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...
Thursday, January 22, 2015
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.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
the mistakes we make
Today I had a parent call me about her daughter. When it comes to teaching, this is my weakest aspect - not interacting with parents, but I avoid them. It comes form my years in Brooklyn, where my first attempts at being a good teacher, following up with students to teach responsibility, show them I cared, and so forth --- backfired. When my first parent rejected what I was saying and began cussing at me on the phone and throwing accusations like her daughter, I never picked up the phone again without considering the consequence of parent contact.
I don't blame these parents, I feel for them. What parent doesn't want the best for his or her child? They beg for help or cuss you out, they ask for your opinion or give you theirs. They are too hard on their child or too lax. They all are vulnerable because their most precious thing is the topic, and no one has the right answers or knows what to do to make this thing called raising-a-child, work.
But, I don't really want to be part of it. I have my suggestions and my beliefs, but I'm not so sure they are that important or right, or even matter - because I am not that involved in their lives, and I'm not sure I should have so much say. In fact, I'm trying to stay at a superficial level in order to not be burned out.
I'm not sure if its wisdom or self-proteciton.
This parent who called me today was also a teacher at my school - we worked together several years ago in the primary school. We are the same age, and obviously, her daughter is in my class. I don't have a strong opinion about this woman - she works hard, she's quite conservative in the fact that she doesn't smoke, she fasts on the holidays, her neck is really straight, and she's also into the spiritual - Raki, or whatever it is. Anyhow, we were never close - her personality maybe is this way: reserved, cold, friendly, but closed.
Our conversation went something like this:
P: Rachel, I wanted to talk to you about Zeynep.
Me: Sure, I've wanted to speak to you too - sorry it hasn't been sooner.
P: Zeynep is not happy in your class anymore. She dreads coming to your class.
Me: Oh no, that's not good.
P: She really hates the days she has lessons with you, and its been our topic of conversation for the last month or so. She said that you told her her English is terrible.
Me: That doesn't sound like something I would ever say. (Or think!)
P: I was surprised to - she said that you don't give her chance to speak, that she doesn't always understand what is going on, and you said... (I can't remember, more mean things I guess).
Me: There are two things going on here - one, I feel terrible that your daughter is not enjoying the lessons anymore and that she believes her English is horrible. I always encourage students to try, mistakes or inability to say something is not a problem for me. The second thing, is related to your daughters work. She hasn't been doing it.
P: That doesn't sound like her, she always does her work!
Me: (sigh) Let me check my records. I assigned on December 9th, she was unprepared for two lessons and did it the third. Her booklet she never gave to me.
P: What? Why haven't you told me? Why didn't you call me or email me?
I think this was the part were I got angry and let loose a bit - in spite of being on phone, in a room full of teachers who very well knew who I was speaking to. I spoke quietly, but with a hard voice.
Me: You know very well I have over 200 students. Zeynep is not the only person missing something. You also know these marks don't count and when I do pursue students and involve principals or parents it creates more problems for me especially when I'm getting my feet taken out from under me. I have 11 classes, each with a handful of students missing something. I do what I can, I put examples and extras on Edmodo, and I sent Zeynep home last week with a "make-up" assignment that also asked for a parent signature.
P: So she has to do a make-up and the booklet?
I have a really extensive system that maybe is ridiculous because none of what I do is counted. But, I do try to be fair, teach responsibility, while preserving myself by keeping the fine line of supporting students that need it, but not demanding it so much (like in the past where I was giving up my lunch to "teach responsibility", (another sigh)).
The other teacher and I ended the conversation, somewhat agreeably - where I would be more sensitive to her daughter and more demanding at the same time. I hung up and was well aware of my colleagues trying not look at me and conversation so usually stopping. I didn't care, I was determined not to gossip. I hate gossip - and everything that comes of it. Of course I'm tempted, but I'm trying to bring back my filter and stop dumping on everyone.
I sat down at my computer - ready to start my photo project with my backups on my iPad - I finally came to accept that these were more than enough photos - I must have had 80% of my recent photos backed up there.
Wrong.
I opened up my photos, and I think it synced with my computer, or maybe Teoman pushed a button the other day when he was looking at them - and they were gone. Only 238 photos and videos were left. Out of THOUSANDS.
This put me over the edge. I started to cry. I couldn't help it. Others tried to help me fix my computer program, and I accepted their help knowing it was useless. It was like last spring - this opened up the floodgates and I couldn't stop those hot tears from coming. The more I thought about it, the more they came. The more people tried to help, the more alone I felt.
I mean I screwed up. I really screwed up. Twice. I've screwed up a lot in my life, costly mistakes (and the catalogue went through my head) - and here was another one that I was paying the price for.
And this parent and colleague was upset with me because I screwed up there too. She wasn't wrong. She was hurtful, but this wasn't the first parent who claimed I had said something mean, or been insensitive, and so on. Unfortunately, I'm not that kind of teacher that's all songs, games, and roses. But it's devastating to see this flaw in myself that causes kids to be afraid, or not want to be in my class, or hate English, and so on. That's never the kind of teacher I wanted to be. I wanted to teach responsibility, but instead I'm coming off as a tyrant destroying 10 year olds dreams?
They were mistakes I made today, but they feel so much worse.
I don't blame these parents, I feel for them. What parent doesn't want the best for his or her child? They beg for help or cuss you out, they ask for your opinion or give you theirs. They are too hard on their child or too lax. They all are vulnerable because their most precious thing is the topic, and no one has the right answers or knows what to do to make this thing called raising-a-child, work.
But, I don't really want to be part of it. I have my suggestions and my beliefs, but I'm not so sure they are that important or right, or even matter - because I am not that involved in their lives, and I'm not sure I should have so much say. In fact, I'm trying to stay at a superficial level in order to not be burned out.
I'm not sure if its wisdom or self-proteciton.
This parent who called me today was also a teacher at my school - we worked together several years ago in the primary school. We are the same age, and obviously, her daughter is in my class. I don't have a strong opinion about this woman - she works hard, she's quite conservative in the fact that she doesn't smoke, she fasts on the holidays, her neck is really straight, and she's also into the spiritual - Raki, or whatever it is. Anyhow, we were never close - her personality maybe is this way: reserved, cold, friendly, but closed.
Our conversation went something like this:
P: Rachel, I wanted to talk to you about Zeynep.
Me: Sure, I've wanted to speak to you too - sorry it hasn't been sooner.
P: Zeynep is not happy in your class anymore. She dreads coming to your class.
Me: Oh no, that's not good.
P: She really hates the days she has lessons with you, and its been our topic of conversation for the last month or so. She said that you told her her English is terrible.
Me: That doesn't sound like something I would ever say. (Or think!)
P: I was surprised to - she said that you don't give her chance to speak, that she doesn't always understand what is going on, and you said... (I can't remember, more mean things I guess).
Me: There are two things going on here - one, I feel terrible that your daughter is not enjoying the lessons anymore and that she believes her English is horrible. I always encourage students to try, mistakes or inability to say something is not a problem for me. The second thing, is related to your daughters work. She hasn't been doing it.
P: That doesn't sound like her, she always does her work!
Me: (sigh) Let me check my records. I assigned on December 9th, she was unprepared for two lessons and did it the third. Her booklet she never gave to me.
P: What? Why haven't you told me? Why didn't you call me or email me?
I think this was the part were I got angry and let loose a bit - in spite of being on phone, in a room full of teachers who very well knew who I was speaking to. I spoke quietly, but with a hard voice.
Me: You know very well I have over 200 students. Zeynep is not the only person missing something. You also know these marks don't count and when I do pursue students and involve principals or parents it creates more problems for me especially when I'm getting my feet taken out from under me. I have 11 classes, each with a handful of students missing something. I do what I can, I put examples and extras on Edmodo, and I sent Zeynep home last week with a "make-up" assignment that also asked for a parent signature.
P: So she has to do a make-up and the booklet?
I have a really extensive system that maybe is ridiculous because none of what I do is counted. But, I do try to be fair, teach responsibility, while preserving myself by keeping the fine line of supporting students that need it, but not demanding it so much (like in the past where I was giving up my lunch to "teach responsibility", (another sigh)).
The other teacher and I ended the conversation, somewhat agreeably - where I would be more sensitive to her daughter and more demanding at the same time. I hung up and was well aware of my colleagues trying not look at me and conversation so usually stopping. I didn't care, I was determined not to gossip. I hate gossip - and everything that comes of it. Of course I'm tempted, but I'm trying to bring back my filter and stop dumping on everyone.
I sat down at my computer - ready to start my photo project with my backups on my iPad - I finally came to accept that these were more than enough photos - I must have had 80% of my recent photos backed up there.
Wrong.
I opened up my photos, and I think it synced with my computer, or maybe Teoman pushed a button the other day when he was looking at them - and they were gone. Only 238 photos and videos were left. Out of THOUSANDS.
This put me over the edge. I started to cry. I couldn't help it. Others tried to help me fix my computer program, and I accepted their help knowing it was useless. It was like last spring - this opened up the floodgates and I couldn't stop those hot tears from coming. The more I thought about it, the more they came. The more people tried to help, the more alone I felt.
I mean I screwed up. I really screwed up. Twice. I've screwed up a lot in my life, costly mistakes (and the catalogue went through my head) - and here was another one that I was paying the price for.
And this parent and colleague was upset with me because I screwed up there too. She wasn't wrong. She was hurtful, but this wasn't the first parent who claimed I had said something mean, or been insensitive, and so on. Unfortunately, I'm not that kind of teacher that's all songs, games, and roses. But it's devastating to see this flaw in myself that causes kids to be afraid, or not want to be in my class, or hate English, and so on. That's never the kind of teacher I wanted to be. I wanted to teach responsibility, but instead I'm coming off as a tyrant destroying 10 year olds dreams?
They were mistakes I made today, but they feel so much worse.
Monday, January 12, 2015
Tolga's birthday(s)
"It's my birthday today," Tolga told me two days ago. I ignored him because we were in the middle of several things with the kids, and I meant to bring it back up, but I didn't remember again until today.
Tolga was born on Christmas day, but Turkey is a bit flexible when it comes to birthdates. I think his mother's actual birthdate is 2 years younger then her birth certificate, his dad's is written 6-7 months after his actual birthdate. So, Tolga's parents were quite expedient when they recorded his birthdate as January 10th - they fudged those two weeks because 18 years later he would be able to delay his compulsory military service one more year.
When I first learned about these discrepancies I was quite taken aback. I mean, it sounded so fraudulent. I could picture us in the green card interview:
"When's your husband's birthday?"
"His real one or his fake one?
Multiculturalism has been the buzzword for the past 10 or more years, but it seems no one considers the consequences of this. And, I can't really imagine U.S. government officials as tolerant of this cultural difference.
It's funny, because my attitude has changed about the sanctity of birthdates. Of course they are important, but making your way down to the government offices to register your newborn baby - it's all in your own hands, and putting whatever date is/was convenient doesn't seem as shocking as it first was to me.
"It was your birthday the other day, I meant to wish you a happy birthday." We were driving together. I had picked him up from work, and we had stopped at the mall to get a new hard drive (or two or three) for me, a new humidifier for the kids (the old one was possibly making them more sick), and some meat so I could make some good ole American hamburgers.
"I wanted to celebrate your birthday, just for fun. Get another present for you, or a another cake, or go out. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Yeah, that would be fun."
"But Teoman might be confused, and more jealous - he'll want two birthdays too. Maybe we could make your second birthday just for us.
"Yeah, a secret celebration." We both were smiling at the thought.
"Did anyone at your work celebrate your fake birthday?"
"No, I told them December 25th is my real birthday and that's when we celebrated it. Everyone who knows me celebrates it on the 25th."
It's true - and everyone who doesn't know Tolga: the government, his passport, his national ID card, his school records, anyone he pays bills to - they all wish, or don't wish him a happy birthday on January 10th.
So we decided that we will too. We will make a point each year to celebrate just the two of us - another special tradition starting....now.
Tolga was born on Christmas day, but Turkey is a bit flexible when it comes to birthdates. I think his mother's actual birthdate is 2 years younger then her birth certificate, his dad's is written 6-7 months after his actual birthdate. So, Tolga's parents were quite expedient when they recorded his birthdate as January 10th - they fudged those two weeks because 18 years later he would be able to delay his compulsory military service one more year.
When I first learned about these discrepancies I was quite taken aback. I mean, it sounded so fraudulent. I could picture us in the green card interview:
"When's your husband's birthday?"
"His real one or his fake one?
Multiculturalism has been the buzzword for the past 10 or more years, but it seems no one considers the consequences of this. And, I can't really imagine U.S. government officials as tolerant of this cultural difference.
It's funny, because my attitude has changed about the sanctity of birthdates. Of course they are important, but making your way down to the government offices to register your newborn baby - it's all in your own hands, and putting whatever date is/was convenient doesn't seem as shocking as it first was to me.
"It was your birthday the other day, I meant to wish you a happy birthday." We were driving together. I had picked him up from work, and we had stopped at the mall to get a new hard drive (or two or three) for me, a new humidifier for the kids (the old one was possibly making them more sick), and some meat so I could make some good ole American hamburgers.
"I wanted to celebrate your birthday, just for fun. Get another present for you, or a another cake, or go out. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Yeah, that would be fun."
"But Teoman might be confused, and more jealous - he'll want two birthdays too. Maybe we could make your second birthday just for us.
"Yeah, a secret celebration." We both were smiling at the thought.
"Did anyone at your work celebrate your fake birthday?"
"No, I told them December 25th is my real birthday and that's when we celebrated it. Everyone who knows me celebrates it on the 25th."
It's true - and everyone who doesn't know Tolga: the government, his passport, his national ID card, his school records, anyone he pays bills to - they all wish, or don't wish him a happy birthday on January 10th.
So we decided that we will too. We will make a point each year to celebrate just the two of us - another special tradition starting....now.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
battitudes
I have a problem.
Okay, fine, I have many problems.
But this one is a part of me, always has been, and I usually get away with it - so this problem has been able to live on inside of me, be fed, and groomed, and placated when needed. But that isn't the best way to deal with a problem, is it?
I'm not sure I can even define this problem. It has to do with my attitude. Our battitude, shall I say? I wake up with one or both of the kids and Tolga doesn't move.
I go to the kitchen to prepare something for the kids and I set my book or computer or phone in something sticky on the table, because no one thinks wiping the kitchen table is part of cleaning up after dinner.
I throw something in the garbage, and the garbage is leaking, spilling over, no garbage bag in the canister, etc.
If Tolga gets up to make pancakes, his mom will join him and help him - if its just me up, no one seems to rise.
Then I start seeing all the flaws of the house - the stains on the couch, chairs, the junk here and there.
Then Tolga's brother join us to eat, complains about a few things - how he was up late working, or has a heachach, or didn't get his salary, or might get his salary, and then he disappears again.
My mother-in-law cleans everything up.
My mother-in-law asks what she should make for lunch - I'm pretty surly by now, and I don't want anybody's help, or idea of help - I can take care of myself, and my kids - you guys take care of yourselves.
We need groceries - we have to go to the market.
The kids want my constant attention.
I want Tolga's.
Everyone wants Tolga's attention.
Somedays, I hate sharing him with everyone.
Somedays, I hate everyone and everything.
So that's a typical problem I have. Let's call it, Saturday morning. Then, Tolga tries to fix it. He offers for me to go back to sleep (to which I often decline because now I'm awake, hungry, or Tomris is demanding my attention). He orders his brother to help, or his mother to sit down, or cleans up the garbage mess. So herein is my second problem: no matter what he does, my battitude doesn't change - in fact, out of stubbornness I think it gets worse.
Talking about it makes it worse too. My complaints are empty and meaningless and surely not the real problem. Staying true to my personality type, its probably my expectation of what a Saturday morning should look like: Everybody doing their part and cleaning up after themselves, sharing the duties equally, selflessly, flawlessly. But that probably wouldn't fix my problem either. Sometimes I think maybe I should escape the house on a Saturday morning, find some alone time - I fantasize about a walk down to Starbucks, some writing or reading time. Quiet time at least. But I can't bring myself to leave my kids - the weekend is our time.
And herein lies my third problem, and the one that makes me want to shake myself out of this - my battitude effects everyone. I think in the past, this battitude survived because people made jokes, laughed at me, or ignored me. All were effective in me getting over "it" but not dealing with "it". I hate myself for it, and hate everyone for causing it - but I mostly hate what it does to my husband. He tolerates it, or tries to fix the problem (as we can see, doesn't work), gets stressed, but eventually - true to his honest nature - gets mad at me.
Which, by the way, also doesn't help.
This was our lunchtime conversation:
Me: What is all this leftover food in the fridge?
Tolga: I think that's soup.
Me: What is everyone "saving" it for the kids?
Tolga: I don't know.
Me: So now your mom made rice, we'll eat leftovers and they will eat rice and yogurt, and Gokhan will make everybody cheese toast because they are "saving" the spinach for the kids.
Tolga: Do you want me to tell them to finish all the food?
Me: They will anyways, they always do.
Tolga: (getting mad) So do you want them to eat the food, or not want them to eat the food?
I don't know. What am I doing? Trying to control how they live, eat and sleep?
We've talked about not living with them - but when we talk about it, I don't accept it because while I am often times resenting their presence, I've also agreed to the situation and I'm too stubborn to back down on this. I've never understood the logic of doing something that's "best for myself" because my obligatory sense to the larger unit - and in this case, Tolga's family unit - isn't just an obligation, it's what I believe in. Family should help one another. My kids need their uncle and grandparents to be a part of their lives. (In fact, I'm not sure I trust how they would turn out if it was just me in their lives.)
It's just a general frustration that I can't put my finger on, but probably is just a part of living with a lot of other people. I have been more tolerant about it for some time now, but my disappointment over losing so many pictures and videos and files and whoknowswhat maybe triggered this feeling of having loss control of everything. Or just reemphasized that fact that I have control over nothing.
So the only thing left, it seems, is for me to change my attitude.
Which, by the way, also hasn't been working. Apparently, I can't even control my own feelings - I just tuck them away for awhile.
Sigh.
ugh.
Okay, fine, I have many problems.
But this one is a part of me, always has been, and I usually get away with it - so this problem has been able to live on inside of me, be fed, and groomed, and placated when needed. But that isn't the best way to deal with a problem, is it?
I'm not sure I can even define this problem. It has to do with my attitude. Our battitude, shall I say? I wake up with one or both of the kids and Tolga doesn't move.
I go to the kitchen to prepare something for the kids and I set my book or computer or phone in something sticky on the table, because no one thinks wiping the kitchen table is part of cleaning up after dinner.
I throw something in the garbage, and the garbage is leaking, spilling over, no garbage bag in the canister, etc.
If Tolga gets up to make pancakes, his mom will join him and help him - if its just me up, no one seems to rise.
Then I start seeing all the flaws of the house - the stains on the couch, chairs, the junk here and there.
Then Tolga's brother join us to eat, complains about a few things - how he was up late working, or has a heachach, or didn't get his salary, or might get his salary, and then he disappears again.
My mother-in-law cleans everything up.
My mother-in-law asks what she should make for lunch - I'm pretty surly by now, and I don't want anybody's help, or idea of help - I can take care of myself, and my kids - you guys take care of yourselves.
We need groceries - we have to go to the market.
The kids want my constant attention.
I want Tolga's.
Everyone wants Tolga's attention.
Somedays, I hate sharing him with everyone.
Somedays, I hate everyone and everything.
So that's a typical problem I have. Let's call it, Saturday morning. Then, Tolga tries to fix it. He offers for me to go back to sleep (to which I often decline because now I'm awake, hungry, or Tomris is demanding my attention). He orders his brother to help, or his mother to sit down, or cleans up the garbage mess. So herein is my second problem: no matter what he does, my battitude doesn't change - in fact, out of stubbornness I think it gets worse.
Talking about it makes it worse too. My complaints are empty and meaningless and surely not the real problem. Staying true to my personality type, its probably my expectation of what a Saturday morning should look like: Everybody doing their part and cleaning up after themselves, sharing the duties equally, selflessly, flawlessly. But that probably wouldn't fix my problem either. Sometimes I think maybe I should escape the house on a Saturday morning, find some alone time - I fantasize about a walk down to Starbucks, some writing or reading time. Quiet time at least. But I can't bring myself to leave my kids - the weekend is our time.
And herein lies my third problem, and the one that makes me want to shake myself out of this - my battitude effects everyone. I think in the past, this battitude survived because people made jokes, laughed at me, or ignored me. All were effective in me getting over "it" but not dealing with "it". I hate myself for it, and hate everyone for causing it - but I mostly hate what it does to my husband. He tolerates it, or tries to fix the problem (as we can see, doesn't work), gets stressed, but eventually - true to his honest nature - gets mad at me.
Which, by the way, also doesn't help.
This was our lunchtime conversation:
Me: What is all this leftover food in the fridge?
Tolga: I think that's soup.
Me: What is everyone "saving" it for the kids?
Tolga: I don't know.
Me: So now your mom made rice, we'll eat leftovers and they will eat rice and yogurt, and Gokhan will make everybody cheese toast because they are "saving" the spinach for the kids.
Tolga: Do you want me to tell them to finish all the food?
Me: They will anyways, they always do.
Tolga: (getting mad) So do you want them to eat the food, or not want them to eat the food?
I don't know. What am I doing? Trying to control how they live, eat and sleep?
We've talked about not living with them - but when we talk about it, I don't accept it because while I am often times resenting their presence, I've also agreed to the situation and I'm too stubborn to back down on this. I've never understood the logic of doing something that's "best for myself" because my obligatory sense to the larger unit - and in this case, Tolga's family unit - isn't just an obligation, it's what I believe in. Family should help one another. My kids need their uncle and grandparents to be a part of their lives. (In fact, I'm not sure I trust how they would turn out if it was just me in their lives.)
It's just a general frustration that I can't put my finger on, but probably is just a part of living with a lot of other people. I have been more tolerant about it for some time now, but my disappointment over losing so many pictures and videos and files and whoknowswhat maybe triggered this feeling of having loss control of everything. Or just reemphasized that fact that I have control over nothing.
So the only thing left, it seems, is for me to change my attitude.
Which, by the way, also hasn't been working. Apparently, I can't even control my own feelings - I just tuck them away for awhile.
Sigh.
ugh.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
storage
Tomris broke my glasses.
Teoman broke my external hard drive.
They've started painting inside the building with putrid chemicals.
I've been at home with two sick kids coughing in my face for four days and my in-laws.
And I am so disappointed in my lost data I don't even want to continue with any projects.
I think its depression. Or the toxic fumes seeping into our home.
We store so many things in our lives. I have things in my parents garage. Stuff from high school in the attic. Stuff from my move from New York to Minnesota to Turkey in the garage: clothes, dishes, photo albums, VHS tapes, papers, junk, boxes of junk that I'm not able to get to, but not ready to let go of.
But now, storage has become more digital, and I have everything much more compactly (but not that much better organized, because really - how well can you really organize junk?) So I had about 250GB of junk store on this drive. Videos and pictures of my kids first two precious years, pictures that family sent me while I've been away. Too many videos, probably to organize and make into a decent length movie...many of which I probably have duplicates of scattered between the devices so I'm sure I could salvage some memories. But I'm still mourning the loss of all this and the possibility that some things I may really have wanted may be permanently gone. I still want it back, and I'm seriously considering paying the extraordinary amount to get it back.
I have a serious attachment to my junk. And digital junk seems even more ridiculous and less important. Yet, my husband is currently taking the hard drive apart and trying to fix it. He's much more determined (and hopeful) then I am...
Teoman broke my external hard drive.
They've started painting inside the building with putrid chemicals.
I've been at home with two sick kids coughing in my face for four days and my in-laws.
And I am so disappointed in my lost data I don't even want to continue with any projects.
I think its depression. Or the toxic fumes seeping into our home.
We store so many things in our lives. I have things in my parents garage. Stuff from high school in the attic. Stuff from my move from New York to Minnesota to Turkey in the garage: clothes, dishes, photo albums, VHS tapes, papers, junk, boxes of junk that I'm not able to get to, but not ready to let go of.
But now, storage has become more digital, and I have everything much more compactly (but not that much better organized, because really - how well can you really organize junk?) So I had about 250GB of junk store on this drive. Videos and pictures of my kids first two precious years, pictures that family sent me while I've been away. Too many videos, probably to organize and make into a decent length movie...many of which I probably have duplicates of scattered between the devices so I'm sure I could salvage some memories. But I'm still mourning the loss of all this and the possibility that some things I may really have wanted may be permanently gone. I still want it back, and I'm seriously considering paying the extraordinary amount to get it back.
I have a serious attachment to my junk. And digital junk seems even more ridiculous and less important. Yet, my husband is currently taking the hard drive apart and trying to fix it. He's much more determined (and hopeful) then I am...
Friday, January 9, 2015
projects deterred
I have a lot of pictures and I've had this plan for the few months / year to create a movie of all the videos and photos - two movies of course, possible three - as gifts to people. I've also had this problem with keeping track of all my photos from 5+ devices, emails, programs within programs, mixed dates, duplicates, etc.
But it's a part of my overambitious-two-week-get-ready-to-go-to-America plan. There is a small part of me that says that this is a bad idea, that maybe I should be focusing on other things - like packing, lists of what to bring, what to buy, ordering some things online, etc - but I dismiss that caution and try to refocus on my big idea. I'm quite stubborn about it.
And then Teoman took my external hard drive and was playing with it. He was going to "work". I thought it was a harmless game, that it was no big deal - and for the last two days its been like that (because for the last two days I haven't had a chance to work on my project).
Today, I plugged it in to create my masterpiece and the drive didn't work. The light came on but didn't register on my computer. I panicked and did what every tech savvy computer person does: plugged it in and out again, turned the computer off and on, tried a different USB, a different USB cable, a different computer...nothing. I proceeded to the next tech savvy computer person fix - Google your problem.
The solution is to pay money to someone else to hopefully fix it.
So, onto my packing lists.
But it's a part of my overambitious-two-week-get-ready-to-go-to-America plan. There is a small part of me that says that this is a bad idea, that maybe I should be focusing on other things - like packing, lists of what to bring, what to buy, ordering some things online, etc - but I dismiss that caution and try to refocus on my big idea. I'm quite stubborn about it.
And then Teoman took my external hard drive and was playing with it. He was going to "work". I thought it was a harmless game, that it was no big deal - and for the last two days its been like that (because for the last two days I haven't had a chance to work on my project).
Today, I plugged it in to create my masterpiece and the drive didn't work. The light came on but didn't register on my computer. I panicked and did what every tech savvy computer person does: plugged it in and out again, turned the computer off and on, tried a different USB, a different USB cable, a different computer...nothing. I proceeded to the next tech savvy computer person fix - Google your problem.
The solution is to pay money to someone else to hopefully fix it.
So, onto my packing lists.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Snow Day 2
The kids slept much better, maybe due to the antihistamine I gave them. They both woke up with coughing fits in the morning, and they both cleaned their noses with a good sneeze. Our nanny came, who I didn't expect, but was a huge help. I took care of the kids, and was able to hand them off to Anne and the nanny when Gokhan and I went to the market to get the things we needed. I came home and took Teoman outside for fifteen minutes to clean the cars. It was about 15 degrees outside, which is pretty cold for here. It had begun lightly snowing again. I shoveled some snow into a basin before I went out to give to Tomris to play with in the kitchen while Teoman and I escaped. He seemed unaffected by the cold, and even though I kept asking him, he kept claiming he wasn't cold.
We went inside he played with the snow left over in the basin, Tomris ran to me and hugged me as if I'd been gone a long time again. We had some soup and a banana, in between playing with the snow in the basin. Tomris grabbed the scoop I had and hit Teoman over the head with it. It made a loud hollow sound that everyone heard. Teoman started crying. Teoman doesn't cry easily but this was a combination of hurt feelings, frustration and tiredness. I hugged him and scolded Tomris. She watched us, particularly her brother. You can almost see the wheels turning in her little brain. She came around the table to us and patted Teoman's head saying, "Sorry abi." It was really sweet. Then she smacked him again to test this new found reaction. I picked her up and put her in her crib. She was going to cry, but when I told her she was there for hitting him again, she stopped and seemed to think about that. I picked her up a minute later and she came and gave him a kiss and Teoman tried to hug her. She's usually not so keen on his hugs because too many times they end up being choke holds that he won't release, but she tolerated this brief squeeze. I put Tomris to sleep and later snuggled with Teoman and we both slept relatively quickly
Our nanny cleaned and when I woke up and saw it still snowing I sent her home. She was preparing herself to leave anyhow, as we had already talked about her leaving early to avoid icy conditions. I made muffins with Teoman, we ate them, and then I stuck them both in a steamy shower to play and clean their sinuses.
Tomris later grabbed her ear and told me it was "hurting". I am so impressed she could tell me this, and worried about ear infections. Neither have a fever, so hopefully it will pass on its own. Tomris keeps taking my iPad. She seems to have command over it and has learned how to open up the videos she wants. She also turns and runs away from me when she thinks I'm going to take it back from her. The little rascal. We've been playing a Celtic Christmas on the Apple TV and Teoman takes the yellow stool, his fork and spoon and plays drums to the music. Tomris dances, then Teoman finds his guitar and plays this too. Today he tried to play it like the violinists too and was disappointed when I told him we couldn't play it this way.
Our little dancers, jumpers, singers, and musicians.
We went inside he played with the snow left over in the basin, Tomris ran to me and hugged me as if I'd been gone a long time again. We had some soup and a banana, in between playing with the snow in the basin. Tomris grabbed the scoop I had and hit Teoman over the head with it. It made a loud hollow sound that everyone heard. Teoman started crying. Teoman doesn't cry easily but this was a combination of hurt feelings, frustration and tiredness. I hugged him and scolded Tomris. She watched us, particularly her brother. You can almost see the wheels turning in her little brain. She came around the table to us and patted Teoman's head saying, "Sorry abi." It was really sweet. Then she smacked him again to test this new found reaction. I picked her up and put her in her crib. She was going to cry, but when I told her she was there for hitting him again, she stopped and seemed to think about that. I picked her up a minute later and she came and gave him a kiss and Teoman tried to hug her. She's usually not so keen on his hugs because too many times they end up being choke holds that he won't release, but she tolerated this brief squeeze. I put Tomris to sleep and later snuggled with Teoman and we both slept relatively quickly
Our nanny cleaned and when I woke up and saw it still snowing I sent her home. She was preparing herself to leave anyhow, as we had already talked about her leaving early to avoid icy conditions. I made muffins with Teoman, we ate them, and then I stuck them both in a steamy shower to play and clean their sinuses.
Tomris later grabbed her ear and told me it was "hurting". I am so impressed she could tell me this, and worried about ear infections. Neither have a fever, so hopefully it will pass on its own. Tomris keeps taking my iPad. She seems to have command over it and has learned how to open up the videos she wants. She also turns and runs away from me when she thinks I'm going to take it back from her. The little rascal. We've been playing a Celtic Christmas on the Apple TV and Teoman takes the yellow stool, his fork and spoon and plays drums to the music. Tomris dances, then Teoman finds his guitar and plays this too. Today he tried to play it like the violinists too and was disappointed when I told him we couldn't play it this way.
Our little dancers, jumpers, singers, and musicians.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
sick on snow days
Both Teoman and Tomris have coughs. They haven't gotten sick too many times in their little lives - maybe because they haven't been put in pre-school yet, but I'm hoping it's more to hearty genes. Teoman started with a stuffy nose and progressed to a slight cough. Tomris's hit all of the sudden last night. I noticed her nose running a bit that day, then whamo - That night we were debating to take her to the hospital because her breathing was raspy. It sounded like she just needed to give a good cough to clear it out, but I wasn't sure. She had woken up and I nursed her, and her breathing sounded phlegmy. She coughed, and I could tell the cough was painful. I just knew it, or felt it, or had it that morning too ... I don't know, but there was no doubt in my mind because she looked at me and cried, "Mama." I cleaned her nose, tried to give her some medicine, put Vick's Vapor Rub on her feet, and rocked her in the chair. My Columbian friend told me about the vapor rub on the feet. I tried it when I was desperate with Teoman, and then I saw a generic post on the Internet about it and realized it probably wasn't true (which it's not). I forgot that I had learned that, or didn't care, because I was looking for something to help her poor little body.
She calmed down and went back to sleep while I rocked.
It's really stressful when your kids are sick. Tolga and I were looking at each other little panicked, and then lay in bed wondering whether we should let her sleep or take her to the doctor. We kept her with us to hear her breathing, and Teoman soon joined us so that we were four across.
They've both been a bit ornery and needy. Tomris has been having roller coaster days, laughing and giggling, sitting comfortably with me, or crying and following me around always wanting something. She woke up crying, unsure of what she wanted - milk, sleep, playtime. I did all three. I nursed her, she slept while I nursed her, we went to the living room - she wanted this and that and cried for everything.
It's been an exhausting snow day, but I'm glad I'm home to take care of her.
She calmed down and went back to sleep while I rocked.
It's really stressful when your kids are sick. Tolga and I were looking at each other little panicked, and then lay in bed wondering whether we should let her sleep or take her to the doctor. We kept her with us to hear her breathing, and Teoman soon joined us so that we were four across.
They've both been a bit ornery and needy. Tomris has been having roller coaster days, laughing and giggling, sitting comfortably with me, or crying and following me around always wanting something. She woke up crying, unsure of what she wanted - milk, sleep, playtime. I did all three. I nursed her, she slept while I nursed her, we went to the living room - she wanted this and that and cried for everything.
It's been an exhausting snow day, but I'm glad I'm home to take care of her.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
let it snow
Ankara is in the heart of Anatolia. It's summers are hot and dry, it's spring and fall is rainy and foggy, and the winter can be just about anything. It's been between 40-60 degrees for the last month, and the temperatures finally dropped in the past week to the forties, and freezing temperatures for the past few days.
The altitude of Ankara is so odd too. It's on a plateau ranging from 850-1000 meters. The city is hilly so you can't look across it nor get a true sense of its size or population. There are 4.5 million people here, but from our apartment we can look out to an empty valley with mountains in the distance - mountains that aren't so high, but bank the city beautifully. Within the city are deep valleys that have been taken over by the gece kondu. Night houses where the poor came in and built homes over night - poorly made construction of brick, cement, clay roofs, and scraps - stones, plywood, whatnot. They are heated by coal and littered with garbage. Many go around collecting garbage form businesses and they bring to their homes to sort for a meager income and inevitably, a lot of the garbage can be found around their homes. The valleys are shrouded in a black cloud of burning coal - their heating systems. Some of these people are lucky, and builders take over the areas to develop - building expensive apartment complexes and buying out those that live there by offering them one or two or more apartments in exchange for the land. Those that live there don't have the land legally, but in some cases the government has given them the right to the land. In other cases, their homes are bulldozed. Ankara seems always to have many buildings and complexes under construction with gece kondular at their feet.
When it snows, the main roads are maintained - salted and sanded and plowed. Ankara doesn't have an army of plows, but they do their job...eventually. The problem is the side roads, especially those that dip into the many valleys - so when it snows, it can be downright scary to be on the road. Bus drivers don't seem to have the sense of responsibility for the lives in their vehicle because they are typically the poor - dirty, smelly, and careless. Their biggest concern is getting to their destination on time by whatever means possible.
It snowed for the first time Monday and Tuesday. It was beautiful, exciting, and a bit scary. I drove to work on the main roads slowly without a problem. But today, many were late because the conditions worsened as the morning continued.
The feeling at school is exciting too. The kids are wild, excited by the first snow. Schedules seem thrown off because of many absent students and late buses or teachers. And we all are waiting for school to be canceled. The mayor was claiming the city could handle the snow, while everyone grumbled and waited...and in the end we had an early release. The snow had stopped, but in anticipation of temperatures dropping and the roads freezing - we were all anxious to leave because everyone remembers two years ago when they didn't do an early release and many people didn't get home until 9-10pm at night!
I made it home no problem. I was excited to take the kids outside. I simply bought them downstairs to play in our parking lot. Teoman jumped in the snow, threw the snow, and tried to make snowballs but the snow was to dry and not good for packing. I set Tomris in the snow too and she just froze, looking at her feet. I'm sure she felt the cold seeping into her feet and she didn't like it. She never moved, just fussed and reached for me to pick her back up. She was happy to be outside in the snow, as long as it was in my arms. She was saying "snow" and "col" and "burrrr".
School has been canceled for the next two days in anticipation of the cold temperatures and freezing roads. I'm wishing a little bit of Minnesota was here - snow pants, boots, sleds - all the stuff that makes a great snow day.
The altitude of Ankara is so odd too. It's on a plateau ranging from 850-1000 meters. The city is hilly so you can't look across it nor get a true sense of its size or population. There are 4.5 million people here, but from our apartment we can look out to an empty valley with mountains in the distance - mountains that aren't so high, but bank the city beautifully. Within the city are deep valleys that have been taken over by the gece kondu. Night houses where the poor came in and built homes over night - poorly made construction of brick, cement, clay roofs, and scraps - stones, plywood, whatnot. They are heated by coal and littered with garbage. Many go around collecting garbage form businesses and they bring to their homes to sort for a meager income and inevitably, a lot of the garbage can be found around their homes. The valleys are shrouded in a black cloud of burning coal - their heating systems. Some of these people are lucky, and builders take over the areas to develop - building expensive apartment complexes and buying out those that live there by offering them one or two or more apartments in exchange for the land. Those that live there don't have the land legally, but in some cases the government has given them the right to the land. In other cases, their homes are bulldozed. Ankara seems always to have many buildings and complexes under construction with gece kondular at their feet.
When it snows, the main roads are maintained - salted and sanded and plowed. Ankara doesn't have an army of plows, but they do their job...eventually. The problem is the side roads, especially those that dip into the many valleys - so when it snows, it can be downright scary to be on the road. Bus drivers don't seem to have the sense of responsibility for the lives in their vehicle because they are typically the poor - dirty, smelly, and careless. Their biggest concern is getting to their destination on time by whatever means possible.
It snowed for the first time Monday and Tuesday. It was beautiful, exciting, and a bit scary. I drove to work on the main roads slowly without a problem. But today, many were late because the conditions worsened as the morning continued.
The feeling at school is exciting too. The kids are wild, excited by the first snow. Schedules seem thrown off because of many absent students and late buses or teachers. And we all are waiting for school to be canceled. The mayor was claiming the city could handle the snow, while everyone grumbled and waited...and in the end we had an early release. The snow had stopped, but in anticipation of temperatures dropping and the roads freezing - we were all anxious to leave because everyone remembers two years ago when they didn't do an early release and many people didn't get home until 9-10pm at night!
I made it home no problem. I was excited to take the kids outside. I simply bought them downstairs to play in our parking lot. Teoman jumped in the snow, threw the snow, and tried to make snowballs but the snow was to dry and not good for packing. I set Tomris in the snow too and she just froze, looking at her feet. I'm sure she felt the cold seeping into her feet and she didn't like it. She never moved, just fussed and reached for me to pick her back up. She was happy to be outside in the snow, as long as it was in my arms. She was saying "snow" and "col" and "burrrr".
School has been canceled for the next two days in anticipation of the cold temperatures and freezing roads. I'm wishing a little bit of Minnesota was here - snow pants, boots, sleds - all the stuff that makes a great snow day.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Heartbook
I always wanted kids - I just was never sure how it would happen. It meant meeting the right person, overcoming lots of fears, pregnancy...birth... and now I have two and I am forever amazed at the miracle of children. How are we, in so much imperfectness, able to raise children? And yet, here they are - beautiful and perfect.
I learned recently that a colleague of mine aborted a child last spring. I have always been against the idea, but now having experienced pregnancy and birth - the thought breaks my heart. I don't feel anger or judgement against her - but against this ridiculous world we live in that is capable of such things. We are capable of such things. I am capable of horrible things. And these unborn babies, miracles from conception, are vulnerable to the ugliness of this world before they are even born.
I have a new sense of fear in me. I don't think it's unhealthy, this fear in me is helping me be less careless about my life, my words, my choices, my relationships, my daily decisions that impact me first, and then those around me.
I know a lot of things. A lot of what I considered common sense things about relating with people - but I'm realizing too how I've forgot a lot of things. I think I subconsciously believed that because I learned it once, I got it. And I was set and I would keep moving "up".
Oh, it's so not true. I'm seeing over and over again lately how many things I thought I learned, but I forgot. Or I became static - and stopped being careful and attending to things and so I regressed so to speak. Not to mention, there is no moving "up".
That's what living with your in-laws does to you, among other things.
My father-in-law turned his ankle...two months ago, or so. He's overweight and waddles. He never takes strides, so it's hard to imagine how he hurt his ankle - but one look at how he wears his shoes, and its surprising he hasn't done it sooner. I'm not sure how he even manages to walk because his foot lays across his shoe with the heel hanging off to one side and his toes not quite all the way in the shoe. He came to Ankara last week and went to the doctor the next day for pain meds for his ankle.
He also bought a bag of salt. Table salt. He poured the table salt in a frying pan to warm it up, then poured the warm salt into a cotton sack and used it as a compress. He asked me if we did this in America. I nodded, but said we used epsom salt. I tried to add that we also put this salt in warm water, but his hearing aid was whistling - a now constant state. He smiled - proud that we shared a tried-and-true cure.
I shook my head.
I called my mother-in-law on the way home to see if we needed anything for the house.
"No," she answered, "not now."
"Do we have enough bread?"
"We have a loaf and a half of bread."
"Is it enough?"
"For tonight, it's enough."
"Is Baba going to get bread in the morning?"
"No, he can't walk."
"So I should get bread."
"If you want, if you can't Gokhan will get it."
Now, I could tell the hundred irritations I have with that conversation, but it's not my point. My point is my reactions in my heart, my judgements, and my lack of grace. My inability to not react, and cut through the chase and say - Woman! I'm offering to pick up what we need - tell me what we need!
My brother-in-law was laid off from his job just before the new year. He's home now, and the cycle begins again. Looking for a job, depressed, at home... but it's different this time too. With my father-in-law ill, it's a comfort to have him home. We was working too many hours and not being paid consistently. He often claimed to be working on "projects" at night and on the weekend as well. I'm not sure I totally believed this, it sometimes seemed to be an excuse to withdraw to his room - and now that he's not working, he's still withdrawing - but the kids are good for everybody. I mean, you CAN'T ignore them. They wake you up, demand to be played with, take things from your drawers, and just hearing their little voices make sentences melts all of our hearts.
Gokhan is now doing the grocery shopping...sort of. He is running to the store and buying cheese, white bread, eggs, nuts, coke...all his favorite things and things that are killing his parents, but they love too. I'm not so sure how thrilled I am about this.
But, in light of all the things we are all facing - some things will and need to fall away. I saw this colleague of mine again today. She had seem pictures of Teoman and Tomris I had posted and commented on how amazed she was about how they've grown. She also lamented about her loss last spring - well aware of what her choice meant to so many people that were hoping for child but could not. She said, "I'm not happy about it, but what I did was right. Even my mother supported me because I wasn't doing well last spring and I'm not happy in my marriage. Maybe one day. Time will tell."
And today my heart broke for her. I know seeing my two children so happy and beautiful in the face of her own struggles can only raise a whole bunch of bad feelings. And here in is the switch I'm seeing in my own heart with my age: There is a point in life when "high school" reigns. Comparing yourself to others situations, getting affirmation from "likes" on Facebook. Sharing what you accomplished and feeling validated by it. In my own school, I feel as if I suddenly became part of the "cool" crowd, friending all these people - and it feels horrible. Because...because...there is just so much tragedy in everyone's life. Everyone has a very rich story, but it's so much more than what we tell in our daily lives. I don't necessarily want to dwell on it, but I don't want to dwell on the superficial either. The superficial is super lonely. Social media is connecting us so much more now, and disconnecting us at the same time. What do I really want to know about people? What they've overcome I guess, but that could be difficult because we are always over coming and struggles aren't so easy, and maybe aren't so wise to put on a public platform.
In my old church, we had a leader who was "struggling". I don't know what his struggle was, and it didn't really matter to me. What I will always remember is how the church handled it. The pastor announced that this leader was struggling, that God takes all through different times in our lives, and for this time it was best that the man did not stay in a leadership position. And then, several came around him, blessed him and prayed for him. I felt no condescension or judgment in the action, but beautiful example of loving someone just where they were at.
Maybe in the evolution of social media, we could get there. A page that pushes deeper conversation and relationship. With all the time we spend skimming the surfaces of media, will we ever break this habit? I will be going home soon to visit family - every visit I get together with two cousins from my childhood - we sit down and ask "How are you?" and we all know this is not a superficial question with a simple answer. We love each other, we have history, and we always have stories to tell - and these are what I want to hear.
I learned recently that a colleague of mine aborted a child last spring. I have always been against the idea, but now having experienced pregnancy and birth - the thought breaks my heart. I don't feel anger or judgement against her - but against this ridiculous world we live in that is capable of such things. We are capable of such things. I am capable of horrible things. And these unborn babies, miracles from conception, are vulnerable to the ugliness of this world before they are even born.
I have a new sense of fear in me. I don't think it's unhealthy, this fear in me is helping me be less careless about my life, my words, my choices, my relationships, my daily decisions that impact me first, and then those around me.
I know a lot of things. A lot of what I considered common sense things about relating with people - but I'm realizing too how I've forgot a lot of things. I think I subconsciously believed that because I learned it once, I got it. And I was set and I would keep moving "up".
Oh, it's so not true. I'm seeing over and over again lately how many things I thought I learned, but I forgot. Or I became static - and stopped being careful and attending to things and so I regressed so to speak. Not to mention, there is no moving "up".
That's what living with your in-laws does to you, among other things.
My father-in-law turned his ankle...two months ago, or so. He's overweight and waddles. He never takes strides, so it's hard to imagine how he hurt his ankle - but one look at how he wears his shoes, and its surprising he hasn't done it sooner. I'm not sure how he even manages to walk because his foot lays across his shoe with the heel hanging off to one side and his toes not quite all the way in the shoe. He came to Ankara last week and went to the doctor the next day for pain meds for his ankle.
He also bought a bag of salt. Table salt. He poured the table salt in a frying pan to warm it up, then poured the warm salt into a cotton sack and used it as a compress. He asked me if we did this in America. I nodded, but said we used epsom salt. I tried to add that we also put this salt in warm water, but his hearing aid was whistling - a now constant state. He smiled - proud that we shared a tried-and-true cure.
I shook my head.
I called my mother-in-law on the way home to see if we needed anything for the house.
"No," she answered, "not now."
"Do we have enough bread?"
"We have a loaf and a half of bread."
"Is it enough?"
"For tonight, it's enough."
"Is Baba going to get bread in the morning?"
"No, he can't walk."
"So I should get bread."
"If you want, if you can't Gokhan will get it."
Now, I could tell the hundred irritations I have with that conversation, but it's not my point. My point is my reactions in my heart, my judgements, and my lack of grace. My inability to not react, and cut through the chase and say - Woman! I'm offering to pick up what we need - tell me what we need!
My brother-in-law was laid off from his job just before the new year. He's home now, and the cycle begins again. Looking for a job, depressed, at home... but it's different this time too. With my father-in-law ill, it's a comfort to have him home. We was working too many hours and not being paid consistently. He often claimed to be working on "projects" at night and on the weekend as well. I'm not sure I totally believed this, it sometimes seemed to be an excuse to withdraw to his room - and now that he's not working, he's still withdrawing - but the kids are good for everybody. I mean, you CAN'T ignore them. They wake you up, demand to be played with, take things from your drawers, and just hearing their little voices make sentences melts all of our hearts.
Gokhan is now doing the grocery shopping...sort of. He is running to the store and buying cheese, white bread, eggs, nuts, coke...all his favorite things and things that are killing his parents, but they love too. I'm not so sure how thrilled I am about this.
But, in light of all the things we are all facing - some things will and need to fall away. I saw this colleague of mine again today. She had seem pictures of Teoman and Tomris I had posted and commented on how amazed she was about how they've grown. She also lamented about her loss last spring - well aware of what her choice meant to so many people that were hoping for child but could not. She said, "I'm not happy about it, but what I did was right. Even my mother supported me because I wasn't doing well last spring and I'm not happy in my marriage. Maybe one day. Time will tell."
And today my heart broke for her. I know seeing my two children so happy and beautiful in the face of her own struggles can only raise a whole bunch of bad feelings. And here in is the switch I'm seeing in my own heart with my age: There is a point in life when "high school" reigns. Comparing yourself to others situations, getting affirmation from "likes" on Facebook. Sharing what you accomplished and feeling validated by it. In my own school, I feel as if I suddenly became part of the "cool" crowd, friending all these people - and it feels horrible. Because...because...there is just so much tragedy in everyone's life. Everyone has a very rich story, but it's so much more than what we tell in our daily lives. I don't necessarily want to dwell on it, but I don't want to dwell on the superficial either. The superficial is super lonely. Social media is connecting us so much more now, and disconnecting us at the same time. What do I really want to know about people? What they've overcome I guess, but that could be difficult because we are always over coming and struggles aren't so easy, and maybe aren't so wise to put on a public platform.
In my old church, we had a leader who was "struggling". I don't know what his struggle was, and it didn't really matter to me. What I will always remember is how the church handled it. The pastor announced that this leader was struggling, that God takes all through different times in our lives, and for this time it was best that the man did not stay in a leadership position. And then, several came around him, blessed him and prayed for him. I felt no condescension or judgment in the action, but beautiful example of loving someone just where they were at.
Maybe in the evolution of social media, we could get there. A page that pushes deeper conversation and relationship. With all the time we spend skimming the surfaces of media, will we ever break this habit? I will be going home soon to visit family - every visit I get together with two cousins from my childhood - we sit down and ask "How are you?" and we all know this is not a superficial question with a simple answer. We love each other, we have history, and we always have stories to tell - and these are what I want to hear.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
help me to accept the things I cannot change
It is so horrifying what children bring out in us. It's impossible to live under the belief any longer that I'm a pretty good person. I didn't consciously think this, but I'm realizing more and more that the belief is there. That I've leveled sin, and counted my level as not so "high". But my kids are constantly exposing this heart deception I have. No, I am not a murderer or abuser or a thug or a money cheater person (money launderer sounded too specific). But all these horrible actions start small - it's not a one day thing. And I've not had to be an addict to understand that I am just as susceptible to these things as the next person. Put me in a hard circumstance, and I'm not so sure I'd keep heroic ethics or a humble heart.
Words come to my mouth so quickly - sometimes I can stop it, and sometimes I can't. Horrible, manipulative, passive aggressive or all out threats.
"Mamma, why are you mad?"
"Because your UNCLE dumped tea into the garbage AGAIN and now the garbage is leaking everywhere AGAIN."
"Teoman GO TO SLEEP or you're sleeping by yourself in the crib!"
My plan today was to skip their naps. Maybe not a wise choice, but it was a rough night. Teoman took FOREVER to fall asleep. I turned on my computer at one point to do some work and Teoman turned in the bed to watch. I turned him over several times, patiently at first, encouraging him to sleep. Then, at one point I forced him over and swatted his bottom. It sounds so less dramatic writing it now, but I felt so horrible and mad at the time. I wanted him to sleep, I wanted to do my things, and I realized I was doing it all wrong - having the computer light on, having my own list of things to do, not being calm - and I couldn't interrupt the momentary cycle. I was starting to lose it. I started off with a gentle, "It's time to sleep." And "Close your eyes." But slowly it moved onto "You can sleep here, or in your crib - but you have to sleep." To "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" and "GO TO SLEEP!"
Listen to me, ordering my child to sleep. Ugh.
I tried, several times - to reset. I'd turn the lights off, snuggle... then I'd go crazy after a while with his ring twisting and kicking and my desire to get to other things. And what was I teaching my child anyhow? Obsession with electronics, spank or raise your voice when you're angry? Do-not-as-I-do?
We all have it in us - I know this, but for the first time over the past few months I've found personal meaning to "my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" 2 Cor 12:9 - out of context and only partially quoted here because I'm not done with my thoughts on this. But, my anger, manipulation, etc. etc. are all a part of my sinful nature that I cannot change. It was a devastating realization at one point, but I find these days an unexplainable hope that God's power will be made perfect in this weakness.
It took over an hour-and-a-half for Teoman to sleep. He was overtired and staring off into space. I couldn't sit still. In the end - I handed him off to Tolga who had fallen asleep on the chair in the other room with Tomris. Tomris woke up too many times that night (3? 4? 100?), and Teoman woke up and came to our bed in a chatty mood. He must of had a dream about a scary statue - because I came back in the room after putting Tomris back to sleep and he was talking with his Baba about how statues don't move, they can't talk, you can touch them, they are not people, and so on.
The morning we got lucky and they both slept in until 8:30. We had a lazy breakfast, changed everybody and headed out to the mall. I have a rule - we have to go the malls before noon because of parking, naps, and elevator access. There are too many people in Ankara that do the same thing and not enough elevators. It's like the roads, an elevator is a free-for-all and pregnant women, elderly, and parents with strollers be damned.
I do it though because we have to get the kids out of the house - or they begin to drive us all crazy. They are really noisy. Always. It's so sweet and funny but always hits a breaking point. Getting out with the kids is fun because everything is exciting for them and their noise and energy gets dispersed into the world and onto other people. The car ride, the mall and all the places to run, hide, mix up. We usually eat somewhere, usually break down and buy something, and then make our way back home. Tomris falls asleep instantly in the car if I put on kids music. Teoman fights sleep the whole way home.
We got home and Tomris was by my side, sitting next to me on the bed, standing next to me in the bathroom, sitting on my lap when I eat. Teoman was driving his large noisy dump truck around and around the house again and again.
Tolga his his maximum tonight with the kids too. Their noise and fighting and stubbornness. I totally understood his feeling.
Words come to my mouth so quickly - sometimes I can stop it, and sometimes I can't. Horrible, manipulative, passive aggressive or all out threats.
"Mamma, why are you mad?"
"Because your UNCLE dumped tea into the garbage AGAIN and now the garbage is leaking everywhere AGAIN."
"Teoman GO TO SLEEP or you're sleeping by yourself in the crib!"
My plan today was to skip their naps. Maybe not a wise choice, but it was a rough night. Teoman took FOREVER to fall asleep. I turned on my computer at one point to do some work and Teoman turned in the bed to watch. I turned him over several times, patiently at first, encouraging him to sleep. Then, at one point I forced him over and swatted his bottom. It sounds so less dramatic writing it now, but I felt so horrible and mad at the time. I wanted him to sleep, I wanted to do my things, and I realized I was doing it all wrong - having the computer light on, having my own list of things to do, not being calm - and I couldn't interrupt the momentary cycle. I was starting to lose it. I started off with a gentle, "It's time to sleep." And "Close your eyes." But slowly it moved onto "You can sleep here, or in your crib - but you have to sleep." To "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" and "GO TO SLEEP!"
Listen to me, ordering my child to sleep. Ugh.
I tried, several times - to reset. I'd turn the lights off, snuggle... then I'd go crazy after a while with his ring twisting and kicking and my desire to get to other things. And what was I teaching my child anyhow? Obsession with electronics, spank or raise your voice when you're angry? Do-not-as-I-do?
We all have it in us - I know this, but for the first time over the past few months I've found personal meaning to "my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" 2 Cor 12:9 - out of context and only partially quoted here because I'm not done with my thoughts on this. But, my anger, manipulation, etc. etc. are all a part of my sinful nature that I cannot change. It was a devastating realization at one point, but I find these days an unexplainable hope that God's power will be made perfect in this weakness.
It took over an hour-and-a-half for Teoman to sleep. He was overtired and staring off into space. I couldn't sit still. In the end - I handed him off to Tolga who had fallen asleep on the chair in the other room with Tomris. Tomris woke up too many times that night (3? 4? 100?), and Teoman woke up and came to our bed in a chatty mood. He must of had a dream about a scary statue - because I came back in the room after putting Tomris back to sleep and he was talking with his Baba about how statues don't move, they can't talk, you can touch them, they are not people, and so on.
The morning we got lucky and they both slept in until 8:30. We had a lazy breakfast, changed everybody and headed out to the mall. I have a rule - we have to go the malls before noon because of parking, naps, and elevator access. There are too many people in Ankara that do the same thing and not enough elevators. It's like the roads, an elevator is a free-for-all and pregnant women, elderly, and parents with strollers be damned.
I do it though because we have to get the kids out of the house - or they begin to drive us all crazy. They are really noisy. Always. It's so sweet and funny but always hits a breaking point. Getting out with the kids is fun because everything is exciting for them and their noise and energy gets dispersed into the world and onto other people. The car ride, the mall and all the places to run, hide, mix up. We usually eat somewhere, usually break down and buy something, and then make our way back home. Tomris falls asleep instantly in the car if I put on kids music. Teoman fights sleep the whole way home.
We got home and Tomris was by my side, sitting next to me on the bed, standing next to me in the bathroom, sitting on my lap when I eat. Teoman was driving his large noisy dump truck around and around the house again and again.
Tolga his his maximum tonight with the kids too. Their noise and fighting and stubbornness. I totally understood his feeling.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
dementia
My father-in-law has never bothered with a medicine cabinet. He has a shoebox of medicines. Everything is in its place.
He is overweight, has diabetes, high blood pressure, and no thyroid.
At first, I assumed his shoebox were all prescribed medicines that he had to take because he was "sick" - that's how Tolga always described him. Then I realized it was also filled with medicines you would find in a medicine cabinet. My mother-in-law delivers the shoe box to the table ceremoniously with a glass of water.
He has all types of medicines in his bottomless shoebox. Some prescribed, some self-prescribed, some prescribed years ago...some daily medicines, some medicines for whenever he deems fit. Some for colds, some for injuries. Bandages, salves, cotton, antiseptics, vitamins, minerals, creams, antibiotics, an inhaler, cough drops, ear drops, eye drops.
When he sits down with it, I can't help but feel he's like an artist with a pallet of paints, about to create whatever inspires him that day.
But not a landscape or portrait painting. A splatter painting.
It's a pharmaceutical nightmare.
No one really knows what he's taking, when or why - beyond the three legitimately prescribed medicines. Sometimes he throws in an allergy medicine, or a cold medicine, or a vitamin, or - the latest: liquid iron. It doesn't seem like anyone questions him either. Random our pharmaceutical cousin will take a look, or Tolga will as - and Baba has a reason for every medicine - so he's mostly left to his own devices.
The problem is the randomness and inconsistency of it - Baba's always been famous for his belief in medicines from America, or medicines that instantly work, or made-up remedies (like drinking more water will counter the amount of sugar he ate that day) - he talks about them with amazement, and so we leave him to his childlike beliefs in the somewhat dangerous land of concoctions to cure his various ailments.
No one's taken command of the situation, occasionally different people will put their foot down about a certain medicine (the allergy medicine was making him sleep all day), or a certain habit (eating salty and sugary things), or an emergency surgery or a painful prostrate (but skipped the kidney/bladder issue because it was too soon/ he didn't feel like it / he felt better / he felt worse. I get this horrible feeling that things in Turkey are not followed through - by families or by doctors. Treatments and medicines aren't consistent, if not contradictory, and slowly people's health and lives are slipping away.
I've let the issues go as well - because of the endless frustration I feel with the lack of follow through.
Living here has also made me realize the reverse - how much I have taken from my own culture: how you must control your own health (vaccinations, check-ups, mammograms, etc.) preventive, proactive and irritatingly positive. "Good thing I've been going to get a colonoscopy for the last 20 years or I may not have found these precancerous polyps."
Creating another false sense of control. Another type of sugar pill. Happy, hopeful, annoying Americans.
I guess my point is that I am trying to find a middle ground here. I want to be health conscious, but not health crazy. As much knowledge as we have, we still don't know, and still can't control the outcomes. I know smoking causes lung cancer - but I know smokers that lived to an old age while a non-smoker that died at 35 of lung cancer. There's just no for sures, so accepting my Baba's shoebox of medicine has been an exercise in part of letting go of my "But you have to..." "But he should..." "But that's so bad for..." and so on.
But here's the wrench in everything. Our Baba has started to lose his mind.
He's always been a bit childish to me. Something Tolga shrugged off to his old age. Something my father called a gift. I guessed it was cultural differences - something I use to explain anything I don't understand.
A few weeks ago, he started complaining of bed bugs. I was horrified, but Anne and Tolga dismissed him for seeing things.
I started itching too.
He began wearing a winter cap (not unusual), socks, switching beds. Tolga took him to the doctor to get a blood check and a brain scan. His hormone levels were high and his brain scan showed nothing abnormal to his age ... maybe the beginnings of deterioration that come with age... and dementia. They changed his hormone medicine and have him a drug to help stop the hallucinations and help him sleep. Then he began washing his socks, multiple times. Putting plastic bags over his feet, a band-aid over his nose. Sitting on the balcony to "freeze" the bugs and taking multiple showers in the day. Sometimes just washing his head or feet. Shaving. Then shaving his head. Sleeping in a chair, in the hallway, in the bathroom, on the coach.
Tolga has argued with his father. Trying a logic tactic which has been actually quite comical because Tolga isn't really mad at his father. It's his way of talking him through it. He's also tried giving him a "special powder that kills bugs, from England, very expensive, and used only in the field." It was baby powder that Baba has spread everywhere. And now our house smells kind of good, just some powder stains here and there.
Tolga's has taken him back to the doctor several times, and today to the psychiatrist who quite quickly dismissed it as the early stages of dementia. But how does this happen so quickly? Were there signs? Could it be something else? And what is with this dementia? So many elderly people get it - and nothing can be done? There are medicines that help, sometimes - but what a heartbreaking disease! Families put their loved ones in homes because they can't care for him or her. And in their worst state they don't know anyone or themselves. They are aggressive or paranoid and having hallucinations and they are left to strangers that can better manage their care. What a terrifying experience. I may not have patience for foolishness or laziness - but for something like this ... is there not anything we can do to relieve what haunts them? How does that fit into Christianity? When you lose a person you love mentally but not physically? We are totally helpless to these diseases of the elderly, of the brain. Where is the Great Comforter for these people?
Or we all just in different states of dementia? Losing our minds and ourselves to our fears and thoughts and beliefs?
Tolga sat with his father, massaging his feet with oil to calm him down. Love isn't going to fix him, but it sure works as the best answer.
God bless my dear husband and our dear family.
He is overweight, has diabetes, high blood pressure, and no thyroid.
At first, I assumed his shoebox were all prescribed medicines that he had to take because he was "sick" - that's how Tolga always described him. Then I realized it was also filled with medicines you would find in a medicine cabinet. My mother-in-law delivers the shoe box to the table ceremoniously with a glass of water.
He has all types of medicines in his bottomless shoebox. Some prescribed, some self-prescribed, some prescribed years ago...some daily medicines, some medicines for whenever he deems fit. Some for colds, some for injuries. Bandages, salves, cotton, antiseptics, vitamins, minerals, creams, antibiotics, an inhaler, cough drops, ear drops, eye drops.
When he sits down with it, I can't help but feel he's like an artist with a pallet of paints, about to create whatever inspires him that day.
But not a landscape or portrait painting. A splatter painting.
No one really knows what he's taking, when or why - beyond the three legitimately prescribed medicines. Sometimes he throws in an allergy medicine, or a cold medicine, or a vitamin, or - the latest: liquid iron. It doesn't seem like anyone questions him either. Random our pharmaceutical cousin will take a look, or Tolga will as - and Baba has a reason for every medicine - so he's mostly left to his own devices.
The problem is the randomness and inconsistency of it - Baba's always been famous for his belief in medicines from America, or medicines that instantly work, or made-up remedies (like drinking more water will counter the amount of sugar he ate that day) - he talks about them with amazement, and so we leave him to his childlike beliefs in the somewhat dangerous land of concoctions to cure his various ailments.
No one's taken command of the situation, occasionally different people will put their foot down about a certain medicine (the allergy medicine was making him sleep all day), or a certain habit (eating salty and sugary things), or an emergency surgery or a painful prostrate (but skipped the kidney/bladder issue because it was too soon/ he didn't feel like it / he felt better / he felt worse. I get this horrible feeling that things in Turkey are not followed through - by families or by doctors. Treatments and medicines aren't consistent, if not contradictory, and slowly people's health and lives are slipping away.
I've let the issues go as well - because of the endless frustration I feel with the lack of follow through.
Living here has also made me realize the reverse - how much I have taken from my own culture: how you must control your own health (vaccinations, check-ups, mammograms, etc.) preventive, proactive and irritatingly positive. "Good thing I've been going to get a colonoscopy for the last 20 years or I may not have found these precancerous polyps."
Creating another false sense of control. Another type of sugar pill. Happy, hopeful, annoying Americans.
I guess my point is that I am trying to find a middle ground here. I want to be health conscious, but not health crazy. As much knowledge as we have, we still don't know, and still can't control the outcomes. I know smoking causes lung cancer - but I know smokers that lived to an old age while a non-smoker that died at 35 of lung cancer. There's just no for sures, so accepting my Baba's shoebox of medicine has been an exercise in part of letting go of my "But you have to..." "But he should..." "But that's so bad for..." and so on.
But here's the wrench in everything. Our Baba has started to lose his mind.
He's always been a bit childish to me. Something Tolga shrugged off to his old age. Something my father called a gift. I guessed it was cultural differences - something I use to explain anything I don't understand.
A few weeks ago, he started complaining of bed bugs. I was horrified, but Anne and Tolga dismissed him for seeing things.
I started itching too.
He began wearing a winter cap (not unusual), socks, switching beds. Tolga took him to the doctor to get a blood check and a brain scan. His hormone levels were high and his brain scan showed nothing abnormal to his age ... maybe the beginnings of deterioration that come with age... and dementia. They changed his hormone medicine and have him a drug to help stop the hallucinations and help him sleep. Then he began washing his socks, multiple times. Putting plastic bags over his feet, a band-aid over his nose. Sitting on the balcony to "freeze" the bugs and taking multiple showers in the day. Sometimes just washing his head or feet. Shaving. Then shaving his head. Sleeping in a chair, in the hallway, in the bathroom, on the coach.
Tolga has argued with his father. Trying a logic tactic which has been actually quite comical because Tolga isn't really mad at his father. It's his way of talking him through it. He's also tried giving him a "special powder that kills bugs, from England, very expensive, and used only in the field." It was baby powder that Baba has spread everywhere. And now our house smells kind of good, just some powder stains here and there.
Tolga's has taken him back to the doctor several times, and today to the psychiatrist who quite quickly dismissed it as the early stages of dementia. But how does this happen so quickly? Were there signs? Could it be something else? And what is with this dementia? So many elderly people get it - and nothing can be done? There are medicines that help, sometimes - but what a heartbreaking disease! Families put their loved ones in homes because they can't care for him or her. And in their worst state they don't know anyone or themselves. They are aggressive or paranoid and having hallucinations and they are left to strangers that can better manage their care. What a terrifying experience. I may not have patience for foolishness or laziness - but for something like this ... is there not anything we can do to relieve what haunts them? How does that fit into Christianity? When you lose a person you love mentally but not physically? We are totally helpless to these diseases of the elderly, of the brain. Where is the Great Comforter for these people?
Or we all just in different states of dementia? Losing our minds and ourselves to our fears and thoughts and beliefs?
Tolga sat with his father, massaging his feet with oil to calm him down. Love isn't going to fix him, but it sure works as the best answer.
God bless my dear husband and our dear family.
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