I am still writing occasionally, but I stopped posting because my topics are all over the place. I would like to have a little more control. A little more start, finish, circle back, closure. A little less irrational rants...
Ho hum.
I look back on the last two months of my writing, and well - its just where I am at. It's very honest - maybe more so because I wasn't "publishing" it. But I want to see progression.
Double ho hum.
So I'll stick with, for now - what is progressing. My days. Our children. Our beautiful little ones with those personalities and vocabulary and sentences and humor and tantrums that surprise us everyday.
Yesterday was a holiday - Youth Day. I brought the kids with me to school. Tolga came as well. As we were preparing to go, Teoman disappeared. I could hear his little feet pattering back and forth as he rooted around in different rooms. I peeked in on him, and saw that for maybe the first time, Teoman "got ready" to go. Which means, he found his Paw Patrol backpack and FILLED it with his toys - mostly cars. The backpack was so heavy that when his Baba helped him put it on he fell over.
We brought their scooters to the school. Tomris went inside with me for only a few minutes, then I left them both in the park to play while I watched the ceremony.
I say this on every national holiday - I wish America put more ceremony into holidays. I suppose its making all the students and teachers come back to school on the holiday to attend a commemoration of the day - in dance, song, speeches, videos - this coordinated and concerted effort trains the students to respect the day, and reminds the adults.
I also got a hair cut today. This is mentionable because it usually a 3-4 hour ordeal and so Tolga had to watch the kids (who refused to nap) while I had 3 hours of PEACE. I love getting my hair done. I love having my hair brushed and washed and brushed again, and snipped and styled. I read a book. A book! They serve me tea and coffee, and I JUST SIT, and enjoy my book. When I was younger - we had a hair cutter come to our home. (I suppose I can't say stylist when you're just coming out to cut five kids hair). I hated those days and I would run to the bathroom and brush and brush my hair for her. Our hair cutter would come to our house and rave about the boys hair and get to mine and yank on it and complain how snarly it was - then my mother would say, "Rachel, I told you to brush your hair." It as so embarrassing to me, but every time it was the same conversation. I have told my mother this several times in my adult life, and she always just dismisses me with a laugh. I suppose it is funny, except its not, and to a large extent - I am still shy about getting my hair done. I still judge a hair stylist as to whether they comment on my snarly hair or not.
I was getting my hair highlighted today and when the young helper took out all the foils my hair just piled up and tangled into large mess. They were brushing it out and I heard the young helper comment at how snarly my hair was. HORROR! But the hair stylist dismissed him and said it was normal because ... and here is where I lost some in the translation - something about Turkish hair versus my hair and I guess because of how they highlighted my hair ... I'm not so sure, but I was defended either way. So even though the highlights are too bright and he didn't ask me how I wanted it cut or styled - someone defending my hair was all I needed. He could have colored it purple.
Tolga came with the kids at the very end my haircut. Teoman sat on the chair to get his hair cut. The barber originally said he wouldn't cut his hair because he was too young and he needed a razor, but then when he saw Teoman's hair, he changed his mind. I'm not sure why he thought he could do it with scissors and not a razor, but whatever. Teoman has only had his hair cut three or four times in his very short life, and he tolerates the cut and was even excited to get his hair cut today - but he still gets dead quite, kind of freezes with his mouth open, and flinches with each cut. He also tries to dodge the hair dryer.
Tomris was watching and kept saying, "Not me! Not me!" (in English). Which was funny because normally she is hollering "Me too! Me too!" The barber teased her a bit, offering to cut her hair. She started crying with force.
I mean, come on, she did say - quite clearly - at least ten times, "Not me!"
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