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.
Monday, September 29, 2014
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.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
polka dots and stripes
When Tolga is away - it's just me and the kids . . . and Gokhan, his brother, but I don't always count him because he leaves early and comes home late and doesn't contribute much (but that's another topic).
The kids have runny noses now, and Teoman has a cough. Teoman hasn't been able to sleep well for the past few nights and nap times most likely because of his cough, so he's been a bit surly with his sister. Pushing her and then running away.
I don't mind when Tolga leaves - I come home from work, take the kids outside to the park or to the market, feed them, bathe them, read stories and sleep. My time alone with them is so short, in comparison to the whole day that I am at work. I am tired and often have a headache when I get home, but I am determined these days to keep my focus on them.
Tomris, over the weekend, began using two words. "Milk" and "book" - she fusses when she's hungry and can't really express this need. I have been half-heartedly trying to ween her, but she's pretty reliant on nursing in the nighttime. She'll cry and be read to throw a fit, and I will say "Milk?" and she stops immediately and repeats rather enthusiastically, "Milk!" Morning and night she follows me around, sometimes wanting me to carry or hold her, sometimes just wanting my attention. I gave her a game this morning while I was trying to get ready and she handed it right back to me and said "Up!" She's quite demanding, and I try to give her this time - stopping and sitting with her for a short bit to look at some pictures or what not. She's my girl.
Teoman, especially because he's ill, is also wanting me to hold him. When I saw him pushing his sister and running away, I picked him up and put him in a chair saying, "Don't push your sister!" He has this routine down pretty well. He gets off the chair a few seconds later and says, "Sorry Tomris!" I picked him up again and kissed him over and over. Teoman giggled a lot and said "Otay, otay, otay!" (That's okay in his language). He's 2 1/2 and already pushing his mama away.
I have been putting them in the shower for the past couple of nights too, because of their runny noses. It's a smaller bathroom and I can get it pretty steamy. Last night, I had soaped Tomris and she decided she no longer wanted to be in the shower. It was bad timing and I had hold her in their while I tried to rinse her off quickly. Tonight, she couldn't wait for me to put her in the shower. I had the water running and was sitting next to the shower clipping Teoman's toenails. He hates having his toenails clipped, and I had caught him and was able to get two-and-a-half clipped before he began fussing. I had to finish the nail, and at the same time, Tomris decided to get in the shower. I didn't stop her - hopping that the feeling of wet socks would deter her. And, they are just socks, right? She was all the way in, comfortably playing in the shower before I could put Teoman down and grab her. Fully clothed, taking a shower. That's my girl.
After the shower I gave them medicine and put lotion on them - they both love taking medicine and getting lotion rubbed on them. Coco" as Tomris calls the lotion. Teoman always asks for it on his hands so he can rub it on himself. I put on Tomris's pink polka-dot pajamas and Teoman's green striped pajamas, grab some milk and water. I asked Teoman to go and get a tissue for Tomris's nose. "Otay!" he said enthusiastically and ran to the bathroom. I didn't even know if he knew what it was - but soon enough he came back with a little wad of tissue in his hand. What a boy.
We settle into the big arm chair, all three of us. They are a bit jealous these days, not feeling well I guess, so I nurse Tomris on one side, and Teoman drinks his own milk and fiddles with my ring on the other. Tomris was kicking and flailing as she nursed. I put Tomris in the crib so she could settle down some. She played with the blanket over her head and a musical stuffed animal. Occasionally getting mad at the blanket for getting stuck on her head. Teoman fell asleep, I put him in his crib and picked Tomris back up. In the midst of the switch, Teoman woke back up. Tomris at this point was ready to nurse and sleep so my back-and-forth routine with them was getting tiresome fast.
They are sleeping now. I turned on their night lights and the sound machine - insallah they will both sleep went tonight and be filled with beautiful dreams
The kids have runny noses now, and Teoman has a cough. Teoman hasn't been able to sleep well for the past few nights and nap times most likely because of his cough, so he's been a bit surly with his sister. Pushing her and then running away.
I don't mind when Tolga leaves - I come home from work, take the kids outside to the park or to the market, feed them, bathe them, read stories and sleep. My time alone with them is so short, in comparison to the whole day that I am at work. I am tired and often have a headache when I get home, but I am determined these days to keep my focus on them.
Tomris, over the weekend, began using two words. "Milk" and "book" - she fusses when she's hungry and can't really express this need. I have been half-heartedly trying to ween her, but she's pretty reliant on nursing in the nighttime. She'll cry and be read to throw a fit, and I will say "Milk?" and she stops immediately and repeats rather enthusiastically, "Milk!" Morning and night she follows me around, sometimes wanting me to carry or hold her, sometimes just wanting my attention. I gave her a game this morning while I was trying to get ready and she handed it right back to me and said "Up!" She's quite demanding, and I try to give her this time - stopping and sitting with her for a short bit to look at some pictures or what not. She's my girl.
Teoman, especially because he's ill, is also wanting me to hold him. When I saw him pushing his sister and running away, I picked him up and put him in a chair saying, "Don't push your sister!" He has this routine down pretty well. He gets off the chair a few seconds later and says, "Sorry Tomris!" I picked him up again and kissed him over and over. Teoman giggled a lot and said "Otay, otay, otay!" (That's okay in his language). He's 2 1/2 and already pushing his mama away.
I have been putting them in the shower for the past couple of nights too, because of their runny noses. It's a smaller bathroom and I can get it pretty steamy. Last night, I had soaped Tomris and she decided she no longer wanted to be in the shower. It was bad timing and I had hold her in their while I tried to rinse her off quickly. Tonight, she couldn't wait for me to put her in the shower. I had the water running and was sitting next to the shower clipping Teoman's toenails. He hates having his toenails clipped, and I had caught him and was able to get two-and-a-half clipped before he began fussing. I had to finish the nail, and at the same time, Tomris decided to get in the shower. I didn't stop her - hopping that the feeling of wet socks would deter her. And, they are just socks, right? She was all the way in, comfortably playing in the shower before I could put Teoman down and grab her. Fully clothed, taking a shower. That's my girl.
After the shower I gave them medicine and put lotion on them - they both love taking medicine and getting lotion rubbed on them. Coco" as Tomris calls the lotion. Teoman always asks for it on his hands so he can rub it on himself. I put on Tomris's pink polka-dot pajamas and Teoman's green striped pajamas, grab some milk and water. I asked Teoman to go and get a tissue for Tomris's nose. "Otay!" he said enthusiastically and ran to the bathroom. I didn't even know if he knew what it was - but soon enough he came back with a little wad of tissue in his hand. What a boy.
We settle into the big arm chair, all three of us. They are a bit jealous these days, not feeling well I guess, so I nurse Tomris on one side, and Teoman drinks his own milk and fiddles with my ring on the other. Tomris was kicking and flailing as she nursed. I put Tomris in the crib so she could settle down some. She played with the blanket over her head and a musical stuffed animal. Occasionally getting mad at the blanket for getting stuck on her head. Teoman fell asleep, I put him in his crib and picked Tomris back up. In the midst of the switch, Teoman woke back up. Tomris at this point was ready to nurse and sleep so my back-and-forth routine with them was getting tiresome fast.
They are sleeping now. I turned on their night lights and the sound machine - insallah they will both sleep went tonight and be filled with beautiful dreams
the things we work for...
I am so moved by a video clip I saw tonight. It was an interview on CBS with a college football star named Malcolm Mitchell.
The player, out on injury, joined a middle-aged woman's book club. The interviewer is a huge dork, and the young man is so honest and beautiful:
MM: "Somebody called me a nerd, and it's not a label I am not used to hearing.
Interviewer: (heh heh) Is it okay though? Are you okay with the label? (heh heh stupid look on his face)
MM: (with a serious, yet almost child-like look) "I was proud or it. It was like a badge of honor to me."Interviewer: (duhh...)
Later in the interview...
I:"What's your greatest achievement?"
MM: "Reading the Hunger Games series in two days."
I: "The Hunger Games? Have you seen any of your touchdown footage? (heh he)"
M: "Yeah, but that came natural. It's a gift. I had to work to read."
I don't know what it's like to be a star - but I see those university football games - the athletes, huge crowds, and lots and lots of money being poured into the game through the television networks, the university paraphernalia, the scholarships, and the following of alumni and fans - and I'm enchanted with it. It is surreal and I wouldn't mind being in the midst of it. Whether I'm a star athlete or even a student at a Big 10 school. A part of me always wanted that. But I never went that route, because deep down, I know that isn't me too. Quite the reverse, I was disenchanted with my "idyllic" high school setting, pep rallies, and media-hype.
And this athlete is in the midst of all that and seems to know it - that the glamour and fame isn't as important as overcoming obstacles. There are very few of us...actually, I'm only referring to myself here...who can avoid being sucked into the ratings and approval of the world, who can avoid an image of themselves based on what those around them see, who can separate this view of who they are from who I am.
For me, if performance is put into the equation. I am ready to step up and be a star. But then I always fall apart. If it's a penalty to win the game - I miss. If it's a home stretch sprint for tenth place, I let up. If it's a piano recital - I forget my notes because I'm thinking what-if-I-forget-the-next-phrase-what-are-my-fingers-playing-right-now-ahhhhhh! And if it's teaching to impress, I forget why I'm teaching in the first place.
Performance is not for me. Not even on a camera. I have this tic that develops in response to the camera or spotlight ... I can't stop making weird faces. I can't stop making weird twitches with my mouth and eyebrows. My wedding was the biggest stardom I knew and I watch the video and can't stop asking myself "What is wrong with my face?!"
But all this aside - there is a part of me that knows, performance isn't for anyone. There is this basic need for us to be loved and accepted as we are. I've known this my whole life, felt it, and tried to give it as a teacher.
In my ongoing conversation with Tolga about his family - he always goes back to "You can't change people without love." He has this incredible ability to accept people as they are, where I am a bit more eager to change people "for the better." But my method doesn't work so well, especially on myself.
When I worked at an achievement based school, I thought it was such a great idea. To purposefully find the gaps and plug them up. I mean, I love fixing people. My father made the comment once, "It sounds like a fatherless group." (or something to that effect). My father isn't so great at explaining himself sometimes, but his offhanded comment was dead-on. None of my colleagues had a father. And what is it that a father provides? Love, acceptance, and rest to be a child. No matter whether you fail or succeed .. just being who you are. This acceptance takes away striving and replaces it with freedom. Freedom to fail, to take risks - natural elements of learning in life.
Somewhere along the way - MM stepped back and saw how he was being treated for his gift, how he was being accepted and rewarded for something that was a part of him and he shrugged because it was as simple to him as being proud of one's hair or one's shoes. And he decided to tackle something that had always evaded him: reading - and when he did this it wasn't under any spotlight - it was done from a place of love, acceptance and freedom to try.
I look back at my athletic experiences, and my greatest moments were under no pressure at all. I made a spectacular diving catch not to win the game, but because I had that ball. My friends cheering me on - not because I was great, but because they were my friends. I traveled for a year, because it was a part of who I was.
So what's my greatest accomplishment? What am I most proud of? I think I even shy away from these feelings because things-I've-accomplished could have so easily fallen into the things-I've-failed at category. Or maybe because when I do something great - it only feels natural: this is a part of who I am and success or failure doesn't change that.
The player, out on injury, joined a middle-aged woman's book club. The interviewer is a huge dork, and the young man is so honest and beautiful:
MM: "Somebody called me a nerd, and it's not a label I am not used to hearing.
Interviewer: (heh heh) Is it okay though? Are you okay with the label? (heh heh stupid look on his face)
MM: (with a serious, yet almost child-like look) "I was proud or it. It was like a badge of honor to me."Interviewer: (duhh...)
Later in the interview...
I:"What's your greatest achievement?"
MM: "Reading the Hunger Games series in two days."
I: "The Hunger Games? Have you seen any of your touchdown footage? (heh he)"
M: "Yeah, but that came natural. It's a gift. I had to work to read."
I don't know what it's like to be a star - but I see those university football games - the athletes, huge crowds, and lots and lots of money being poured into the game through the television networks, the university paraphernalia, the scholarships, and the following of alumni and fans - and I'm enchanted with it. It is surreal and I wouldn't mind being in the midst of it. Whether I'm a star athlete or even a student at a Big 10 school. A part of me always wanted that. But I never went that route, because deep down, I know that isn't me too. Quite the reverse, I was disenchanted with my "idyllic" high school setting, pep rallies, and media-hype.
And this athlete is in the midst of all that and seems to know it - that the glamour and fame isn't as important as overcoming obstacles. There are very few of us...actually, I'm only referring to myself here...who can avoid being sucked into the ratings and approval of the world, who can avoid an image of themselves based on what those around them see, who can separate this view of who they are from who I am.
For me, if performance is put into the equation. I am ready to step up and be a star. But then I always fall apart. If it's a penalty to win the game - I miss. If it's a home stretch sprint for tenth place, I let up. If it's a piano recital - I forget my notes because I'm thinking what-if-I-forget-the-next-phrase-what-are-my-fingers-playing-right-now-ahhhhhh! And if it's teaching to impress, I forget why I'm teaching in the first place.
Performance is not for me. Not even on a camera. I have this tic that develops in response to the camera or spotlight ... I can't stop making weird faces. I can't stop making weird twitches with my mouth and eyebrows. My wedding was the biggest stardom I knew and I watch the video and can't stop asking myself "What is wrong with my face?!"
But all this aside - there is a part of me that knows, performance isn't for anyone. There is this basic need for us to be loved and accepted as we are. I've known this my whole life, felt it, and tried to give it as a teacher.
In my ongoing conversation with Tolga about his family - he always goes back to "You can't change people without love." He has this incredible ability to accept people as they are, where I am a bit more eager to change people "for the better." But my method doesn't work so well, especially on myself.
When I worked at an achievement based school, I thought it was such a great idea. To purposefully find the gaps and plug them up. I mean, I love fixing people. My father made the comment once, "It sounds like a fatherless group." (or something to that effect). My father isn't so great at explaining himself sometimes, but his offhanded comment was dead-on. None of my colleagues had a father. And what is it that a father provides? Love, acceptance, and rest to be a child. No matter whether you fail or succeed .. just being who you are. This acceptance takes away striving and replaces it with freedom. Freedom to fail, to take risks - natural elements of learning in life.
Somewhere along the way - MM stepped back and saw how he was being treated for his gift, how he was being accepted and rewarded for something that was a part of him and he shrugged because it was as simple to him as being proud of one's hair or one's shoes. And he decided to tackle something that had always evaded him: reading - and when he did this it wasn't under any spotlight - it was done from a place of love, acceptance and freedom to try.
I look back at my athletic experiences, and my greatest moments were under no pressure at all. I made a spectacular diving catch not to win the game, but because I had that ball. My friends cheering me on - not because I was great, but because they were my friends. I traveled for a year, because it was a part of who I was.
So what's my greatest accomplishment? What am I most proud of? I think I even shy away from these feelings because things-I've-accomplished could have so easily fallen into the things-I've-failed at category. Or maybe because when I do something great - it only feels natural: this is a part of who I am and success or failure doesn't change that.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
family sleep
I still haven't decided on a direction for this blog. And in lieu of thinking about a direction, I just stopped writing . . . so that didn't work. I have been re-inspired to start again, and I want my focus to be more on the kids because I don't want to forget these times (which reminds me of all the times I didn't write because I wanted to be over and forget certain times as fast as I could). But this will not be my sole focus, because I don't want to box myself in.
So, I'll start here - with the kids - a lot of time has passed in light of their age and how much changes - so I am already regretting having missed the opportunity to record so many milestones and memories. I have started work again, and with my new schedule, I feel I can be more disciplined with my time. I am exercising with the kids crawling over me in the morning. Going to work, leaving work AT WORK, and coming home to play with the kids, and now finding very little me time at night ... which I will use to shower or blog, but not both.
I'm finding the time now because Tolga is back home. When he is home, he will take one child, and I will take the other. I put Tomris to sleep, and Teoman is currently in our bed, watching me type on the chair and Tolga is sleeping. When I catch his eye, he either smiles at me or squeezes his eyes closed (because I usually prompt him to 'close your eyes'). Tolga and I are both well aware that we could leave him to sleep by himself and that we should "sleep train" both kids, but we are not willing. I never expected this side of me ... I miss my "me" time, but I don't want it back.
Okay, scratch all that, I do want some me time to write this blog. I just picked Teoman up and put him in his crib, turned on the music and a low light to type while waiting for him to sleep. He's tired, but stalling.
Tomris is falling asleep right away now, but she naps earlier and shorter than Teoman. She is also still nursing. I can't seem to stop nursing her -- I planned to ween her at one, but over the summer I didn't even try. She didn't like milk nor bottles, so I had nothing to replace me with. It someways, it's easier to nurse too - my milk doesn't turn sour in the course of hot humid Kusadasi nights.
Since I've started school, Tomris is eating and drinking everything, but when I come home, she is immediately demanding my milk. On top of this, I think she is teething again too because she has been incredibly demanding these days: waking up millions of times at night, non-stop chattering: Mama! Double! (That's the one show we let them watch - Paw Patrol - whose theme song goes something like '...whenever you are in trouble, we'll be their on the double...') Mama! Mor! (This is said with one finger pointing to the other hand's palm, and then pointing at the M&M jar on top of our dresser), Mama! Mama! Up! Mama! Mama! Aç!
So this shorting writing session is over - Teoman is in his crib calling "Mama, mom, mama, Baba..."
So, I'll start here - with the kids - a lot of time has passed in light of their age and how much changes - so I am already regretting having missed the opportunity to record so many milestones and memories. I have started work again, and with my new schedule, I feel I can be more disciplined with my time. I am exercising with the kids crawling over me in the morning. Going to work, leaving work AT WORK, and coming home to play with the kids, and now finding very little me time at night ... which I will use to shower or blog, but not both.
I'm finding the time now because Tolga is back home. When he is home, he will take one child, and I will take the other. I put Tomris to sleep, and Teoman is currently in our bed, watching me type on the chair and Tolga is sleeping. When I catch his eye, he either smiles at me or squeezes his eyes closed (because I usually prompt him to 'close your eyes'). Tolga and I are both well aware that we could leave him to sleep by himself and that we should "sleep train" both kids, but we are not willing. I never expected this side of me ... I miss my "me" time, but I don't want it back.
Okay, scratch all that, I do want some me time to write this blog. I just picked Teoman up and put him in his crib, turned on the music and a low light to type while waiting for him to sleep. He's tired, but stalling.
Tomris is falling asleep right away now, but she naps earlier and shorter than Teoman. She is also still nursing. I can't seem to stop nursing her -- I planned to ween her at one, but over the summer I didn't even try. She didn't like milk nor bottles, so I had nothing to replace me with. It someways, it's easier to nurse too - my milk doesn't turn sour in the course of hot humid Kusadasi nights.
Since I've started school, Tomris is eating and drinking everything, but when I come home, she is immediately demanding my milk. On top of this, I think she is teething again too because she has been incredibly demanding these days: waking up millions of times at night, non-stop chattering: Mama! Double! (That's the one show we let them watch - Paw Patrol - whose theme song goes something like '...whenever you are in trouble, we'll be their on the double...') Mama! Mor! (This is said with one finger pointing to the other hand's palm, and then pointing at the M&M jar on top of our dresser), Mama! Mama! Up! Mama! Mama! Aç!
So this shorting writing session is over - Teoman is in his crib calling "Mama, mom, mama, Baba..."
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