/good thing about house guests is that things are forced to change.  It's bad because its annoying and I like the things the way they are.  It's good, because I think its too easy to get set in your ways - then you become inflexible and not open to change.  Or you get so used to your way that you don't make allowances for other people's way.  (Even if your way is obviously better).  And pretty soon, you may find that you have no tolerance for anything different.

For example - my mother-in-law keeps rearranging my couch pillows.  I don't want her to rearrange my couch pillows.  Their mine.  And I liked them the way they were.  And she keeps moving the vases and decorative plates.  I liked them where they were, but she sets them up in a geometric formation of a square - with one piece on each square and I hate it.

I set their bedroom up perfect, and my father-in-law keeps pushing the bed over.  Now there is no space in the middle to walk.  He pushed it over because he's fat and he can't see his feet and he kept running into the corner of the bed.  But instead of walking up the middle, he walks up the side of the bed so now the room is all off-balance and no longer perfect.  On top of that, they fold the comforter in half.  It's supposed to hang over the edges, but for some reason, they fold the edges and it looks so dumb.  Why do they fold the edges?  It's supposed to hang over the sides and be fluffy.  Now it looks like someone short-sheeted the bed.

For some reason I want them to live as I have designed it - which I'm sure isn't a healthy attitude, and I realize its somewhat ridiculous.  But, there it is.

I'm just going to blame my compulsions to put everything back the way it was on hormones.

yes-no-understand?

In Turkey, the government pays for your maternity leave.  In order to file the legal paperwork, get the appropriate time off, and retrieve your pay - there are certain steps you must take.

Secret steps, apparently.

At my school, we have a human resources department - but I think it must mean something different in Turkey, or maybe it's just my school.  When the school year began, I inquired about what I would need in  order to take a maternity leave.  I was told I would be informed.  I asked again in October, November and December - but I had yet to get an answer about the procedure.

I am told this is very Turkish.  But I'm not sure I understand how so.  Can you say its cultural to be unclear, to not know the answers, to ignore questions?

I learned from a colleague that I needed a report from the hospital for permission to continue working after the 32nd week.  I retrieved the report from my doctor and turned it into the HR department this week - and this report turned out to be a problem because it wasn't from the right kind of hospital/doctor.

The mistake could cost me my maternity leave and pay, but I was told it wasn't a big deal - and why was I upset, did I have a problem with the HR department?

I often think about how communication is one of the hardest skills in one's own language, but when you're involving another language and culture too - it's hard to fathom at what point understanding has been lost.  Was it the meaning of word?  Was it the implication or gesture?  Was it the structure of the sentence?  Was it the expression, humor, or reference that was confusing?

Even when I worked in Brooklyn, I was told "You can't force your culture onto the kids."  The comment was made in response to my complaint that kids lived by the rule "you can't stay hit."  Meaning, if someone hit you, you had to hit back.  

I wonder if anyone can be clear as to what is culture, and what is communication, and what is value systems, and what is humanity?  Are they all separate?  Are they all the same?

I think if I ever need to take a course on multiculturalism again, I might challenge it's whole theory - because I'm not sure it's even possible to teach, other than to teach: in the end, you're going to have to accept that somethings you can't possibly understand because you're not me.

when a gift is really a gift

It's strange having parents that are dependent.  My parents are so extremely independent, it's strange having a family that's inter-dependent - but I also can't help feeling like - this is how families are supposed to be.

Tolga takes care of his mom and dad.  I don't know how long it has been this way - but longer than I could fathom in a parent-child relationship.  Sure, his parents do things - his mom cooks, his dad putters around the garden.  But Tolga will also give his parents different jobs: he'll give his dad something to fix, he'll buy his mom what she wants to cook or something for the home.  He does this purposefully - recognizing that his parents still need to feel needed and useful - Tolga ironically takes the parental role of making his mom and dad happy.

We buy "gifts" for Tolga's family often - but it's almost always something they need.  But they are easy to buy for because they are always excited by new things.  We bought Tolga's dad a couple of 2XL sweaters at the bazaar, and a 4XL track suit the other day.  His dad thought the track suit was pajamas.  He tried it on and he wouldn't admit it was too tight, but fortunately the sweaters fit fine.  We went to the mall the other night to get a few more things needed at home.  We got pajamas for myself and Baba.  He hasn't had pajamas in years.  He normally sleeps in his clothes on the coach - but now he has a comfy bed and plush pajamas.  He asked me with a big smile across his face, "Are you dressing me nice to marry me off again?"  He went and changed into his new pajamas - they fit great and he came out looking so proud: smiling only slightly and walking with a little spring in his step, not looking at any of us.  We were all laughing at his behavior.  He sat down saying, "Why do you spend you money on me?" Kissing us both.

Then he picked up his hat and said, "Tolga, if you see a hat, could you get me a hat, I don't like mine, it looks like I'm going to the mosque."

Today I came home with a few more things.  My friend gave me a new baby outfit for our son.  When I showed this to my in-laws they were laughing as if it were their own gift.  They both kissed the clothes and said Yavrim.

32nd week

It's still a little hard to believe I am 8 months pregnant.  I'm tired, but not too bad.  I've gain weight, but not too much.  Overall, I'm amazed at how great I feel and I don't mind so much small aches and pains.

In Turkey, at 32 weeks you are supposed to begin your maternity leave unless you have permission to continue working. With permission, you can keep working until your 37th week.  After that, by law, you cannot work.

I think the country is afraid of babies being suddenly born.

So I will most likely work until Jan 16th - a week before our winter/semester break. I will get a total of 16 weeks maternity leave which is a big relief and something I look forward too.

It's hard to imagine what that time will be like . . . with Teoman and me, and Tolga . . . and Tolga's mom, and dad, and brother . .  .

learn from it

I have the complete confidence of my supervisor, and thus the confidence of many others related to her.  It makes me think about how these things come in cycles.  How unsuccessful I felt at my last job, and what a switch this place is.  My supervisor dropped in on my lesson today - it went well except for my pregnant brain that forced me to run back to the classroom five times because I kept forgetting things.  After the lesson, she said, "I loved your lesson," and hugged me.  I felt like I was supporting her with the hug more than her supporting me.  She was tired.  I think my coworker made her tired.  I wrote all the lesson plans and he's been following them, or trying, but falling behind farther and farther.  He has been difficult to work with, making me all the easier to follow and praise. Over and over I am thankful this year and how much it is restoring my confidence and enjoyment of teaching.  My enjoyment and success here is always tempered by the memories of my failures.  Memories shouldn't dampen my enthusiasm or cast doubt and suspicion on my successes.   I think they are supposed to make me a better person, aware that I am not invincible, that it is by grace that I live each day.  But, I'm not sure that I'm quite there .. . yet.

shoebox medicine

Baba and Anne shower the new baby with love.  I know all grandparents do, but theirs is so unrestrained and expressive.  Batuhan smiles every time at Baba's voice.  We all do.

Before coming here, Hakan worried, "Is Ankara too cold for the baby?"  Tolga pointed out that there are cold places all over the world that babies are raised - not to mention we have central heating.

After one night, Hakan and his wife decided their baby was sick.  I gave them our humidifier.  The air here is very dry, polluted, and elevated - even Tolga and I have a hard time adjusting too it, so we could only imagine the effects on new little lungs.

The second day they began giving him cold medicine.  I'm not sure if he had a cold, but he went from a quiet baby to a fussy one with a funny sounding cry.  Maybe his voice was changing from being tired, or thirsty, or maybe indeed sick - but by Sunday night, everybody was getting anxious.  (Baba said, "Why did you make him cry?")

At one point, the baby started sucking on Hakan's finger, and instantly became happy again. We realized he was teething, and when Hakan rubbed his gums, it was feeling better.  We all laughed at the soothing effect of Hakan's wrinkling finger being sucked dry.

Tolga laid with Batuhan on his chest, while Baba fished through his medicines.  Baba has a shoebox full of medicines that he carries with him everywhere.  He's like a walking pharmacy with hundreds of prescriptions that he takes as he feels is needed.  (ie. - an inhaler from the 90s).  Baba  has also very eager to prescribe his medicine to others - on more than one occasion he's tried to shove eye cream in my eye and shoot me with his diabetic tester.

Last night he found a cream in his box and demanded we give it to the baby.  He has crossed a line here, and while everyone laughed, it was followed up by adamant "No Baba1"   Baba was instantly mad that no one would accept his suggestion and became insistent, almost demanding that the baby take the cream.  Tolga told Hakan too read the label, and Hakan relented, and sure enough . . . Baba had in his shoebox pharmacy a cream to sooth a teething baby's mouth.  While Hakan was examining the label, Baba put some cream on his finger and rubbed it on Tolga's gums just to prove his point.  Tolga couldn't stop him - his hands were holding Batuhan, and his mouth was already open from laughing at his father.

full house

They're all here.  They're everywhere.  Tolga's mom, dad, two brothers, sister-in-law, and nephew.  The youngest brother and wife and baby took the beds, the middle brother is sleeping on our recliner, and the parents have taken up their positions on the couch in front of the TV.  The birds keep being moved.  Batuhan has taken first position.

The baby has filled our into a chubby 4-month old.  He smiles every time Baba talks to him.  He's not so sure about Tolga.  I cooked a big roast chicken with vegetables for dinner.  I miscounted and made an extra plate, which we set in the middle of the table . . . just in case someone else came.