I have begun listening to podcasts of sermons. My brother Josh is what inspired me. He mentioned how is phone is full of them and he plays them in his truck while driving to work, or while working. I decided to start doing it too - as my car will automatically play it through bluetooth, and I'm wanting more spiritual infusion in my day.
I'm enjoying them, but I was struck today at how formulaic some sermons are - using teaching strategies and techniques that are clever and lessons founded in the Bible - but lacking story. Lacking personal experience. Not that pastors or preachers don't have it ... I'm sure they have many. Maybe they've used all their stories, or maybe their lives have become too open to the public and it's their way of guarding themselves, or maybe it was the sermon I heard today about personal stories and how important they are... it all lead me wishing I could hear more.
It's also my personality. I love stories. It's how I learn and what moves me. So I've decided to start my own sermon series through my own stories - because I know as a teacher, the main student becomes yourself.
So I will begin tagging these posts as sermons and testimonies. And here's the first.
I have no plan, so bear with me.
I was thinking the other day about an experience I had. It was in 2006. My father had been very ill - first with multiple shoulder surgeries that became complicated because of infection. Then heart problems. He was born with a bicuspid heart - most people have a tricuspid - but you can survive (obviously) with only two cusps. Your heart just works harder and ages faster. He had a leaky valve - which was the least of his problems. He had several other things going on, and the source or the solution wasn't clear. His output or ejection rate had dropped to 25% in one test, which was equivalent to heart failure. He was also having "electrical" problems. His heart rate would suddenly drop - on at least one occasion he passed out. And, he seemed to have endocarditis - a bacterial infection of the heart. Mayo Clinic made a case study of his charts as it wasn't clear how to approach the multiple problems.
In the end, they decided to do heart surgery and replace the leaky valve, in hopes that the heart ejection rate would raise to above 60%.
My father did not want surgery. He was miserable that year with his health problems, and afraid I think - as much as I can attribute fear to my father - which I can't because he mostly shuts down his communication systems when he's in pain. However, he was constantly asking for prayer. When ever someone offered or invited prayer - he was in line with the rest. He even sought out people to pray for him.
I realized through his experience, that a part of me saw "asking for prayer" as weakness. It was a horrifying realization, because it implied that I believed prayer was for the weak, and we didn't need prayer. I'll blame my father and our Peterson/Scandinavian heritage for that - our pride in self-sufficiency, hiding behind this claim that we don't want to "inconvenience" somebody, and so we don't ask for help.
I watched my father ask for prayer again and again, and it took me by surprise - and I realized my mistake in my way of thinking, and I admired his persistence and humility. And then I had another horrifying realization - my mother asks for prayer all the time for her eye, why didn't I admire this? She has a lazy eye that impedes her vision and depth perception, as well as makes her self-concious. But how many times did I find myself annoyed that she was always asking for healing of her eye?
My mother was always doing what my father never did. I viewed it as dramatic, or vain, or superficial - as if prayer only had a limited window of time and healing power that should be reserved for the big issues. Whatever those are.
And, somewhere, somehow, I had decided in my conscious or subconscious that her requests weren't that important. I mean, it was her eye, not her heart. Petersons only ask for help when they really need it, not for simple reasons.
A chiropractor said to me once: People are walking around with all this pain and they don't have to.
Huh.
Where did I get this idea that we had to walk around with pain. That I had to grin and bear it? How ridiculous and proud and totally unnecessary. And lonely. Pain is so isolating because you are the only one that knows what you are feeling and suffering - and somewhere along the way I decided or learned in my heart that pain is something you should grin-and-bear because it was about inner strength.
My father, who was normally silent, was vocalizing his pain, and his fear - as best as he could. Setting aside everything maybe he had learned, and so I had learned, to ask for help. And not just help from God, but help from people. Ew! People are the weakest of weak. At least asking God for help, it was a noble and Biblical, but people? People are weird and self-righteous and project their weakness on you and are happy to help for all the wrong reasons, taking strength from your weakness.
One day, I went with my father to get prayer. He had sought out this person. Someone known for a "healing ministry". I went with to support him, and maybe a part of me wanted to protect him too in his vulnerable state. I mean, I've seen these healers before. Who was this guy? Who did he think he was that his prayers would be heard over others?
We went to the ministry's office in the middle of winter. The doors were locked. "Perfect," I said, "The church doors are closed." I was ready to leave, but my father called the number because he had an appointment. All of which just reinforced my feeling of this persons elitism - because he had a "ministry" and "appointments" and apparently, was a busy guy who we were so lucky to have a meeting with.
We entered the office and the man apologized, explained how important he and his time was and so on. He asked my father some questions and began praying . . . and fishing. "I feel as if you have sin. Something God wants you to confess."
"I'm sure I do," my father responded in his typical meek style. The man continued to pray, and stopped again. "You are angry?"
"I don't think so, but maybe."
He continued to pray.
I was waiting. Waiting for my chance.
Then, the man flipped. "I saw this all wrong. You are a humble man. I see white snow."
Wow. Your vision is so mighty.
He prayed some more, moving towards healing prayers. Then he stopped and turned to me - maybe for the first time since we walked in - and he asked, "What do you think?"
And suddenly, everything just fell away. All my pride and judgements. All this man's gloss, glitter, and garbage. All my garbage. It didn't even matter what he meant by his question, because suddenly, in spite of everything I was feeling and seeing up to that point, it was all replaced unexplainably with faith and trust in God.
"It is done." Were the words that came to my mind and the words I spoke. I doubt either the man or my father understood me (frankly, or even cared), but that didn't matter either. I had faith, and it was a gift, because up to that point I had nothing but snide remarks and self-righteousness. I wasn't even sure if that meant he would be healed or not, or even that he would survive. It was just this big package of faith placed in my heart - faith in God or father, in Jesus who died for us, in our prayers being heard and my father being looked after. IN SPITE OF our posturing, being blatantly prideful or quietly proud - God's work was done, had been decided, and was being done in all of our lives.
Matthew 7:11
11"If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!
Thursday, November 20, 2014
new words and routines
Tomris has learned how to ride the scooter. It has taken some time. It started with her just working on getting her leg over the three-wheeler. Then, once sitting on it, she wasn't really able to make it go... or if she did, she could only go backwards. Then, one day, a few weeks ago, she figured out how to throw herself forward, leaning her little chest over the handlebars with her little feet scampering along. We would say, "hizli hizli Tomris!" Fast fast! And she would bear down and motor along. She was sweating that first day from her work out.
She is speaking so much these days. Mostly in commands. Yapma or Yap (don't do it and do it), ver (give it), yeyicem (I will eat), "teet!" (treat), milk!, wa-wa or su (water), juice, zeytin (olive), winnie-da-pooh, ca ca yaptim (I went poop), awch (ouch), boom! (for an ouch), otur or sit down! And so on.
They both like putting their animals to sleep. They wrap them in the dish towels or thin blankets and walk around with them saying "shhhhh". Tomris will sometimes sit down and put the baby on her legs and rock her legs like her Babaanne.
When I sit with them in the play area, Tomris usually sits in my lap and plays from that position. Sometimes I wrestle with them in the living room. Spinning them or chasing them. We fall to the ground and they jump on me. Then Tomris sits on my head.
In the mornings I have breakfast with them. They wake up - usually from my bed having switched there in the nighttime. They smile at each other. Teoman takes my hand and plays with my ring. Tomris tells me to "dum!" (come) so we can leave the bedroom. They play and ask to go to their grandparents or uncles room. I say no, not yet - they are sleeping - to which they accept and go back to playing. I make oatmeal and coffee. We sit down and Tomris says oooh ooh sicak - hot! Teoman eats his oatmeal, Tomris eats cold cereal and then begins dumping it on the table of floor. They hear their uncles alarm clock and go and wake him up, or hear their grandparents and go into their rooms to play.
Then I try to leave for work. Teoman will kiss me and say goodbye. Tomris will go between not wanting me to put her down, to getting distracted by something. They usually both follow me to the elevator in their socks to give one last hug and kiss. This morning Tomris rested her head on her my shoulder, read to come with me - but accepted when I set her down and ran back to the house - a drunken run that involves some hops and wavering from side-to-side.
God bless our dear children.
She is speaking so much these days. Mostly in commands. Yapma or Yap (don't do it and do it), ver (give it), yeyicem (I will eat), "teet!" (treat), milk!, wa-wa or su (water), juice, zeytin (olive), winnie-da-pooh, ca ca yaptim (I went poop), awch (ouch), boom! (for an ouch), otur or sit down! And so on.
They both like putting their animals to sleep. They wrap them in the dish towels or thin blankets and walk around with them saying "shhhhh". Tomris will sometimes sit down and put the baby on her legs and rock her legs like her Babaanne.
When I sit with them in the play area, Tomris usually sits in my lap and plays from that position. Sometimes I wrestle with them in the living room. Spinning them or chasing them. We fall to the ground and they jump on me. Then Tomris sits on my head.
In the mornings I have breakfast with them. They wake up - usually from my bed having switched there in the nighttime. They smile at each other. Teoman takes my hand and plays with my ring. Tomris tells me to "dum!" (come) so we can leave the bedroom. They play and ask to go to their grandparents or uncles room. I say no, not yet - they are sleeping - to which they accept and go back to playing. I make oatmeal and coffee. We sit down and Tomris says oooh ooh sicak - hot! Teoman eats his oatmeal, Tomris eats cold cereal and then begins dumping it on the table of floor. They hear their uncles alarm clock and go and wake him up, or hear their grandparents and go into their rooms to play.
Then I try to leave for work. Teoman will kiss me and say goodbye. Tomris will go between not wanting me to put her down, to getting distracted by something. They usually both follow me to the elevator in their socks to give one last hug and kiss. This morning Tomris rested her head on her my shoulder, read to come with me - but accepted when I set her down and ran back to the house - a drunken run that involves some hops and wavering from side-to-side.
God bless our dear children.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
little hearts
Teoman and Tomris have started watching TV.
Screen time started before this. With the iPads and iPhones - listening to music, Face-timing their Baba or relatives. Later, playing some simple games.
Slowly it grows and gets out of control. Now I'm to the point where I would hide all my electronics if I didn't need them to talk to Tolga everyday. Tomris takes the phone or iPad and presses the home button, then presses all of the app buttons - and because she's one-and-a-half - she presses the home button again, before the app even opens.
I went to school the other day and found she had deleted my grade book from the iPad. Thankfully it is constantly backed up on iCloud so it didn't cause any problem - but that's the effect of her pudgy little finger incessantly tapping.
So I allow them Paw Patrol - an innocent ten minute show about pups that do rescue missions. Teoman has also found Dora, which I'm not as fond of ... Dora has to get away from semi-scary things sometimes: snakes in the cactus, alligators in the river, Swiper the fox ... I'm not sure these are so healthy. But when one of them saws Paw Patrol, they both run to the couch, sit back on the cushions and wait expectantly. Tomris used to call it "Double", but now she says something like Paw Patrol - aw rol, I think.
They are such good friends, and it is so precious to see. It has been hard, and Tomris still needs me too much for me to manage them both sometimes, but it is getting easier already too - just because of the fact they can play together, and Tomris will even play on her own too.
Our dear children.
I talked to my parents on Face Time. Teoman now always says, "Hi Gramps! How are you!" and Tomris said "dar-ful damp!" Careful Gramps. It's her new line when somebody is driving. I think Teoman learned it from me, and now they both tell me when I drive too fast - its like they can sense when I'm driving mad, pulling out too fast because of how another person was driving. They are like my conscious reminding me of the cargo in the vehicle.
I took them to church today. There is a chapel on the American Base. The chapel - technically is for any religion because its lead by the Navy's chaplain - a spiritual guide for the soldiers of any faith. But their services are generally non-denominational, and the congregation is American. The chapel is inside the American Base, which is inside a Turkish military base. I have to go through to checkpoints in order to go to church. The first is the Turkish one - they check my ID and my license plate to see whether I'm approved, then under my car, hood, and in my trunk. I drive into the base to another checkpoint that has cement barriers raised from the ground that are hydraulically lowered once I pass the "100% ID check". Inside the base is the chapel, a school, a grocery store and a mini-Walmart. Okay, it's not Walmart, but that's the closest I can get to describing it. The stores have American goods at discounted prices - but you need a special ID/pass to shop at these places so I can only look longingly at their maple syrup and Reeses Pieces and cheap electronics. The grounds are clean, with a park, a playing field, and a track. It's empty on Saturdays and the luxury of the grounds feels like America.
I went to church early today so the kids could play in the park. The playground is well made which can't be said for most Turkish playgrounds. The weather was beautiful - 60 degrees and sunny - and we were the only ones playing on the playground. My mother or brother-in-law would have come with me, but ironically, they can't come to church. I have to get their name on the list to enter the base, and I haven't done it. They would come for the park, but not for the church. It's so American ... which I'm pretty sure is NOT what church is supposed to be. But that's another topic.
When Tolga comes with me, he was the one who pointed out to me that he was the only Turkish person there. Except the nursery - they have one hired Turkish woman who helps out. Teoman and Tomris were so happy to be outside, running in the sun. They weren't as excited to go to church, but once I got them in, and think they were curious about the singing and the people. They also enjoyed the crackers and peas I brought for them to snack on.
After the worship, I brought them to the nursery for children's church. I've only been there three times in the past month - maybe six times over the years, but they are already eager to get me in the rotation for children's church. I only recently began dropping the kids off at children's church because I want to see the kids in a different environment, see if I can leave them and how they will manage. Teoman does really well - according to those watching. He listens, drives his cars, and participates. Tomris follows. The first time, she was happy the whole time. The last two times, they have had to bring her back to me. She was sucking air from sobbing so much. My dear girl. I told them to ring me today if she cries. I think they wait some, and try to get her past whatever it is that sets her off -- but she's pretty stubborn and when she wants her mama, there's no changing her mind. They rang me today, and I stepped out of the chapel right away. The kids were playing outside and Teoman was leading Tomris away, holding her hand. She was sucking air from sobbing. The helpers told me how sweet Teoman was with his sister - telling her not to cry, that he was there, giving her a flower and patting her. My dear boy. I picked her up and she stayed with me. I couldn't go back into the church because she wanted "Milk!" Her comfort these days.
I took them out to eat after church and went to the market. I fed them M&Ms to keep them sitting in the cart while I got the few things we needed. Tomris fell asleep at one point, but by the time we got home, neither wanted to sleep. We played and Tomris got more and more fussy, so I had to put her to sleep. I had bought stuff for borek and my mother-in-law offered to make it. Teoman went to the table and said, "I want to eat borek!" It wasn't ready yet, but he heard and knew what it was, and apparently his little heart had a craving for it.
I put them both to bed early. We watched an episode of Paw Patrol on the iPad. They fought over holding the iPad until I was able to set it up on a pillow and convince them both to leave it be. Teoman fell right asleep after the show, Tomris wasn't ready - she tossed and turned and tried to get up. I was close to giving up with her, but she eventually settled in a slept on me.
My heart is so full.
Screen time started before this. With the iPads and iPhones - listening to music, Face-timing their Baba or relatives. Later, playing some simple games.
Slowly it grows and gets out of control. Now I'm to the point where I would hide all my electronics if I didn't need them to talk to Tolga everyday. Tomris takes the phone or iPad and presses the home button, then presses all of the app buttons - and because she's one-and-a-half - she presses the home button again, before the app even opens.
I went to school the other day and found she had deleted my grade book from the iPad. Thankfully it is constantly backed up on iCloud so it didn't cause any problem - but that's the effect of her pudgy little finger incessantly tapping.
So I allow them Paw Patrol - an innocent ten minute show about pups that do rescue missions. Teoman has also found Dora, which I'm not as fond of ... Dora has to get away from semi-scary things sometimes: snakes in the cactus, alligators in the river, Swiper the fox ... I'm not sure these are so healthy. But when one of them saws Paw Patrol, they both run to the couch, sit back on the cushions and wait expectantly. Tomris used to call it "Double", but now she says something like Paw Patrol - aw rol, I think.
They are such good friends, and it is so precious to see. It has been hard, and Tomris still needs me too much for me to manage them both sometimes, but it is getting easier already too - just because of the fact they can play together, and Tomris will even play on her own too.
Our dear children.
I talked to my parents on Face Time. Teoman now always says, "Hi Gramps! How are you!" and Tomris said "dar-ful damp!" Careful Gramps. It's her new line when somebody is driving. I think Teoman learned it from me, and now they both tell me when I drive too fast - its like they can sense when I'm driving mad, pulling out too fast because of how another person was driving. They are like my conscious reminding me of the cargo in the vehicle.
I took them to church today. There is a chapel on the American Base. The chapel - technically is for any religion because its lead by the Navy's chaplain - a spiritual guide for the soldiers of any faith. But their services are generally non-denominational, and the congregation is American. The chapel is inside the American Base, which is inside a Turkish military base. I have to go through to checkpoints in order to go to church. The first is the Turkish one - they check my ID and my license plate to see whether I'm approved, then under my car, hood, and in my trunk. I drive into the base to another checkpoint that has cement barriers raised from the ground that are hydraulically lowered once I pass the "100% ID check". Inside the base is the chapel, a school, a grocery store and a mini-Walmart. Okay, it's not Walmart, but that's the closest I can get to describing it. The stores have American goods at discounted prices - but you need a special ID/pass to shop at these places so I can only look longingly at their maple syrup and Reeses Pieces and cheap electronics. The grounds are clean, with a park, a playing field, and a track. It's empty on Saturdays and the luxury of the grounds feels like America.
I went to church early today so the kids could play in the park. The playground is well made which can't be said for most Turkish playgrounds. The weather was beautiful - 60 degrees and sunny - and we were the only ones playing on the playground. My mother or brother-in-law would have come with me, but ironically, they can't come to church. I have to get their name on the list to enter the base, and I haven't done it. They would come for the park, but not for the church. It's so American ... which I'm pretty sure is NOT what church is supposed to be. But that's another topic.
When Tolga comes with me, he was the one who pointed out to me that he was the only Turkish person there. Except the nursery - they have one hired Turkish woman who helps out. Teoman and Tomris were so happy to be outside, running in the sun. They weren't as excited to go to church, but once I got them in, and think they were curious about the singing and the people. They also enjoyed the crackers and peas I brought for them to snack on.
After the worship, I brought them to the nursery for children's church. I've only been there three times in the past month - maybe six times over the years, but they are already eager to get me in the rotation for children's church. I only recently began dropping the kids off at children's church because I want to see the kids in a different environment, see if I can leave them and how they will manage. Teoman does really well - according to those watching. He listens, drives his cars, and participates. Tomris follows. The first time, she was happy the whole time. The last two times, they have had to bring her back to me. She was sucking air from sobbing so much. My dear girl. I told them to ring me today if she cries. I think they wait some, and try to get her past whatever it is that sets her off -- but she's pretty stubborn and when she wants her mama, there's no changing her mind. They rang me today, and I stepped out of the chapel right away. The kids were playing outside and Teoman was leading Tomris away, holding her hand. She was sucking air from sobbing. The helpers told me how sweet Teoman was with his sister - telling her not to cry, that he was there, giving her a flower and patting her. My dear boy. I picked her up and she stayed with me. I couldn't go back into the church because she wanted "Milk!" Her comfort these days.
I took them out to eat after church and went to the market. I fed them M&Ms to keep them sitting in the cart while I got the few things we needed. Tomris fell asleep at one point, but by the time we got home, neither wanted to sleep. We played and Tomris got more and more fussy, so I had to put her to sleep. I had bought stuff for borek and my mother-in-law offered to make it. Teoman went to the table and said, "I want to eat borek!" It wasn't ready yet, but he heard and knew what it was, and apparently his little heart had a craving for it.
I put them both to bed early. We watched an episode of Paw Patrol on the iPad. They fought over holding the iPad until I was able to set it up on a pillow and convince them both to leave it be. Teoman fell right asleep after the show, Tomris wasn't ready - she tossed and turned and tried to get up. I was close to giving up with her, but she eventually settled in a slept on me.
My heart is so full.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Remembering a hero
November 10th was the day Ataturk died. The day the founder of the country who is credited with what Turkey is today: widespread education, western alphabet, socialism and democracy combined, civil freedoms, and so on. He is commemorated everywhere. His picture and statues are saluted as much as the flag itself.
I don't really get it. I love it, but I don't fully understand the pride and sorrow and commeration in the midst of so much corruption and political turmoil. But there's hope and fortitude that is renewed in this memory of Ataturk.
Turks are so proud. From a young age they learn to stand at attention during the anthem. A dramatic minor-key militaristic sounding march. Everyone stops at the sound of the anthem. Hands hang dutifully at the sides, chins are held high, and my students sing whole-heartedly the words of their anthem. Their faces full of drama and earnestness.
On Ataturk's Day - the day he died - everyone wears a picture of him pinned to their clothing. His birth year and death year included. He died in 1938, and the 8 is laid down on its side to express his death, and the infinite effect he had on the country.
At 9:05, the country stops. Students wait in the courtyards of their schools. A lone horn plays and then sirens blare. No one could tell my why the sirens blare in the midst of the silence, but the effect is electric.
Even traffic stops. Cars pull over, and then honk their horns. "Ataturk is dead!" they blare. "Don't forget what he's done! Don't forget who we are! Honor his memory!" I could here the horns from the highway in the midst of our own "silence" and sirens.
My students tell me it's a sad day. They lay flowers at the foot of his statue. We have three large bronze statues of Ataturk and they are adorned before the ceremony and even more so by the end.
Two fighter jets flew over our campus. They shot overhead so low, their sound coming slowly after them ripping the sky open. I followed their trail and over Ataturk's mausoleum they shot up vertical into the sky then split - one going left, one going right. A cloud of condensed air in their wake. They split and came back down creating a heart in the sky.
Fighter jets making a heart in the sky.
It's kind of awesome.
all kinds of connections
This was a posting on my classroom site:
Student A: I'm so excited to read this book. I wanna solve the mystery.
Student B: Mee too.
Student C: Me three! Just kidding. There is no such word as that.
Student B: I wish there was.
Student B: I hope somebody says "me four";
Student C: Yeah. That would be cool.
Student B: No it would be extremely cool.
I was thinking the other day about social media. How I used to write letters and put them in the MAIL. How I had a pager at one point - when they were already NOT cool. Pay phones. Post cards.
What if I didn't have technology today - I would not be able to communicate with my family. I would be very alone here in Turkey. Then again, I'm not sure I would have travelled in the first place, let alone developed a relationship with Tolga.
So what has social media, podcasts, the Internet... done with our relationships? With my relationships?
On the one hand, my relationships are too many, too casual, and too superficial. I can choose to "catch up" with someone passively by simply looking at their Facebook page and never engaging with that person.
On the other hand, the relationships and connections I have made in the different stages of my life or over an increasing span have time - never get lost. I can reminisce, drop a word of encouragement, be "there" when needed.
I imagined my life here without video phone calls, email, or social media ... I imagined my trip to States having had little contact or update with people. Would our conversations be more meaningful? More filled with purpose? Would I take our time less for granted?
Media filters out the personal stories - it highlights the beautiful - births, weddings, accomplishments - and hides the struggles. Someone fighting an illness - mental or emotional. Struggles. Obstacles. Occasionally a person will shout out to the world frustrations at work or personal, and the public reply can be encouraging or nasty - but it's always limited.
Would I meet my family and ask better questions than, "How's it going?" Would I get deeper answers? Would I know how to have these kinds of conversations. Could I give a better answer? Where do you begin?
At one point we did this. My oldest brother, Seth, and I had a strong relationship at one point - because we saw each other almost everyday. And when we asked each other "How's it going?" we set aside time for long answers and overtime we knew "fine" wasn't enough of an answer. So, maybe it was the practice, or our commitment.
I hear of people's struggles sometimes, and I regret that I can't hear these first hand. Could I do this with my family - bypass the superficial and get to our heart's longings? With some people, I suppose I still can -- these are my close relationships - so what to do with all these passive relationships?
My students are kids. Their attempts to communicate in English are sweet and innocent. Not so loaded with ideas other than innocent exploration of language and relationships. But we all want something deeper and more meaningful. I don't want to miss out on all the life that happens in between posts.
I used to push my parents. Hard. To answer my questions in detail. They were not very good at it, but I clung to their stories because for a time, I would feel like I was there ... living things with them. Maybe this is what I want from media these days. To use it to connect, not passively, but to show that while I may not be physically there, I still care about the daily dramas and the larger struggles. And it doesn't have to be meaningless.
Student A: I'm so excited to read this book. I wanna solve the mystery.
Student B: Mee too.
Student C: Me three! Just kidding. There is no such word as that.
Student B: I wish there was.
Student B: I hope somebody says "me four";
Student C: Yeah. That would be cool.
Student B: No it would be extremely cool.
I was thinking the other day about social media. How I used to write letters and put them in the MAIL. How I had a pager at one point - when they were already NOT cool. Pay phones. Post cards.
What if I didn't have technology today - I would not be able to communicate with my family. I would be very alone here in Turkey. Then again, I'm not sure I would have travelled in the first place, let alone developed a relationship with Tolga.
So what has social media, podcasts, the Internet... done with our relationships? With my relationships?
On the one hand, my relationships are too many, too casual, and too superficial. I can choose to "catch up" with someone passively by simply looking at their Facebook page and never engaging with that person.
On the other hand, the relationships and connections I have made in the different stages of my life or over an increasing span have time - never get lost. I can reminisce, drop a word of encouragement, be "there" when needed.
I imagined my life here without video phone calls, email, or social media ... I imagined my trip to States having had little contact or update with people. Would our conversations be more meaningful? More filled with purpose? Would I take our time less for granted?
Media filters out the personal stories - it highlights the beautiful - births, weddings, accomplishments - and hides the struggles. Someone fighting an illness - mental or emotional. Struggles. Obstacles. Occasionally a person will shout out to the world frustrations at work or personal, and the public reply can be encouraging or nasty - but it's always limited.
Would I meet my family and ask better questions than, "How's it going?" Would I get deeper answers? Would I know how to have these kinds of conversations. Could I give a better answer? Where do you begin?
At one point we did this. My oldest brother, Seth, and I had a strong relationship at one point - because we saw each other almost everyday. And when we asked each other "How's it going?" we set aside time for long answers and overtime we knew "fine" wasn't enough of an answer. So, maybe it was the practice, or our commitment.
I hear of people's struggles sometimes, and I regret that I can't hear these first hand. Could I do this with my family - bypass the superficial and get to our heart's longings? With some people, I suppose I still can -- these are my close relationships - so what to do with all these passive relationships?
My students are kids. Their attempts to communicate in English are sweet and innocent. Not so loaded with ideas other than innocent exploration of language and relationships. But we all want something deeper and more meaningful. I don't want to miss out on all the life that happens in between posts.
I used to push my parents. Hard. To answer my questions in detail. They were not very good at it, but I clung to their stories because for a time, I would feel like I was there ... living things with them. Maybe this is what I want from media these days. To use it to connect, not passively, but to show that while I may not be physically there, I still care about the daily dramas and the larger struggles. And it doesn't have to be meaningless.
Monday, October 27, 2014
virtual classrooms
I opened a web site for my students through Edmodo - an educational community that allows teachers to create groups, invite students, post assignments, polls, quizzes, and materials as well as communicate with each other through general posts.
I had it on my mind for quite a while, but was only able to initiate the site this year. The biggest benefit has been putting worksheets online so that any student who loses or her pages can download a new one. I've also been uploading Powerpoints and videos I've shown in class for students (or parents) to review as they wish.
I made one large group - which I have yet to see whether it was a good move or not. So far, students are joining and posting "hi" or "hi everyone" or "hello" with lots of exclamation points, no capital letters, and their name and avatar showing with their message.
One student posted, "hi, i'm ipek" to which another student replied: we know.
I hesitated to do this in the past because I was afraid managing such a site would require too much work - but with the smart phones and apps, messages come directly to my devices to which I can quickly delete or access to reply.
I also used the Edmodo support community to address a problem I had uploading a picture example of an assignment. The picture kept uploading in a rotated position. The response was immediate, and my help came in the form of a screencast showing me how I should rotate my picture 90 degrees on photo editing.
Granted, the support wasn't helpful - as I do know how to rotate a picture, and the orientation of my photo was vertical pre-upload, but I was still thrilled to have almost live help.
I will see how this goes, but it's satisfying to incorporate more and more digital learning as I know this is the direction teaching has moved. It also is creating engagement outside of the classroom in a virtual environment where students may feel more comfortable to experiment. I especially like that I can connect to the students who want my feedback, but maybe I haven't found the chance to address them in the classroom.
This is a topic to be continued . . .
I had it on my mind for quite a while, but was only able to initiate the site this year. The biggest benefit has been putting worksheets online so that any student who loses or her pages can download a new one. I've also been uploading Powerpoints and videos I've shown in class for students (or parents) to review as they wish.
I made one large group - which I have yet to see whether it was a good move or not. So far, students are joining and posting "hi" or "hi everyone" or "hello" with lots of exclamation points, no capital letters, and their name and avatar showing with their message.
One student posted, "hi, i'm ipek" to which another student replied: we know.
I hesitated to do this in the past because I was afraid managing such a site would require too much work - but with the smart phones and apps, messages come directly to my devices to which I can quickly delete or access to reply.
I also used the Edmodo support community to address a problem I had uploading a picture example of an assignment. The picture kept uploading in a rotated position. The response was immediate, and my help came in the form of a screencast showing me how I should rotate my picture 90 degrees on photo editing.
Granted, the support wasn't helpful - as I do know how to rotate a picture, and the orientation of my photo was vertical pre-upload, but I was still thrilled to have almost live help.
I will see how this goes, but it's satisfying to incorporate more and more digital learning as I know this is the direction teaching has moved. It also is creating engagement outside of the classroom in a virtual environment where students may feel more comfortable to experiment. I especially like that I can connect to the students who want my feedback, but maybe I haven't found the chance to address them in the classroom.
This is a topic to be continued . . .
expecting the unexpected on the road
Drivers in Turkey are infamous. I heard once that Turkey had one of the highest number of traffic accidents/fatalities in the world - but I've found nothing to confirm this (in fact, according to the World Health Organization - Eritrea has the highest per 100,000 inhabitants: 48.4, followed by The Cook Islands). The U.S. State Department did feel the need to print this about Turkey:
"A number of accidents occurred when a local driver stopped, turned or took some unexpected action which caused the U.S. driver to hit the other vehicle or be struck by someone else. Many of the "unexpected" actions were unexpected according to U.S. driving standards but are quite common in Ankara and Istanbul and other parts of the country."
So, let me expand on that. Taxis are the worst, everywhere. In Turkey, I think I'll put bus drivers as the second worst. You'd think with all those lives at stake, they'd be a little more careful - but this is not the case. Okul Tasiti has very little meaning as most of these buses are tour buses in the summer, and school busses in the winter. These mini-busses and small vans that carry students and commuters alike have routes they drive and contracts to keep - and traffic as a mere obstacle to these goals.
It is not uncommon to see the following:
- running red lights (where there are no cameras)
- driving into oncoming traffic to bypass those waiting for the red light
- reversing on the highway
- buses stopping suddenly, or pulling out suddenly to drop off/pick up passengers
- one lane made into 3 1/2 lanes
- double or triple parking (in a no parking zone)
- forced merging
I call it cheating. Everybody is trying to "cheat" traffic. But, there really is no cheating rush hour. Maybe it will buy you a few seconds, a minute or two tops - but rushing around one, only meets you with the next bout of traffic, and ten more cars trying to do what you just did.
My commute to work during rush hour is like a free-for-all on the road. Lanes aren't always clearly marked, and when I drive down an "open" road with no lights - there is a line of cars in front of me with cars coming joining the line from every side street and parking space within sight. Relatively, traffic flows surprisingly smoothly considering the lack of regard for the "rules of the road".
When I park at school - I'm usually blocked in by parents at the end of the day. Parents waiting for their little darlings, so I wait too ... impatiently. And then it's a rush to exit the parking lot, then the campus, and then to join the flow of those going home.
It has made me a better driver most days. More alert, more accepting, more patient. Because you have to be to survive.
I took Teoman and Tomris on a mini-bus the other day. It was a rainy day, but I wanted to get them outside - and Teoman loves busses. Tomris still loves everything new. We left the house with little cars in our hands and hopped on a bus waiting for passengers. The driver took off before I could sit down with my two small children. That's another "normal" - along with the road being a free-for-all, the busses you have to fend-for-yourself - women, children, and the elderly alike. We sat near a window and sang the "wheels on the bus" song. We travelled for quite a ways, and I hopped out near a park. Passengers on the bus are always looking out for children and the elderly, and I usually get a hand from someone. Teoman jumped off the busses step which made everyone chuckle at his enthusiasm. We had found a park with a huge apparatus built like a castle. It had the recycled rubber mats as flooring and it was relatively dry. We played, drove our cars, climbed stairs, went down slides, ate crackers, before making our way back to a bus stop.
There are many buses that come by - but I'm still learning how to spot which one will take me all the home, which one will accept coins versus a card, and how to actually signal the bus to stop when my hands are full with little hands. The driver on the way home pulled over for me -- he was watching my eyes for a signal while I was still trying to read the sign on his window. He pulled over anyhow and I got on seeing as he was the only one of the three busses that stopped. The small bus was full, and a passenger stood up so that I could sit all of us down on one seat. Teoman was disappointed it wasn't next to the window.
The driver waited for me to sit, and because he couldn't see us - called back to see if we were sitting safely.
That was a first for me in Turkey.
"A number of accidents occurred when a local driver stopped, turned or took some unexpected action which caused the U.S. driver to hit the other vehicle or be struck by someone else. Many of the "unexpected" actions were unexpected according to U.S. driving standards but are quite common in Ankara and Istanbul and other parts of the country."
So, let me expand on that. Taxis are the worst, everywhere. In Turkey, I think I'll put bus drivers as the second worst. You'd think with all those lives at stake, they'd be a little more careful - but this is not the case. Okul Tasiti has very little meaning as most of these buses are tour buses in the summer, and school busses in the winter. These mini-busses and small vans that carry students and commuters alike have routes they drive and contracts to keep - and traffic as a mere obstacle to these goals.
It is not uncommon to see the following:
- running red lights (where there are no cameras)
- driving into oncoming traffic to bypass those waiting for the red light
- reversing on the highway
- buses stopping suddenly, or pulling out suddenly to drop off/pick up passengers
- one lane made into 3 1/2 lanes
- double or triple parking (in a no parking zone)
- forced merging
I call it cheating. Everybody is trying to "cheat" traffic. But, there really is no cheating rush hour. Maybe it will buy you a few seconds, a minute or two tops - but rushing around one, only meets you with the next bout of traffic, and ten more cars trying to do what you just did.
My commute to work during rush hour is like a free-for-all on the road. Lanes aren't always clearly marked, and when I drive down an "open" road with no lights - there is a line of cars in front of me with cars coming joining the line from every side street and parking space within sight. Relatively, traffic flows surprisingly smoothly considering the lack of regard for the "rules of the road".
When I park at school - I'm usually blocked in by parents at the end of the day. Parents waiting for their little darlings, so I wait too ... impatiently. And then it's a rush to exit the parking lot, then the campus, and then to join the flow of those going home.
It has made me a better driver most days. More alert, more accepting, more patient. Because you have to be to survive.
I took Teoman and Tomris on a mini-bus the other day. It was a rainy day, but I wanted to get them outside - and Teoman loves busses. Tomris still loves everything new. We left the house with little cars in our hands and hopped on a bus waiting for passengers. The driver took off before I could sit down with my two small children. That's another "normal" - along with the road being a free-for-all, the busses you have to fend-for-yourself - women, children, and the elderly alike. We sat near a window and sang the "wheels on the bus" song. We travelled for quite a ways, and I hopped out near a park. Passengers on the bus are always looking out for children and the elderly, and I usually get a hand from someone. Teoman jumped off the busses step which made everyone chuckle at his enthusiasm. We had found a park with a huge apparatus built like a castle. It had the recycled rubber mats as flooring and it was relatively dry. We played, drove our cars, climbed stairs, went down slides, ate crackers, before making our way back to a bus stop.
There are many buses that come by - but I'm still learning how to spot which one will take me all the home, which one will accept coins versus a card, and how to actually signal the bus to stop when my hands are full with little hands. The driver on the way home pulled over for me -- he was watching my eyes for a signal while I was still trying to read the sign on his window. He pulled over anyhow and I got on seeing as he was the only one of the three busses that stopped. The small bus was full, and a passenger stood up so that I could sit all of us down on one seat. Teoman was disappointed it wasn't next to the window.
The driver waited for me to sit, and because he couldn't see us - called back to see if we were sitting safely.
That was a first for me in Turkey.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
learning English
I have never tutored.
I'm a teacher, but I've never given private lessons. I have friends in America and here who have made successful businesses out of tutoring, but it has never appealed to me. Part of the reason is that I was a nanny for ten years, and while I loved the one-on-one and family support - I became a teacher so I could effect more lives. And tutoring is like nannying - a lot of effort and time put into one, whereas I enjoy teaching because my effort and time is spread to many.
That, and I don't feel as confident in tutoring. I'm not sure I could create an independent learning plan for someone that justifies both of our time and money. As a tutor, they are relying on you to improve specific skill sets based on someone else's criteria. In America, tutors are often called upon for testing and college admissions.
Ah, no thank you. I skipped my SATs and ACTs, and frankly, I'm not a good test taker. I'm not sure I'm very good at college admissions because it turns into an internal inspection of my goals, values and dreams which result in a moral crisis of who am I and what do I want to be and aren't I good enough for your school?
Even writing cover letters for jobs, in retrospect, I was giving too much information. I have not been on the other side of resume reading - but thinking about it now, I'm not sure anyone cared that I was newly married, lived in Turkey, travelled the world -- or even that I taught in Brooklyn as a Fellow.
Maybe all they wanted to know was: how much would they have to pay me (based on my experience and degrees), and how much could I contribute (I think my age and newly married put in the "at-risk-for-having-babies-and-taking-maternity-leave" category).
So, when Tolga's colleague pushed us to tutor her friend, we finally agreed. The other end of this is - I think I would charge more than anyone charges - because that's how I view my time outside of my job. But this friend-of-a-friend was motivated to learn for her job, had a price she was willing to pay, and was flexible to my situation.
She agreed to come to my house, while my kids were napping, and accepted that we may be interrupted by them anyhow - waking up from naps, needing me, etc.
Funds came with her husband, Gokhan, and our mutual friend Simge. I was putting Tomris back to sleep when they came, so they came in quietly and waited for me in the dining room. I should have been having a family nap with the kids too, but I was excited to try this out as well.
I had taken out many English books at different levels for them to possibly use. She had brought the many course books she had used as well. She brought cake too. It's very Turkish to bring food to someone's house, and I had just run to the store as well so that I could offer snacks too. Simge served put the cake and drinks while I sat and spoke with Funda and her husband. In the beginning, Funda kept looking to Simge for help, and Gokhan, feeling her struggling for words, would also jump in - offering a word to help her with her sentences. They were like to crutches for Funda - as she was shy and nervous to speak English and kept looking to them for help.
I knew exactly how she felt - because I do it to Tolga all the time. Especially when I first moved here. So I talked to them all about nervousness and crutches.
Stress always interferes with communication. It's not something too feel bad about, but something to recognize as a somewhat uncontrollable factor. Sometimes, you can't understand because your nervous, and it's okay and normal. It happens to me all the time - especially at doctor's office. I don't understand them, or they don't understand me. It still happens to Tolga and I - when we are stressed and arguing because of stress, our communication falls apart. If the initial stressor was Teoman is sick, we may end up fighting about the word "the", or Tolga will forget how to say a key word in English, like "stuffy nose" and will get flustered. We both know this, and try to back off and calm down when it happens because it's normal, but doesn't have to be the norm.
Even more frustrating, sometimes the native speaker you are communicating with is nervous too - and instead of trying to help you, and figure out what you are saying - they can't, don't try, or try to say it for you and it's completely wrong.
So, my point is - don't give up because you can't say it - there are many ways to communicate. Just not Turkish in these lessons.
My second speech was about crutches. I told the story of my twin brother. It's my favorite story to tell when speaking about communication. I was always very verbal, and he was not. So, naturally, I spoke for him. Sometimes, he just didn't feel like speaking, sometimes, he couldn't express what he was thinking - so I always jumped in to "help." It was a huge eye opener to me when I was thirteen and one of our youth leaders told me that it wasn't healthy. Up to that point, I thought I was helping, but I understood immediately that I was creating a handicap instead. He hadn't learned how to speak for himself, because he didn't have to - and that was partly my fault. I didn't feel bad for what I had done, but I stopped from the point forward.
And this is what was happening with Funda. She was afraid to speak and make mistakes or be misunderstood - so she was falling back onto Turkish and her friends - to speak for her, and it wasn't helping her English. I still do the same thing with Tolga - when I'm stressed, I don't want to speak Turkish, I just turn to Tolga and have him say it - because he can say it exactly as I mean. But, it wasn't helping my Turkish - and so I banned Gokhan and Simge from speaking, and asked Funda to tell me about herself.
"I'm 30 years old." She was stuck where to go from there, so I offered questions to bring her along.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"I was one brother. He died. Three or four before."
"oh, I'm sorry to hear that." I knew the Turkish word for condolences, but even in this moment, my mind was thinking to teach condolences to her. However, I think she understood it as sorry for asking - which is a Turkish response.
"How about your parents?" She looked at me blankly. "Your mother and father, are they in Ankara?"
"They died."
"Died? I'm so sorry to hear that. When did they die?"
And she proceeded to try to figure out her age in English numbers.
It was a rough beginning.
I'm a teacher, but I've never given private lessons. I have friends in America and here who have made successful businesses out of tutoring, but it has never appealed to me. Part of the reason is that I was a nanny for ten years, and while I loved the one-on-one and family support - I became a teacher so I could effect more lives. And tutoring is like nannying - a lot of effort and time put into one, whereas I enjoy teaching because my effort and time is spread to many.
That, and I don't feel as confident in tutoring. I'm not sure I could create an independent learning plan for someone that justifies both of our time and money. As a tutor, they are relying on you to improve specific skill sets based on someone else's criteria. In America, tutors are often called upon for testing and college admissions.
Ah, no thank you. I skipped my SATs and ACTs, and frankly, I'm not a good test taker. I'm not sure I'm very good at college admissions because it turns into an internal inspection of my goals, values and dreams which result in a moral crisis of who am I and what do I want to be and aren't I good enough for your school?
Even writing cover letters for jobs, in retrospect, I was giving too much information. I have not been on the other side of resume reading - but thinking about it now, I'm not sure anyone cared that I was newly married, lived in Turkey, travelled the world -- or even that I taught in Brooklyn as a Fellow.
Maybe all they wanted to know was: how much would they have to pay me (based on my experience and degrees), and how much could I contribute (I think my age and newly married put in the "at-risk-for-having-babies-and-taking-maternity-leave" category).
So, when Tolga's colleague pushed us to tutor her friend, we finally agreed. The other end of this is - I think I would charge more than anyone charges - because that's how I view my time outside of my job. But this friend-of-a-friend was motivated to learn for her job, had a price she was willing to pay, and was flexible to my situation.
She agreed to come to my house, while my kids were napping, and accepted that we may be interrupted by them anyhow - waking up from naps, needing me, etc.
Funds came with her husband, Gokhan, and our mutual friend Simge. I was putting Tomris back to sleep when they came, so they came in quietly and waited for me in the dining room. I should have been having a family nap with the kids too, but I was excited to try this out as well.
I had taken out many English books at different levels for them to possibly use. She had brought the many course books she had used as well. She brought cake too. It's very Turkish to bring food to someone's house, and I had just run to the store as well so that I could offer snacks too. Simge served put the cake and drinks while I sat and spoke with Funda and her husband. In the beginning, Funda kept looking to Simge for help, and Gokhan, feeling her struggling for words, would also jump in - offering a word to help her with her sentences. They were like to crutches for Funda - as she was shy and nervous to speak English and kept looking to them for help.
I knew exactly how she felt - because I do it to Tolga all the time. Especially when I first moved here. So I talked to them all about nervousness and crutches.
Stress always interferes with communication. It's not something too feel bad about, but something to recognize as a somewhat uncontrollable factor. Sometimes, you can't understand because your nervous, and it's okay and normal. It happens to me all the time - especially at doctor's office. I don't understand them, or they don't understand me. It still happens to Tolga and I - when we are stressed and arguing because of stress, our communication falls apart. If the initial stressor was Teoman is sick, we may end up fighting about the word "the", or Tolga will forget how to say a key word in English, like "stuffy nose" and will get flustered. We both know this, and try to back off and calm down when it happens because it's normal, but doesn't have to be the norm.
Even more frustrating, sometimes the native speaker you are communicating with is nervous too - and instead of trying to help you, and figure out what you are saying - they can't, don't try, or try to say it for you and it's completely wrong.
So, my point is - don't give up because you can't say it - there are many ways to communicate. Just not Turkish in these lessons.
My second speech was about crutches. I told the story of my twin brother. It's my favorite story to tell when speaking about communication. I was always very verbal, and he was not. So, naturally, I spoke for him. Sometimes, he just didn't feel like speaking, sometimes, he couldn't express what he was thinking - so I always jumped in to "help." It was a huge eye opener to me when I was thirteen and one of our youth leaders told me that it wasn't healthy. Up to that point, I thought I was helping, but I understood immediately that I was creating a handicap instead. He hadn't learned how to speak for himself, because he didn't have to - and that was partly my fault. I didn't feel bad for what I had done, but I stopped from the point forward.
And this is what was happening with Funda. She was afraid to speak and make mistakes or be misunderstood - so she was falling back onto Turkish and her friends - to speak for her, and it wasn't helping her English. I still do the same thing with Tolga - when I'm stressed, I don't want to speak Turkish, I just turn to Tolga and have him say it - because he can say it exactly as I mean. But, it wasn't helping my Turkish - and so I banned Gokhan and Simge from speaking, and asked Funda to tell me about herself.
"I'm 30 years old." She was stuck where to go from there, so I offered questions to bring her along.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"I was one brother. He died. Three or four before."
"oh, I'm sorry to hear that." I knew the Turkish word for condolences, but even in this moment, my mind was thinking to teach condolences to her. However, I think she understood it as sorry for asking - which is a Turkish response.
"How about your parents?" She looked at me blankly. "Your mother and father, are they in Ankara?"
"They died."
"Died? I'm so sorry to hear that. When did they die?"
And she proceeded to try to figure out her age in English numbers.
It was a rough beginning.
Monday, October 20, 2014
a wedding in purgatory
I realize the title could be the beginning to something quite clever, but it's actually quite literal. Leslie, the girl I nannied for many years, got married on Friday in Purgatory, Rhode Island.
At my wedding, I wanted everyone I ever knew there - and so naturally - I wanted the same for Leslie. I wanted to be there for her. To cross another life transition with her. I followed her through middle school and high school graduation, college graduation, several moves across the country, world travels where she met up with us in Turkey, and now back in San Francisco.
I wanted to go, of course...to the wedding...but I chose not to because it would mean taking Tomris and leaving Teoman...and I couldn't do that. Even if Tolga was home and not traveling, the idea of leaving Teoman is too much - I couldn't leave one child and take the other, travel to Rhode Island, and come back to work within a few short days.
But my heart was there with Broc and Leslie. Leslie is my sister. Her family is my family. When I think of her family, I think of the times we had together - shared and gone, never to be replicated as we grow and get older. Those were sweet years together. Her humor and intelligence. Their lives and mine as we grew up together. Leslie is older now, but she is still Leslie and I would love to be a part of these events for the rest of our lives. But they are not my family, and I have my own family now .. so we are all moving on without each other. Writing new stories, with new adventures - but all Friday and night, they were who I thought of ... they were my life at one point, and I could imagine the wedding planning now. Her parents and their antics, her brother and his.
I don't know how Renee did it - worked full time, kept me at the house, and raised two strong, funny, independent, and confident children. She credits me, and I credit her. Renee wore a beautiful dress and had her hair done up with her daughter. Both she and Artie walked Leslie down the aisle and gave her away on the shores of Rhode Island.
Leslie is living back in San Francisco now. A place she lived for several years about ten years ago. She is working for Apple, already living with her now husband. They have traveled abroad together, gone to graduate school, and I'm sure planned a future like her mother.
They are Jewish, and many a mazaltov's were said. She will be fine - she has always been well adjusted and close to her mother. Practical, frugal and shrewd when necessary, but with her own touches of grace and wants and desires. I'm finding it hard to write about her from afar, but I sent her several texts on her wedding day - sending my support, and jokes, and wonderings about what everyone was doing.
Her dress was modest, covering her shoulders. Lacy, with an open back, and fitted around the hips before flowing out once again around her feet. No train, her hair was tied back, and their kiss captured in the waning light was accented by a long graceful hand that held her now-husband's cheek.
I don't know what Leslie struggles with these days, but I hope I can always be a sister for her - and a friend when she needs. Leslie has many friends, from many different walks - but I have watched her grow and succeed and my heart aches to be there for her always because I have always been on her side: supporting and admiring the person she is...wanting the best for her. We never fought or disagreed - strange to think of now, and I'm not sure if it was because she was never open enough for this, or if she was just too timid in those younger years. She surely inherited some of her mother's restraint - but seeing her parents having aged, I have a renewed commitment to always be a part of her life. And Steven's.
I don't know if we will ever get a chance to be together again, but I won't leave them.
At my wedding, I wanted everyone I ever knew there - and so naturally - I wanted the same for Leslie. I wanted to be there for her. To cross another life transition with her. I followed her through middle school and high school graduation, college graduation, several moves across the country, world travels where she met up with us in Turkey, and now back in San Francisco.
I wanted to go, of course...to the wedding...but I chose not to because it would mean taking Tomris and leaving Teoman...and I couldn't do that. Even if Tolga was home and not traveling, the idea of leaving Teoman is too much - I couldn't leave one child and take the other, travel to Rhode Island, and come back to work within a few short days.
But my heart was there with Broc and Leslie. Leslie is my sister. Her family is my family. When I think of her family, I think of the times we had together - shared and gone, never to be replicated as we grow and get older. Those were sweet years together. Her humor and intelligence. Their lives and mine as we grew up together. Leslie is older now, but she is still Leslie and I would love to be a part of these events for the rest of our lives. But they are not my family, and I have my own family now .. so we are all moving on without each other. Writing new stories, with new adventures - but all Friday and night, they were who I thought of ... they were my life at one point, and I could imagine the wedding planning now. Her parents and their antics, her brother and his.
I don't know how Renee did it - worked full time, kept me at the house, and raised two strong, funny, independent, and confident children. She credits me, and I credit her. Renee wore a beautiful dress and had her hair done up with her daughter. Both she and Artie walked Leslie down the aisle and gave her away on the shores of Rhode Island.
Leslie is living back in San Francisco now. A place she lived for several years about ten years ago. She is working for Apple, already living with her now husband. They have traveled abroad together, gone to graduate school, and I'm sure planned a future like her mother.
They are Jewish, and many a mazaltov's were said. She will be fine - she has always been well adjusted and close to her mother. Practical, frugal and shrewd when necessary, but with her own touches of grace and wants and desires. I'm finding it hard to write about her from afar, but I sent her several texts on her wedding day - sending my support, and jokes, and wonderings about what everyone was doing.
Her dress was modest, covering her shoulders. Lacy, with an open back, and fitted around the hips before flowing out once again around her feet. No train, her hair was tied back, and their kiss captured in the waning light was accented by a long graceful hand that held her now-husband's cheek.
I don't know what Leslie struggles with these days, but I hope I can always be a sister for her - and a friend when she needs. Leslie has many friends, from many different walks - but I have watched her grow and succeed and my heart aches to be there for her always because I have always been on her side: supporting and admiring the person she is...wanting the best for her. We never fought or disagreed - strange to think of now, and I'm not sure if it was because she was never open enough for this, or if she was just too timid in those younger years. She surely inherited some of her mother's restraint - but seeing her parents having aged, I have a renewed commitment to always be a part of her life. And Steven's.
I don't know if we will ever get a chance to be together again, but I won't leave them.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
on aging
It's hit me this past year how old I'm getting. Sure, I'm not old - maybe this is the infamous "mid-life crisis". Maybe it's the injuries to my body, or the flab (I do NOT remember so many parts jiggling in the past).
But especially, my students make me think of it. Their parents are usually my age or younger. I could have a ten-year-old right now. Heck, I could have a 20-year-old right now. I am seeing parents with their children and I am imagining my kids in school...all of us ten years older.
I distinctly remember in my twenties, thinking people in their thirties were old. I played softball with a woman who was 37 and she looked so young, but she was old. I played on two softball teams, and I was "the kid". They were in their thirties and constantly made jokes about my age versus their age. At the time, I didn't feel much different then them. I didn't understand the constant referencing of it. I thought their complaints about getting too old, and not being able to do things were exaggerated. Now I understand. It's more like regret. Regretting the loss of your youth - tight skin, toned muscles, life ahead of you, many possibilities, little real life sorrow.
But no one in their twenties would agree. Your twenties comes with plenty of its own difficulties: namely settling into a career, becoming independent, and being respected it for it. And no age is without it's sorrows. They just hold different weights at different ages I think. I don't know, I think I might have even been wiser and more peaceful and patient at 25 then I am now. Sigh.
Or maybe consequences are more severe as you get older. You pay physically for mistakes. Emotional crisis are felt by your husband and children. Financial mistakes cost your family. Other mistakes could cost a job - or happiness in a job.
When I look at my ten, eleven, and twelve year old students - I think about where I was that many years ago.
I definitely was not ready to have babies. Sure, I wanted to be married and have a family - but I couldn't imagine it. I was getting closer, year by year. But I was not ready. Twelve years ago I had just finished a year long tour of Europe. My best friend's husband had died of cancer and she was suicidal. I was writing a book and searching for a career to settle into. I struggled with joblessness, worth, and direction.
I wanted to keep living free, writing, and if any job would just give me a chance - I knew I could be great at it, because it was my nature. I was hard-working, honest, self-reflecting, and teachable. Bring it on.
But I had sent out so many resumes in the wake of 9/11 - I was just shooting for anything at this point. I distinctly remember driving home one day from an interview to be a hostess at the Cheesecake Factory. The Cheesecake Factory. Ugh. They make their employees take a psychological survey and it spiraled me into a lot of introspection. The test depressed me and I left the restaurant crying. I did not want to be a hostess at the Cheesecake Factory.
That was a turning point for me. After that, I decided I had to stay true to what I had learned and what I wanted, and anything less might destroy me. It wasn't that I couldn't - I knew I could do anything - whether I could find a job or not, I wasn't in a position where I had to sell myself short.
I came "close" on one more interview - to be an assistant editor at Penguin Putnam. Who knows how it would have worked out, but I was so excited at the idea of editing for a publisher in New York. At the end of that interview I dislocated my shoulder putting on my fancy leather jacket from Italy. My Interviewer took me to the hospital.
And I didn't get the job. But she said, after that ordeal, she thought I could handle labor and delivery no problem.
hooray.
I was able to get buy for a year with help from many people. I was never desperate. I had some cash, my friends helped me by paying me to babysit, getting groceries, or offering me odd jobs. My brothers paid me for jobs when I visited, and in the end - my old boss paid me to live with her. She was traveling and wanted me to just be at the house for the sake of her son whom I had nannied for many years and who was now in high school.
From their I found Americorps and The New York Teaching Fellows. I decided to give a try at teaching. Throughout my own schooling, whenever I had the chance to "teach" my class, I had loved it. I had never thought of myself as a teacher - but at the very least, it would give me some great writing material.
I fell apart at that interview too. I had to give a demo lesson, and I forgot what I was saying in the middle of the sentence, and then I forgot my point and what I was teaching. It was like my piano recitals all over again.
But, no one judged me too harshly for it - as everyone in the room was applying and feeling the same nerves as I ... and I got into the program anyhow ... and I started my career as a teacher.
So, I wasn't thinking about marriage or family then either. Beginning teaching in the ghetto left no room for thought of the future. The here and now was just too loud.
Three years after beginning my teaching career I was ready to travel some, but I also was ready to "unpack". I wanted a place to call home, and literally unpack the things I had spread out over different homes. That was the year I met Tolga. Maybe I had opportunities before that I could have pursued - but I was never that kind of person. I never had a serious relationship because I was a serious person - and if the person wasn't someone I could see myself with forever, I didn't pursue it. I also gave people very little chance - that's my INFJ personality I guess.
It is nothing less than amazing that Tolga and I found each other. Maybe I was ready, but I sure was ready for him to make a mistake and to write him off too. It's probably a good thing I only saw him for three days in such an innocent environment: in the mountains, drinking tea, talking about life -- because the rest of relationship was built on communication, and that was where he stole my heart.
I am aging, but my second life began when I married Tolga - and that's an amazing feeling that I don't want to forget. A friend told me once he felt another life started when he had children, but I think our children are just a natural extension of our relationship. Life has gotten bigger and smaller all at once. I no longer pursue traveling, or sports, or friends, or music, or church and all those things that filled my life before.
I am older, but we have these very new lives to guide - and I hope this age will bring me more wisdom and patience and faith.
But especially, my students make me think of it. Their parents are usually my age or younger. I could have a ten-year-old right now. Heck, I could have a 20-year-old right now. I am seeing parents with their children and I am imagining my kids in school...all of us ten years older.
I distinctly remember in my twenties, thinking people in their thirties were old. I played softball with a woman who was 37 and she looked so young, but she was old. I played on two softball teams, and I was "the kid". They were in their thirties and constantly made jokes about my age versus their age. At the time, I didn't feel much different then them. I didn't understand the constant referencing of it. I thought their complaints about getting too old, and not being able to do things were exaggerated. Now I understand. It's more like regret. Regretting the loss of your youth - tight skin, toned muscles, life ahead of you, many possibilities, little real life sorrow.
But no one in their twenties would agree. Your twenties comes with plenty of its own difficulties: namely settling into a career, becoming independent, and being respected it for it. And no age is without it's sorrows. They just hold different weights at different ages I think. I don't know, I think I might have even been wiser and more peaceful and patient at 25 then I am now. Sigh.
Or maybe consequences are more severe as you get older. You pay physically for mistakes. Emotional crisis are felt by your husband and children. Financial mistakes cost your family. Other mistakes could cost a job - or happiness in a job.
When I look at my ten, eleven, and twelve year old students - I think about where I was that many years ago.
I definitely was not ready to have babies. Sure, I wanted to be married and have a family - but I couldn't imagine it. I was getting closer, year by year. But I was not ready. Twelve years ago I had just finished a year long tour of Europe. My best friend's husband had died of cancer and she was suicidal. I was writing a book and searching for a career to settle into. I struggled with joblessness, worth, and direction.
I wanted to keep living free, writing, and if any job would just give me a chance - I knew I could be great at it, because it was my nature. I was hard-working, honest, self-reflecting, and teachable. Bring it on.
But I had sent out so many resumes in the wake of 9/11 - I was just shooting for anything at this point. I distinctly remember driving home one day from an interview to be a hostess at the Cheesecake Factory. The Cheesecake Factory. Ugh. They make their employees take a psychological survey and it spiraled me into a lot of introspection. The test depressed me and I left the restaurant crying. I did not want to be a hostess at the Cheesecake Factory.
That was a turning point for me. After that, I decided I had to stay true to what I had learned and what I wanted, and anything less might destroy me. It wasn't that I couldn't - I knew I could do anything - whether I could find a job or not, I wasn't in a position where I had to sell myself short.
I came "close" on one more interview - to be an assistant editor at Penguin Putnam. Who knows how it would have worked out, but I was so excited at the idea of editing for a publisher in New York. At the end of that interview I dislocated my shoulder putting on my fancy leather jacket from Italy. My Interviewer took me to the hospital.
And I didn't get the job. But she said, after that ordeal, she thought I could handle labor and delivery no problem.
hooray.
I was able to get buy for a year with help from many people. I was never desperate. I had some cash, my friends helped me by paying me to babysit, getting groceries, or offering me odd jobs. My brothers paid me for jobs when I visited, and in the end - my old boss paid me to live with her. She was traveling and wanted me to just be at the house for the sake of her son whom I had nannied for many years and who was now in high school.
From their I found Americorps and The New York Teaching Fellows. I decided to give a try at teaching. Throughout my own schooling, whenever I had the chance to "teach" my class, I had loved it. I had never thought of myself as a teacher - but at the very least, it would give me some great writing material.
I fell apart at that interview too. I had to give a demo lesson, and I forgot what I was saying in the middle of the sentence, and then I forgot my point and what I was teaching. It was like my piano recitals all over again.
But, no one judged me too harshly for it - as everyone in the room was applying and feeling the same nerves as I ... and I got into the program anyhow ... and I started my career as a teacher.
So, I wasn't thinking about marriage or family then either. Beginning teaching in the ghetto left no room for thought of the future. The here and now was just too loud.
Three years after beginning my teaching career I was ready to travel some, but I also was ready to "unpack". I wanted a place to call home, and literally unpack the things I had spread out over different homes. That was the year I met Tolga. Maybe I had opportunities before that I could have pursued - but I was never that kind of person. I never had a serious relationship because I was a serious person - and if the person wasn't someone I could see myself with forever, I didn't pursue it. I also gave people very little chance - that's my INFJ personality I guess.
It is nothing less than amazing that Tolga and I found each other. Maybe I was ready, but I sure was ready for him to make a mistake and to write him off too. It's probably a good thing I only saw him for three days in such an innocent environment: in the mountains, drinking tea, talking about life -- because the rest of relationship was built on communication, and that was where he stole my heart.
I am aging, but my second life began when I married Tolga - and that's an amazing feeling that I don't want to forget. A friend told me once he felt another life started when he had children, but I think our children are just a natural extension of our relationship. Life has gotten bigger and smaller all at once. I no longer pursue traveling, or sports, or friends, or music, or church and all those things that filled my life before.
I am older, but we have these very new lives to guide - and I hope this age will bring me more wisdom and patience and faith.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Freedom and inhibitions
In my early teaching years I began teaching reading strategies. I had some colorful small posters that I drew up and taped around the room. I began bringing these reading strategies back, but this year, I am doing it more purposefully... and having the most fun with it.
I have taken most (all) of my ideas from the Internet and I created Powerpoints where I copy and pasted lots of pictures and guides, then I created some posters and had them printed out at the local kirtasiye or stationary store. They are full color A3 posters (because that's how we measure paper here - it's the next size bigger than an 8x11" paper) for one lire (about 50 cents). I picked them up today and a pack of crayons for the kids. (On the other hand, supplies like crayons are not cheap - almost $7).
It was a rainy afternoon, so I thought this would keep the kids busy when I got home. Oh, and it did. They colored for about one minute, then had fun throwing the crayons around and we've already lost two colors and broken the dark green. Tomris just liked picking them all up and walking around with them, occasionally putting them in her mouth. Teoman scribbled some, experimenting with dropping them down different crevices, and got mad when I tried to put them back in the container. Tomris spent another five minutes taking the crayons out of the box and putting them back in the box.
That's how coloring with toddlers goes I guess.
Tomris was so happy to see me, and demanded to be picked up, and then demanded "milk, milka, milka..." with a smile and giggle. Teoman was in an odd mood. Maybe he was missing his Baba. I called Tolga so the kids could talk to him. Tolga always brings them home a small gift and random or specialty things he picks up from the different cities he visits. "This town is known for it's cheese" or "This town is known for it's canes" or "This town is known for its garlic." Things I never appreciated before Tolga, and now I do...because in Turkey, these specialty items seem more authentic. There aren't big factories necessarily, but hard working people whose meager sustenance is founded on these items.
Teoman was asking Tolga for a school bus. On our way back form Kusadasi, he had seen one at a store and didn't want it - but I think he made the connection when he saw it in his book, and he asked his Baba for it. And then he asked for it again. And again. And again. Each time Tolga said okay. But for some reason, Teoman kept asking for it. I had to put a stop to the telephone conversation, and Teoman threw a fit. Crying, saying he wanted to ask Baba for a school bus. I explained he already asked one hundred thousand times, and each time Baba said yes. And Teoman still cried with big tears.
I hugged him and asked if he missed his Baba. He did, and snuggled in my arms. This is the kind of stuff that breaks Tolga's heart. But I tried to assure Teoman that I missed Baba too and he would be home soon, and in the mean time we would do lots of fun things together - go to the park, go to his friends, go on the bus, play with his amca (uncle) and abla (our nanny). And, when Baba came home we'd do more fun things.
It's a bit unnerving when you're children just want something so simple as you, home. It makes me start to question - how important is work anyway? Do we really need money? I'm sure all parents go through these feelings, but it sure doesn't make it any easier. I put him in my bed this night and he laid next to me, twirling my ring in his fingers. He kept his other hand behind his head and his eyes open, thinking...just like his Baba. I said, "What are you thinking about?"
"Cars." He answered.
And while he lay, I lay thinking about freedom and inhibitions. Creativity is freeing. It is a part of who we are, and when we are allowed to create - we are free to be who we are. I don't feel bad that it isn't perfect - because my creation was a process and I'm not afraid of it being judged - I'm just enjoying creating. Other things procure this feeling in me too. Dance. I am not a dancer. I'm a horrible dancer. My parts don't move in rhythm or in sync. Or they move in too much synchronization... like a broken robot. But when I see dancers move, I know it's a part of me too. The athleticism, grace, and expression move my soul. I think we were all made to dance. Music too - radio music rarely moves me, but playing in an orchestra, or the guitar or the piano. I'm not so great, but I play and I feel like I have become bigger. Drawing (or coloring) - I don't draw much, but it's calming to create.
That said, I've never been impacted by Art. As in Van Gough and Monet or the Mona Lisa. I've been to many famous churches and seen the sistine chapel, and it really did nothing for me. When I walked into these churches - I always found myself touching the pillars and smelling the years in the slightly damp insides. Some are disgusted by the perversion of the church and the waste and gaud of these buildings, but I'm moved by these attempts all over the world to find God.
And these things make me think of heaven. I am sure this is why I feel these things are a part of me - because I believe they are a part of our human nature, and they are all part of one purpose to give glory to God. And through these arts, I can see what freedom and joy these kinds of worship bring. We aren't looking at ourselves, or being judged, or inhibited by our fears or physical limitations. We just are. What a pleasure to think about.
But my reality is filled with inhibitions. Over and over again, I'm given the chance to participate and my arms glued to my sides by my inhibitions. I don't know what it takes to get over these. (A lot of alcohol?) But I do know it's a sickness, or maybe stain of sin that imprisons me at times to ridiculous fears. I remember, particularly, on several occasions playing my violin - at weddings, in a jazz band, part of a worship team - where I was told to be free, to improvise. My hands shook, my shoulders cringed at wrong notes and whistles from the hairs of the bow nicking the other strings. Ugh! How can something so horrible sounding be freedom? And then I remember Barry Gret - a worship leader in my old church. He had a horrible voice. When he sang high, I was ducking low. But he did it with a big smile and a happy heart - and I admired his inhibition.
My Turkish cousin died last night. I think he is the first person that I've known personally who I can't say whether he is going to heaven. I feel so many inhibitions about sharing my beliefs with others, but I am reminded and heartbroken that I haven't given my all for the sake of eternity.
Here I am in a culture, with different beliefs. A family that believes in God, but not necessarily Islam, but practice the rituals of Islam because this is their heritage. It is condescending of me to come in and say "Jesus is the way" in the face of everything they know. Because, for even one person to accept this, means they are also accepting the idea that their family and ancestors and nation may not be in heaven. I cannot bare the thought of my cousin going to hell. I mean, he wasn't that bad of a person... would I be saying that their idea of heaven, and all those they have lost, is wrong?
And I know this comes back to my inhibitions too. Heaven, hell, and all the confusing ideas in-between are not the issue - because when anyone hears Truth, it rings in their soul. I remember my Turkish family, asking Tolga about his experiences in America and Tolga sharing how my father had prayed and fasted about our marriage - and how his heart, moved my Turkish family. I have had experiences where I've heard people question Islam and talk about God - and I haven't joined these conversation, feeling frozen with my fear of...fear of...being different? Being challenged?
I don't know, but it is my prayers these days for my Turkish family. That we would be kept safe, and strong, and that we'd all have a relationship with Jesus.
And the jargon of Christianity, is a whole other tag on topics I want to explore to make things more accessible, more real - for me and the ones I love.
I have taken most (all) of my ideas from the Internet and I created Powerpoints where I copy and pasted lots of pictures and guides, then I created some posters and had them printed out at the local kirtasiye or stationary store. They are full color A3 posters (because that's how we measure paper here - it's the next size bigger than an 8x11" paper) for one lire (about 50 cents). I picked them up today and a pack of crayons for the kids. (On the other hand, supplies like crayons are not cheap - almost $7).
It was a rainy afternoon, so I thought this would keep the kids busy when I got home. Oh, and it did. They colored for about one minute, then had fun throwing the crayons around and we've already lost two colors and broken the dark green. Tomris just liked picking them all up and walking around with them, occasionally putting them in her mouth. Teoman scribbled some, experimenting with dropping them down different crevices, and got mad when I tried to put them back in the container. Tomris spent another five minutes taking the crayons out of the box and putting them back in the box.
That's how coloring with toddlers goes I guess.
Tomris was so happy to see me, and demanded to be picked up, and then demanded "milk, milka, milka..." with a smile and giggle. Teoman was in an odd mood. Maybe he was missing his Baba. I called Tolga so the kids could talk to him. Tolga always brings them home a small gift and random or specialty things he picks up from the different cities he visits. "This town is known for it's cheese" or "This town is known for it's canes" or "This town is known for its garlic." Things I never appreciated before Tolga, and now I do...because in Turkey, these specialty items seem more authentic. There aren't big factories necessarily, but hard working people whose meager sustenance is founded on these items.
Teoman was asking Tolga for a school bus. On our way back form Kusadasi, he had seen one at a store and didn't want it - but I think he made the connection when he saw it in his book, and he asked his Baba for it. And then he asked for it again. And again. And again. Each time Tolga said okay. But for some reason, Teoman kept asking for it. I had to put a stop to the telephone conversation, and Teoman threw a fit. Crying, saying he wanted to ask Baba for a school bus. I explained he already asked one hundred thousand times, and each time Baba said yes. And Teoman still cried with big tears.
I hugged him and asked if he missed his Baba. He did, and snuggled in my arms. This is the kind of stuff that breaks Tolga's heart. But I tried to assure Teoman that I missed Baba too and he would be home soon, and in the mean time we would do lots of fun things together - go to the park, go to his friends, go on the bus, play with his amca (uncle) and abla (our nanny). And, when Baba came home we'd do more fun things.
It's a bit unnerving when you're children just want something so simple as you, home. It makes me start to question - how important is work anyway? Do we really need money? I'm sure all parents go through these feelings, but it sure doesn't make it any easier. I put him in my bed this night and he laid next to me, twirling my ring in his fingers. He kept his other hand behind his head and his eyes open, thinking...just like his Baba. I said, "What are you thinking about?"
"Cars." He answered.
And while he lay, I lay thinking about freedom and inhibitions. Creativity is freeing. It is a part of who we are, and when we are allowed to create - we are free to be who we are. I don't feel bad that it isn't perfect - because my creation was a process and I'm not afraid of it being judged - I'm just enjoying creating. Other things procure this feeling in me too. Dance. I am not a dancer. I'm a horrible dancer. My parts don't move in rhythm or in sync. Or they move in too much synchronization... like a broken robot. But when I see dancers move, I know it's a part of me too. The athleticism, grace, and expression move my soul. I think we were all made to dance. Music too - radio music rarely moves me, but playing in an orchestra, or the guitar or the piano. I'm not so great, but I play and I feel like I have become bigger. Drawing (or coloring) - I don't draw much, but it's calming to create.
That said, I've never been impacted by Art. As in Van Gough and Monet or the Mona Lisa. I've been to many famous churches and seen the sistine chapel, and it really did nothing for me. When I walked into these churches - I always found myself touching the pillars and smelling the years in the slightly damp insides. Some are disgusted by the perversion of the church and the waste and gaud of these buildings, but I'm moved by these attempts all over the world to find God.
And these things make me think of heaven. I am sure this is why I feel these things are a part of me - because I believe they are a part of our human nature, and they are all part of one purpose to give glory to God. And through these arts, I can see what freedom and joy these kinds of worship bring. We aren't looking at ourselves, or being judged, or inhibited by our fears or physical limitations. We just are. What a pleasure to think about.
But my reality is filled with inhibitions. Over and over again, I'm given the chance to participate and my arms glued to my sides by my inhibitions. I don't know what it takes to get over these. (A lot of alcohol?) But I do know it's a sickness, or maybe stain of sin that imprisons me at times to ridiculous fears. I remember, particularly, on several occasions playing my violin - at weddings, in a jazz band, part of a worship team - where I was told to be free, to improvise. My hands shook, my shoulders cringed at wrong notes and whistles from the hairs of the bow nicking the other strings. Ugh! How can something so horrible sounding be freedom? And then I remember Barry Gret - a worship leader in my old church. He had a horrible voice. When he sang high, I was ducking low. But he did it with a big smile and a happy heart - and I admired his inhibition.
My Turkish cousin died last night. I think he is the first person that I've known personally who I can't say whether he is going to heaven. I feel so many inhibitions about sharing my beliefs with others, but I am reminded and heartbroken that I haven't given my all for the sake of eternity.
Here I am in a culture, with different beliefs. A family that believes in God, but not necessarily Islam, but practice the rituals of Islam because this is their heritage. It is condescending of me to come in and say "Jesus is the way" in the face of everything they know. Because, for even one person to accept this, means they are also accepting the idea that their family and ancestors and nation may not be in heaven. I cannot bare the thought of my cousin going to hell. I mean, he wasn't that bad of a person... would I be saying that their idea of heaven, and all those they have lost, is wrong?
And I know this comes back to my inhibitions too. Heaven, hell, and all the confusing ideas in-between are not the issue - because when anyone hears Truth, it rings in their soul. I remember my Turkish family, asking Tolga about his experiences in America and Tolga sharing how my father had prayed and fasted about our marriage - and how his heart, moved my Turkish family. I have had experiences where I've heard people question Islam and talk about God - and I haven't joined these conversation, feeling frozen with my fear of...fear of...being different? Being challenged?
I don't know, but it is my prayers these days for my Turkish family. That we would be kept safe, and strong, and that we'd all have a relationship with Jesus.
And the jargon of Christianity, is a whole other tag on topics I want to explore to make things more accessible, more real - for me and the ones I love.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
sleep routines
Tomris loves to nurse. I had intended on stopping at one year old, but it wasn't so important to me - so while this was the date I set, I let Tomris dictate the terms. She is 15 months old and at this rate, I'm not sure she will ever give up nursing. She actually giggles with delight when she knows I'm going to nurse her. She's figured out where the milk comes from and will often sit in my lap, throw her head back and holler, "Milk!"
I was putting Tomris to sleep tonight, and she was having one of those nights where she sleeps, I lay her down, and she wakes up instantly and unhappy. I nursed her put her down, and did this cycle four or five times over an hour before I gave up and brought her to my bed. I laid her next to me and she got up, crawled on top of me and fell asleep hugging me.
In the meantime, Teoman was sitting with his uncle reading books and newspapers. He was sitting on his uncle's lap with the newspaper spread out like he was reading it. Teoman came in to where I was, at one point, and got a diaper for himself, and pointed for him to grab the wipes to. He did...and I was so impressed that Teoman came to get these things and that his uncle was changing him.
However, when I came out - they were playing in the living room. My Turkish, my headache, and my BIL's nervousness equalled zero communication being made. Oh - we talked. I had said things like - Could you sit with him and put him to sleep. And He sleeps in his crib, so you can sit in the chair. And I thought my BIL said Do you want me to put him to sleep? Can he watch TV? (no) Should I put him to sleep here or there? I don't know whatever you want me to do..
But, I guess that's not what happened.
I was putting Tomris to sleep tonight, and she was having one of those nights where she sleeps, I lay her down, and she wakes up instantly and unhappy. I nursed her put her down, and did this cycle four or five times over an hour before I gave up and brought her to my bed. I laid her next to me and she got up, crawled on top of me and fell asleep hugging me.
In the meantime, Teoman was sitting with his uncle reading books and newspapers. He was sitting on his uncle's lap with the newspaper spread out like he was reading it. Teoman came in to where I was, at one point, and got a diaper for himself, and pointed for him to grab the wipes to. He did...and I was so impressed that Teoman came to get these things and that his uncle was changing him.
However, when I came out - they were playing in the living room. My Turkish, my headache, and my BIL's nervousness equalled zero communication being made. Oh - we talked. I had said things like - Could you sit with him and put him to sleep. And He sleeps in his crib, so you can sit in the chair. And I thought my BIL said Do you want me to put him to sleep? Can he watch TV? (no) Should I put him to sleep here or there? I don't know whatever you want me to do..
But, I guess that's not what happened.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
how to get car sick
I was up at 3am this morning to get us ready to leave Kusadasi. Bayram traffic is always bad (and newsworthy...along with holiday staples like escaped animals running down the freeway, and number of emergency room visits by "butchers"). We had the car and kids packed by 4am and were on the road. Both kids were excited - even squealing here and there like little pigs.
Once we were on the road they were silent and thoughtful, and soon back to sleep. They slept almost the whole way to Afyon, a little over halfway. We it was 4:30 am and we got out at a McDonald's that had an indoor play area. It was a bit to early to play outside and they were able to run around freely while we ordered breakfast and coffees. Another boy joined Teoman and they climbed together and played with their cars. The boy wanted Teoman's car, and Teoman used a tactic we taught him with Tomris: if he doesn't want to share a toy, to find another toy that he can share. So he handed boy the "lesser" vehicle and they played quite happily. Tomris roamed from the play area to our laps to the window where dogs sat on the other side.
Her latest words are yap! and yapma! - do it, and don't do it. She uses yap at the table. She takes both hands and pats her head and orders everybody at the table to yap! We all oblige, even in restaurants, you may catch our family and relatives all at the table smacking our heads repeatedly. When I tickle her, or am fixing some clothing - she tells me yapma! And I stopped, because I'm so impressed with her ability to express herself at 15 months.
We got gas, changed diapers, stopped at some specialty food stores to bring things back to Ankara, and were back on the road a full two hours later. I had promised Teoman his favorite show "Paw Patrol" on this leg of the trip, and I had it downloaded to my phone and iPad so I could give one to Tomris and one to Teoman.
Tomris is particularly clingy with me. I don't mind it, but sometimes I don't pick up on her cues and I just assume she wants her mama. This was one of those times. She wasn't thrilled to be back in the car, but settled into her show for a few minutes before fussing. I handed her milk, and water, then crackers, and cereal, an apple. All worked for a short time - she at this point had stopped watching the show and we were climbing up a mountain - curvy and steep. It could have been the air pressure to but then I felt it - I looked at her face and realized not only did she want to sleep. She was getting car sick. No sooner had I thought this and she threw up. Everything. There was an emergency shoulder that we were able to pull over to immediately. She was crying and asking for "milk!". We stripped her down, wiped her down some, and switched her to pajamas. I sat with her in the front and nursed her, all the while feeling horrible for what we had done to her: Mcdonald's eggs, milk, "pizza" crackers, more milk, water, cocoa puff, facing backwards, and racing up highway mountain roads. Ugh!
She was already feeling better, and I could only stop nursing her when she was ready. She wasn't so keen on getting back in her car seat - which Tolga had cleaned the best he could and put down some clothes to keep her from getting wet - but the car had a slight stench. I gave her pretzel sticks and she submitted to the chair. I figure they were light and would help her stomach.
Tomris fell right to sleep and didn't wake again until we were nearly home.
Once we were on the road they were silent and thoughtful, and soon back to sleep. They slept almost the whole way to Afyon, a little over halfway. We it was 4:30 am and we got out at a McDonald's that had an indoor play area. It was a bit to early to play outside and they were able to run around freely while we ordered breakfast and coffees. Another boy joined Teoman and they climbed together and played with their cars. The boy wanted Teoman's car, and Teoman used a tactic we taught him with Tomris: if he doesn't want to share a toy, to find another toy that he can share. So he handed boy the "lesser" vehicle and they played quite happily. Tomris roamed from the play area to our laps to the window where dogs sat on the other side.
Her latest words are yap! and yapma! - do it, and don't do it. She uses yap at the table. She takes both hands and pats her head and orders everybody at the table to yap! We all oblige, even in restaurants, you may catch our family and relatives all at the table smacking our heads repeatedly. When I tickle her, or am fixing some clothing - she tells me yapma! And I stopped, because I'm so impressed with her ability to express herself at 15 months.
We got gas, changed diapers, stopped at some specialty food stores to bring things back to Ankara, and were back on the road a full two hours later. I had promised Teoman his favorite show "Paw Patrol" on this leg of the trip, and I had it downloaded to my phone and iPad so I could give one to Tomris and one to Teoman.
Tomris is particularly clingy with me. I don't mind it, but sometimes I don't pick up on her cues and I just assume she wants her mama. This was one of those times. She wasn't thrilled to be back in the car, but settled into her show for a few minutes before fussing. I handed her milk, and water, then crackers, and cereal, an apple. All worked for a short time - she at this point had stopped watching the show and we were climbing up a mountain - curvy and steep. It could have been the air pressure to but then I felt it - I looked at her face and realized not only did she want to sleep. She was getting car sick. No sooner had I thought this and she threw up. Everything. There was an emergency shoulder that we were able to pull over to immediately. She was crying and asking for "milk!". We stripped her down, wiped her down some, and switched her to pajamas. I sat with her in the front and nursed her, all the while feeling horrible for what we had done to her: Mcdonald's eggs, milk, "pizza" crackers, more milk, water, cocoa puff, facing backwards, and racing up highway mountain roads. Ugh!
She was already feeling better, and I could only stop nursing her when she was ready. She wasn't so keen on getting back in her car seat - which Tolga had cleaned the best he could and put down some clothes to keep her from getting wet - but the car had a slight stench. I gave her pretzel sticks and she submitted to the chair. I figure they were light and would help her stomach.
Tomris fell right to sleep and didn't wake again until we were nearly home.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Bayram in Kusadasi
We are in Kusadasi for Kurban Bayram. The holiday fell on a Saturday, so we only were scheduled to have Monday and Tuesday off for the four-day holiday - but then in the last week, the government gave Friday off as well.
It's hard to plan vacations based on the changing vacation days - but for this holiday - Tolga and I were much more flexible. We had initially planned on going to Bolu for only two nights smack in the middle of the holiday. Bolu is in the mountains and only 2-3 hours away. However, with the additional day granted, with Teoman talking about Kusadasi and the sea and his Baba anne (grandmother) we decided in the end to make the long trip for Teoman.
We were both a bit worried about Tomris. Of course they both love Kusdasi and their grandparents and the garden. But the car ride is another story. The trip is 700 km, taking between 8-9 hours. The highways in the major cities (Ankara and Izmir) are wide and fast. In between the cities are split roads - two lanes going west, and two lanes going east. It isn't a freeway, but it's relatively well kept. The major differences are: very few street lamps guide the way, the highway only has a few on/off ramps - otherwise it's direct access, passing through towns means a slower speed limits and lights, and anywhere on the road you have to expect anything. Especially farm vehicles.
I was thinking about how people don't really have hobbies here. People work hard in America, they gain money and increase their positions in life, and buy toys. Skis, golf clubs, ATVs, sports' clubs, boats...we invest a lot in leisure. And while life is more leisurely here in some ways, people don't seem to have the time or money for hobbies. Motorcycles have small motors and are usually utility vehicles:delivery for restaurants, a side cart for working and carrying goods, a cheap means to get somewhere. Tractors and trailers are always functional, rarely flashy. The sights on the road are farmers, sheep, sometimes goats or cows, and always harvesting. Olives, grapes, turnips, figs, mandarins, watermelons ... It is a worker's life on the roads to and from the cities. Shops set up to sell what they took from the fields in make-shift shanties. It's simple, and beautiful, and sad. I feel silly about the things we've filled our lives with when I look at the daily life of what seems to be the rest of the "modern" world.
When we travel this road with the kids, it takes us 10-12 hours. We take it leisurely, and stop when the kids can't take their car seats any longer. This time the trip went well, but took 11 hours. We left at 4:30 am - but meant to leave at 3. The kids were excited, and eventually slept - waking up just as we arrived in Afyon. We stopped their for coffee and to let the kids run around and eat the snacks I had packed. We continued on the road and stopped 3 hours later in Sahili where we had breakfast even though it was noon. There is a restaurant connected to a gas station. We filled up on gas, washed the car, adjusted the tire air pressures and filled the car with oil (are car warning lights were popping up on the road), and sat down while the kids played on the playground in the back. They were both sandy by the end - a mess to clean up, but they were okay to get back on the road. We had children's music playing that they sang too, short shows for them to watch, snacks and lollipops for emergencies. They needed lollipops at this point, but it was enough to distract them and for them to sleep once again.
We arrived in Kusadasi to beautiful weather. Teoman ran to his Baba anne and gave her a big hug. Tomris was more shy. She's been at my side most of the vacation. There were three rams tied near our home. Rams for the holiday - people "sacrifice" the rams on bayram and I'm usually disgusted by this and have a strong urge to free the poor animals. But these days I'm not so sure - what we do to the animals in mass production is worse. Maybe killing our own meat is what we should do regularly in order to appreciate, honor, and be thankful for our bounty. The first morning those three rams were being strung up. Their throats already cut and the community butcher skinning them and cutting the meat. You could hear the hacking from the butcher knives throughout the day as they swung and partitioned the bones and meat. It sounded like people were cutting down trees ... but they weren't
Teoman and Tomris were both excited to rediscover the toys we had left here, and snack on the mandarins and pomegranates from the trees in our yard. Our house doesn't have heat, and while the nights are cooling down, the rooms are still comfortable. The showers aren't so hot - but our big bathroom and shower they love because it's like another play room. They walk around in it with their toys, playing with the water as I spray them off and wash the sand and sweat from them.
We went to the beach, and the playgrounds in the community, we played with the toys, picked up the toys, dumped the toys out, picked them up and dumped them all out again. It's just always hard to put Teoman to sleep here. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, and when he finally does sleep - he's hard to wake up. We have mosquito nets over their beds - even though there aren't so many now - there are always one or two in our room that find the kids and leave welts not their skin for weeks. Teoman has quite a few welts already, but it may be some sort of allergic reaction.
We have a swing drilled into our balcony as well. They both love to swing, and swing big. They don't necessarily swing for a long time, but when they do - they like to fly and they laugh and laugh and ask for more.
Tolga and I are forever feeling grateful to have a place such as this.
It's hard to plan vacations based on the changing vacation days - but for this holiday - Tolga and I were much more flexible. We had initially planned on going to Bolu for only two nights smack in the middle of the holiday. Bolu is in the mountains and only 2-3 hours away. However, with the additional day granted, with Teoman talking about Kusadasi and the sea and his Baba anne (grandmother) we decided in the end to make the long trip for Teoman.
We were both a bit worried about Tomris. Of course they both love Kusdasi and their grandparents and the garden. But the car ride is another story. The trip is 700 km, taking between 8-9 hours. The highways in the major cities (Ankara and Izmir) are wide and fast. In between the cities are split roads - two lanes going west, and two lanes going east. It isn't a freeway, but it's relatively well kept. The major differences are: very few street lamps guide the way, the highway only has a few on/off ramps - otherwise it's direct access, passing through towns means a slower speed limits and lights, and anywhere on the road you have to expect anything. Especially farm vehicles.
I was thinking about how people don't really have hobbies here. People work hard in America, they gain money and increase their positions in life, and buy toys. Skis, golf clubs, ATVs, sports' clubs, boats...we invest a lot in leisure. And while life is more leisurely here in some ways, people don't seem to have the time or money for hobbies. Motorcycles have small motors and are usually utility vehicles:delivery for restaurants, a side cart for working and carrying goods, a cheap means to get somewhere. Tractors and trailers are always functional, rarely flashy. The sights on the road are farmers, sheep, sometimes goats or cows, and always harvesting. Olives, grapes, turnips, figs, mandarins, watermelons ... It is a worker's life on the roads to and from the cities. Shops set up to sell what they took from the fields in make-shift shanties. It's simple, and beautiful, and sad. I feel silly about the things we've filled our lives with when I look at the daily life of what seems to be the rest of the "modern" world.
When we travel this road with the kids, it takes us 10-12 hours. We take it leisurely, and stop when the kids can't take their car seats any longer. This time the trip went well, but took 11 hours. We left at 4:30 am - but meant to leave at 3. The kids were excited, and eventually slept - waking up just as we arrived in Afyon. We stopped their for coffee and to let the kids run around and eat the snacks I had packed. We continued on the road and stopped 3 hours later in Sahili where we had breakfast even though it was noon. There is a restaurant connected to a gas station. We filled up on gas, washed the car, adjusted the tire air pressures and filled the car with oil (are car warning lights were popping up on the road), and sat down while the kids played on the playground in the back. They were both sandy by the end - a mess to clean up, but they were okay to get back on the road. We had children's music playing that they sang too, short shows for them to watch, snacks and lollipops for emergencies. They needed lollipops at this point, but it was enough to distract them and for them to sleep once again.
We arrived in Kusadasi to beautiful weather. Teoman ran to his Baba anne and gave her a big hug. Tomris was more shy. She's been at my side most of the vacation. There were three rams tied near our home. Rams for the holiday - people "sacrifice" the rams on bayram and I'm usually disgusted by this and have a strong urge to free the poor animals. But these days I'm not so sure - what we do to the animals in mass production is worse. Maybe killing our own meat is what we should do regularly in order to appreciate, honor, and be thankful for our bounty. The first morning those three rams were being strung up. Their throats already cut and the community butcher skinning them and cutting the meat. You could hear the hacking from the butcher knives throughout the day as they swung and partitioned the bones and meat. It sounded like people were cutting down trees ... but they weren't
Teoman and Tomris were both excited to rediscover the toys we had left here, and snack on the mandarins and pomegranates from the trees in our yard. Our house doesn't have heat, and while the nights are cooling down, the rooms are still comfortable. The showers aren't so hot - but our big bathroom and shower they love because it's like another play room. They walk around in it with their toys, playing with the water as I spray them off and wash the sand and sweat from them.
We went to the beach, and the playgrounds in the community, we played with the toys, picked up the toys, dumped the toys out, picked them up and dumped them all out again. It's just always hard to put Teoman to sleep here. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, and when he finally does sleep - he's hard to wake up. We have mosquito nets over their beds - even though there aren't so many now - there are always one or two in our room that find the kids and leave welts not their skin for weeks. Teoman has quite a few welts already, but it may be some sort of allergic reaction.
We have a swing drilled into our balcony as well. They both love to swing, and swing big. They don't necessarily swing for a long time, but when they do - they like to fly and they laugh and laugh and ask for more.
Tolga and I are forever feeling grateful to have a place such as this.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
perceptions and misperceptions
Today, a teacher - my former department head - told me, "Rachel, that boy said you're angry with him." I didn't answer, I wasn't sure what to say - but my heart sank. "He said you were angry because you couldn't speak Turkish." The teacher spoke to the boy, explained some things to him, and he came to my next class happy, confident and proud. He showed me his notebook and did the first task with zeal. I called on him to try and encourage him.
I have many students - about 250. I usually break the hearts of a few each day. I don't mean to, but in the course of a day - seeing the different classes - and that particular day I had 7 classes - I am not always attentive to the needs of every single student. Of course I want to be, but its just not possible. There are too many needs, misunderstandings, distractions, or behavioral mishaps to catch them all. Missing a particular problem happens, everyday. I hate it, I try to avoid it, but it happens.
My student's individual tracking methods are done by the product assessments at the end of each unit. It's a logical choice I make - time invested versus result. Because my time with each class is only 40 minutes, 2 times a week - I focus on a handful of students each lesson with encouragements or corrections. I don't record these checks nor do I do it in a pragmatic fashion - it is random and as situations arise. Ideally, I would individually track all of my students, my interactions and follow up. Logistically, I can't manage it . . . yet. I have tried several methods - the best I've come up with is checking in with four to five students a lesson. However, four or five students a lesson, means 16-25 a day, not including the additional issues that arise during the class period. Even if I were to keep to this schedule - it only culminates in checking in with each student once a month - but the overall effect is feeling spread too thin mentally which results in me becoming more inconsistent with my interactions rather than thorough.
I am getting better at catching problems or pointing out successes. I give more hugs and high fives then when I was in America - this was a cultural adjustment for me as my arms and hands were pinned to my sides by fear in our culture to not touch anybody. Even working on the ambulance as an EMT I had to get permission from the patient before I helped him or her. It's also not part of my Scandinavian nature to say "good job" when a job was expected to be done, and done well. At the same time, it is part of my nature to be a cheer leader - I was this way in sports - free, laughing, and giving encouragement to my teammates - and some of this talent has translated to the classroom in my cheers that I give my students: "Kiss your very smart brain" (kissing my fingers and bringing it to my forehead), "WOW" (holding up a "w" with my left and right three fingers while my mouth shapes the "o"), and "Firecracker" (a clap into a fountain or fingers saying "oooo" and "aaaahhh"). I give awards, stickers, we throw a ball around the classroom, I show video or song clips. It's the fun part of teaching - but I also preach hard work. When a class is presenting a problem - excited after lunch or at the end of the day, bickering, speaking too much Turkish - I try to put the breaks on the class, reset them, and start again a bit slower. But sometimes, when it's an individual - an individual that is repeatedly not doing the task at hand, and I am repeatedly trying to give extra help - my interactions with some will sometimes get shorter, more direct, and with less diplomacy. Usually, it works - they understand I am serious and he/she must step up, but sometimes it doesn't - sometimes my brevity just alienates the student. Especially because English is their second language.
At this age, I don't understand, teeters between the truth and an excuse. The boy that was upset did not have a notebook. He tried to tell me this multiple times in Turkish. I stopped him each time, saying I am not Turkish, I am American, you must speak English. It was the simplest way I could think of to make my point. I understood his Turkish, but he did not understand my point - to speak English. So I kept repeating the "English please" phrase. He obviously never got my point and concluded I was angry because I couldn't speak Turkish.
All misunderstandings aside - I need to examine this anger issue because even though this incident wasn't exactly anger, it isn't the first time something like this has come up. It is showing a perception of me that some students are seeing ... and I don't like it.
I have thought long and hard about this perception of me, and it's going to take me deep - to a place I am not so excited to go to . . . but I will, because I need to uncover whatever this is.
I have many students - about 250. I usually break the hearts of a few each day. I don't mean to, but in the course of a day - seeing the different classes - and that particular day I had 7 classes - I am not always attentive to the needs of every single student. Of course I want to be, but its just not possible. There are too many needs, misunderstandings, distractions, or behavioral mishaps to catch them all. Missing a particular problem happens, everyday. I hate it, I try to avoid it, but it happens.
My student's individual tracking methods are done by the product assessments at the end of each unit. It's a logical choice I make - time invested versus result. Because my time with each class is only 40 minutes, 2 times a week - I focus on a handful of students each lesson with encouragements or corrections. I don't record these checks nor do I do it in a pragmatic fashion - it is random and as situations arise. Ideally, I would individually track all of my students, my interactions and follow up. Logistically, I can't manage it . . . yet. I have tried several methods - the best I've come up with is checking in with four to five students a lesson. However, four or five students a lesson, means 16-25 a day, not including the additional issues that arise during the class period. Even if I were to keep to this schedule - it only culminates in checking in with each student once a month - but the overall effect is feeling spread too thin mentally which results in me becoming more inconsistent with my interactions rather than thorough.
At this age, I don't understand, teeters between the truth and an excuse. The boy that was upset did not have a notebook. He tried to tell me this multiple times in Turkish. I stopped him each time, saying I am not Turkish, I am American, you must speak English. It was the simplest way I could think of to make my point. I understood his Turkish, but he did not understand my point - to speak English. So I kept repeating the "English please" phrase. He obviously never got my point and concluded I was angry because I couldn't speak Turkish.
All misunderstandings aside - I need to examine this anger issue because even though this incident wasn't exactly anger, it isn't the first time something like this has come up. It is showing a perception of me that some students are seeing ... and I don't like it.
I have thought long and hard about this perception of me, and it's going to take me deep - to a place I am not so excited to go to . . . but I will, because I need to uncover whatever this is.
what's in front of me
When I get home, I like to take the kids outside. It's my only goal these days: get them out of the house, active, and tired. They days are getting shorter and I want them to have adventures. I bought them both house slippers the other day. When I left this morning, they were both crawling around the flood pretension to be cats. Even Tomris gives as odd little me-ooow. When I came home today, they were doing it again. They both had their new slippers on. Tomris was putting her slippered foot into her Baba's slippers and walking around that way. I told them we'd go outside and they eagerly found their new sneakers (another purchase we made this weekend). Teoman still isn't potty trained (and still showing very little interest) and so I had to change him first. He usually resists this, and I usually ignore his complaints, but today I told him he could run faster with a clean diaper -- so he readily agreed to be changed. I put on his new shoes and had him jump to "test" his new shoes. Yep, they worked just fine. We left the apartment and went to the elevator - both kids promptly sit in the elevator. I'm not sure why, but that's their thing. They love to sit in elevators. We went outside wearing long-sleeve shirts and pants with the sun lowering in the sky. We walked down the sidewalk. Teoman wanted to watch on the cement ledge between the sidewalk and the grassy park on the other side. It was about waist-high, so I lifted him up to walk. Tomris saw this and wanted to do the same thing. "Copy-paste" is what Tolga calls her sometimes. We turned the corner into the park's entrance and Teoman pointed out his shadow. Tomris began walking down the many steps with the help of the nanny, and I followed with Teoman. We got to the bottom and Teoman drove his motorcycle on the ledge the whole way down. At the bottom the wandered around, showing no interest in the slides today, but rather the rocks and dirt and curbs. We continued down the second long section of stairs to the bottom area where the swings were. "Mom," Teoman said, "Can I?" He was asking permission to play on the theater steps that bank the staircase. I don't let him play on the theater seats because he has fallen when he's not looking, but I gave him permission to run along the bottom. I put Tomris in the swing and gave her a few big pushes. She kept pointing at the empty swing next to her for abi to come and join her. But, Teoman and moved up another flight of stairs to drive his car. Tomris climbed down and walked over to the teeter-totter, sitting on the lowered seat. Teoman was calling me to come join him. I convinced Tomris to follow her abi up the new flight of stairs. Teoman continued driving his motorcycle up the ledge to the top. Tomris took a break mid-flight and sat on the curb, telling me to otur! I didn't and she climbed the curb and decided to scale the grassy hill on all fours. Teoman saw this, and remembering the fun of climbing hills, came running back to join us - he stopped and went back for his motorcycle, gave it to me, and scrambled up the hill. He found a dandelion and tried to blow it's soft seeds away. I found one too and blew it. He shook his off and begun to hunt for more. I trailed behind the two keeping an eye out for dog poop to redirect them around. We crossed the path to another grassy knoll found some more dandelions - I gave one to Teoman one to Tomris. Teoman shook his, Tomris ate hers. We walked under some pine trees that were mixed with chestnut trees. Chestnuts are covered in a spiky shell and the shells split open when ripe and the chestnuts fall to the ground. We threw chestnuts for while, watching them roll down the hill. Tomris tried to collect as many as she could and walk with them, dropping them periodically because there were too many. Teoman tripped over a root of a tree and asked, "What's this?" I explained it's the legs of the tree and showed him how they went to the base of the tree. I told him how they collected water for the inside of the tree and it went up the trunk to the trees arms, giving water to the leaves to make them green. Then I showed him the grass, and pulled some weeds out by the root - we looked at the roots and Teoman pulled more grass out with some dirt. We moved back towards the slides and Teoman surveyed his surroundings and said,"We went far!" Pointing to how we had gone down the stairs, around, up the stairs and back - making a full circle.
Everything's an adventure.
Everything's an adventure.
Monday, September 29, 2014
out of reach
Tolga had surgery today. It wasn't a huge surgery, but I took the day off anyhow. He has cysts just under the surface of his skin in his head that are benign and not serious, but continually get infected causing pain and stress, and eventually hair loss in spots that get badly infected. He had one cyst removed before we were married - but since being married, the problem has gotten much worse. He had three small cysts removed last year, and two the year before that, as well as one in his hand. The the treatments vary from person to person, and so does the success rate. Doctors aren't sure of the cause, but I'm a little suspicious it may have something to do with marrying me...
The first time he went for surgery three years ago, I didn't go with him - and Tolga admitted later that he felt very alone - it was a bigger surgery then we expected and he had been admitted for the day. After that, I realized I would never put work first - no matter how small the surgery - because work will never be more important than the smallest of events when it comes to family.
So I had to arrange my schedule, swap classes, get permission, and I was set for today. We left at 9am for surgery at 10, which was delayed because of some emergency the doctor was called into, and Tolga finally went into surgery just after noon. He was back in the room by 1:30 with his head fully bandaged. In the end, they had removed 5 cysts that still had infection underneath in spite of Tolga's rounds of heavy antibiotics.
The surgeon had spent time in New Rochelle, New York and had an excellent accent. I commented on this, to which he replied: "Well, I did live there for three years."
And that was about as productive as any conversation I had with him.
The hospital was a different one then we usually go to. It was new and slick and expensive. Their patient manual was in Turkish and English and touted everything modern medicine should - about patients being informed and advocating for themselves. This may seem common sense, but is not. In fact, it's culturally opposite. Turks have a lot of trust in their doctors and medicines and do not question decisions. In fact, questioning nurses and doctors is often received with confusion if not aggression.
Example:
To my OB-GYN: What is the labor and delivery procedure?
Doc: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, I'm not sure - I haven't experienced it - but I've read lots of things about methods. Like birthing bars.
Doc: (confused) Um, there's a bed and you will labor there.
Me: Can I walk around?
Doc: (confused) sure.
Me: Will I have to stay in the bed?
Doc: sometimes.
Me: Oh.
Today, after reading the literature and meeting this well-spoken doctor, I hoped to have more of a medical conversation - but instead I got the same blank stares. Behind those eyes I'm not sure what I'm seeing: fear because of language, disdain because of my lowly questions, or simply confusion with my questions.
Doc: Where you sick before the surgery?
Tolga: No, maybe a bit of stuffed sinuses.
Me: And you had that virus or something
Doc: what do you mean?.
Me: He was sick for a few days, diarrhea
Doc: that's a bacteria
Me: okay
(awkward)
Me: (trying to make conversation) Was it hard to cut his skin?
Doc: (blank stare)
Me: His last surgery they had trouble cutting through his skin because... nevermind (sigh).
Me: Can he take any other pain medicines?
Doc: (blank stare) We're giving him something.
(they were giving him Tylenol)
Tolga: Can I use ibuprofen or should I put ice?
Doc: No, it's not necessary.
Tolga: But I'm feeling quite a bit of pain in my head.
Doc: It's normal.
Arrrrrrggggghh!
Thankfully, these are small issues - but when I hear of others with more complicated issues - I just have to shut down because what I perceive as normal concerned questions I receive more confusing answers.
Tolga's cousin is really sick right now. In America, we would say he has terminal cancer and he's on hospice care. But here, it's been more dramatic because of the lack of knowledge or communication or who knows. He was diagnosed last year and had a tumor removed from his neck. They followed up with radiation, he visited Kusadasi in June, and in August he had a stroke - which he recovered from. The stroke, may or may not have been related to the cancer - but at that point the realized the cancer had returned.
The family decided not to tell our cousin. He's 55 years old, married (his wife also had cancer this year), and a grown son from his previous marriage. Apparently, you don't have to tell patients everything here. They said he couldn't have surgery, and then, a month later - they were putting all their hopes on surgery. Surgery and a medicine that cost 12,000 lire. That's the information I got - and I learned much later the medicine was called chemotherapy.
Arrrrgggghh!
This past week - they learned he couldn't have the surgery and called us to tell us he was going to die. I wasn't sure what to do with the news - it all changed so much and so suddenly and was delivered so extremely. With the news he couldn't have surgery, and the news he had many blood clots (which, aren't those treatable?) he was asking to see Hakan and Tolga's parents. They got in their car and drove the next day to Istanbul to say good-bye to their cousin /nephew. Actually, Baba couldn't bring himself to make the trip - he was too heartbroken. Over the weekend, more medical issues have come up. It's all being presented like one more thing on his list of illnesses - but I think the medical translation is his body is going into failure, and going fast.
There are so many things about this that I'm trying to process. Part of me wants to know all the medicines, and options, and alternatives. I want to have a list of questions, action-plans, and answers. But I'm not that assertive for several reasons - because the other part of me knows that even with all that knowledge or ideas, we still may have no impact on the outcome other than deluding ourselves to believe that we do. Badgering the doctors may only be perceived as a patient who just can't understand or accept the situation. And sometimes, in the end, that's all it is - something that's happened and all that's left is to make peace, hope, and pray.
The first time he went for surgery three years ago, I didn't go with him - and Tolga admitted later that he felt very alone - it was a bigger surgery then we expected and he had been admitted for the day. After that, I realized I would never put work first - no matter how small the surgery - because work will never be more important than the smallest of events when it comes to family.
So I had to arrange my schedule, swap classes, get permission, and I was set for today. We left at 9am for surgery at 10, which was delayed because of some emergency the doctor was called into, and Tolga finally went into surgery just after noon. He was back in the room by 1:30 with his head fully bandaged. In the end, they had removed 5 cysts that still had infection underneath in spite of Tolga's rounds of heavy antibiotics.
The surgeon had spent time in New Rochelle, New York and had an excellent accent. I commented on this, to which he replied: "Well, I did live there for three years."
And that was about as productive as any conversation I had with him.
The hospital was a different one then we usually go to. It was new and slick and expensive. Their patient manual was in Turkish and English and touted everything modern medicine should - about patients being informed and advocating for themselves. This may seem common sense, but is not. In fact, it's culturally opposite. Turks have a lot of trust in their doctors and medicines and do not question decisions. In fact, questioning nurses and doctors is often received with confusion if not aggression.
Example:
To my OB-GYN: What is the labor and delivery procedure?
Doc: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, I'm not sure - I haven't experienced it - but I've read lots of things about methods. Like birthing bars.
Doc: (confused) Um, there's a bed and you will labor there.
Me: Can I walk around?
Doc: (confused) sure.
Me: Will I have to stay in the bed?
Doc: sometimes.
Me: Oh.
Today, after reading the literature and meeting this well-spoken doctor, I hoped to have more of a medical conversation - but instead I got the same blank stares. Behind those eyes I'm not sure what I'm seeing: fear because of language, disdain because of my lowly questions, or simply confusion with my questions.
Doc: Where you sick before the surgery?
Tolga: No, maybe a bit of stuffed sinuses.
Me: And you had that virus or something
Doc: what do you mean?.
Me: He was sick for a few days, diarrhea
Doc: that's a bacteria
Me: okay
(awkward)
Me: (trying to make conversation) Was it hard to cut his skin?
Doc: (blank stare)
Me: His last surgery they had trouble cutting through his skin because... nevermind (sigh).
Me: Can he take any other pain medicines?
Doc: (blank stare) We're giving him something.
(they were giving him Tylenol)
Tolga: Can I use ibuprofen or should I put ice?
Doc: No, it's not necessary.
Tolga: But I'm feeling quite a bit of pain in my head.
Doc: It's normal.
Arrrrrrggggghh!
Thankfully, these are small issues - but when I hear of others with more complicated issues - I just have to shut down because what I perceive as normal concerned questions I receive more confusing answers.
Tolga's cousin is really sick right now. In America, we would say he has terminal cancer and he's on hospice care. But here, it's been more dramatic because of the lack of knowledge or communication or who knows. He was diagnosed last year and had a tumor removed from his neck. They followed up with radiation, he visited Kusadasi in June, and in August he had a stroke - which he recovered from. The stroke, may or may not have been related to the cancer - but at that point the realized the cancer had returned.
The family decided not to tell our cousin. He's 55 years old, married (his wife also had cancer this year), and a grown son from his previous marriage. Apparently, you don't have to tell patients everything here. They said he couldn't have surgery, and then, a month later - they were putting all their hopes on surgery. Surgery and a medicine that cost 12,000 lire. That's the information I got - and I learned much later the medicine was called chemotherapy.
Arrrrgggghh!
This past week - they learned he couldn't have the surgery and called us to tell us he was going to die. I wasn't sure what to do with the news - it all changed so much and so suddenly and was delivered so extremely. With the news he couldn't have surgery, and the news he had many blood clots (which, aren't those treatable?) he was asking to see Hakan and Tolga's parents. They got in their car and drove the next day to Istanbul to say good-bye to their cousin /nephew. Actually, Baba couldn't bring himself to make the trip - he was too heartbroken. Over the weekend, more medical issues have come up. It's all being presented like one more thing on his list of illnesses - but I think the medical translation is his body is going into failure, and going fast.
There are so many things about this that I'm trying to process. Part of me wants to know all the medicines, and options, and alternatives. I want to have a list of questions, action-plans, and answers. But I'm not that assertive for several reasons - because the other part of me knows that even with all that knowledge or ideas, we still may have no impact on the outcome other than deluding ourselves to believe that we do. Badgering the doctors may only be perceived as a patient who just can't understand or accept the situation. And sometimes, in the end, that's all it is - something that's happened and all that's left is to make peace, hope, and pray.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
the protector
I took an abbreviated version of the Myers-Briggs 16 personality test online the other day. I remember taking a more extensive version of the this test almost 20 years ago and I'm curious as to whether my results are the same.
I think, when I originally took this exam. I was an INFP. When I took, the short version the other night, I was an INFJ - the most rare of personality types with the label "The protector."
When I've taken career and interest evaluations in the past, usually the same things come up: counselor or something related to justice or police work. It surely is a pattern that comes up in my outlook on the world - I am often bouncing between helping people or fighting for justice (at least, internally)
I'm not sure if your personality changes with experiences or you just "grow up" or maybe the test was too abbreviated.
Reading about my personality type is somewhat refreshing, like saying - hey, it's okay you're this way, and this is why you do that. Most of all, it reminds me to embrace who I am. Creative, independent, intuitive, not good at dealing with minutia (ignoring or over-obsessing about it) - although I think intuitive is closely related to spiritual because what one might call "intuitive" I would call listening to the Holy Spirit - voice or feeling others may perceive as intuitive.
There are lots of parts of the test and the end analysis I could focus on and apply, and maybe I will another day - but I am often going back into my mind to my old job and why it wasn't a "good fit". That explanation never cut it for me - there has to be something more specific, more definitive, and more concrete. It wasn't a "good fit" sounds like a euphemism for this person had problems.
Which, by the end of my job, was too true.
But not in the beginning. In the beginning I was soooooooo enthusiastic. I had been teaching in an awful school, and I had been successful. It wasn't easy, but I hadn't lost myself. I had held onto my core beliefs and stretched myself at the same time. This new school was a graduation to a group that had my ideals. It felt like I was in discipleship school, or church - it was a group of people that were hopeful, positive, enthusiastic, self-sacrificing, humble, and really really smart and willing to do whatever it takes. They were my kind of people. I dove into that first week of training - but was disappointed because I was so sick that for the first time ever I had to go to the hospital twice for steroids, pain meds, and fluids. The second week of August we were putting together our rooms and planning. We had team meetings that I whole-heartedly participated in because I thrive in small teams. Several times we had very emotional and bonding moments together, once we had a feedback session with each other and it was the area I excelled in because of my background and personality and so I was giving feedback on the feedback. This was my thing.
And as we got closer to opening I began to become more and more overwhelmed with the amount of things I wanted to do. I mean, I wanted to be great. Isn't that why they hired me? I had a bigger workload in many ways, and I had lots of new ideas and tools at my fingertips. And maybe this was my biggest mistake - I embraced their "textual analysis" methods and their grammar books and any idea others threw my way because I thought so highly of my peers. I loved their rules, and cheers, and motivational chants. But I couldn't fuse the two: my experience and ideas with the new. I don't know if I was just so inflexible, or if I was too flexible, or if I was trying to do everything, or if I was starting over, or throwing my stuff out ... I feel like an idiot when I look back on those days. It's like my brain could not put into action anything new, and I forgot everything I had learned. I remember my principal, who was my former colleague and peer checking in with me - often - and asking how she could help - many times. So I wasn't alone, and it wasn't like I didn't have options. She suggested I make a list of what I needed to do and she'd help me prioritize. This was by October I think. My list ranged from lesson planning to laundry. She never did help me prioritize that list, but I don't blame her. It was an embarrassing revelation of how paralyzed I'd become at work.
Over the months, things got worse. I could see myself get worse, and my mindset grew so unhealthy - and I could see it so clearly what I was doing to myself and eventually my colleagues and students but I couldn't STOP it. I couldn't quit - I mean, Petersons don't quit. They were relying on me, and I had a job to do and I was too stubborn and proud to admit failure.
I wish I would have written more in order to document my decline - but one thing was for sure: I wasn't changing for the better.
And here is the INFJ paragraph that stood out to me:
Yet, as an INFJ, you are likely to be easily tripped up in areas where idealism and determination are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is navigating interpersonal conflicts, confronting unpleasant facts, pursuing self-realization, or finding a career path that aligns well with your intricate inner core, you may face numerous challenges that at times can even make you question who you really are ... INFJs act on their convictions, so when they do something, it’s something that has meaning to them – if those actions come under criticism, even justified complaints, but especially unwarranted ones, their morale is likely to tank spectacularly ... they will simply wilt under the scrutiny, criticism.
I am not referring to critical feedback here - because I love critical feedback. I think it is necessary and really pushes growth. This was something different I experienced. A performance pressure, scrutiny, and most detrimentally - I was really hard on myself. And to emphasize that point - I still think my failure was my own fault.
Granted, in that first year four of the eight of us quit. So the pressure was felt by all of us. In spite of our organization's effort to preach a work-life balance - we all overdid it.
I had to stop teaching for a while after that experience. And when I started again - I was a terrible teacher in my heart. I wanted no responsibility, I scoffed at standards and educational jargon, theories and collaboration. Who did we think we were? What did we think we were accomplishing? Kids don't need to pass an exam, they need to know they are loved and cared for - and be loved and cared for and telling ourselves that closing the achievement gap with no excuses is love . . . well that's a real backwards approach to unconditional love. Numbers, points, and exams are not who we are - and I'm sure everyone on my team would have agreed with me but I got sucked into the striving to achieve and show gains.
I don't know what the answer is, or what the right way is . . . I still want to go back and try it again. To bring who I am to the table, and keep who I am. And, maybe it's just my pride - I still want to succeed where I failed because how could such good intentions have gone so terribly wrong.
I am teaching again - and I have shed a lot of the baggage I picked up in that year. I finally feel free again. Maybe my job is just a good fit, or maybe I've matured, or maybe I'm just not being pushed to the brink like I was that year. Because of the nature of my position, I work alone for the most part. My grades don't count because of the system. I am under very little scrutiny and my qualifications make me a rare asset with seemingly endless job opportunities. This has freed me to try whatever my heart desires - to make my own objectives within a loose structure given to me and see them through with only myself to evaluate whether I've accomplished these.
And lastly, Turkish schools have taught me something about love. I supposed you could criticize it as superficial, but these are not the examples I use for myself. Teachers are expected to hug, pat, reassure and comfort their students. I am reserved by nature, and objective oriented in my teaching, but this expressive aspect of culture is always reminding me to not forget why I teach in the first place.
I want us all to be free.
I think, when I originally took this exam. I was an INFP. When I took, the short version the other night, I was an INFJ - the most rare of personality types with the label "The protector."
When I've taken career and interest evaluations in the past, usually the same things come up: counselor or something related to justice or police work. It surely is a pattern that comes up in my outlook on the world - I am often bouncing between helping people or fighting for justice (at least, internally)
I'm not sure if your personality changes with experiences or you just "grow up" or maybe the test was too abbreviated.
Reading about my personality type is somewhat refreshing, like saying - hey, it's okay you're this way, and this is why you do that. Most of all, it reminds me to embrace who I am. Creative, independent, intuitive, not good at dealing with minutia (ignoring or over-obsessing about it) - although I think intuitive is closely related to spiritual because what one might call "intuitive" I would call listening to the Holy Spirit - voice or feeling others may perceive as intuitive.
There are lots of parts of the test and the end analysis I could focus on and apply, and maybe I will another day - but I am often going back into my mind to my old job and why it wasn't a "good fit". That explanation never cut it for me - there has to be something more specific, more definitive, and more concrete. It wasn't a "good fit" sounds like a euphemism for this person had problems.
Which, by the end of my job, was too true.
But not in the beginning. In the beginning I was soooooooo enthusiastic. I had been teaching in an awful school, and I had been successful. It wasn't easy, but I hadn't lost myself. I had held onto my core beliefs and stretched myself at the same time. This new school was a graduation to a group that had my ideals. It felt like I was in discipleship school, or church - it was a group of people that were hopeful, positive, enthusiastic, self-sacrificing, humble, and really really smart and willing to do whatever it takes. They were my kind of people. I dove into that first week of training - but was disappointed because I was so sick that for the first time ever I had to go to the hospital twice for steroids, pain meds, and fluids. The second week of August we were putting together our rooms and planning. We had team meetings that I whole-heartedly participated in because I thrive in small teams. Several times we had very emotional and bonding moments together, once we had a feedback session with each other and it was the area I excelled in because of my background and personality and so I was giving feedback on the feedback. This was my thing.
And as we got closer to opening I began to become more and more overwhelmed with the amount of things I wanted to do. I mean, I wanted to be great. Isn't that why they hired me? I had a bigger workload in many ways, and I had lots of new ideas and tools at my fingertips. And maybe this was my biggest mistake - I embraced their "textual analysis" methods and their grammar books and any idea others threw my way because I thought so highly of my peers. I loved their rules, and cheers, and motivational chants. But I couldn't fuse the two: my experience and ideas with the new. I don't know if I was just so inflexible, or if I was too flexible, or if I was trying to do everything, or if I was starting over, or throwing my stuff out ... I feel like an idiot when I look back on those days. It's like my brain could not put into action anything new, and I forgot everything I had learned. I remember my principal, who was my former colleague and peer checking in with me - often - and asking how she could help - many times. So I wasn't alone, and it wasn't like I didn't have options. She suggested I make a list of what I needed to do and she'd help me prioritize. This was by October I think. My list ranged from lesson planning to laundry. She never did help me prioritize that list, but I don't blame her. It was an embarrassing revelation of how paralyzed I'd become at work.
Over the months, things got worse. I could see myself get worse, and my mindset grew so unhealthy - and I could see it so clearly what I was doing to myself and eventually my colleagues and students but I couldn't STOP it. I couldn't quit - I mean, Petersons don't quit. They were relying on me, and I had a job to do and I was too stubborn and proud to admit failure.
I wish I would have written more in order to document my decline - but one thing was for sure: I wasn't changing for the better.
And here is the INFJ paragraph that stood out to me:
Yet, as an INFJ, you are likely to be easily tripped up in areas where idealism and determination are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is navigating interpersonal conflicts, confronting unpleasant facts, pursuing self-realization, or finding a career path that aligns well with your intricate inner core, you may face numerous challenges that at times can even make you question who you really are ... INFJs act on their convictions, so when they do something, it’s something that has meaning to them – if those actions come under criticism, even justified complaints, but especially unwarranted ones, their morale is likely to tank spectacularly ... they will simply wilt under the scrutiny, criticism.
I am not referring to critical feedback here - because I love critical feedback. I think it is necessary and really pushes growth. This was something different I experienced. A performance pressure, scrutiny, and most detrimentally - I was really hard on myself. And to emphasize that point - I still think my failure was my own fault.
Granted, in that first year four of the eight of us quit. So the pressure was felt by all of us. In spite of our organization's effort to preach a work-life balance - we all overdid it.
I had to stop teaching for a while after that experience. And when I started again - I was a terrible teacher in my heart. I wanted no responsibility, I scoffed at standards and educational jargon, theories and collaboration. Who did we think we were? What did we think we were accomplishing? Kids don't need to pass an exam, they need to know they are loved and cared for - and be loved and cared for and telling ourselves that closing the achievement gap with no excuses is love . . . well that's a real backwards approach to unconditional love. Numbers, points, and exams are not who we are - and I'm sure everyone on my team would have agreed with me but I got sucked into the striving to achieve and show gains.
I don't know what the answer is, or what the right way is . . . I still want to go back and try it again. To bring who I am to the table, and keep who I am. And, maybe it's just my pride - I still want to succeed where I failed because how could such good intentions have gone so terribly wrong.
I am teaching again - and I have shed a lot of the baggage I picked up in that year. I finally feel free again. Maybe my job is just a good fit, or maybe I've matured, or maybe I'm just not being pushed to the brink like I was that year. Because of the nature of my position, I work alone for the most part. My grades don't count because of the system. I am under very little scrutiny and my qualifications make me a rare asset with seemingly endless job opportunities. This has freed me to try whatever my heart desires - to make my own objectives within a loose structure given to me and see them through with only myself to evaluate whether I've accomplished these.
And lastly, Turkish schools have taught me something about love. I supposed you could criticize it as superficial, but these are not the examples I use for myself. Teachers are expected to hug, pat, reassure and comfort their students. I am reserved by nature, and objective oriented in my teaching, but this expressive aspect of culture is always reminding me to not forget why I teach in the first place.
I want us all to be free.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
all things new
I took the kids outside when I came home today. The days are ending fast and I want them to enjoy outside while they can. By next week, with daylight savings, we may not be able to go outside at all.
When I first come home, our nanny and the kids greet me at the door. I can hear them behind the door - Tomris saying, "Mama, mama" and Teoman yelling "Anne's geldi!" I opened the door and try to hug and kiss them both, but today Tomris had a stroller with her and the musical stuffed animal in the stroller. The basket to the stroller had come off and she was trying to take the animal out. It was caught on the material and she screamed in frustration and threw it down then came over to me swing her hand to hit me - which she landed two hits. Our nanny was saying "Tomris, cee ceei" so she changed her hits to a pet. She had very bad diaper rash, and had just gone poop and we both realized she was in pain. I picked her up and she rested her head on my shoulder. Our nanny took Teoman to change him - he had napped late and also had pooped. She changed him while I cuddled Tomris, and then I laid her down to change her. I opened her diaper and her bottom was painfully raw. I couldn't even wipe her with a cloth. I stripped her down and brought her to our shower, talking to her the whole time and convincing her this would be fun. She climbed in the shower willingly and let me spray her some but lost her patience when I wouldn't give her the sprayer. I gave in and let her have while I tried to clean her bottom, but even this was painful and she screamed her annoyance I took her out, dried her off and she cried. Our nanny was trying to explain some things to me, but I couldn't understand her - I was too stressed and focused on Tomris. But once I had her diaper back on, she relaxed and returned to her normal chatter.
We loaded the kids in the stroller. I told Teoman he could bring his ball our his scooter, and he chose his ball. We stepped outside the door and he was ready to throw the ball over the ninth floor balcony railing. I reminded him how we lost his other ball doing that, so he decided to hang onto it. We got out of the elevator at the bottom and Teoman looked out the window and said, "Dik! (Look) I found it!" And there was his blue ball out on the patio underneath all the construction scaffolding in our building. We left the ball where it was, as it wasn't easy or safe to grab it.
We walked down to the pharmacy to get more medicine for the two. I bought ibuprofen and an antihistamine for the noses. They waited on the sidewalk with the nanny. Our pharmacist loves Teoman and Tomris and came out to say hello. Teoman said, "Gelme! Çunku parkta gidicez!" Don't come, because we are going to the park. To which, or pharmacist adored.
We continued down the hill and Teoman told me he did NOT want to go to this market. It's the bread store and the owners are a bit strange, which I think Teoman picks up on. I told him we were not going there, we were taking a different way to the park. "Otay," he said. We continued down the road next to the mosque. He noticed the minarets for the first time. "Dik mama! It's so high!" I'm go there?" I told him that people go there to pray, like we pray, but no we wouldn't go today, but maybe Baba will take him inside one day.
We arrived at the park and they kicked the ball around in the basketball court, ran around on the paths, went on the swings and up and down the slides. Threw some rocks, found some water to splash in, went on the other swings, threw some more rocks. Their adventures are endless. I packed them up to leave, as it was getting colder and darker, and we walked back to the main road to walk straight up the hill. Teoman was singing loudly the whole way.
I stopped at a fast food restaurant on the way. There is one near our house that has a play area, and they love it. And Tomris loves french fries. I suppose everyone loves french fries and I feel guilty about feeding my kids these things - but the trade off was no dinner prep and clean up.
We continued up the hill and Teoman asked to get get down and walk. I let him, and even though it's a wide sidewalk I constantly hound him to stay near and to the left of the stroller because of the traffic. He walked and ran next to me happily, Tomris was relaxed in the front looking at the store lights. The sun was setting and Teoman said, "Mama, dik! It's mine!" He was pointing at the side of the sidewalk. I thought he was confusing the sidewalk as his because I had told him the park we went to was called "Teoman's Park". I told him no, it's not your sidewalk. But he pointed again and insisted. I stopped and said, "What are you pointing at?"
And then realized he had found his shadow.
We bent down at an angle where we could see the shadow of our hands pointing - touching our fingers to our finger's shadow.
Thank you Lord for such miracles.
When I first come home, our nanny and the kids greet me at the door. I can hear them behind the door - Tomris saying, "Mama, mama" and Teoman yelling "Anne's geldi!" I opened the door and try to hug and kiss them both, but today Tomris had a stroller with her and the musical stuffed animal in the stroller. The basket to the stroller had come off and she was trying to take the animal out. It was caught on the material and she screamed in frustration and threw it down then came over to me swing her hand to hit me - which she landed two hits. Our nanny was saying "Tomris, cee ceei" so she changed her hits to a pet. She had very bad diaper rash, and had just gone poop and we both realized she was in pain. I picked her up and she rested her head on my shoulder. Our nanny took Teoman to change him - he had napped late and also had pooped. She changed him while I cuddled Tomris, and then I laid her down to change her. I opened her diaper and her bottom was painfully raw. I couldn't even wipe her with a cloth. I stripped her down and brought her to our shower, talking to her the whole time and convincing her this would be fun. She climbed in the shower willingly and let me spray her some but lost her patience when I wouldn't give her the sprayer. I gave in and let her have while I tried to clean her bottom, but even this was painful and she screamed her annoyance I took her out, dried her off and she cried. Our nanny was trying to explain some things to me, but I couldn't understand her - I was too stressed and focused on Tomris. But once I had her diaper back on, she relaxed and returned to her normal chatter.
We loaded the kids in the stroller. I told Teoman he could bring his ball our his scooter, and he chose his ball. We stepped outside the door and he was ready to throw the ball over the ninth floor balcony railing. I reminded him how we lost his other ball doing that, so he decided to hang onto it. We got out of the elevator at the bottom and Teoman looked out the window and said, "Dik! (Look) I found it!" And there was his blue ball out on the patio underneath all the construction scaffolding in our building. We left the ball where it was, as it wasn't easy or safe to grab it.
We walked down to the pharmacy to get more medicine for the two. I bought ibuprofen and an antihistamine for the noses. They waited on the sidewalk with the nanny. Our pharmacist loves Teoman and Tomris and came out to say hello. Teoman said, "Gelme! Çunku parkta gidicez!" Don't come, because we are going to the park. To which, or pharmacist adored.
We continued down the hill and Teoman told me he did NOT want to go to this market. It's the bread store and the owners are a bit strange, which I think Teoman picks up on. I told him we were not going there, we were taking a different way to the park. "Otay," he said. We continued down the road next to the mosque. He noticed the minarets for the first time. "Dik mama! It's so high!" I'm go there?" I told him that people go there to pray, like we pray, but no we wouldn't go today, but maybe Baba will take him inside one day.
We arrived at the park and they kicked the ball around in the basketball court, ran around on the paths, went on the swings and up and down the slides. Threw some rocks, found some water to splash in, went on the other swings, threw some more rocks. Their adventures are endless. I packed them up to leave, as it was getting colder and darker, and we walked back to the main road to walk straight up the hill. Teoman was singing loudly the whole way.
I stopped at a fast food restaurant on the way. There is one near our house that has a play area, and they love it. And Tomris loves french fries. I suppose everyone loves french fries and I feel guilty about feeding my kids these things - but the trade off was no dinner prep and clean up.
We continued up the hill and Teoman asked to get get down and walk. I let him, and even though it's a wide sidewalk I constantly hound him to stay near and to the left of the stroller because of the traffic. He walked and ran next to me happily, Tomris was relaxed in the front looking at the store lights. The sun was setting and Teoman said, "Mama, dik! It's mine!" He was pointing at the side of the sidewalk. I thought he was confusing the sidewalk as his because I had told him the park we went to was called "Teoman's Park". I told him no, it's not your sidewalk. But he pointed again and insisted. I stopped and said, "What are you pointing at?"
And then realized he had found his shadow.
We bent down at an angle where we could see the shadow of our hands pointing - touching our fingers to our finger's shadow.
Thank you Lord for such miracles.
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