Tolga is away in the field. He has been for two weeks. He left when I was sick. He told me he was sick too ... but I had a hard time finding any sympathy for him. I had been up with the kids coughing in the night, and then myself - while he slept so hard in a bad position that he lost feeling in his arm. I had shoved him awake for some unimportant reason, and he was quite dramatic and shocked about not feeling his arm.
Ah, yeah... If only I could sleep that hard.
And now he is away in the field - and we are living different things. I am doing the daily things that involve work and home and necessities - groceries, dinner, baths, stories, bedtime, breakfast. He is sitting in his bed, at a hotel, watching us on the iPad, and TV. We are fighting, screaming, running, playing, spilling things, cleaning things up ...
It's exhausting for both of us, in different ways. Tolga would much rather be home - he takes no enjoyment being away. I try to tell him he should enjoy the outdoors, refresh his mind, rest, socialize ... but he would prefer to spend all his time at home, with his family.
While I sometimes dream of being that person in the quiet hotel room, going for hikes in the mountain as my job.
My in-laws are still not here too. I have mixed feelings about this. I like having our house to ourselves, routines are simple -- dishes, groceries, etc. - they are all less. I like having the kids to myself - not having to compete with their grandma who they want to play with rather than sleep, or the television that is incessantly running, and so on.
But the other side of me feels some resentment. Like they abandoned us. We give them a monthly allowance and they are living their life free and far away from us. Happy to do as they please while we slave away here, paying double bills, alone, with no rest. They left their grandkids for the garden. We made a room for them, a home, a family - and now that they have money, their choice is not us. I am pregnant, working, sick, with Tolga traveling - and they have work to do this winter in Kusadasi.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
why I'm annoyed today
1. I'm pregnant, I can be annoyed at anything.
2. For example, every single driver on the road to and from work, especially private school parents that block the parking lot waiting for their princes and princesses.
3. My 3 1/2 year old son repeated my annoyances this morning at the car parked too close to my car so I could barely squeeze my big belly into the car, but he added a swear word to it, unwittingly. I'm not going to say where he learned that from.
4. Lunch gave me heartburn
5. The pharmacy gave me the wrong medicine (and I didn't check it until I got home)
6. The security gate kept closing, rather than opening for me. Like 5 times.
7. The elevator wasn't working, so I had to take 9 flights of stair in my high-heeled boots, with groceries, and my - of course - big belly.
8. My mother-in-law said she's coming to Ankara when her leg gets better.
9. She added she went to the doctor and her blood pressure is high and cholesterol is high. Good to know they are eating well.
10. They are eating "well" because the food nazi (me) is not around to hide the salt, sugar, and butter.
11. They are coming in 15 days, not early enough to watch the kids so we can go to our work Christmas parties - but just in time for me to cook them a big Christmas dinner and buy everybody Christmas presents.
So, I'm starting to write again . . . with a bang.
2. For example, every single driver on the road to and from work, especially private school parents that block the parking lot waiting for their princes and princesses.
3. My 3 1/2 year old son repeated my annoyances this morning at the car parked too close to my car so I could barely squeeze my big belly into the car, but he added a swear word to it, unwittingly. I'm not going to say where he learned that from.
4. Lunch gave me heartburn
5. The pharmacy gave me the wrong medicine (and I didn't check it until I got home)
6. The security gate kept closing, rather than opening for me. Like 5 times.
7. The elevator wasn't working, so I had to take 9 flights of stair in my high-heeled boots, with groceries, and my - of course - big belly.
8. My mother-in-law said she's coming to Ankara when her leg gets better.
9. She added she went to the doctor and her blood pressure is high and cholesterol is high. Good to know they are eating well.
10. They are eating "well" because the food nazi (me) is not around to hide the salt, sugar, and butter.
11. They are coming in 15 days, not early enough to watch the kids so we can go to our work Christmas parties - but just in time for me to cook them a big Christmas dinner and buy everybody Christmas presents.
So, I'm starting to write again . . . with a bang.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
the cold, Nazar, and magic medicines
I have mentioned this before, but I will mention it again here, and again later because this is such an ingrained belief. In Turkey, cold weather is the cause of: the common cold, the flu, fevers, neck pain, back pain, stomach aches, muscle aches, any kind of ache or pain, infertility, hemorrhoids, and it is probably the root cause of cancer, polio, and heart attacks. It doesn't matter that it's sunny and between 80-100 degrees every single day in the summer. A slight breeze, walking on a cold floor, drinking cold water ... all are dangerous exposures to cold and direct pathways to sickness.
So why isn't Norway sick, or Minnesota for that matter? I grew up swimming when it was 65 degrees out - my lips were purple during my swimming lessons. Always. Educated people. People who've lived abroad. The belief is unshakeable. I cannot disprove it - because, indeed, my children run around sweaty (thus "cold"), they run in the house barefoot (thus "cold feet"), the sit down on the ground, they swim, I use an air conditioner ... I'm afraid that I may be the worst mother in the world. It's as if I'm purposely getting my children sick. If anything, I've only proven this belief to all of my neighbors and relatives with Tomris's latest hospitalization.
There is no use in fighting this belief. I've tried - with what I've come to understand is simply my common sense, and nobody else's. To a Turkish person, avoiding the cold is their common sense. Neck pain or sore throat? Put on a scarf. Stomach ache? Put on a sweater.
So sometimes, I submit and put shoes on my kids. And sometimes I rebel and put extra ice cubes in my drink.
Nazar (the evil eye) is another very deeply ingrained belief. It's the belief that when you have something good, others become jealous and want what you have ... and in effect, they curse you with their coveting. It is customary to place the nazar boncuğu (evil eye bead) on your door step, key ring, pin it to your children's clothing, etc. This (unlike the name implies) is worn or displayed to deflect these evil thoughts.
My parents, sister, and even myself for a time were all a bit offended by this idea at first. From our culture, and more specifically our religion - it was wrong to put such emphasis on charms and evil when Jesus has set us free from these things. To an extent, I still hate it when something bad happens and Anne mutters nazar, because in a way it seems to be giving evil credit and even power over our lives. I don't doubt their are evil spirits are at work in the world, but surely it is much healthier to focus on the good rather than dwelling on the influence of nazar.
I was really thrown when our old aunt from Istanbul came and burnt a special incense that was to cleanse the house of nazar. But, as I've learned many things so slowly here - this is part of their culture. It is deeply rooted and all they know. Their intentions are good - to cleanse our homes of evil, so that we may have health and happiness. How can we fault that?
While the incense burning is an extreme example, there are milder beliefs in cures as well. If Anne suggests one more time that "if only Tomris would drink the lemon mint tea her vomiting would go right away" I might explode. Magic medicines.
Medicines may or may not help, and I've never expected them to. I've always known the body just takes time to fight off sicknesses. Sometimes with the help of medicines. Pain relievers sometimes help. Narcotics hardly do a thing. Maybe I'll give aspirin, ibuprofen, and ice as my top three magic medicines - if I were to have any.
That is not the case here. Medicine is the solution for everything. When I hurt my back last year, I went to the school doctor. They put some cream on my back and then asked, "Is it all better?" I went to a "real" doctor the next day and he sprayed my back with something that freezes the surface muscles. "This will help you right away," he said. He wanted me to test its effect by bending over. I told him I didn't think that was a good idea, and I wondered about his doctoring skills. So, when that didn't work, they wanted to do injections in my back. A procedure that is done awake in America, but the knock you out in Turkey for it ... because they love medicines! Both of my labor and deliveries I suspect I was overmedicated because I was vomiting and fainting several hours after birth.
Baba is the worse (and maybe the most dangerous) about medicines. He takes a vitamin C and claims he is better within five minutes. He showed me a medicine that seemed to be cure-all for his general malaise. It was a nasal decongestant. When I'm sick, or my children - usually the first thing people ask me is: are you taking in medicine? And if my answer is yes, there is no further discussion - because the medicine will cure whatever is ailing me or my children. If my answer is no, I'll be offered a sure fix medicine. The first time someone did this to me, I was so touched. How sweet, and how great -- I should have been suspicious when she said she gave this medicine to her child for everything and it didn't bother their stomach or what not. When I looked it up later, I realized it was the equivalent to Tylenol. Acetemetophine has never been a cure-all for me.
And then there's serum. As in 1950s when you went to the hospital and got serum. It took me a while to figure out it's just IV fluids, and in different cases, maybe a booster of vitamins, or what not. When my friends or family are sick here, I was always trying to get the details - what was it, what did they do, what did they give you - because going to the hospital was pretty dramatic for me to hear. And without fail, answers usually involve going to the hospital and getting serum. Six weeks pregnant friend was in the hospital for five days for serum. My sister-in-law, when she was pregnant, was in the hospital for three days for serum. Baba got serum. Tomris got serum. I mean - this must be some magic cure-all stuff, right? I want serum. When I've gone to the hospital, I expected serum. Everyone else is getting it. Last summer, I was so sick, I desperately wanted them to keep me so I could nap for a few hours, but no - just medicines, a blood test, and the boot. Last month, I went in for a migraine ... not something I would normally do - but I couldn't take my magic medicine (ibuprofen) because I was continually throwing up. I thought with the danger of dehydration and being pregnant - surely that would win me some magic serum. But nope, just two shots in the ass and directions to not drink cold water.
I didn't tell them I usually snuggle in bed with some ice packs on my shoulders.
So why isn't Norway sick, or Minnesota for that matter? I grew up swimming when it was 65 degrees out - my lips were purple during my swimming lessons. Always. Educated people. People who've lived abroad. The belief is unshakeable. I cannot disprove it - because, indeed, my children run around sweaty (thus "cold"), they run in the house barefoot (thus "cold feet"), the sit down on the ground, they swim, I use an air conditioner ... I'm afraid that I may be the worst mother in the world. It's as if I'm purposely getting my children sick. If anything, I've only proven this belief to all of my neighbors and relatives with Tomris's latest hospitalization.
There is no use in fighting this belief. I've tried - with what I've come to understand is simply my common sense, and nobody else's. To a Turkish person, avoiding the cold is their common sense. Neck pain or sore throat? Put on a scarf. Stomach ache? Put on a sweater.
So sometimes, I submit and put shoes on my kids. And sometimes I rebel and put extra ice cubes in my drink.
Nazar (the evil eye) is another very deeply ingrained belief. It's the belief that when you have something good, others become jealous and want what you have ... and in effect, they curse you with their coveting. It is customary to place the nazar boncuğu (evil eye bead) on your door step, key ring, pin it to your children's clothing, etc. This (unlike the name implies) is worn or displayed to deflect these evil thoughts.
My parents, sister, and even myself for a time were all a bit offended by this idea at first. From our culture, and more specifically our religion - it was wrong to put such emphasis on charms and evil when Jesus has set us free from these things. To an extent, I still hate it when something bad happens and Anne mutters nazar, because in a way it seems to be giving evil credit and even power over our lives. I don't doubt their are evil spirits are at work in the world, but surely it is much healthier to focus on the good rather than dwelling on the influence of nazar.
I was really thrown when our old aunt from Istanbul came and burnt a special incense that was to cleanse the house of nazar. But, as I've learned many things so slowly here - this is part of their culture. It is deeply rooted and all they know. Their intentions are good - to cleanse our homes of evil, so that we may have health and happiness. How can we fault that?
While the incense burning is an extreme example, there are milder beliefs in cures as well. If Anne suggests one more time that "if only Tomris would drink the lemon mint tea her vomiting would go right away" I might explode. Magic medicines.
Medicines may or may not help, and I've never expected them to. I've always known the body just takes time to fight off sicknesses. Sometimes with the help of medicines. Pain relievers sometimes help. Narcotics hardly do a thing. Maybe I'll give aspirin, ibuprofen, and ice as my top three magic medicines - if I were to have any.
That is not the case here. Medicine is the solution for everything. When I hurt my back last year, I went to the school doctor. They put some cream on my back and then asked, "Is it all better?" I went to a "real" doctor the next day and he sprayed my back with something that freezes the surface muscles. "This will help you right away," he said. He wanted me to test its effect by bending over. I told him I didn't think that was a good idea, and I wondered about his doctoring skills. So, when that didn't work, they wanted to do injections in my back. A procedure that is done awake in America, but the knock you out in Turkey for it ... because they love medicines! Both of my labor and deliveries I suspect I was overmedicated because I was vomiting and fainting several hours after birth.
Baba is the worse (and maybe the most dangerous) about medicines. He takes a vitamin C and claims he is better within five minutes. He showed me a medicine that seemed to be cure-all for his general malaise. It was a nasal decongestant. When I'm sick, or my children - usually the first thing people ask me is: are you taking in medicine? And if my answer is yes, there is no further discussion - because the medicine will cure whatever is ailing me or my children. If my answer is no, I'll be offered a sure fix medicine. The first time someone did this to me, I was so touched. How sweet, and how great -- I should have been suspicious when she said she gave this medicine to her child for everything and it didn't bother their stomach or what not. When I looked it up later, I realized it was the equivalent to Tylenol. Acetemetophine has never been a cure-all for me.
And then there's serum. As in 1950s when you went to the hospital and got serum. It took me a while to figure out it's just IV fluids, and in different cases, maybe a booster of vitamins, or what not. When my friends or family are sick here, I was always trying to get the details - what was it, what did they do, what did they give you - because going to the hospital was pretty dramatic for me to hear. And without fail, answers usually involve going to the hospital and getting serum. Six weeks pregnant friend was in the hospital for five days for serum. My sister-in-law, when she was pregnant, was in the hospital for three days for serum. Baba got serum. Tomris got serum. I mean - this must be some magic cure-all stuff, right? I want serum. When I've gone to the hospital, I expected serum. Everyone else is getting it. Last summer, I was so sick, I desperately wanted them to keep me so I could nap for a few hours, but no - just medicines, a blood test, and the boot. Last month, I went in for a migraine ... not something I would normally do - but I couldn't take my magic medicine (ibuprofen) because I was continually throwing up. I thought with the danger of dehydration and being pregnant - surely that would win me some magic serum. But nope, just two shots in the ass and directions to not drink cold water.
I didn't tell them I usually snuggle in bed with some ice packs on my shoulders.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
a night at the hospital
Tomris woke up at 4:30 am the other morning, sat up and burped, looked at me with that face - and began emptying her stomach on the bed. I was too slow to pull her off the bed, and did - what I thought at the time - was the next best thing - tried to catch the vomit. She held my hands and dutifully continued to vomit in them. She doesn't cry when she vomits anymore. I guess she got used to it from being car sick. She just says "I'm sick" with a bit of a whimper and I give her the bucket. Sometimes she plays - gagging into the bucket, and occasionally she actually does vomit. (It took one vacation and five or six car vomiting episodes before I thought to keep a bucket in the car).
She finished throwing up when and I tried to "carry" the vomit to the bathroom. I had trouble at the door, and left a messy trail. I cleaned up Tomris, changed her clothes, cleaned up the floor, and in the midst of changing the sheets Tomris threw up again - she told me, and I ran to pick her up but I was too slow again. I changed her again, Teoman woke up and they began to play together. Teoman also took the opportunity to poop in his diaper. I changed him, cleaned up the floor, finished changing the sheets, put both kids in my bed - and at the last minute decided to get a bucket for her. I came back and she was lying on her back and vomited - her stomach was mostly empty now, and this time it was all the water she had just drank. I rolled her of the bed so she wouldn't choke and gave her the bucket while I grabbed a towel. She threw up in the bucket then dumped the vomit on the bed.
"Tomris!"
"Sorry abou that." (That's her favorite line these days).
This time I had to shower he - and while I thought she'd cry, she actually seemed to relax in the shower which made me realize she probably had a fever. It was too late to check.
I lay in bed with her but I couldn't sleep - and every half hour maybe she'd wake up, say "I'm sick", and throw up into the bucket I had, then lie back down. Finally we got up at 7:30 and I brought her downstairs to see how she did - and she seem to get worse. She'd play, and then say "I'm sick," throw up in the bucket or sink or floor, then sit in my arms some. She was throwing up stomach acid at this point, or dry heaving - so I tried to give a little food and drink. She wanted to drink water, and I was trying to only give her a little ... but it was hard to stop her. She would eat a few crackers and throw up anyhow. We called our doctor back in Ankara and he suggested a suppository. It was hard to leave the house, but even after I got the medicine and gave her the medicine - she threw up a half hour later, fell asleep in my arms - I carried her upstairs and laid her in her bed - and she woke up right a ways and threw up again. It was two o-clock now and at this point we decided to take her to the hospital.
"We" being Tolga and I - Tolga is away in the field and I was updating him and consulting him over the phone. This is his third week away from us, and it is torture for him - especially when things like this are going on. He was nervous and stressed over the phone, and doing his best to control things from his end of the line.
Hakan, his brother, wouldn't answer the phone, and I decided not to drive myself - we had plenty of nice neighbors I had no problem asking for help. I get the feeling its not tactful here - because no one was suggesting it. Tolga wanted me to wait for Hakan, Anne wanted to lock up the house and for us all to go. Maybe my neighbors couldn't refuse me, but the seemed ready to help anyhow. The husband and wife piled in the car. I brought the diaper bag and a bucket. Tomris threw up twice on the way to the hospital.
There aren't really clinics in Turkey. If you need any tests done, or medicines given - they are done at the hospital. The hospital is a government hospital, newly built, with the best view in the city. We entered into the ER for the third time this summer. The attendant takes her kimlik card - the national identity card, then we follow the yellow line back to the ER. It's an open room with lots of beds with curtains, and lots of people standing around. When a doctor finally asked us what the problem, my neighbor answered, usutdu. She got cold.
I couldn't get a word in fast enough, but it didn't matter - they sent us upstairs to the children's doctor where we registered and got in line. While waiting my neighbor was pushing Tomris to drink water and eat crackers. Tomris threw these up all over me.
We waited almost an hour and Tomris fell asleep standing up, with her cheek resting on my knee. The doctor was Hakan and Yesim's doctor (my in-laws) and they really like him of all the doctors in Kusadasi. I have know idea if he's good or not. He was fast when it came our turn. He checked her eyes, her breathing, her stomach, her mouth, and then said a lot of things to me really fast. Not only did he speak fast, I didn't understand half the words he used. I just stared at him blankly so he said it more slowly.
I still didn't understand him, and when it comes to doctors and my children, I want to understand every detail. He repeated it slowly and loudly and with a bit of annoyance. That only made me annoyed. I understood something to the effect that he was giving me the choice to stay in the hospital with her or not.
That only frustrated me more.
Of course I don't want to stay here - but should I? I came to you for help. She isn't holding down water, she isn't stopping vomiting, I don't know at what point she is in danger of dehydration ... does she need to stay?
Everyone agreed she should.
I still wasn't sure - I knew they'd give her IV fluids which meant a needle, screaming, and who knows what - but I was also afraid of dehydration, and while this would hurt, hopefully it would help even more.
The yatak hastanesi was full. Our doctor called over to make room for us (which really impressed my neighbors and made them conclude he was a great doctor). We waited in a waiting room there and Tomris fell asleep on my lap. She had made it an hour-and-half now without throwing up. It crossed my mind to go home then, maybe it had passed? But if it hadn't, it meant more debating at home, more stressing. I brought to another room to get the IV. The couldn't see a vein in her arm so they did it in the back of her hand. The nurses wouldn't let me hold her, so I had to lay her on her back and the best I could do was put my cheek next to hers while she screamed in my ear. The doctor had come over at this point and was making jokes about Yankees.
I was liking him less and less.
We went to our room which had a beautiful view of the port - but I sat in the bad most of the time holding and comforting Tomris. She was sensitive about her hand and occasionally cried in frustration about it - but we managed. They didn't want her eating until after 8pm, but dinner was served at five or six. Hakan came later in the evening and stayed the night in the hospital too. He brought food and snacks for us. Tomris loves her uncle Hakan, and while she didn't really want him touching her - she was looking at him shyly and giggling. He had brought her a small toy that she snuggled with, and whenever she'd wake up, she'd ask "Where's Hakan amca (uncle)?"
It it typical in government hospitals to bring your family. It is the families job to look after the patient. Not the nurses. I'm not sure what the nurses job is actually. She gave me a urine cup and something to sample my daughter's poop. Yea, that's not happening. I don't mind it - it's just trying to get a 2 year old to pee in cup is impossible. Tomris slept well, in my arms, and I woke up periodically because of a pounding headache. At three in the morning, I noticed how hot her body was and the IV fluids had finished so I went and found the nurse. The nurse gave a huge eye roll. (Again, not sure what her actual job was...). Tomris had a fever, she gave her some medicine, and changed the fluids bag.
At seven in the morning, the attendant woke us up with "Breakfast". She/he had opened the door and hollered inside. It woke up Tomris and I, but I couldn't get up because Tomris didn't want me to leave her side. So I waited and breakfast never came. My head was pounding. Half an hour later or so, I was able to get up and check what happened to breakfast. I asked an attendant. Apparently it was self serve. I was supposed to come out into the hallway and grab myself a tray. The attendant came in our room to clean, at this point, I had worked up an argument in my mind with him ... so he was quite unlucky.
"So what? My kid can't eat now?"
"Breakfast came, you were supposed to get it yourself."
"How? I can't leave her for even a second. How was I supposed to now it was self serve?"
"There's nothing to do now."
Hakan had woken up from my yelling at the man and asked what the problem was. I told him, and Hakan calmly got up and said he would go get something from the canteen.
Why does Hakan drive a half hour from work to fight with a man about an umbrella, but say nothing about the attendant's attitude toward me?
Hakan left, and I cried. I started crying and I couldn't stop. I couldn't pull it together. My head hurt, I was tired of things I didn't understand, and tired of not being understood. I was tired of Turkish, and Turkish families, and Turkish culture, and Turkish hospitals.
Hakan came back and was instantly nervous when he saw I'd been crying. "Are you mad about breakfast?" He asked. At the same time, Tolga called and Hakan tried to give me the phone. I tried to refuse because I was trying to stop crying, and hearing Tolga's voice was going to make it worse. But, I couldn't refuse Tolga because that would stress him out even more too. I took the phone and Tolga asked me if I had got Tomris to pee into the cup.
Well, that momentarily took care of my breakdown because I was instantly angry and started getting mad at Tolga - "It's that easy huh? Just tell her to pee and she'll pee in the cup? With the IV fluid in her hand and the bag and holding her on the toilet and the cup and her just learning how to use the toilet ... REALLY?!??" I gave the phone back to Hakan.
This was not going well. Obviously. But then again, a really good cry is what I really needed.
I calmed down after that. The doctor came and ordered two more bags of fluids, and said if she had no fever nor threw up all day, we could leave after 4pm. Hakan went to work. We watched lots of videos, and around 4:30 the doctor released us to go. I had to take care of some paperwork down in the emergency room before they would release us, and I took Tomris with me downstairs.
ERs in the government hospitals are typically one of the most depressing places. There is just so much pain and desperation and it always feels worse than your an American hospital or a private hospital. Maybe because Turks are more dramatic, maybe because the people that come in are more desperate, maybe because of the conditions ... I don't know. But that afternoon was exceptionally bad. Two girls game walking in fast, maybe 14 and 12 years old. They looked panic and were carrying a bag. "Babam nerede? Babam nerede?" Where's my father? Where's my father? The mother wasn't far behind - and it didn't take long before all three began crying and screaming. There were a large amount of people standing around - I learned later some city workers had suffered from methane gas poisoning. Two died, and on was critically ill. The crowd, I'm not sure where they came from.
Our leave was delayed by two hours because of this ... and when we finally left, I was exhausted, and Tomris was looking pretty good. Her IV was out and we drove home.
Except, she threw up in the car. The expert she is - she threw up in the bucket I gave her.
I lay in bed with her but I couldn't sleep - and every half hour maybe she'd wake up, say "I'm sick", and throw up into the bucket I had, then lie back down. Finally we got up at 7:30 and I brought her downstairs to see how she did - and she seem to get worse. She'd play, and then say "I'm sick," throw up in the bucket or sink or floor, then sit in my arms some. She was throwing up stomach acid at this point, or dry heaving - so I tried to give a little food and drink. She wanted to drink water, and I was trying to only give her a little ... but it was hard to stop her. She would eat a few crackers and throw up anyhow. We called our doctor back in Ankara and he suggested a suppository. It was hard to leave the house, but even after I got the medicine and gave her the medicine - she threw up a half hour later, fell asleep in my arms - I carried her upstairs and laid her in her bed - and she woke up right a ways and threw up again. It was two o-clock now and at this point we decided to take her to the hospital.
"We" being Tolga and I - Tolga is away in the field and I was updating him and consulting him over the phone. This is his third week away from us, and it is torture for him - especially when things like this are going on. He was nervous and stressed over the phone, and doing his best to control things from his end of the line.
Hakan, his brother, wouldn't answer the phone, and I decided not to drive myself - we had plenty of nice neighbors I had no problem asking for help. I get the feeling its not tactful here - because no one was suggesting it. Tolga wanted me to wait for Hakan, Anne wanted to lock up the house and for us all to go. Maybe my neighbors couldn't refuse me, but the seemed ready to help anyhow. The husband and wife piled in the car. I brought the diaper bag and a bucket. Tomris threw up twice on the way to the hospital.
There aren't really clinics in Turkey. If you need any tests done, or medicines given - they are done at the hospital. The hospital is a government hospital, newly built, with the best view in the city. We entered into the ER for the third time this summer. The attendant takes her kimlik card - the national identity card, then we follow the yellow line back to the ER. It's an open room with lots of beds with curtains, and lots of people standing around. When a doctor finally asked us what the problem, my neighbor answered, usutdu. She got cold.
I couldn't get a word in fast enough, but it didn't matter - they sent us upstairs to the children's doctor where we registered and got in line. While waiting my neighbor was pushing Tomris to drink water and eat crackers. Tomris threw these up all over me.
We waited almost an hour and Tomris fell asleep standing up, with her cheek resting on my knee. The doctor was Hakan and Yesim's doctor (my in-laws) and they really like him of all the doctors in Kusadasi. I have know idea if he's good or not. He was fast when it came our turn. He checked her eyes, her breathing, her stomach, her mouth, and then said a lot of things to me really fast. Not only did he speak fast, I didn't understand half the words he used. I just stared at him blankly so he said it more slowly.
I still didn't understand him, and when it comes to doctors and my children, I want to understand every detail. He repeated it slowly and loudly and with a bit of annoyance. That only made me annoyed. I understood something to the effect that he was giving me the choice to stay in the hospital with her or not.
That only frustrated me more.
Of course I don't want to stay here - but should I? I came to you for help. She isn't holding down water, she isn't stopping vomiting, I don't know at what point she is in danger of dehydration ... does she need to stay?
Everyone agreed she should.
I still wasn't sure - I knew they'd give her IV fluids which meant a needle, screaming, and who knows what - but I was also afraid of dehydration, and while this would hurt, hopefully it would help even more.
The yatak hastanesi was full. Our doctor called over to make room for us (which really impressed my neighbors and made them conclude he was a great doctor). We waited in a waiting room there and Tomris fell asleep on my lap. She had made it an hour-and-half now without throwing up. It crossed my mind to go home then, maybe it had passed? But if it hadn't, it meant more debating at home, more stressing. I brought to another room to get the IV. The couldn't see a vein in her arm so they did it in the back of her hand. The nurses wouldn't let me hold her, so I had to lay her on her back and the best I could do was put my cheek next to hers while she screamed in my ear. The doctor had come over at this point and was making jokes about Yankees.
I was liking him less and less.
We went to our room which had a beautiful view of the port - but I sat in the bad most of the time holding and comforting Tomris. She was sensitive about her hand and occasionally cried in frustration about it - but we managed. They didn't want her eating until after 8pm, but dinner was served at five or six. Hakan came later in the evening and stayed the night in the hospital too. He brought food and snacks for us. Tomris loves her uncle Hakan, and while she didn't really want him touching her - she was looking at him shyly and giggling. He had brought her a small toy that she snuggled with, and whenever she'd wake up, she'd ask "Where's Hakan amca (uncle)?"
It it typical in government hospitals to bring your family. It is the families job to look after the patient. Not the nurses. I'm not sure what the nurses job is actually. She gave me a urine cup and something to sample my daughter's poop. Yea, that's not happening. I don't mind it - it's just trying to get a 2 year old to pee in cup is impossible. Tomris slept well, in my arms, and I woke up periodically because of a pounding headache. At three in the morning, I noticed how hot her body was and the IV fluids had finished so I went and found the nurse. The nurse gave a huge eye roll. (Again, not sure what her actual job was...). Tomris had a fever, she gave her some medicine, and changed the fluids bag.
At seven in the morning, the attendant woke us up with "Breakfast". She/he had opened the door and hollered inside. It woke up Tomris and I, but I couldn't get up because Tomris didn't want me to leave her side. So I waited and breakfast never came. My head was pounding. Half an hour later or so, I was able to get up and check what happened to breakfast. I asked an attendant. Apparently it was self serve. I was supposed to come out into the hallway and grab myself a tray. The attendant came in our room to clean, at this point, I had worked up an argument in my mind with him ... so he was quite unlucky.
"So what? My kid can't eat now?"
"Breakfast came, you were supposed to get it yourself."
"How? I can't leave her for even a second. How was I supposed to now it was self serve?"
"There's nothing to do now."
Hakan had woken up from my yelling at the man and asked what the problem was. I told him, and Hakan calmly got up and said he would go get something from the canteen.
Why does Hakan drive a half hour from work to fight with a man about an umbrella, but say nothing about the attendant's attitude toward me?
Hakan left, and I cried. I started crying and I couldn't stop. I couldn't pull it together. My head hurt, I was tired of things I didn't understand, and tired of not being understood. I was tired of Turkish, and Turkish families, and Turkish culture, and Turkish hospitals.
Hakan came back and was instantly nervous when he saw I'd been crying. "Are you mad about breakfast?" He asked. At the same time, Tolga called and Hakan tried to give me the phone. I tried to refuse because I was trying to stop crying, and hearing Tolga's voice was going to make it worse. But, I couldn't refuse Tolga because that would stress him out even more too. I took the phone and Tolga asked me if I had got Tomris to pee into the cup.
Well, that momentarily took care of my breakdown because I was instantly angry and started getting mad at Tolga - "It's that easy huh? Just tell her to pee and she'll pee in the cup? With the IV fluid in her hand and the bag and holding her on the toilet and the cup and her just learning how to use the toilet ... REALLY?!??" I gave the phone back to Hakan.
This was not going well. Obviously. But then again, a really good cry is what I really needed.
I calmed down after that. The doctor came and ordered two more bags of fluids, and said if she had no fever nor threw up all day, we could leave after 4pm. Hakan went to work. We watched lots of videos, and around 4:30 the doctor released us to go. I had to take care of some paperwork down in the emergency room before they would release us, and I took Tomris with me downstairs.
ERs in the government hospitals are typically one of the most depressing places. There is just so much pain and desperation and it always feels worse than your an American hospital or a private hospital. Maybe because Turks are more dramatic, maybe because the people that come in are more desperate, maybe because of the conditions ... I don't know. But that afternoon was exceptionally bad. Two girls game walking in fast, maybe 14 and 12 years old. They looked panic and were carrying a bag. "Babam nerede? Babam nerede?" Where's my father? Where's my father? The mother wasn't far behind - and it didn't take long before all three began crying and screaming. There were a large amount of people standing around - I learned later some city workers had suffered from methane gas poisoning. Two died, and on was critically ill. The crowd, I'm not sure where they came from.
Our leave was delayed by two hours because of this ... and when we finally left, I was exhausted, and Tomris was looking pretty good. Her IV was out and we drove home.
Except, she threw up in the car. The expert she is - she threw up in the bucket I gave her.
Monday, August 3, 2015
where is the fire?
I watched this inspiring clip where a professor asked, "What would you do if money weren't an object?" And he walks his students through the steps of realizing what they want out of life. Money is the object for most, or so most think - and so we work to make more money at jobs we don't like and we teach our children to follow this same vicious cycle - never realizing what we really want, or how going after what we really want would be more productive, rewarding, etc.
I started thinking about this again - what do I want if money were no object. I thought it was a great question, but then I realized money is not the only object. People, politics, and our personal inhibitions are pretty big objects as well.
The person who posted this video was someone I know who is currently traveling the world - and he posted it in response to why he is traveling- with the caveat that he still doesn't know what he wants.
When I was traveling, I think I did realize this - what I wanted, and that was to write no matter what. To create. I had been many places, seen many things, met many people - and I enjoyed it all. But it wasn't what I wanted. When I got home, after some years, I began planning a Mississippi River trip. I had dreamed up this idea when I was younger - to canoe the river top to bottom - and after Hurricane Katrina, I thought I could combine my dream with a good cause. And while I planned, and wrote, and asked for support... I realized my trip was going to cost a lot of money. Money I could spend, but it seemed so ridiculously hipocritical to spend money on fancy light weight canoes and other such equipment when the need in New Orleans was so much more basic. If I lost my home or savings in a flood, and some do-gooders come paddling down the river in the name of a fund raiser - taking the attention of media while my children are suffering from mold allergies - well, it's a bit ridiculous. I could hand a check, but money wasn't the only object there was it.
Another time, when I was searching for my career, and I was delving deep into psychology, sociology, and education issues. I was writing a story based on the school shootings and the details became to real - I could picture the disconnect in the students, the events of the day, the emotions - too clearly, and so I stopped. Because that's not what I wanted either. I wanted my writing to edify - there was too much ugliness in this world.
When I first began my teaching career, or even before, I began dreaming of an alternative type school - one that taught hard work, responsibility, and discipline through nature, farming, and animals. Something that what be individualized and would give students joy and pride in their work. But I've realized, especially after working at a famous charter school - that I didn't really care that much about education either.
There are so many things I enjoy, but is there something out there I'm really passionate about? In America we worked hard, and played hard - filling our free time with ... distractions. In Turkey, there are surely less distractions to fill my time with, and I find myself content mostly. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just sitting on my heels too much and not letting myself take risks for something meaningful. Where is that fire that should burn in my soul?
I am working for my kids - I am raising them and happy with my family - but twenty or thirty years later, is my goal to simply raise them, educate them, support them towards good careers so they can have families and begin this same cycle?
Surely there is more.
I started thinking about this again - what do I want if money were no object. I thought it was a great question, but then I realized money is not the only object. People, politics, and our personal inhibitions are pretty big objects as well.
The person who posted this video was someone I know who is currently traveling the world - and he posted it in response to why he is traveling- with the caveat that he still doesn't know what he wants.
When I was traveling, I think I did realize this - what I wanted, and that was to write no matter what. To create. I had been many places, seen many things, met many people - and I enjoyed it all. But it wasn't what I wanted. When I got home, after some years, I began planning a Mississippi River trip. I had dreamed up this idea when I was younger - to canoe the river top to bottom - and after Hurricane Katrina, I thought I could combine my dream with a good cause. And while I planned, and wrote, and asked for support... I realized my trip was going to cost a lot of money. Money I could spend, but it seemed so ridiculously hipocritical to spend money on fancy light weight canoes and other such equipment when the need in New Orleans was so much more basic. If I lost my home or savings in a flood, and some do-gooders come paddling down the river in the name of a fund raiser - taking the attention of media while my children are suffering from mold allergies - well, it's a bit ridiculous. I could hand a check, but money wasn't the only object there was it.
Another time, when I was searching for my career, and I was delving deep into psychology, sociology, and education issues. I was writing a story based on the school shootings and the details became to real - I could picture the disconnect in the students, the events of the day, the emotions - too clearly, and so I stopped. Because that's not what I wanted either. I wanted my writing to edify - there was too much ugliness in this world.
When I first began my teaching career, or even before, I began dreaming of an alternative type school - one that taught hard work, responsibility, and discipline through nature, farming, and animals. Something that what be individualized and would give students joy and pride in their work. But I've realized, especially after working at a famous charter school - that I didn't really care that much about education either.
There are so many things I enjoy, but is there something out there I'm really passionate about? In America we worked hard, and played hard - filling our free time with ... distractions. In Turkey, there are surely less distractions to fill my time with, and I find myself content mostly. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just sitting on my heels too much and not letting myself take risks for something meaningful. Where is that fire that should burn in my soul?
I am working for my kids - I am raising them and happy with my family - but twenty or thirty years later, is my goal to simply raise them, educate them, support them towards good careers so they can have families and begin this same cycle?
Surely there is more.
Friday, July 31, 2015
is love enough?
I argued with my brother-in-law tonight.
Gokhan is a little over a year younger than me and gentle-hearted - so it was surprising (and a little impressive) that he fought with me. Even more impressive was Baba intervening to stop our shouting match - it was the first time I saw Baba do something fatherly, and I really appreciated it.
Gokhan, who has been jobless for the past 7 months, and has not had steady work (or steady work but no pay...which is a thing here) for the past ??? years - he finally got a job. A job that is offering a great salary and a villa to stay in - in a party/vacation town. The huge downside is we will be working 12 hour days, 14 days in a row, and then one day off. Which, apparently, is illegal. Gokhan is a mechanical engineer and has many licenses that make him very qualified and capable, but the job market is so desperate - it seems employers have taken full advantage of this by offering low low salaries, long work days/weeks, and unreliable pay. This new job is at least offering a well-deserved salary and villa to him.
Gokhan was offered the job on a trial basis, and as it is with all work in Turkey, before he begins he must get a health report as well as some other official reports. We were going to go to the National Park with our cousins on Tuesday, but delayed the trip so Gokhan could get his paperwork in order for his new job. We were going to take Gokhan with us, while someone stayed home with Baba.
The family has been going on and on about how Baba can have no sugar and no salt and how he's not eating anything these days and how he is malnourished and how he can't be left alone. It's all very dramatic and full of partial truths.
But, we've all agreed, multiple times, that he can't be left alone.
And so, Friday we went to the National Park, and Gokhan agreed to stay home with his father. He had one more piece of paperwork to be signed and he planned on having the neighbor watch Baba while he did this.
When we got home today, Gokhan wasn't around - he had gone to the beach.
There is a part of me that isn't surprised or bothered. I know Gokhan can't be trusted with certain things. I know that he is selfish about somethings. I know that he is lazy in general. Just like I know that there is no meanness in him, that he would do anything I ask, and he does help out the family. At first, I only asked lightly why he left Baba. He said he told my cousin on the phone.
Okay, a misunderstanding maybe.
"Did you get your papers signed?"
"Yeah, but I went there and they had to email the head of the department, and I had to go there to get it signed."
"Go where?"
"To the hospital."
"You went to the hospital?"
"Only for a half an hour."
(The hospital itself is a half-an-hour away).
"Was the neighbor still here?"
"No, Baba was sleeping when I left."
"YOU LEFT BABA TWO TIMES TODAY WHEN THAT WAS YOUR ONE JOB?!?"
Gokhan stormed off yelling something and I stormed after him and we yelled at each other.
"Why are you mad? This was your job today, we all trusted you, and you didn't do it!"
"I don't understand you!" (I yelled the first sentence in English because I was so mad).
"You promised you'd stay with him and you left him twice!"
"Yeah, so?"
"This is your father!"
"This is my father!"
"Yes, this is your father!"
"This is my father!"
Okay, so we are not so good at fighting.
Here's the thing with all of this that I'm going to try to put to words.
I know how Gokhan is - I know that he has had very little responsibility in his life, and in many ways because of lack of experience - he just doesn't think farther then himself sometimes. This is why he usually has to be asked to do things, and even then - the consequences of him not doing what you asked are usually so mild - he has not experienced his irresponsibility either. He forgot to pick something up at the market - no problem, Tolga will get it. He forgot to feed the birds, no problem, his mom will do it. He didn't wake up to his alarm for work - his mom will wake him up. He didn't get his salary, his brother will buy his food/give him bus money/etc.
Tolga accepts people as they are - that's one of his amazing qualities, and I've seen how empowering it is in myself and in his family. To my independent side/family/culture - many would call it enabling. But I've never understood how the healthy or right thing to do has been to cut someone out of your life. Especially family. Especially hurting family. Addicts have always broken my heart, there is something about them that I know we all suffer from ... that black hole in our souls that thinks it can't be loved.
There have been two warring parts in me for some time now - a part that is learning to accept people as they are, including myself - and a part that refuses to accept some things, a part the demands change.
Now, I know logically, any demands on my heart are not going to end well. But it's still there. Gokhan is supposed to be my brother. I am supposed to be able to trust him. When he says something, I want to believe him. When he promises something, I expect him to do what he promised. I have to trust my brother with important things.
So when Gokhan failed today - a part of me wants to be really really mad at him. I want to not forgive him, not call him my brother, not ever expect a thing from him again. It wasn't today's failure, it was what I already suspected - that I couldn't count on him, that he was selfish and far from the man we all want him to be.
and yet, Gokhan's failure is my failure.
This is me too. I have failed people I loved, many times. I still remember being called selfish when I was 20 years old, and to this day it haunts me, because I never thought of myself as selfish and from then on, I see it in me all the time. And honestly, I'm pretty far from the person I want to be too.
And condemning myself, or Gokhan, is never gonna get us there. But I'm not sure I can let love get me there either.
Gokhan is a little over a year younger than me and gentle-hearted - so it was surprising (and a little impressive) that he fought with me. Even more impressive was Baba intervening to stop our shouting match - it was the first time I saw Baba do something fatherly, and I really appreciated it.
Gokhan, who has been jobless for the past 7 months, and has not had steady work (or steady work but no pay...which is a thing here) for the past ??? years - he finally got a job. A job that is offering a great salary and a villa to stay in - in a party/vacation town. The huge downside is we will be working 12 hour days, 14 days in a row, and then one day off. Which, apparently, is illegal. Gokhan is a mechanical engineer and has many licenses that make him very qualified and capable, but the job market is so desperate - it seems employers have taken full advantage of this by offering low low salaries, long work days/weeks, and unreliable pay. This new job is at least offering a well-deserved salary and villa to him.
Gokhan was offered the job on a trial basis, and as it is with all work in Turkey, before he begins he must get a health report as well as some other official reports. We were going to go to the National Park with our cousins on Tuesday, but delayed the trip so Gokhan could get his paperwork in order for his new job. We were going to take Gokhan with us, while someone stayed home with Baba.
The family has been going on and on about how Baba can have no sugar and no salt and how he's not eating anything these days and how he is malnourished and how he can't be left alone. It's all very dramatic and full of partial truths.
But, we've all agreed, multiple times, that he can't be left alone.
And so, Friday we went to the National Park, and Gokhan agreed to stay home with his father. He had one more piece of paperwork to be signed and he planned on having the neighbor watch Baba while he did this.
When we got home today, Gokhan wasn't around - he had gone to the beach.
There is a part of me that isn't surprised or bothered. I know Gokhan can't be trusted with certain things. I know that he is selfish about somethings. I know that he is lazy in general. Just like I know that there is no meanness in him, that he would do anything I ask, and he does help out the family. At first, I only asked lightly why he left Baba. He said he told my cousin on the phone.
Okay, a misunderstanding maybe.
"Did you get your papers signed?"
"Yeah, but I went there and they had to email the head of the department, and I had to go there to get it signed."
"Go where?"
"To the hospital."
"You went to the hospital?"
"Only for a half an hour."
(The hospital itself is a half-an-hour away).
"Was the neighbor still here?"
"No, Baba was sleeping when I left."
"YOU LEFT BABA TWO TIMES TODAY WHEN THAT WAS YOUR ONE JOB?!?"
Gokhan stormed off yelling something and I stormed after him and we yelled at each other.
"Why are you mad? This was your job today, we all trusted you, and you didn't do it!"
"I don't understand you!" (I yelled the first sentence in English because I was so mad).
"You promised you'd stay with him and you left him twice!"
"Yeah, so?"
"This is your father!"
"This is my father!"
"Yes, this is your father!"
"This is my father!"
Okay, so we are not so good at fighting.
Here's the thing with all of this that I'm going to try to put to words.
I know how Gokhan is - I know that he has had very little responsibility in his life, and in many ways because of lack of experience - he just doesn't think farther then himself sometimes. This is why he usually has to be asked to do things, and even then - the consequences of him not doing what you asked are usually so mild - he has not experienced his irresponsibility either. He forgot to pick something up at the market - no problem, Tolga will get it. He forgot to feed the birds, no problem, his mom will do it. He didn't wake up to his alarm for work - his mom will wake him up. He didn't get his salary, his brother will buy his food/give him bus money/etc.
Tolga accepts people as they are - that's one of his amazing qualities, and I've seen how empowering it is in myself and in his family. To my independent side/family/culture - many would call it enabling. But I've never understood how the healthy or right thing to do has been to cut someone out of your life. Especially family. Especially hurting family. Addicts have always broken my heart, there is something about them that I know we all suffer from ... that black hole in our souls that thinks it can't be loved.
There have been two warring parts in me for some time now - a part that is learning to accept people as they are, including myself - and a part that refuses to accept some things, a part the demands change.
Now, I know logically, any demands on my heart are not going to end well. But it's still there. Gokhan is supposed to be my brother. I am supposed to be able to trust him. When he says something, I want to believe him. When he promises something, I expect him to do what he promised. I have to trust my brother with important things.
So when Gokhan failed today - a part of me wants to be really really mad at him. I want to not forgive him, not call him my brother, not ever expect a thing from him again. It wasn't today's failure, it was what I already suspected - that I couldn't count on him, that he was selfish and far from the man we all want him to be.
and yet, Gokhan's failure is my failure.
This is me too. I have failed people I loved, many times. I still remember being called selfish when I was 20 years old, and to this day it haunts me, because I never thought of myself as selfish and from then on, I see it in me all the time. And honestly, I'm pretty far from the person I want to be too.
And condemning myself, or Gokhan, is never gonna get us there. But I'm not sure I can let love get me there either.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
The Umbrella Incident
I am not sure even where to begin, but I can't stop thinking about it, so I have to write about it.
It's summertime and we are in Kusadasi, staying at our summer home. We live in a community called Nür Site, a short walk from the beach, maybe 150 meters. The entire walk is through Idarecelar Site a crowded, old, established community where our uncle/aunt/cousins/cousin's children live. They live in a very tiny, but two floor home, closest to the beach - with a small grassy area before the beach, and then of course the beach itself.
The uncle is Anne's oldest brother. His wife is pure evil, apparently. His son is crazy and despicable. Their grandchildren are still young and sweet. Sometimes we are getting along, sometimes we are not. I never know actually because I'm never a part of the drama - but mean things have been said, crazy things have been threatened - apparently there is some drama every couple of years.
We are having an "on" year.
Another cousin, visiting from Istanbul, is still on the "off" year when it comes to this family. I brought her and her son and my children down to the beach today and she was purposely avoiding their house, or being seen by them. They had said some bad things about her mother, I guess.
On the beach there are some umbrellas. There are poles in the sand, and under the sand is a block of cement to secure the metal poles. On top of the poles are wood/bamboo woven umbrellas. Several years ago, only Idracelar Site had these umbrellas, but then other communities (including ours) complained that it was a public beach and they had to share. They didn't share their umbrellas, but they moved over and two more communities added umbrellas. Since Ramazan has finished, the beach has been pretty full and it has been hard to find an umbrella. We had been using whichever umbrella we could find open, but today the guard had begun.
There is a worker, hired by Idarecelar to do odd jobs, and one of them is to guard the communities umbrellas. He removes or places the umbrella tops on the poles when people come and go. I run into him every year. Every year he tells me I can't sit under their umbrellas. Sometimes he lets me if its not too crowded, most times he doesn't. I don't really care because I'm in the water with the kids the whole time and then we leave. However, when Anne comes, she must sit under an umbrella - being older and all - and even when she's with me and has explained to the man that her Abi lives right over there, he still won't allow it.
Today, when we came - we took the last umbrella on the beach - and it was Idarecelar's umbrella. The guard came over and told my cousin we couldn't sit there. I was talking on the phone with Tolga so I didn't interfere as my middle-aged cousin has a loud mouth and can hold her own. I told Tolga what was going on, kind of laughing, and Tolga instantly got mad. First he wanted to talk to the guy, then he wanted to talk to my cousin.
I was gonna just dismiss it all, but at the same time - I understand my husband, and I love him for it. He wants to fight for me. He's frustrated that he has to be away, and so more than usual, he is ready even needing to fight for me. Teoman was already in the water which was calm and clear today - so I handed the phone to my cousin and moved to the water's edge to be close to Teoman. My cousin came a bit later - she had lost the fight, the man had taken away the umbrella top from where we were sitting even after she explained our uncle lived there. She was mad, but I just shrugged. She said Tolga was going to call our uncle/cousin to sort it out.
I as able to swim on my own for the first time - my cousin watched the kids and I went out to the water and it was beautiful. I thanked God for out beautiful ocean and for such a place as this. I love the beauty of swimming in the aqua seas of the warm Mediterranean waters. I took the kids in the water and we were laughing - they were loving it - it was beautiful.
I noticed a commotion on the beach. I kind of scoffed, look at that, someone else is mad about the umbrellas. The man was storming across the beach in a bright red shirt and bright blue shorts with a grey head of hair. I noticed our cousin's wife on scene, and lots of other Turks getting involved while the entire beach watched this man.
Then I realized this man was Hakan, my brother-in-law.
We came into the shore and Hakan was screaming at people. I thought he was going to explode. I learned later that he had pulled up and stormed up and down the beach saying, "Where is Adam? Who's Adam!" Hakan had come to us and asked who the man was and his mouth was downturned and his head seem to barely contain his rage. There was no use in stopping him, or even greeting him - he had come to take care of a problem. The man was sitting on the bench in-between some people - I don't know if he was hiding or if he didn't realize what was happening but as we came to the beach we pointed out the man. In the meantime, others had come up to Hakan and men began to collect to see what the problem was. The guard finally stood up (once we had pointed hime out) and approached Hakan and Hakan began screaming at the man. I don't really know what was said, and it seems the guard was trying to hold his ground - maybe he was feeling safe with all the men around. He and Hakan were about the same size and Hakan shoved him. Apparently, his plan was come straight up to the man and punch him. I'm glad he didn't - and I'm hoping he chose not to in the end because we were near. I don't think I could have stomached it.
My uncle's daughter-in-law was there too - and eventually I saw my uncle himself - 81 years old, trying to comprehend what's going on. The cousin next to me was trying to say her piece as well, but Hakan ordered her to stay out of it. My cousin shut up right away, but not for long. Her 12 year old son started crying, which eventually pulled her out of the mess. I'm sure the yelling scared him - and I knew the feeling.
Hakan had screamed at the man to bring the umbrella for us right away. Right away! I wasn't sure if he looked like a child having a hissy-fit, or a man trying not to fight.
And here's what I keep thinking about it: Hakan fought for us, for his brother. He knew Tolga was mad and he stepped into Tolga's shoes - and fought for us as. He left work, drove a half hour to our beach to fight for us. Over an umbrella. An umbrella! But then again, this is Turkey, and it was more than that - stuff I don't fully understand, but I know and trust Tolga, and thus his brother Hakan. And Hakan didn't back down - people were trying to calm him down, they were trying to maybe change his mind or disagree - and Hakan wouldn't be deterred. You disrespected my family - they are my children too - and I will not stop until that wrong has been righted.
My own brothers would fight for me, sure - but never like that, and never over something so seemingly small. Maybe for their own pride they would (yep, witnessed that at a bar once...), surely over big things - but yelling and screaming and making a scene - leaving work and their own responsibilities? I think that is my heritage coming out -- too reticent, too righteous of attitudes, too proud even to let ourselves show such emotion ... I mean, I always knew Hakan would come if ever I needed him no matter what - but I would have never asked him to come for something like this - and yet, there he was.
I am very moved by the scene - Tolga has always told me (and I always believed him) - but today I saw what my brother would do for me, for us, if ever we needed anything.
How did it end? I'm still not sure. We left the beach, talked to the polis who had been called, talked to our uncle, and went home.
Apparently, if I go to the beach again, the umbrellas are mine. Hakan said, "This is Turkey. You have to be this way to be respected."
It's summertime and we are in Kusadasi, staying at our summer home. We live in a community called Nür Site, a short walk from the beach, maybe 150 meters. The entire walk is through Idarecelar Site a crowded, old, established community where our uncle/aunt/cousins/cousin's children live. They live in a very tiny, but two floor home, closest to the beach - with a small grassy area before the beach, and then of course the beach itself.
The uncle is Anne's oldest brother. His wife is pure evil, apparently. His son is crazy and despicable. Their grandchildren are still young and sweet. Sometimes we are getting along, sometimes we are not. I never know actually because I'm never a part of the drama - but mean things have been said, crazy things have been threatened - apparently there is some drama every couple of years.
We are having an "on" year.
Another cousin, visiting from Istanbul, is still on the "off" year when it comes to this family. I brought her and her son and my children down to the beach today and she was purposely avoiding their house, or being seen by them. They had said some bad things about her mother, I guess.
On the beach there are some umbrellas. There are poles in the sand, and under the sand is a block of cement to secure the metal poles. On top of the poles are wood/bamboo woven umbrellas. Several years ago, only Idracelar Site had these umbrellas, but then other communities (including ours) complained that it was a public beach and they had to share. They didn't share their umbrellas, but they moved over and two more communities added umbrellas. Since Ramazan has finished, the beach has been pretty full and it has been hard to find an umbrella. We had been using whichever umbrella we could find open, but today the guard had begun.
There is a worker, hired by Idarecelar to do odd jobs, and one of them is to guard the communities umbrellas. He removes or places the umbrella tops on the poles when people come and go. I run into him every year. Every year he tells me I can't sit under their umbrellas. Sometimes he lets me if its not too crowded, most times he doesn't. I don't really care because I'm in the water with the kids the whole time and then we leave. However, when Anne comes, she must sit under an umbrella - being older and all - and even when she's with me and has explained to the man that her Abi lives right over there, he still won't allow it.
Today, when we came - we took the last umbrella on the beach - and it was Idarecelar's umbrella. The guard came over and told my cousin we couldn't sit there. I was talking on the phone with Tolga so I didn't interfere as my middle-aged cousin has a loud mouth and can hold her own. I told Tolga what was going on, kind of laughing, and Tolga instantly got mad. First he wanted to talk to the guy, then he wanted to talk to my cousin.
I was gonna just dismiss it all, but at the same time - I understand my husband, and I love him for it. He wants to fight for me. He's frustrated that he has to be away, and so more than usual, he is ready even needing to fight for me. Teoman was already in the water which was calm and clear today - so I handed the phone to my cousin and moved to the water's edge to be close to Teoman. My cousin came a bit later - she had lost the fight, the man had taken away the umbrella top from where we were sitting even after she explained our uncle lived there. She was mad, but I just shrugged. She said Tolga was going to call our uncle/cousin to sort it out.
I as able to swim on my own for the first time - my cousin watched the kids and I went out to the water and it was beautiful. I thanked God for out beautiful ocean and for such a place as this. I love the beauty of swimming in the aqua seas of the warm Mediterranean waters. I took the kids in the water and we were laughing - they were loving it - it was beautiful.
I noticed a commotion on the beach. I kind of scoffed, look at that, someone else is mad about the umbrellas. The man was storming across the beach in a bright red shirt and bright blue shorts with a grey head of hair. I noticed our cousin's wife on scene, and lots of other Turks getting involved while the entire beach watched this man.
Then I realized this man was Hakan, my brother-in-law.
We came into the shore and Hakan was screaming at people. I thought he was going to explode. I learned later that he had pulled up and stormed up and down the beach saying, "Where is Adam? Who's Adam!" Hakan had come to us and asked who the man was and his mouth was downturned and his head seem to barely contain his rage. There was no use in stopping him, or even greeting him - he had come to take care of a problem. The man was sitting on the bench in-between some people - I don't know if he was hiding or if he didn't realize what was happening but as we came to the beach we pointed out the man. In the meantime, others had come up to Hakan and men began to collect to see what the problem was. The guard finally stood up (once we had pointed hime out) and approached Hakan and Hakan began screaming at the man. I don't really know what was said, and it seems the guard was trying to hold his ground - maybe he was feeling safe with all the men around. He and Hakan were about the same size and Hakan shoved him. Apparently, his plan was come straight up to the man and punch him. I'm glad he didn't - and I'm hoping he chose not to in the end because we were near. I don't think I could have stomached it.
My uncle's daughter-in-law was there too - and eventually I saw my uncle himself - 81 years old, trying to comprehend what's going on. The cousin next to me was trying to say her piece as well, but Hakan ordered her to stay out of it. My cousin shut up right away, but not for long. Her 12 year old son started crying, which eventually pulled her out of the mess. I'm sure the yelling scared him - and I knew the feeling.
Hakan had screamed at the man to bring the umbrella for us right away. Right away! I wasn't sure if he looked like a child having a hissy-fit, or a man trying not to fight.
And here's what I keep thinking about it: Hakan fought for us, for his brother. He knew Tolga was mad and he stepped into Tolga's shoes - and fought for us as. He left work, drove a half hour to our beach to fight for us. Over an umbrella. An umbrella! But then again, this is Turkey, and it was more than that - stuff I don't fully understand, but I know and trust Tolga, and thus his brother Hakan. And Hakan didn't back down - people were trying to calm him down, they were trying to maybe change his mind or disagree - and Hakan wouldn't be deterred. You disrespected my family - they are my children too - and I will not stop until that wrong has been righted.
My own brothers would fight for me, sure - but never like that, and never over something so seemingly small. Maybe for their own pride they would (yep, witnessed that at a bar once...), surely over big things - but yelling and screaming and making a scene - leaving work and their own responsibilities? I think that is my heritage coming out -- too reticent, too righteous of attitudes, too proud even to let ourselves show such emotion ... I mean, I always knew Hakan would come if ever I needed him no matter what - but I would have never asked him to come for something like this - and yet, there he was.
I am very moved by the scene - Tolga has always told me (and I always believed him) - but today I saw what my brother would do for me, for us, if ever we needed anything.
How did it end? I'm still not sure. We left the beach, talked to the polis who had been called, talked to our uncle, and went home.
Apparently, if I go to the beach again, the umbrellas are mine. Hakan said, "This is Turkey. You have to be this way to be respected."
inhibitions
I'm reading a book. It's quite amazing, that I'm reading. I started this book during my haircut, and I've continued reading it at nights. I've been sitting my kids next to me with their books, hoping to set a good example... they always pick this box of books given to them by an aunt. It's twelve mini books with a winter theme, and sometimes they look at the pictures, but most of the time they build things with the books. Or, while I'm reading, one of them will insist I read one of these five "page" mini books to them over and over and over again. Tomris will say, "No read mama! This one!" So I get aggravated and try to finish a page or paragraph or sentence of my own while they fight over their book building blocks, or sit on me, or take my book from my hands.
Anyhow, I'm reading The Things They Carried and I have so many things to write about it. There was a painfully beautiful description that really struck me. The author was writing about motivations for going to war, and he claimed that for most - they went to war because they were too afraid not to die. They went out of fear - fear of embarrassment, fear of being shamed. It wasn't courage that made a soldier run to death, it was the fear of being the one who didn't go, who didn't move, who ran away.
It wasn't until the middle of the book that he confessed his turning point. He had been drafted, and was waiting for the call and one day, he cracked - literally heard something crack inside himself and he took off and ran for the Canadian border. He took up some lodging near the border and the old Minnesota man never asked him what he was doing there. For six days they shared meals together, sat on the porch, and did chores to close up the lodge for the winter. On the last day, the old man took the young man out fishing. They dropped their lines twenty meters from the Canadian side. The young man realized the older had done this on purpose, never speaking, never looking up - and the young man realized looking into the Canadian wilderness that he didn't have the courage to run. That was the brave thing to do - to run away as he felt he should, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was afraid of the embarrassment and shame, and he began crying. He cried hard because he realized he would have to go to war, and not for bravery nor courage - but out of plain and simple fear, weakness, and embarrassment.
How many times have all of us made decisions in life out of fear, fear of embarrassment, or shame? Not out of our courage, but out of you weakness? Paralysis even. Ugh.
Anyhow, I'm reading The Things They Carried and I have so many things to write about it. There was a painfully beautiful description that really struck me. The author was writing about motivations for going to war, and he claimed that for most - they went to war because they were too afraid not to die. They went out of fear - fear of embarrassment, fear of being shamed. It wasn't courage that made a soldier run to death, it was the fear of being the one who didn't go, who didn't move, who ran away.
It wasn't until the middle of the book that he confessed his turning point. He had been drafted, and was waiting for the call and one day, he cracked - literally heard something crack inside himself and he took off and ran for the Canadian border. He took up some lodging near the border and the old Minnesota man never asked him what he was doing there. For six days they shared meals together, sat on the porch, and did chores to close up the lodge for the winter. On the last day, the old man took the young man out fishing. They dropped their lines twenty meters from the Canadian side. The young man realized the older had done this on purpose, never speaking, never looking up - and the young man realized looking into the Canadian wilderness that he didn't have the courage to run. That was the brave thing to do - to run away as he felt he should, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was afraid of the embarrassment and shame, and he began crying. He cried hard because he realized he would have to go to war, and not for bravery nor courage - but out of plain and simple fear, weakness, and embarrassment.
How many times have all of us made decisions in life out of fear, fear of embarrassment, or shame? Not out of our courage, but out of you weakness? Paralysis even. Ugh.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
drama for the mama
I was writing about other things today, and then there was an accident. It wasn't serious - but I haven't had too many accidents with my children - so while I used to volunteer on an ambulance, and I used to be certified as an EMT and EDT - I have known since the day my first was born that I would have a hard time handling any pain they may face. I mean, even teething pain had me questioning the worth of this life that brings so much suffering. How can any of it be justified? Sometimes, the core of my being screams - THIS IS WRONG!
Yes, I would do anything to shield them from it...
So, it was a relatively small drama the other day - and yet, anyone who has had a finger caught in a door knows how painful that is. I was teaching my lesson just before lunch and our nanny called my phone. I was late to answer, but answered in the middle of class because she normally only calls for serious reasons. I missed her call, and called her back and we were tying up the lines because I also realized we were trying to call each other. I started to feel panic because I realized it was serious. I didn't understand everything she said - but understood balcony (insert gasp) ...door... nail...cut...come home. I could hear Teoman crying in the background. I understood enough that it wasn't an emergency, but she was asking me to come home - so it was serious enough, and my dear boy was crying. He is not a cryer.
I told my students I had to go because of an emergency - they celebrated as soon as I walked out of the door, and I ran down the hallway looking for someone to take over my class for the last five minutes. I ran upstairs and got my bag and keys. Ran to the parking lot, and drove fast home. I kept telling myself to drive carefully, this wasn't a real emergency - but I felt panicked as well. I needed to be home NOW.
I pulled into our lot and our nanny was waiting outside, holding both the kids hands. Teoman was holding his other hand out in the air - away from everything and crying and crying. Two young men were standing next to them. I wondered if they knew what happened, if they had tried to help. I hit the breaks and jumped out of the car and held him. But Teoman didn't want anything near his hand .. . I knew that feeling. Hugs didn't help the hurt. On top of this, Tomris started crying - really hard. She wanted me to hold her. She had been fine - but I think she allowed herself to be afraid now that I came, and only wanted me. I told the nanny to stay with Tomris but she said she wouldn't. I didn't argue because I understood her feelings. She suggested we take a taxi so I could hold Teoman. I jumped back in the car and parked it, went back to pick up Teoman and headed to the street. All the while, calculating my options.
Looking back on it now, even though I didn't do anything - I think my emergency training did come into play here. I was somewhat logically considering - compress? ice? splint? bandage? closest hospital? hospital I know? It was a bit harder to figure in a child's emotions - but I could do that too. He didn't want the ice, he slowly allowed himself to rest his hand on top of mine as a splint. The hospital I couldn't decide - but that was the cultural factor - I needed Tolga's opinion because he would know what was better for this. We called while on the way to the hospital I chose - and he ended up agreeing. Teoman had quieted down now, but Tomris was in full swing. She was trying to climb into my arms while our nanny was trying to redirect her and shield Teoman. I had them both in my arms and it was a hot day. It was Tomris's nap time too - so she had had it.
We got to the hospital, and when Teoman realized we were going to move again, he cried. I could have cried to because I knew exactly how he felt - when you're in pain and find some relief, I wouldn't want to move again either. I somehow paid the driver and climbed out with him...it was a bad day to wear a skirt.
It was the front door to the hospital, a great place for a dramatic entrance. I suppose the private hospitals don't see as much in a day as a government hospital - but even so, they didn't lessen a finger emergency. Someone opened the door for me, another person jumped up and escorted me down the hallway straight to an exam room. Another nurse came in and began speaking with me in English from the start.
"Do you have allergies?"
Me? Do you mean my son? Does he have allergies? Yes, that must be what she means. "No."
"Are you on any medication?"
There's no way she means me. Should I correct her English for clarification? "No."
She directed us over to the sink to wash the finger - Teoman started crying, "No, no, no!" This is my son. These are my exact words when I think something is going to cause more pain - and when this happening to me, if I could do anything to stop them, I would. But this is a new dilemma for me - I know EXACTLY how my son is feeling. I for sure don't want them causing him more pain - but now I was the one, holding his wrist, forcing it under the water. After a second or two - Teoman realized it didn't hurt - I wasn't sure if it would or wouldn't (okay, so I didn't know exactly how he felt physically) and so it was the slighted relief to realize this. The ER doctor was young and cold. He didn't touch it, just looked and wondered if he should call orthopedics. I wondered later if he was the same one who had received me when I dislocated my shoulder a couple of years ago - because it was this same ER room that I had come too. They sent us for an x-ray. I notice our nanny in the hallway - she was crying. At one point I sent my bag out to her, and had suggested my iPad for Tomris - who was still on verge of crying again - she was sniffling, red faced, and had her head on the nanny's shoulder. (They had originally asked us which one was hurt).
I thought the x-ray was probably unnecessary, and said so to the nurse on the way there. She said the bone may be broken, to which I answered - so what? There's not much to do for that? She said we'd splint it and asked, but what about the radiation? She said, "you're right", as we continued down in the elevator.
I went to the x-ray room and had my hand x-rayed too. Teoman was quite reluctant at first, but eventually - even understanding it was just a picture, he did not want to put his hand on the board - it all just hurt too much. But he managed it, my brave boy - he even managed to spread his fingers in the weird angle they had asked. I'm not sure how they go a clear picture though - considering he flinched pretty majorly when the machine made the "clicking" sound - or more like, radiation zapping sound.
The orthopedist came to the exam room shortly after and poked around the nail. I had told Teoman just before he came that I didn't really like hospitals either. Teoman smiled a little at this. Teoman didn't cry and hardly flinched. I was so afraid of what they might do - needle to the tender area, stitches, taking off the nail - but he did nothing. He just determined there was nothing to do other than splint the finger because it was indeed broken.
They had trouble finding a splint that fit Teoman's finger - and the end the doctor said about the one splint, "kesecim" I'll cut it. Teoman started crying at this - and the doctor understood why even before I did. "No no, he jumped in - not you, the splint - we aren't going to touch your finger." And Teoman immediately stopped crying.
My dear dear dear boy.
They splinted his finger and bandaged it up so gently. As soon as it was wrapped, Teoman was still holding his hand up and he said to me, "I'm happy now mama." And he even smiled. The nurses loaded him up with balloons and lollipops to which he gladly accepted. He wanted the lollipop and he wanted to go to the park.... because I had told him that morning that I would take him to the park when I got home.
Our dear dear boy.
Yes, I would do anything to shield them from it...
So, it was a relatively small drama the other day - and yet, anyone who has had a finger caught in a door knows how painful that is. I was teaching my lesson just before lunch and our nanny called my phone. I was late to answer, but answered in the middle of class because she normally only calls for serious reasons. I missed her call, and called her back and we were tying up the lines because I also realized we were trying to call each other. I started to feel panic because I realized it was serious. I didn't understand everything she said - but understood balcony (insert gasp) ...door... nail...cut...come home. I could hear Teoman crying in the background. I understood enough that it wasn't an emergency, but she was asking me to come home - so it was serious enough, and my dear boy was crying. He is not a cryer.
I told my students I had to go because of an emergency - they celebrated as soon as I walked out of the door, and I ran down the hallway looking for someone to take over my class for the last five minutes. I ran upstairs and got my bag and keys. Ran to the parking lot, and drove fast home. I kept telling myself to drive carefully, this wasn't a real emergency - but I felt panicked as well. I needed to be home NOW.
I pulled into our lot and our nanny was waiting outside, holding both the kids hands. Teoman was holding his other hand out in the air - away from everything and crying and crying. Two young men were standing next to them. I wondered if they knew what happened, if they had tried to help. I hit the breaks and jumped out of the car and held him. But Teoman didn't want anything near his hand .. . I knew that feeling. Hugs didn't help the hurt. On top of this, Tomris started crying - really hard. She wanted me to hold her. She had been fine - but I think she allowed herself to be afraid now that I came, and only wanted me. I told the nanny to stay with Tomris but she said she wouldn't. I didn't argue because I understood her feelings. She suggested we take a taxi so I could hold Teoman. I jumped back in the car and parked it, went back to pick up Teoman and headed to the street. All the while, calculating my options.
Looking back on it now, even though I didn't do anything - I think my emergency training did come into play here. I was somewhat logically considering - compress? ice? splint? bandage? closest hospital? hospital I know? It was a bit harder to figure in a child's emotions - but I could do that too. He didn't want the ice, he slowly allowed himself to rest his hand on top of mine as a splint. The hospital I couldn't decide - but that was the cultural factor - I needed Tolga's opinion because he would know what was better for this. We called while on the way to the hospital I chose - and he ended up agreeing. Teoman had quieted down now, but Tomris was in full swing. She was trying to climb into my arms while our nanny was trying to redirect her and shield Teoman. I had them both in my arms and it was a hot day. It was Tomris's nap time too - so she had had it.
We got to the hospital, and when Teoman realized we were going to move again, he cried. I could have cried to because I knew exactly how he felt - when you're in pain and find some relief, I wouldn't want to move again either. I somehow paid the driver and climbed out with him...it was a bad day to wear a skirt.
It was the front door to the hospital, a great place for a dramatic entrance. I suppose the private hospitals don't see as much in a day as a government hospital - but even so, they didn't lessen a finger emergency. Someone opened the door for me, another person jumped up and escorted me down the hallway straight to an exam room. Another nurse came in and began speaking with me in English from the start.
"Do you have allergies?"
Me? Do you mean my son? Does he have allergies? Yes, that must be what she means. "No."
"Are you on any medication?"
There's no way she means me. Should I correct her English for clarification? "No."
She directed us over to the sink to wash the finger - Teoman started crying, "No, no, no!" This is my son. These are my exact words when I think something is going to cause more pain - and when this happening to me, if I could do anything to stop them, I would. But this is a new dilemma for me - I know EXACTLY how my son is feeling. I for sure don't want them causing him more pain - but now I was the one, holding his wrist, forcing it under the water. After a second or two - Teoman realized it didn't hurt - I wasn't sure if it would or wouldn't (okay, so I didn't know exactly how he felt physically) and so it was the slighted relief to realize this. The ER doctor was young and cold. He didn't touch it, just looked and wondered if he should call orthopedics. I wondered later if he was the same one who had received me when I dislocated my shoulder a couple of years ago - because it was this same ER room that I had come too. They sent us for an x-ray. I notice our nanny in the hallway - she was crying. At one point I sent my bag out to her, and had suggested my iPad for Tomris - who was still on verge of crying again - she was sniffling, red faced, and had her head on the nanny's shoulder. (They had originally asked us which one was hurt).
I thought the x-ray was probably unnecessary, and said so to the nurse on the way there. She said the bone may be broken, to which I answered - so what? There's not much to do for that? She said we'd splint it and asked, but what about the radiation? She said, "you're right", as we continued down in the elevator.
I went to the x-ray room and had my hand x-rayed too. Teoman was quite reluctant at first, but eventually - even understanding it was just a picture, he did not want to put his hand on the board - it all just hurt too much. But he managed it, my brave boy - he even managed to spread his fingers in the weird angle they had asked. I'm not sure how they go a clear picture though - considering he flinched pretty majorly when the machine made the "clicking" sound - or more like, radiation zapping sound.
The orthopedist came to the exam room shortly after and poked around the nail. I had told Teoman just before he came that I didn't really like hospitals either. Teoman smiled a little at this. Teoman didn't cry and hardly flinched. I was so afraid of what they might do - needle to the tender area, stitches, taking off the nail - but he did nothing. He just determined there was nothing to do other than splint the finger because it was indeed broken.
They had trouble finding a splint that fit Teoman's finger - and the end the doctor said about the one splint, "kesecim" I'll cut it. Teoman started crying at this - and the doctor understood why even before I did. "No no, he jumped in - not you, the splint - we aren't going to touch your finger." And Teoman immediately stopped crying.
My dear dear dear boy.
They splinted his finger and bandaged it up so gently. As soon as it was wrapped, Teoman was still holding his hand up and he said to me, "I'm happy now mama." And he even smiled. The nurses loaded him up with balloons and lollipops to which he gladly accepted. He wanted the lollipop and he wanted to go to the park.... because I had told him that morning that I would take him to the park when I got home.
Our dear dear boy.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
hair cuts
I am still writing occasionally, but I stopped posting because my topics are all over the place. I would like to have a little more control. A little more start, finish, circle back, closure. A little less irrational rants...
Ho hum.
I look back on the last two months of my writing, and well - its just where I am at. It's very honest - maybe more so because I wasn't "publishing" it. But I want to see progression.
Double ho hum.
So I'll stick with, for now - what is progressing. My days. Our children. Our beautiful little ones with those personalities and vocabulary and sentences and humor and tantrums that surprise us everyday.
Yesterday was a holiday - Youth Day. I brought the kids with me to school. Tolga came as well. As we were preparing to go, Teoman disappeared. I could hear his little feet pattering back and forth as he rooted around in different rooms. I peeked in on him, and saw that for maybe the first time, Teoman "got ready" to go. Which means, he found his Paw Patrol backpack and FILLED it with his toys - mostly cars. The backpack was so heavy that when his Baba helped him put it on he fell over.
We brought their scooters to the school. Tomris went inside with me for only a few minutes, then I left them both in the park to play while I watched the ceremony.
I say this on every national holiday - I wish America put more ceremony into holidays. I suppose its making all the students and teachers come back to school on the holiday to attend a commemoration of the day - in dance, song, speeches, videos - this coordinated and concerted effort trains the students to respect the day, and reminds the adults.
I also got a hair cut today. This is mentionable because it usually a 3-4 hour ordeal and so Tolga had to watch the kids (who refused to nap) while I had 3 hours of PEACE. I love getting my hair done. I love having my hair brushed and washed and brushed again, and snipped and styled. I read a book. A book! They serve me tea and coffee, and I JUST SIT, and enjoy my book. When I was younger - we had a hair cutter come to our home. (I suppose I can't say stylist when you're just coming out to cut five kids hair). I hated those days and I would run to the bathroom and brush and brush my hair for her. Our hair cutter would come to our house and rave about the boys hair and get to mine and yank on it and complain how snarly it was - then my mother would say, "Rachel, I told you to brush your hair." It as so embarrassing to me, but every time it was the same conversation. I have told my mother this several times in my adult life, and she always just dismisses me with a laugh. I suppose it is funny, except its not, and to a large extent - I am still shy about getting my hair done. I still judge a hair stylist as to whether they comment on my snarly hair or not.
I was getting my hair highlighted today and when the young helper took out all the foils my hair just piled up and tangled into large mess. They were brushing it out and I heard the young helper comment at how snarly my hair was. HORROR! But the hair stylist dismissed him and said it was normal because ... and here is where I lost some in the translation - something about Turkish hair versus my hair and I guess because of how they highlighted my hair ... I'm not so sure, but I was defended either way. So even though the highlights are too bright and he didn't ask me how I wanted it cut or styled - someone defending my hair was all I needed. He could have colored it purple.
Tolga came with the kids at the very end my haircut. Teoman sat on the chair to get his hair cut. The barber originally said he wouldn't cut his hair because he was too young and he needed a razor, but then when he saw Teoman's hair, he changed his mind. I'm not sure why he thought he could do it with scissors and not a razor, but whatever. Teoman has only had his hair cut three or four times in his very short life, and he tolerates the cut and was even excited to get his hair cut today - but he still gets dead quite, kind of freezes with his mouth open, and flinches with each cut. He also tries to dodge the hair dryer.
Tomris was watching and kept saying, "Not me! Not me!" (in English). Which was funny because normally she is hollering "Me too! Me too!" The barber teased her a bit, offering to cut her hair. She started crying with force.
I mean, come on, she did say - quite clearly - at least ten times, "Not me!"
Ho hum.
I look back on the last two months of my writing, and well - its just where I am at. It's very honest - maybe more so because I wasn't "publishing" it. But I want to see progression.
Double ho hum.
So I'll stick with, for now - what is progressing. My days. Our children. Our beautiful little ones with those personalities and vocabulary and sentences and humor and tantrums that surprise us everyday.
Yesterday was a holiday - Youth Day. I brought the kids with me to school. Tolga came as well. As we were preparing to go, Teoman disappeared. I could hear his little feet pattering back and forth as he rooted around in different rooms. I peeked in on him, and saw that for maybe the first time, Teoman "got ready" to go. Which means, he found his Paw Patrol backpack and FILLED it with his toys - mostly cars. The backpack was so heavy that when his Baba helped him put it on he fell over.
We brought their scooters to the school. Tomris went inside with me for only a few minutes, then I left them both in the park to play while I watched the ceremony.
I say this on every national holiday - I wish America put more ceremony into holidays. I suppose its making all the students and teachers come back to school on the holiday to attend a commemoration of the day - in dance, song, speeches, videos - this coordinated and concerted effort trains the students to respect the day, and reminds the adults.
I also got a hair cut today. This is mentionable because it usually a 3-4 hour ordeal and so Tolga had to watch the kids (who refused to nap) while I had 3 hours of PEACE. I love getting my hair done. I love having my hair brushed and washed and brushed again, and snipped and styled. I read a book. A book! They serve me tea and coffee, and I JUST SIT, and enjoy my book. When I was younger - we had a hair cutter come to our home. (I suppose I can't say stylist when you're just coming out to cut five kids hair). I hated those days and I would run to the bathroom and brush and brush my hair for her. Our hair cutter would come to our house and rave about the boys hair and get to mine and yank on it and complain how snarly it was - then my mother would say, "Rachel, I told you to brush your hair." It as so embarrassing to me, but every time it was the same conversation. I have told my mother this several times in my adult life, and she always just dismisses me with a laugh. I suppose it is funny, except its not, and to a large extent - I am still shy about getting my hair done. I still judge a hair stylist as to whether they comment on my snarly hair or not.
I was getting my hair highlighted today and when the young helper took out all the foils my hair just piled up and tangled into large mess. They were brushing it out and I heard the young helper comment at how snarly my hair was. HORROR! But the hair stylist dismissed him and said it was normal because ... and here is where I lost some in the translation - something about Turkish hair versus my hair and I guess because of how they highlighted my hair ... I'm not so sure, but I was defended either way. So even though the highlights are too bright and he didn't ask me how I wanted it cut or styled - someone defending my hair was all I needed. He could have colored it purple.
Tolga came with the kids at the very end my haircut. Teoman sat on the chair to get his hair cut. The barber originally said he wouldn't cut his hair because he was too young and he needed a razor, but then when he saw Teoman's hair, he changed his mind. I'm not sure why he thought he could do it with scissors and not a razor, but whatever. Teoman has only had his hair cut three or four times in his very short life, and he tolerates the cut and was even excited to get his hair cut today - but he still gets dead quite, kind of freezes with his mouth open, and flinches with each cut. He also tries to dodge the hair dryer.
Tomris was watching and kept saying, "Not me! Not me!" (in English). Which was funny because normally she is hollering "Me too! Me too!" The barber teased her a bit, offering to cut her hair. She started crying with force.
I mean, come on, she did say - quite clearly - at least ten times, "Not me!"
Saturday, March 14, 2015
this is what happens
I asked myself that first or second day: what was I thinking coming here in February? Then I remembered: cheaper tickets, Tomris is still under 2 years old, Tolga's visa expires in April - lots of logical reasons that I couldn't remember after walking 2 blocks with my kids outside (both were crying because of the cold).
Whenever we go to America, we set a budget...and go over it. We didn't this time - but the budget was pretty high and we still didn't get everything we needed and wanted. The exchange rate is up to 2.5 lire to the dollar, so it was tough. When I put it all together, I realize we could have a beautiful vacation in Bora Bora for maybe the same price - just minus all the stuff we buy in America: electronics, clothes, toys, food.
I tried to control the spending a bit by pre-ordering some things online. I still was a bit careless when I ordered I wireless solid state drive that I can't seem to manage. In fact, as a sort of backlash response to my external hard drive crashing, I've gone overboard and realized I can't manage my data either - with 4 external hard drives, and 4 "cloud" drives - things are duplicated and I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed in regards to how to get a handle on all this data . ..and that's without all the lost data.
We are waiting for two things to arrive via shipping form America: Tomris' polka dot overalls and a replacement part for my external hard drive in hopes that it will fix the problem. They were both ordered a month ago and haven't arrived. This is the problem with mailing things to Turkey: I'm never sure if they will actually make it to out house, and I'm not sure what keeps it back.
Other things we brought back from America:
Electronics: an iPads, a wireless speaker, blue tooth speaker for the car
For the Kids: lots of paw patrol toys and clothes, kids shoes and boots and winter gear, a snow tube, many outfits (most were gifts), a car seat, a stroller, a shark that swims in the water, bath toys and bubbles, tooth brushes and tooth paste, swim suits
Pharmacy: vitamins and medicines, herbal ice packs, cough and cold medicine, sun creams, and skin creams (mostly for the kids)
For Me: a few clothes and a pair of shoes, a purse and wallet
For Tolga: few clothes and a pair of shoes, random electronic things from Radio Shacks going-out-of-business sale
For gifts: an ipad, a pair of boots, a jacket, a FM transmitter, newborn clothes, a cup, a car phone connector.
Food: maple syrup, chocolate chips, M&Ms (peanut, peanut butter, and regular), dried blueberries, butterscotch chips (that was Tolga), Reesus Peanut Butter cups and Hershey's with almonds, peanut butter, hazelnut coffee, decaf coffee
We are always bringing lots of gifts from Turkey to people, and bringing lots of stuff back. Some of its the excitement of coming and going, a lot of it is Tolga's personality, surely none of it is necessary, but it sure is fun.
Whenever we go to America, we set a budget...and go over it. We didn't this time - but the budget was pretty high and we still didn't get everything we needed and wanted. The exchange rate is up to 2.5 lire to the dollar, so it was tough. When I put it all together, I realize we could have a beautiful vacation in Bora Bora for maybe the same price - just minus all the stuff we buy in America: electronics, clothes, toys, food.
I tried to control the spending a bit by pre-ordering some things online. I still was a bit careless when I ordered I wireless solid state drive that I can't seem to manage. In fact, as a sort of backlash response to my external hard drive crashing, I've gone overboard and realized I can't manage my data either - with 4 external hard drives, and 4 "cloud" drives - things are duplicated and I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed in regards to how to get a handle on all this data . ..and that's without all the lost data.
We are waiting for two things to arrive via shipping form America: Tomris' polka dot overalls and a replacement part for my external hard drive in hopes that it will fix the problem. They were both ordered a month ago and haven't arrived. This is the problem with mailing things to Turkey: I'm never sure if they will actually make it to out house, and I'm not sure what keeps it back.
Other things we brought back from America:
Electronics: an iPads, a wireless speaker, blue tooth speaker for the car
For the Kids: lots of paw patrol toys and clothes, kids shoes and boots and winter gear, a snow tube, many outfits (most were gifts), a car seat, a stroller, a shark that swims in the water, bath toys and bubbles, tooth brushes and tooth paste, swim suits
Pharmacy: vitamins and medicines, herbal ice packs, cough and cold medicine, sun creams, and skin creams (mostly for the kids)
For Me: a few clothes and a pair of shoes, a purse and wallet
For Tolga: few clothes and a pair of shoes, random electronic things from Radio Shacks going-out-of-business sale
For gifts: an ipad, a pair of boots, a jacket, a FM transmitter, newborn clothes, a cup, a car phone connector.
Food: maple syrup, chocolate chips, M&Ms (peanut, peanut butter, and regular), dried blueberries, butterscotch chips (that was Tolga), Reesus Peanut Butter cups and Hershey's with almonds, peanut butter, hazelnut coffee, decaf coffee
We are always bringing lots of gifts from Turkey to people, and bringing lots of stuff back. Some of its the excitement of coming and going, a lot of it is Tolga's personality, surely none of it is necessary, but it sure is fun.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Dear Family
Mom and Pops, you're so busy giving giving giving.
Thanks Mom for shopping, for the boots, for giving the kids baths. For washing our clothes and reading the kids books in bed. Thanks for getting on the sled with them. Thanks for cleaning, getting groceries, and preparing everything for our visit - you just don't stop. Thanks for dinner and breakfast and the use of your car.
Pops, thanks for making the time for us. I could see you were so busy, and wanted to make the time in spite of other responsibilities, and I really appreciate it. It seems silly, maybe thanking you both - but I know what you did. I know that you got the car seats for us, and cleared your schedules, and changed your plans to flex with us. Thanks for putting on your winter clothes and taking Teoman out on the four-wheeler that first day we were there.
Seth and Libby - thanks for always opening your home to us. For hosting everyone, always. Your kids getting so big and are always so beautiful. They were so sweet with our children. You both are juggling so many things: a home, a rental home, a business, school, teaching, and a surgery - you inspire me with your hopes and dreams that are always looking forward.
Josh and Lisa - Josh has met his match with you, both your hearts are so generous. (Josh, you have more of mom in you than maybe you know). Lisa, you are always thinking of the kids and your gifts are too much. I was so happy to finally see you in your element - in your business that is full of health and life. Josh, thanks for making the effort to come and visit - we missed you.
Aaron and Bethany - thanks for making the trip back up to the cold tundra. It made me so happy just to see you guys, spend some time as family, and see the kids. Its hard to have a conversation with anybody these days because our kids are so young and demanding. Aaron, I wish we would have got up at 11pm and joined you and Seth around the fire.
Sherah and Mike - thanks for the new sheets and welcome basket. Thanks for organizing the party nd the family photo shoot. Thanks for trying to get together to do our nails and thanks for bringing over your sweet boy to play.
Thanks Mom for shopping, for the boots, for giving the kids baths. For washing our clothes and reading the kids books in bed. Thanks for getting on the sled with them. Thanks for cleaning, getting groceries, and preparing everything for our visit - you just don't stop. Thanks for dinner and breakfast and the use of your car.
Pops, thanks for making the time for us. I could see you were so busy, and wanted to make the time in spite of other responsibilities, and I really appreciate it. It seems silly, maybe thanking you both - but I know what you did. I know that you got the car seats for us, and cleared your schedules, and changed your plans to flex with us. Thanks for putting on your winter clothes and taking Teoman out on the four-wheeler that first day we were there.
Seth and Libby - thanks for always opening your home to us. For hosting everyone, always. Your kids getting so big and are always so beautiful. They were so sweet with our children. You both are juggling so many things: a home, a rental home, a business, school, teaching, and a surgery - you inspire me with your hopes and dreams that are always looking forward.
Josh and Lisa - Josh has met his match with you, both your hearts are so generous. (Josh, you have more of mom in you than maybe you know). Lisa, you are always thinking of the kids and your gifts are too much. I was so happy to finally see you in your element - in your business that is full of health and life. Josh, thanks for making the effort to come and visit - we missed you.
Aaron and Bethany - thanks for making the trip back up to the cold tundra. It made me so happy just to see you guys, spend some time as family, and see the kids. Its hard to have a conversation with anybody these days because our kids are so young and demanding. Aaron, I wish we would have got up at 11pm and joined you and Seth around the fire.
Sherah and Mike - thanks for the new sheets and welcome basket. Thanks for organizing the party nd the family photo shoot. Thanks for trying to get together to do our nails and thanks for bringing over your sweet boy to play.
Dear Minnesota
Brrrrr.
How on earth did I forget how cold you were?
I used to say, "Cold is cold."
But no, I just forgot. Windchill, negative temperatures.
BITING, suck-the-air-out of you, freeze the snot in you, make you cry cold.
I forgot how lonely the cold can be. The school bus window rattling - frozen unforgiving metal. Walking in the quiet howl of the wind and the hard crunch of frozen snow.
I forgot about ice-skating rinks, ponds, and flooded baseball fields now frozen and plowed smooth. About warming houses and the sound of the puck echoing off the boards or the skates scraping and shaving to a halt.
People used to say to me, "that's 'cause your from Minnesota," when I scoffed at the cold.
Or they'd tell me I shouldn't be cold because "you're from Minnesota!"
But my blood isn't any different.
Cold is cold.
I just forgot how to dress. I forgot about layering. How vital it was to layer. How thermals, and down fillings, and Gortex weren't just name brands. They were necessary. Along with shovels, ice scrapers, snow-blowers and snow plows. I forgot about mittens and face masks and big boots that weren't just for style.
How on earth did I forget how cold you were?
I used to say, "Cold is cold."
But no, I just forgot. Windchill, negative temperatures.
BITING, suck-the-air-out of you, freeze the snot in you, make you cry cold.
I forgot how lonely the cold can be. The school bus window rattling - frozen unforgiving metal. Walking in the quiet howl of the wind and the hard crunch of frozen snow.
I forgot about ice-skating rinks, ponds, and flooded baseball fields now frozen and plowed smooth. About warming houses and the sound of the puck echoing off the boards or the skates scraping and shaving to a halt.
People used to say to me, "that's 'cause your from Minnesota," when I scoffed at the cold.
Or they'd tell me I shouldn't be cold because "you're from Minnesota!"
But my blood isn't any different.
Cold is cold.
I just forgot how to dress. I forgot about layering. How vital it was to layer. How thermals, and down fillings, and Gortex weren't just name brands. They were necessary. Along with shovels, ice scrapers, snow-blowers and snow plows. I forgot about mittens and face masks and big boots that weren't just for style.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Dear America
I forgot about your Bonnevilles and your GMCs
Your big parking spaces and spacious parking lots and ramps.
Your wide roads, perfect sidewalks and right-turns-on-reds.
I forgot about your child-friendly restaurants.
Crayons, puzzles, chalkboard walls, kids' menus and booster seats.
BOOSTER SEATS!
Your small, medium, and huge homes.
With siding, yards, fences, garages, porches, decks, and stairs.
Stairs with carpet and carpet padding.
Your endless outlets of activities and distractions to invest our time and money:
restaurants, winter festivals, zoos, gardens, coffee shops, huge portions and REFILLS!
Your accommodating structures for different languages, disabilities, and socio-economic statuses.
And yet, My privilege and my neighbors lack.
Your homeless. Your single moms. Your addictions.
Your inaccessible health care costs.
Your "multicultural"-ness and all its inequalities.
Your programs for every need, that somehow doesn't meet the needs, and so more programs, and volunteers and helpful well-meaninng groups that take on causes and problems that have no end.
Your coupons and discounts and low-interest bend-over-backwards for the customer's business.
Your golf courses! Your empty malls. Your crowded restaurants.
Your rules about throwing away garbage in the correct bins on the correct days. About properly securing car seats at fire stations and using a pool noodle.
Your chiropractors and gyms and diffusers and latest health fads like Greek yogurt and getting my "atlas" adjusted.
All your horrible GMO, red-dye 40, high fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oil infused foods that I indulged in for two weeks.
Bacon.
I kind of forgot about your good, your bad, and your mediums. You aren't my normal anymore, but it was good to see you and remember.
Until next time.
Your big parking spaces and spacious parking lots and ramps.
Your wide roads, perfect sidewalks and right-turns-on-reds.
I forgot about your child-friendly restaurants.
Crayons, puzzles, chalkboard walls, kids' menus and booster seats.
BOOSTER SEATS!
Your small, medium, and huge homes.
With siding, yards, fences, garages, porches, decks, and stairs.
Stairs with carpet and carpet padding.
Your endless outlets of activities and distractions to invest our time and money:
restaurants, winter festivals, zoos, gardens, coffee shops, huge portions and REFILLS!
Your accommodating structures for different languages, disabilities, and socio-economic statuses.
And yet, My privilege and my neighbors lack.
Your homeless. Your single moms. Your addictions.
Your inaccessible health care costs.
Your "multicultural"-ness and all its inequalities.
Your programs for every need, that somehow doesn't meet the needs, and so more programs, and volunteers and helpful well-meaninng groups that take on causes and problems that have no end.
Your coupons and discounts and low-interest bend-over-backwards for the customer's business.
Your golf courses! Your empty malls. Your crowded restaurants.
Your rules about throwing away garbage in the correct bins on the correct days. About properly securing car seats at fire stations and using a pool noodle.
Your chiropractors and gyms and diffusers and latest health fads like Greek yogurt and getting my "atlas" adjusted.
All your horrible GMO, red-dye 40, high fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oil infused foods that I indulged in for two weeks.
Bacon.
I kind of forgot about your good, your bad, and your mediums. You aren't my normal anymore, but it was good to see you and remember.
Until next time.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Snow day 4
We are back from America and suffering from some serious get-up-at-midnight-and-stay-up-all-night kind of jet lag. So, I was very grateful for a snow day today. I napped, unpacked some more, and enjoyed the snow with this trooper.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
tight fit
I had a couple of amazing topics to write about, but then a whole day happens, and I come home and a whole week happens in the matter of 3 hours, and I pass out with the kids and can't remember one thing I was going to say or do.
I have some packing to do - but most of it will have to be just before we go - electronics, toiletries, and food/snacks for our 24+ hours of travel.
We are kind of excited.
I tried on some jeans to bring. They were just washed, but I've been starting to think my pants have been feeling snug once again. I have always been thin - but I've been steadily gaining weight over the past 10 years, only losing my fitness and flexibility. Especially being pregnant the second time, I kind of just started eating. A lot. And figured I'd work out and get fit once the kids were born and healthy.
But I'm not healthy. I was remembering my back injury today. I have "thrown it out" several times over the past five years, but last year was so bad I couldn't eat (and I lost weight), I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even go the bathroom. I couldn't take pain relievers, and in the end when I went to the hospital for an MRI, the technicians saw the scan and asked if I had been in a car accident.
"Nope, just picking up my daughter from a bad position."
But it's my muscle atrophy and my loss of flexibility too that has made daily activities so difficult and sometimes even dangerous. I hated when I was younger and saw that mom's weren't brave, but now I understand. We can't risk getting hurt - the household needs us too much.
So, back to my pants. I had planned not to pack much - I would borrow my mom's or sister's clothes. I emailed them to be sure it was okay, and my sister emailed that her tops were small and medium and her pants size were 4-6. I couldn't help feeling a bit needled by it.
For many years, I was thinner than her. I didn't really think much about it - but I would often catch my sister checking my pant size or eyeballing my figure, my shirt or sweater. I wasn't just thinner, I was smaller busted as well - there were some years she was a bit heavy, but we also had very different shapes - she had a short torso, I had a long, she has the appearance of long legs and a heart-shaped rearend, I have average length legs and abnormally shaped thighs from fat and falling down too hard on my hips leaving traumatic fat swirls.
Yeah, it's a thing, I looked it up in one of my recent thought spirals of "how can I get in shape or at least get rid of this grossness?"
I never cared about this stuff before. Maybe because I wasn't ever this big, but it sure bothers me these days.
Especially when I stepped on the scale and saw my weight tonight. Ugh. That's it - no more eating bread and chocolate . . . starting after America...
I have some packing to do - but most of it will have to be just before we go - electronics, toiletries, and food/snacks for our 24+ hours of travel.
We are kind of excited.
I tried on some jeans to bring. They were just washed, but I've been starting to think my pants have been feeling snug once again. I have always been thin - but I've been steadily gaining weight over the past 10 years, only losing my fitness and flexibility. Especially being pregnant the second time, I kind of just started eating. A lot. And figured I'd work out and get fit once the kids were born and healthy.
But I'm not healthy. I was remembering my back injury today. I have "thrown it out" several times over the past five years, but last year was so bad I couldn't eat (and I lost weight), I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even go the bathroom. I couldn't take pain relievers, and in the end when I went to the hospital for an MRI, the technicians saw the scan and asked if I had been in a car accident.
"Nope, just picking up my daughter from a bad position."
But it's my muscle atrophy and my loss of flexibility too that has made daily activities so difficult and sometimes even dangerous. I hated when I was younger and saw that mom's weren't brave, but now I understand. We can't risk getting hurt - the household needs us too much.
So, back to my pants. I had planned not to pack much - I would borrow my mom's or sister's clothes. I emailed them to be sure it was okay, and my sister emailed that her tops were small and medium and her pants size were 4-6. I couldn't help feeling a bit needled by it.
For many years, I was thinner than her. I didn't really think much about it - but I would often catch my sister checking my pant size or eyeballing my figure, my shirt or sweater. I wasn't just thinner, I was smaller busted as well - there were some years she was a bit heavy, but we also had very different shapes - she had a short torso, I had a long, she has the appearance of long legs and a heart-shaped rearend, I have average length legs and abnormally shaped thighs from fat and falling down too hard on my hips leaving traumatic fat swirls.
Yeah, it's a thing, I looked it up in one of my recent thought spirals of "how can I get in shape or at least get rid of this grossness?"
I never cared about this stuff before. Maybe because I wasn't ever this big, but it sure bothers me these days.
Especially when I stepped on the scale and saw my weight tonight. Ugh. That's it - no more eating bread and chocolate . . . starting after America...
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
balancing my voice
My colleague with dysentery came back today. I drew a line down our shared table and told him not to cross the line.
I was joking. Sort of.
My Wednesday classes are a nice spread of breaks in between classes. The book I am teaching is enjoyable and I only gave two lectures today on responsibility. I have one class (there's always one) that is a strange spread of personalities and abilities. None of the students are bad, but when they are together, they are constantly pushing the limit. Today, I was a little clearer in my head, and I singled out those that were setting the tone that the others seemed to follow and it may just have worked. You have to be on top of your game with tough classes: strategic with your words, directions, praises and corrections. You have forty minutes and only one shot. If a class starts going downhill, it is the teacher's job to stop the slide - but it's usually the teacher only joins the snowball effect. "Stop it." "Sit down." "Speak English." "Where's your notebook?" "Start writing." Those are the kind of commands that fall on deaf ears, the directions need to be much more sometimes. Not in words, but in meaning and effect.
I started class and five were in the back yelling out the window. I didn't mind this, they were kids after all. I announced class was starting, come to your desks, and one boy looked at me and continued yelling out the window. Two didn't hear me, the others sat down. The boy wasn't defiant, he just wasn't finished yelling. He closed the window, took another look past the curtain, and slowly ambled back to his desk.
I was hard one him, anyhow - I stopped and lectured about what a respectful and disrespectful response looks like. I really don't believe the boy meant it this way, but I wanted him to take the classroom and teacher more seriously than casually because it is a part of Turkish culture. When a teacher enters the room, the students stand by their desks, silently, and wait for the teacher to greet them. I laid into one more student a few moments later - I started a warm-up activity which was a song. I encouraged the class to sing along, and one student started dancing. I would have let this pass as well if he could sing too, but he wasn't looking at the words or understanding the meaning. He was only trying to entertain those at his group - and now they too were missing the point of the video.
So, my overarching point here is this: how do I sound? I am not a fake smile, sweet, darling kind of teacher. I'm a get-your-job-done, do-your-best, work-hard, make-mistakes-and-learn-from them kind of teacher. No nonsense. No wasting time. Every activity, game, song, video, etc. has a purpose and connection to my objective of the day. I love teaching, I love kids, but it doesn't mean I'm soft.
But it is also part of Turkish culture, it seems (or maybe private school culture), to baby students. You can see my opinion on that topic by my description of it. As a parent, or one on one, I will be quite sensitive and forgiving - as a teacher, excuses and enabling excuses I see as a big handicap to learning. I understand excuses - but my bottom line is - did you do your job? No, how are you going to fix it?
I don't mind kids coming in late, I don't mind them forgetting their materials or assignments, as long as they fix it. But kids are kids, and it often takes consequences or stronger incentives for a mistsing item to corrected. I have not found the best way, and I've tried many ways: rewards and punishments. My mind is on the topic because another American colleague was complaining to me today about his performance review. He was told his strengths and areas the need to be improved. The markings on the review are only not acceptable, average, and needs work. He was told he shouldn't get angry, slam books on his desk or throw glue at students.
His answer: how do you throw glue? Apparently he had thrown a marker, but it had been all "straightened out" except for the fact that it was being brought up again during his performance review. He said, "I'm American. I come from a different culture, I will teach in a different way that they aren't always used to."
My tendency when I hear a criticism is to take it, consider it, and apply - even if it's a wild accusation, I do believe you can find ten percent to be applied. But I like his response too. It was unapologetic and standing firm by his own teaching style (which I also didn't agree with, but that's another issue). You don't leave reviews here feeling good about yourself - most leave afraid for their jobs, and I do not want to live that way. I don't want to be constantly defending my actions either. In the past, I could keep my mouth shut and eventually, my actions would speak for themselves. But here, with this added variable of a language barrier - I'm not so confident in justice or vindication. I'm afraid I'm becoming more Turkish - submissive, yes-man, and conflict avoider.
I'm looking for a middle ground. There are many things I've learned from the Turkish style of teaching, somethings I want myself to adapt to more, but somethings I need to stay true to myself on as well.
The thing is - I'm always asking myself, I'm I doing what's right for the kids? And no one can truly say what the "right" way is...
I was joking. Sort of.
My Wednesday classes are a nice spread of breaks in between classes. The book I am teaching is enjoyable and I only gave two lectures today on responsibility. I have one class (there's always one) that is a strange spread of personalities and abilities. None of the students are bad, but when they are together, they are constantly pushing the limit. Today, I was a little clearer in my head, and I singled out those that were setting the tone that the others seemed to follow and it may just have worked. You have to be on top of your game with tough classes: strategic with your words, directions, praises and corrections. You have forty minutes and only one shot. If a class starts going downhill, it is the teacher's job to stop the slide - but it's usually the teacher only joins the snowball effect. "Stop it." "Sit down." "Speak English." "Where's your notebook?" "Start writing." Those are the kind of commands that fall on deaf ears, the directions need to be much more sometimes. Not in words, but in meaning and effect.
I started class and five were in the back yelling out the window. I didn't mind this, they were kids after all. I announced class was starting, come to your desks, and one boy looked at me and continued yelling out the window. Two didn't hear me, the others sat down. The boy wasn't defiant, he just wasn't finished yelling. He closed the window, took another look past the curtain, and slowly ambled back to his desk.
I was hard one him, anyhow - I stopped and lectured about what a respectful and disrespectful response looks like. I really don't believe the boy meant it this way, but I wanted him to take the classroom and teacher more seriously than casually because it is a part of Turkish culture. When a teacher enters the room, the students stand by their desks, silently, and wait for the teacher to greet them. I laid into one more student a few moments later - I started a warm-up activity which was a song. I encouraged the class to sing along, and one student started dancing. I would have let this pass as well if he could sing too, but he wasn't looking at the words or understanding the meaning. He was only trying to entertain those at his group - and now they too were missing the point of the video.
So, my overarching point here is this: how do I sound? I am not a fake smile, sweet, darling kind of teacher. I'm a get-your-job-done, do-your-best, work-hard, make-mistakes-and-learn-from them kind of teacher. No nonsense. No wasting time. Every activity, game, song, video, etc. has a purpose and connection to my objective of the day. I love teaching, I love kids, but it doesn't mean I'm soft.
But it is also part of Turkish culture, it seems (or maybe private school culture), to baby students. You can see my opinion on that topic by my description of it. As a parent, or one on one, I will be quite sensitive and forgiving - as a teacher, excuses and enabling excuses I see as a big handicap to learning. I understand excuses - but my bottom line is - did you do your job? No, how are you going to fix it?
I don't mind kids coming in late, I don't mind them forgetting their materials or assignments, as long as they fix it. But kids are kids, and it often takes consequences or stronger incentives for a mistsing item to corrected. I have not found the best way, and I've tried many ways: rewards and punishments. My mind is on the topic because another American colleague was complaining to me today about his performance review. He was told his strengths and areas the need to be improved. The markings on the review are only not acceptable, average, and needs work. He was told he shouldn't get angry, slam books on his desk or throw glue at students.
His answer: how do you throw glue? Apparently he had thrown a marker, but it had been all "straightened out" except for the fact that it was being brought up again during his performance review. He said, "I'm American. I come from a different culture, I will teach in a different way that they aren't always used to."
My tendency when I hear a criticism is to take it, consider it, and apply - even if it's a wild accusation, I do believe you can find ten percent to be applied. But I like his response too. It was unapologetic and standing firm by his own teaching style (which I also didn't agree with, but that's another issue). You don't leave reviews here feeling good about yourself - most leave afraid for their jobs, and I do not want to live that way. I don't want to be constantly defending my actions either. In the past, I could keep my mouth shut and eventually, my actions would speak for themselves. But here, with this added variable of a language barrier - I'm not so confident in justice or vindication. I'm afraid I'm becoming more Turkish - submissive, yes-man, and conflict avoider.
I'm looking for a middle ground. There are many things I've learned from the Turkish style of teaching, somethings I want myself to adapt to more, but somethings I need to stay true to myself on as well.
The thing is - I'm always asking myself, I'm I doing what's right for the kids? And no one can truly say what the "right" way is...
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
today
my external drive isn't fixed.
I ate fast food today.
I went to the bazar and got more gifts for our trip.
I don't remember how to spell bazar in English.
I still haven't ordered things online.
I can't get my transcripts online any longer - they do e-transcripts which won't work for what I need.
and, I have nothing to write about.
I ate fast food today.
I went to the bazar and got more gifts for our trip.
I don't remember how to spell bazar in English.
I still haven't ordered things online.
I can't get my transcripts online any longer - they do e-transcripts which won't work for what I need.
and, I have nothing to write about.
Monday, January 19, 2015
dysentery
My colleague, who sits next to me at work, has dysentery. I heard it this morning and I called him on the way home.
Me: Isn't this a disease from civil war times?
C: Yeah, the doctors were surprised too.
Me: Because this isn't a third world country and we don't drink river water?
C: Well, I guess not in Ankara.
Me: Is it contagious?
C: Yeah, that's why I can't come to work?
Me: I hope I didn't get it.
C: Everybody's probably thinking that.
Me: No, most were worried for you, only my first thought was about myself seeing as I sit right next to you.
C: Because we Americans first think of ourselves.
Me: And our kids. So really, when did the contagious period start?
C: Well, I think if you had it, you'd already be showing symptoms because my girlfriend is around me the most and she has no symptoms.
Me: Okay, because you know you'll always be remembered as the one who began the dysentery outbreak at school.
C: Ha, ha.
Me: Geç miç olsen
C: You too.
I really hope none of us get it, that would be disastrous. Especially on a plane.
Ew!
Me: Isn't this a disease from civil war times?
C: Yeah, the doctors were surprised too.
Me: Because this isn't a third world country and we don't drink river water?
C: Well, I guess not in Ankara.
Me: Is it contagious?
C: Yeah, that's why I can't come to work?
Me: I hope I didn't get it.
C: Everybody's probably thinking that.
Me: No, most were worried for you, only my first thought was about myself seeing as I sit right next to you.
C: Because we Americans first think of ourselves.
Me: And our kids. So really, when did the contagious period start?
C: Well, I think if you had it, you'd already be showing symptoms because my girlfriend is around me the most and she has no symptoms.
Me: Okay, because you know you'll always be remembered as the one who began the dysentery outbreak at school.
C: Ha, ha.
Me: Geç miç olsen
C: You too.
I really hope none of us get it, that would be disastrous. Especially on a plane.
Ew!
Sunday, January 18, 2015
one thousand little things
I forgot to blog last night. It crossed my mind several times, and in the end, I forgot and went to sleep - so I've broken my resolution before the month has even finished. I think it was the only one I'm working on, but I thought about all the things I should do to prepare for our trip and then I got hit with tiredness and went to bed.
Well, the pressures off - if there was any, and I will continue blogging (almost) everyday anyhow.
My news for the last two days are all around the kids and their antics. Maybe it's not so exciting to write about toddlers, I'm trying to perfect it - because it's a thousand little things every moment that I couldn't possibly log, but are such a beautiful part of this stage in their life.
Tomris is currently emptying the diaper bag, taking out the wipes, and washing her face with them. I'm obviously just sitting her and writing about it...hang on.
No she's sitting next to me, guzzling down milk and water, alternatively. And looking at books. It's only a matter of time before she starts hitting my computer. She gave me back the water and milk to put on the side table. She said, "Mama koy." It's an order. (Mama, put it). She's looking at her books again and trying to shut my computer...this is my cue.
(an hour-and-a-half later) Yesterday I took them out to the park in the morning. It was beautiful weather - for winter/January. Snow was on the ground, half melting half frozen - the weather was comfortable - so we played. Driving trucks and cars in the park paths, up and down the stairs. Teoman ran, Tomris mostly wanted to be carried. Both of their noses ran too.
I like taking them both out - and its getting somewhat easier - its just always a risk whether Teoman will fight me about going back to the house. I gave him a two-minute warning, and he responds well to that these days and came back quite easily. Tomris resting her head on my shoulder, Teoman running along the sidewalk pushing his dump truck and excited to drink some hot chocolate milk. Or as he says, "Worm chocolate milk."
After their naps Teoman and Tomris were fighting over something. I can't remember what it was - but Tomris took something of Teoman's and he screamed at her and looked like he was going to hit her. Anne was right there and she caught Teoman and said "Run Tomris! Run to Mama!" Tomris did, she knew she was about to get it, and she ran to me and buried her head in my legs. Teoman was coming with such a sour look on his face I started laughing. I couldn't help it - Tolga was on FaceTime and said, "Don't laugh at Teoman, he's so serious." This broke Teoman - he laughed too and admitted he was only joking.
They stayed up late last night. I tried to play tavla with Baba but my games kept getting interrupted by Tomris who wanted to sit on my lap and mix everything up. I let her "roll" the dice - but her first few shots were vigorous throws that went off the board. We gave up in the end, only having gone to 3-2 (Baba was winning).
Sunday morning, after breakfast I changed them both and got them ready to go. My mornings are non-stop when we have to go out: feeding, cleaning up, eating , cleaning up, changing, cleaning up, ... at one point I was changing Teoman and Tomris had gone into my bathroom, shut the door, and took a stool to climb up and reach the shelves of my makeup. She had taken many things down, including my glasses - which she broke, again.
I took them to the doctor. We could take them to the saglik hoca for free, but decided to go our doctor because we know him and trust him. Tomris needed her shots, and we wanted him to listen to their lungs, check their ears, etc. before our trip. It costs 250TL per visit (over 15% inflation on the price each year) - so we just scheduled Tomris and brought Teoman along for some free advice.
Tomris is not a good patient. Teoman was tolerant and interested in everything. Tomris wants nothing to do with new people. She screamed from the moment the doctor touched her. She climbed on me trying to escape him, turning her head away, crying, and screaming as he checked her ears, mouth, belly and breath sounds. Teoman was nearby telling her, "Don't cry Tormis, burdayim." (I'm here). He is so sweet with her - it doesn't help one bit because Tomris is quite determined to scream and cry until everyone stops doing what she doesn't want them to do.
She had to get 2 shots and polio oral vaccination as well. The young male nurse I had never seen before and he was cold and stupid. We had a language problem. Tomris was already screaming just about the drops of medicine. I asked the nurse if I could give them, and he answered, "Yes, two drops." I repeated my question, and he repeated his answer. I realized he didn't think I spoke or understood Turkish and began telling Gokhan to take the child and lay her down. I should have just gotten mad at that point and taken charge. The young man wasn't listening to me, he would just look at me with his eyes glazed over. I laid her down, muttering in English that he was a horrible nurse - half hoping we would understand me, but unwilling to fight about it as Tomris was crying and I just wanted to get it over with. The man couldn't even manage the drops, and again tried to tell Gokhan what to do... I understood and just did it - quickly holding her chin and squeezing her cheeks. The nurse was annoyed the first drop missed. He then showed me how to hold her arms, ordering Gokhan to hold her legs. Gokhan had planned on leaving the room- he had not wanted to witness this. It was probably better for him to witness it because to hear her from outside them room could have been more upsetting. The nurse asked him if he was afraid - Gokhan said no, he just couldn't look because he felt bad.
Glad to see the nurse was thinking about my brother-in-law's feelings. I regret letting that whole scenario play out with the nurse.
Afterwards I opened up some crackers and Tomris started eating those right away. She may be a stress eater, I'm not sure. We took the car back and I stopped at McDonald's - they love french fries - we all needed french fries after that.
As we were leaving the place, I carried Tomris down the stairs - and Teoman cried when his uncle took him, insisting that I carried him. So Teoman and I made the trip back up the stairs so I could carry him down. We got outside and he pulled the same stunt. I carried Tomris to the car, and he cried and wouldn't let his uncle take him. I put Tomris in the car and went back for Teoman, he had backtracked to the exact place where I had picked up Tomris and left him with his uncle.
It didn't bother me that he was insisting on me. I kind of understood it. He loves his uncle, it has nothing to do with his uncle. It was Tomris crying and needing me and Teoman realizing he wanted me too, and if all took was for me to make two trips to help him feel loved - well, no problem.
We drove home and Tomris slept instantly. I sent her up with Gokhan and took Teoman to the bazaar with me. I was purposely skipping his nap so I could put him to bed early tonight. I realized too that I was excited to go out just with him too - and I wasn't feeling guilty leaving Tomris because I knew she would be sleeping. We walked around the bazaar and Teoman stayed close to me, weaving in and out of my legs when I stopped to look at things. We watched everyone, smiled at some, asked for somethings - it was quite fun, and he never acted tired. I couldn't resist, I wanted to give him something at the end because he was so good, he didn't freak out when I said no to the toys, he held my hand, or leg - always staying by me. I asked him if he wanted something special.
He said, "Dondurma." Ice cream.
Well, the pressures off - if there was any, and I will continue blogging (almost) everyday anyhow.
My news for the last two days are all around the kids and their antics. Maybe it's not so exciting to write about toddlers, I'm trying to perfect it - because it's a thousand little things every moment that I couldn't possibly log, but are such a beautiful part of this stage in their life.
Tomris is currently emptying the diaper bag, taking out the wipes, and washing her face with them. I'm obviously just sitting her and writing about it...hang on.
No she's sitting next to me, guzzling down milk and water, alternatively. And looking at books. It's only a matter of time before she starts hitting my computer. She gave me back the water and milk to put on the side table. She said, "Mama koy." It's an order. (Mama, put it). She's looking at her books again and trying to shut my computer...this is my cue.
(an hour-and-a-half later) Yesterday I took them out to the park in the morning. It was beautiful weather - for winter/January. Snow was on the ground, half melting half frozen - the weather was comfortable - so we played. Driving trucks and cars in the park paths, up and down the stairs. Teoman ran, Tomris mostly wanted to be carried. Both of their noses ran too.
I like taking them both out - and its getting somewhat easier - its just always a risk whether Teoman will fight me about going back to the house. I gave him a two-minute warning, and he responds well to that these days and came back quite easily. Tomris resting her head on my shoulder, Teoman running along the sidewalk pushing his dump truck and excited to drink some hot chocolate milk. Or as he says, "Worm chocolate milk."
After their naps Teoman and Tomris were fighting over something. I can't remember what it was - but Tomris took something of Teoman's and he screamed at her and looked like he was going to hit her. Anne was right there and she caught Teoman and said "Run Tomris! Run to Mama!" Tomris did, she knew she was about to get it, and she ran to me and buried her head in my legs. Teoman was coming with such a sour look on his face I started laughing. I couldn't help it - Tolga was on FaceTime and said, "Don't laugh at Teoman, he's so serious." This broke Teoman - he laughed too and admitted he was only joking.
They stayed up late last night. I tried to play tavla with Baba but my games kept getting interrupted by Tomris who wanted to sit on my lap and mix everything up. I let her "roll" the dice - but her first few shots were vigorous throws that went off the board. We gave up in the end, only having gone to 3-2 (Baba was winning).
Sunday morning, after breakfast I changed them both and got them ready to go. My mornings are non-stop when we have to go out: feeding, cleaning up, eating , cleaning up, changing, cleaning up, ... at one point I was changing Teoman and Tomris had gone into my bathroom, shut the door, and took a stool to climb up and reach the shelves of my makeup. She had taken many things down, including my glasses - which she broke, again.
I took them to the doctor. We could take them to the saglik hoca for free, but decided to go our doctor because we know him and trust him. Tomris needed her shots, and we wanted him to listen to their lungs, check their ears, etc. before our trip. It costs 250TL per visit (over 15% inflation on the price each year) - so we just scheduled Tomris and brought Teoman along for some free advice.
Tomris is not a good patient. Teoman was tolerant and interested in everything. Tomris wants nothing to do with new people. She screamed from the moment the doctor touched her. She climbed on me trying to escape him, turning her head away, crying, and screaming as he checked her ears, mouth, belly and breath sounds. Teoman was nearby telling her, "Don't cry Tormis, burdayim." (I'm here). He is so sweet with her - it doesn't help one bit because Tomris is quite determined to scream and cry until everyone stops doing what she doesn't want them to do.
She had to get 2 shots and polio oral vaccination as well. The young male nurse I had never seen before and he was cold and stupid. We had a language problem. Tomris was already screaming just about the drops of medicine. I asked the nurse if I could give them, and he answered, "Yes, two drops." I repeated my question, and he repeated his answer. I realized he didn't think I spoke or understood Turkish and began telling Gokhan to take the child and lay her down. I should have just gotten mad at that point and taken charge. The young man wasn't listening to me, he would just look at me with his eyes glazed over. I laid her down, muttering in English that he was a horrible nurse - half hoping we would understand me, but unwilling to fight about it as Tomris was crying and I just wanted to get it over with. The man couldn't even manage the drops, and again tried to tell Gokhan what to do... I understood and just did it - quickly holding her chin and squeezing her cheeks. The nurse was annoyed the first drop missed. He then showed me how to hold her arms, ordering Gokhan to hold her legs. Gokhan had planned on leaving the room- he had not wanted to witness this. It was probably better for him to witness it because to hear her from outside them room could have been more upsetting. The nurse asked him if he was afraid - Gokhan said no, he just couldn't look because he felt bad.
Glad to see the nurse was thinking about my brother-in-law's feelings. I regret letting that whole scenario play out with the nurse.
Afterwards I opened up some crackers and Tomris started eating those right away. She may be a stress eater, I'm not sure. We took the car back and I stopped at McDonald's - they love french fries - we all needed french fries after that.
As we were leaving the place, I carried Tomris down the stairs - and Teoman cried when his uncle took him, insisting that I carried him. So Teoman and I made the trip back up the stairs so I could carry him down. We got outside and he pulled the same stunt. I carried Tomris to the car, and he cried and wouldn't let his uncle take him. I put Tomris in the car and went back for Teoman, he had backtracked to the exact place where I had picked up Tomris and left him with his uncle.
It didn't bother me that he was insisting on me. I kind of understood it. He loves his uncle, it has nothing to do with his uncle. It was Tomris crying and needing me and Teoman realizing he wanted me too, and if all took was for me to make two trips to help him feel loved - well, no problem.
We drove home and Tomris slept instantly. I sent her up with Gokhan and took Teoman to the bazaar with me. I was purposely skipping his nap so I could put him to bed early tonight. I realized too that I was excited to go out just with him too - and I wasn't feeling guilty leaving Tomris because I knew she would be sleeping. We walked around the bazaar and Teoman stayed close to me, weaving in and out of my legs when I stopped to look at things. We watched everyone, smiled at some, asked for somethings - it was quite fun, and he never acted tired. I couldn't resist, I wanted to give him something at the end because he was so good, he didn't freak out when I said no to the toys, he held my hand, or leg - always staying by me. I asked him if he wanted something special.
He said, "Dondurma." Ice cream.
Friday, January 16, 2015
friday night...let me sleep
Friday nights aren't what they used to be for me. I don't even remember what they used to be...I just know that now, by Friday, I'm so tired I can barely stay awake when I get home.
I guess that's kids for you.
I stopped at the mall first to go to the bigger market there and came home an hour later than usual. Our nanny called me when I was in the lot to say she was leaving. I spotted her in the parking lot and she came over and helped me with groceries, telling me about the day.
Teoman didn't nap. His head was sweating a lot and he couldn't get comfortable. When she had left he was crying or getting mad about everything. When we got upstairs, our nanny announced I was home, Teoman came over looking pale, sweaty, and ready to blow.
"Mama, did you bring me something?"
I did bring him something, but I didn't want to give it to him tonight - he was overtired and being difficult. Before I could answer he was crying because he wanted to go to the market with me and he wanted to go outside. I was tempted to take him, but I decided against it because he was probably just way over tired. I opened up the peanut M&Ms I got them and gave each of tkihem two, then proceeded to give their grandma, grandpa, and uncle a treat too. They kids were watching and smiling and waiting on the couch, because I had also agreed to Paw Patrol - they could watch while I changed. I fed them peanut butter sandwiches and juice for dinner. Teoman was already doing better. He had wrestled with m, and except for the occasional kick or hair pull of his sister, he was normalizing.
We ate while they threw all the pillow from the couch to the floor to jump on them. Teoman kept pushing his sister so I finally put my foot down and threatened a spanking. I don't like threatening, and I'm not sure about spankings - but they really work with him. Teoman pushes and pushes the limit, and when I finally say something like, "If you push her one more time, you're getting a spanking and straight to bed." (To which he responds, "Oh! Okay Mama," and quite happily stops torturing her.)
They were working up sweat. Teoman was reciting a story in Turkish as he had heard it from is grandmother, Tomris was trying to build a fort. Teoman jumped on me, Tomris jumped on me. I washed Teoman's hands and mouth. Tomris wanted to stand on the exact same stool and do the exact same thing.
We went to bed tonight, watching one more show and talking to their Baba over FaceTime. They seem to enjoy and accept a virtual Baba. Teoman didn't want to hang up and was stalling, but I have him the one-minute warning. He may not have a sense of time, but he responds really well to time warnings - and puts up little resistance when I say that time is up. (On the flip-side, if I give him no warning, sometimes he freaks out). They both kissed their Baba on the iPad and we ruined out the lights. Teoman fell asleep almost instantly.
Tomris flipped and flopped and sang and talked and played and climbed for probably an hour. I think I fell asleep at one point and woke up to hear her leaving the room. I scolded her back to bed.
In the end, she fell asleep between Teoman and I, upside down.
I guess that's kids for you.
I stopped at the mall first to go to the bigger market there and came home an hour later than usual. Our nanny called me when I was in the lot to say she was leaving. I spotted her in the parking lot and she came over and helped me with groceries, telling me about the day.
Teoman didn't nap. His head was sweating a lot and he couldn't get comfortable. When she had left he was crying or getting mad about everything. When we got upstairs, our nanny announced I was home, Teoman came over looking pale, sweaty, and ready to blow.
"Mama, did you bring me something?"
I did bring him something, but I didn't want to give it to him tonight - he was overtired and being difficult. Before I could answer he was crying because he wanted to go to the market with me and he wanted to go outside. I was tempted to take him, but I decided against it because he was probably just way over tired. I opened up the peanut M&Ms I got them and gave each of tkihem two, then proceeded to give their grandma, grandpa, and uncle a treat too. They kids were watching and smiling and waiting on the couch, because I had also agreed to Paw Patrol - they could watch while I changed. I fed them peanut butter sandwiches and juice for dinner. Teoman was already doing better. He had wrestled with m, and except for the occasional kick or hair pull of his sister, he was normalizing.
We ate while they threw all the pillow from the couch to the floor to jump on them. Teoman kept pushing his sister so I finally put my foot down and threatened a spanking. I don't like threatening, and I'm not sure about spankings - but they really work with him. Teoman pushes and pushes the limit, and when I finally say something like, "If you push her one more time, you're getting a spanking and straight to bed." (To which he responds, "Oh! Okay Mama," and quite happily stops torturing her.)
They were working up sweat. Teoman was reciting a story in Turkish as he had heard it from is grandmother, Tomris was trying to build a fort. Teoman jumped on me, Tomris jumped on me. I washed Teoman's hands and mouth. Tomris wanted to stand on the exact same stool and do the exact same thing.
We went to bed tonight, watching one more show and talking to their Baba over FaceTime. They seem to enjoy and accept a virtual Baba. Teoman didn't want to hang up and was stalling, but I have him the one-minute warning. He may not have a sense of time, but he responds really well to time warnings - and puts up little resistance when I say that time is up. (On the flip-side, if I give him no warning, sometimes he freaks out). They both kissed their Baba on the iPad and we ruined out the lights. Teoman fell asleep almost instantly.
Tomris flipped and flopped and sang and talked and played and climbed for probably an hour. I think I fell asleep at one point and woke up to hear her leaving the room. I scolded her back to bed.
In the end, she fell asleep between Teoman and I, upside down.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
duty
Teaching always has extra duties.
In New York, my extra duty was "emergency" coverages. Teachers will always calling in sick, the coordinator could rarely get a hired sub to come from the outside, so teachers were given an extra lesson and time-and-a-half pay. Because of union rules, they couldn't give you more than one, and couldn't give you three lessons in a row, and so on...but even so, I was willing to pay double in order not to take this extra duty. It was hard enough teaching your regular classes, but with students you didn't know - they lied about their names, you had no weight with them, and usually, no lesson plan.
At my character school - my extra duty was ... I don't know, the lines blurred between my life, work, and the outside world. I had more students, more classes, more hours, more small groups, more everything. Even more money, but I'm not sure it was an even trade off.
When I substituted in Minnesota, sometimes I took over for a teacher who also had an extra duty. Hallway duty for an hour, a morning, a lunch period - I wasn't ever sure about it, and I tried to remain that way. Extra duties seemed to be for fools, administrative tricks to cover lack of man power.
So, I shouldn't be surprised there are extra duties in Turkey as well. Once a week my extra duty is to monitor an assigned hallway in between classes and though the lunch hour. In addition, I also must sit in an assistant principals room for two periods to lend a hand with whatever he/she needs. So while I only have three teaching hours that day, I have two room duties, a lunch duty, and hallway duty.
It's not difficult, it's extremely boring, and you mostly feel like a useless nag - so I try to keep the nagging to minimum and exercise the eye. Duty days often give me headaches. I don't know why, even on my best days, by the end of lunch period, the headache is there, or, if not - it's surely there by the time I get home.
I've turned it into my Starbucks day. I stop at a Starbucks on the way to school and treat myself to a latte - I drink it in the car on the way to work and it gets me through the morning. I count my steps, work on my ballet moves (I have none, but I figured this was a good time to start). I stretch, exercise discretely - going on my toes, balancing on one foot - it is terribly boring.
On the way home I bought a coke, hoping the caffeine would help my headache. I got french fries for the kids and gave it to them when I got home so I could escape to take a shower and try to relax. It helped. The kids didn't eat, we watched a show, took a hot shower to help with their noses and coughs, and climbed in my bed with books. Tolga is away in the field, but the kids seemed to accept bedtime tonight, accepting my no's and we slept together listening to kid's music.
Our beautiful babes.
In New York, my extra duty was "emergency" coverages. Teachers will always calling in sick, the coordinator could rarely get a hired sub to come from the outside, so teachers were given an extra lesson and time-and-a-half pay. Because of union rules, they couldn't give you more than one, and couldn't give you three lessons in a row, and so on...but even so, I was willing to pay double in order not to take this extra duty. It was hard enough teaching your regular classes, but with students you didn't know - they lied about their names, you had no weight with them, and usually, no lesson plan.
At my character school - my extra duty was ... I don't know, the lines blurred between my life, work, and the outside world. I had more students, more classes, more hours, more small groups, more everything. Even more money, but I'm not sure it was an even trade off.
When I substituted in Minnesota, sometimes I took over for a teacher who also had an extra duty. Hallway duty for an hour, a morning, a lunch period - I wasn't ever sure about it, and I tried to remain that way. Extra duties seemed to be for fools, administrative tricks to cover lack of man power.
So, I shouldn't be surprised there are extra duties in Turkey as well. Once a week my extra duty is to monitor an assigned hallway in between classes and though the lunch hour. In addition, I also must sit in an assistant principals room for two periods to lend a hand with whatever he/she needs. So while I only have three teaching hours that day, I have two room duties, a lunch duty, and hallway duty.
It's not difficult, it's extremely boring, and you mostly feel like a useless nag - so I try to keep the nagging to minimum and exercise the eye. Duty days often give me headaches. I don't know why, even on my best days, by the end of lunch period, the headache is there, or, if not - it's surely there by the time I get home.
I've turned it into my Starbucks day. I stop at a Starbucks on the way to school and treat myself to a latte - I drink it in the car on the way to work and it gets me through the morning. I count my steps, work on my ballet moves (I have none, but I figured this was a good time to start). I stretch, exercise discretely - going on my toes, balancing on one foot - it is terribly boring.
On the way home I bought a coke, hoping the caffeine would help my headache. I got french fries for the kids and gave it to them when I got home so I could escape to take a shower and try to relax. It helped. The kids didn't eat, we watched a show, took a hot shower to help with their noses and coughs, and climbed in my bed with books. Tolga is away in the field, but the kids seemed to accept bedtime tonight, accepting my no's and we slept together listening to kid's music.
Our beautiful babes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
homecoming
My sister is planning a “reunion” for us when we visit America in
a week and a half (yikes!). She is always on top of this
type of planning. She planned my
engagement party, baby shower, and now this.
She has the family scheduled to take photos as well.
I think in the past I was always suspicious of her motives. I appreciated the parties, and I am
continually amazed at what she can cook up – but I can’t help but believe its
somewhat out of her own self interest.
She can plan and watch from a safe distance. Get in contact with people on my behalf instead of hers, see how
people react, what they say, what they do, what they bring. She becomes the popular host, and if anyone
“rejects” the invitation, it isn’t her they are rejecting but me.
Writing it down, it now sounds a bit silly, but I still believe
it. I know my sister and I know as tough
an image as she gives, her emotions are egg shells. I know her, because she is me. She wants to control everyone and its under
the guise that its for a good cause, or someone else, etc.
At the same time, I don’t doubt her intentions. I’m sure she waited for Tolga and I to get
married before she and Mike did (one year later) out of honor, because I am the older sister. The same feelings
are ingrained into me about my older brothers.
It’s very touching, considering that we have never had that sister
relationship that I’m sure we both idealize in our heads. Some people that know us, laugh at our
rivalry - but I have never found our rivalry funny. Instead, it has always been heartbreaking to me.
She sent out the evite the other day. I didn’t look at the list of invitees,
something I’m sure she would have done immediately. Instead, I looked at the card and smiled to
myself. I found the idea of reunion a
bit over the top – as if we had been gone for a long time or were not
returning. But then, I as I thought about it - I remembered when I first moved to the East Coast - away from everybody. I started my life there no
So naturally, when I came home from New Jersey - I have to admit, I kind of expected a huge party. Balloons and everything. I mean, the star had come home. I thought a reunion would be fitting. I mean, I wasn't away at college - I was away beginning my new life.
But for my first visit home - Christmas, only a few months after my leave - and many of my visits after that - my family kept up the tradition of sending a friend to pick me up at the airport. I guess I wasn't as important as my new realization had led me to believe. My parents actually were on vacation for one of my visits. I didn't speak to them for about 5 minutes when they came home. They knew I was mad, and thought it was funny. I was trying to hold out. They came around me eventually - one on each side of the coach and apologized for not being home when I was. I broke then, and said half through tears, half through laughter, "It's just so hard when you love your parents more then they love you." We all laughed.
So here's my party - balloons and all - my homecoming. It's perfect.
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