putting three to sleep

Tomris insisted on wearing Tuana's
dress.  It's for 6-9 month olds.

This is how my day went:

Watching over Tuana

our beautiful daughters!

This is how my night went:

Turned on television for my no-nap toddlers to zone out while I make dinner.  (Anne is in bed with arm pain, Gokhan is somewhere too, but I have the patience for neither).
Tuana its on reclining baby chair and watches me smiling.
Gokhan comes out to help, Anne follows telling me Gokhan will put the dinner on the table - I let Gokhan take over and go back to picking up and organizing the kids toys.
We all sit down for dinner, and Tuana gets fussy.
Tuana has had a diaper blow out - I change and wash her - and our normally quiet baby cries a lot.
I nurse her, she sleeps, I lay her down, she wakes, up.  Rinse. Repeat.
I hand her off to Gokhan to change my overtired kids into their pajamas.
Kids want a treat, in an easter egg.  Teoman cries when I give him Whopper type egg because while he asked for chocolate, he meant jelly bean and just forgot the name.
Teoman cries because he can't pick the egg.
Kids brush their teeth - I have to wash off the toothpaste because one wants the pink one and the other wants the blue one.
Kids go and give kisses good night.
They stop in toy area to bring a car or three to bed.
I say only one, we settle on two.
Kids both climb into Teoman's bed.
I take cars away.
Tolga calls on FaceTime.  Tuana begins crying.
I talk to Tolga, nurse Tuana.
Teoman and Tuana aren't sleeping.
Teoman talks to his Baba, Tuana is fussy - wanting to sleep.
Teoman gives up the iPad, and both sleep.
It's been an hour-and-a-half and I finally eat my dinner.
Tuana wakes up.
I put her next to me and turn on the television - a new Avengers movie is on - Hooray!
5 minutes later, Tomris wakes up.
I bring Tuana into Tomris room and sit with her -instead of becoming more sleepy - Tomris wakes up more.
Tomris cries because even though the light is on, and I am sitting in the chair nursing Tuana - she wants me sitting right next to her.
I bring both girls into my room.
Tomris watches me as continue trying to clean up - she cries everytime I leave the room.
Tuana poops, I change her, feed her again, and she sleeps.
Tomris is on the bed, staring, and playing with her lip.
10:30pm - it has been over three hours - and finally, all three are asleep.

I could really go for a glass of wine now.

end of a chapter, start of a new

Today I gave noticed to my old job and signed my intentions with my new job.

I got an offer in dollars, emailed back and forth with HR about benefits and other details, and finally drove in today to talk with the director.  I wanted to see if I could negotiate some more money.

Except, I'm really bad at negotiating - I don't really have the heart for it.  I got what I wanted (and the standard for foreign teachers working there): my kid's tuition will be free, a higher salary with part in dollars, and I'll be a regular English teacher.  But I also learned I won't be getting free on-campus housing (which I had been hoping for), not air tickets home and other benefits overseas hire receive.  So I argued, isn't it to both of our advantages that I'm an in country hire?  

I really didn't want to negotiate for more, but I didn't want to be a fool for not trying.  Turkish workers generally don't negotiate and are underpaid (or not paid) because people are so desperate for a good job, let alone work, that to challenge (and that is what it would be perceived as) is to invite termination.  The school I was applying to had an American as the director - so I tried to negotiate so I wouldn't have a question in my mind as to whether I given a fair offer or not.  I don't want to find out down the road that someone is making much more than me because I was too passive.  I had heard from another person that worked there the standard starting pay plus experience - and if it were true, my salary wasn't enough.

I walked into the director's office, shook his hand, and thanked him for the offer.  I could see the concern on his face right away - I suppose he knew what was coming.  I said I wanted to talk about the salary, whether it could be reconsidered - whether my experience and degrees had been factored in, whether the lack of housing could be compensated in my salary, how my living in country was a big advantage because of my investment and familiarity.  The director broke eye contact with me when he answered.
"I'm afraid not."  He apologized, explained how these numbers had been pre-determined by a board, and this is how it was.

In retrospect, I should have pushed more - I'm a pretty good bet considering all the stuff going on in Turkey right now may scare applicants away.  But I didn't.  When he said "there's not funny stuff going on here", it was all I needed to here - and I was to shy to push for more.  Why would why?  Greed?  Do I deserve it?  I don't know, and I guess I don't really care.  I had been hemming and hawing as whether I should speak to them or not.  Zuleyha came with me and the baby and waited in the car.  I felt braver with her.  I had told her I wouldn't get campus housing - but it probably didn't matter as the housing seemed to small for our family.  Later we joked that I should have asked for two apartments.  Maybe in the future, I've always wanted to live on a university campus.

We drove down to my school from there, maybe five minutes away - to top universities within a few miles of each other with the kolej our elementary and secondary schools within the campus.  School was just letting out and the parking lot was a bees nest of cars and parents.  I parked far away to avoid the mess, and brought Tuana inside to meet whomever was there.  I spoke with the school principal to give my notice and sign a paper.  She said she was sad, but not shocked.  I told her I wasn't coming back, waited for her reaction, and then told her why.  I didn't have to tell her why... I could have let her believe it was for my kids' sake, but I told her in case they want to give me a counteroffer.  But, I highly doubted they could match my new school's offer.

Two assistant principals were waiting in the office.  The could smell something was up, and were waiting outside the principals office, awkwardly silent when I came out.  The principal wasn't discrete, and asked for the form in front of the others.  No one looked at me, so I tried to make a joke.  (I tend to make more jokes when I'm nervous) but, I can't remember what I said.

I left school feeling different.  Sad that I would be leaving friends there, anxious about saying goodbye, nervous about starting at a new school. . .

So I stopped and bought donuts to celebrate or comfort eat ... I'm not sure which one.

Baba's world

Baba has an unfettered love of life: flowers, bees with pollen on their legs (I once witnessed him trying to pet one), animals, old and young, neighbors, trees, his children and grandchildren - it is endearing.

Dede loving Tuana

Baba has never seemed fully with it since I've met him.  Part of it is his hearing, part of it is the language cultural barrier and me not being able to read him.  And part of it's him.  At some point Tolga took over being the dad in the family and Baba seemed to happily recede to his childlike self.  Dementia seems to come and go - but again, it's always been hard for me to tell because some of his beliefs have sounded like dementia to me  (i.e. lemon water will counter the effects of sugar in his body after eating a forbidden sweet).

He began anti-psychotic drugs last year when his dementia seemed to climax with hallucinations and OCD behaviors.  He went on medication and they all went to Kusadasi to distract themselves with something beautiful.  Instead, in-between gardening, wet socks, and poor hygiene - Baba's toes turned black and spring was taken up with visits to the hospital, hyperbaric chamber treatments, and eventual amputation of his toes.  (Someone told us the oxygen helped his brain.)  He lost his appetite of this period of time, and some weight as well.  No one forgot about his dementia, but I think they wanted to believe it went away or got better.  

But these things don't just go away - and back in the close quarters of Ankara, Anne and Gokhan are noticing his mental status again.  They brought him to the psychiatrist who said he's doing fine, and changed his medicines to a lighter dosage.  The new medicine had Baba walking around with ants-in-his-pants last night.  I got up at five for and ice pack for my neck and Baba was digging in the fridge.  He spoke to me with big eyes and bad breath about his new medicine making him dizzy and so forth.  (I can't take him seriously - he also claims to be instantly better from the flu after taking FILL-IN-THE-BLANK medicine.)

Once I complained to my father, "He's so childish!" to which my father answered in admiration,
"What a gift."

American Sniper - review

I get my books from an online library - and when I logged on the other day my library was promoting "Big Read" - a sort of global book club - however, I don't know what it means other than worldwide access to the same book.  We'll see...

A recruiter called me once and asked me if I was interested in joining the army (or navy or something - I didn't really pay attention)
"Do I have to do push ups?"
"Umm... huh?"
"Do I have to do push ups, in the army?"
"Well...ah... during the basic training you will, but--"
"Sorry, I can't join."
"You don't have to do that many."
"But I can't do push ups."
"You can do girl push ups."
"Nope, can't."
"Not even one?"

When searching for a career, there was more than one time that I considered the army (and later on, the police).  I love rules.  I love service and community and teamwork.  I knew I could silently endure and excel even in training - I had no ego that feared being yelled at, I had the kind of personality that would take that kind of training as criticism that could only make me better.  I think I wanted to show that even though I was a girl, I could be tougher mentally than most - I wouldn't complain, I wouldn't slack - I'd buckle down and do my job.

But I think I mostly just wanted to do the obstacle courses.

The problem was I didn't want to fight ... I couldn't fight - with my chronic shoulder problems I had this image of some gung-ho instructor dislocating my shoulder and shouting "Suck it up!".  (I am so far from tough when it comes to my shoulder).  I still imagined spy-like and hero making situations but I think when it comes down to it I wanted to train, and then be a peacemaker, problem solver, or diplomatic go-between.


The book American Sniper kind of fills out (almost embarrassingly so) the image maybe the rest of the world has of American soldiers.  The main character comes from Texas, was a cowboy and goes through SEAL training, and goes on four tours during wartime accumulating the most kills for a sniper in history (160 - how do they know this?  Each kill must be witnessed and the details recorded in a notebook).  Chris Kyle is straightforward, if not simple - God, country, family (that order gets him in trouble with his wife, surprise surprise).  He's out to get the "bad guys" and protect his brothers.  It's not about the politics or what's politically correct - he has a job, sees things as black and white ("I always have"), and feels no regret for his actions, only for the idea that he could have / should have been doing more.

What I liked: It was surprisingly a good story - interesting, unique, and honest.  He was a committed soldier and his respect for soldiers and what they do came across.  He told stories from training, from war - with a lot of technical detail as well as emotion and humor.  He didn't hide the conflict he had at home and even included excerpts from his wife - she had short sections in the book where she shared her perspective of what was going on.  Their marriage problems were very real and understandable if not relatable.  I was maybe mostly impressed with how clearly they understood each others perspectives, disagreed, and yet still came out together in the end (because that priority conflict is a big one).  I also liked how the book ended - with Chris Kyle getting out of the army and continuing to invest in his brothers - through training schools, working with VAs, and helping others through rehabilitation.  And, as many know - after this book was published - Chris Kyle was killed by a veteran he was trying to help.  Appendices have been added to the book about this from his wife and the screenplay writer, as well as photos.

What I didn't like: War. Violence.  How men think its manly to beat the sh*t out of each other.  That stuff makes me sick.  He didn't get into those details, but made many implications how lessons were taught, etc - hazing, bar fights, and so on.  They say it's war preparation, and I know men in general are impressed by these things - but I (and maybe most women) never have been.

He referred to the enemy as "savages" and the "bad guys" - I understand why - and I realize I have the luxury to judge while sitting in my safe home whereas there is no space for debating those things on a battlefield.  It just sounded like brainwashing and too simple.  He fit the stereotype of brawny and brainless sent out to do the dirty work - and he did it without questioning and with a lot of pride.  He was looking for action.  I agreed with his wife's complaint that he was telling her "I'd do anything to be with my family" and yet he kept reenlisting.  He chose to get married, have kids, and leave them all (repeatedly) for his brothers at war.  He said it was selfish to not go, and to that I say then: it was selfish to get married and it was selfish to have children.

I also didn't like the joking.  I came across this a lot when working in the emergency services - it's a stress reliever, and emotional outlet that most everyone does to cope - so, I understand it... I just don't like it.  For example, in one story -  he told his friend to watch as he shot to young guys on a moped, the bullet went through both of them to which he commented: the taxpayers got their money's worth on that one.

Ugh.

Best lines: He got the nickname of "The Legend" to which his soldier buddy mocked and changed to "The Myth"

Worst lines:  So many that it's not surprising Clint Eastwood decided to direct the movie.  I like Clint, but some of his lines...

Also - the logo of the company he started: Despite what your momma told you... violence does solve problems.


Tell that one to my city.

He has risen!

At first he wouldn't smile, and then he gave me this

And  a concert before we left...

Teoman actually remembered the Easter Egg hunt from last year

It's Easter - those few Christian holidays where I can find Americans, eat American food, and feel American.  It means chocolate, easter egg hunts, ham, and the Hallelujah Chorus.

But this year it also meant potential terrorist target.

This is the email I received last night:

Embassy of the United States of America

Ankara, Turkey

Security Message for U.S. Citizens: Threat Against Places of Worship

March 26, 2016

U.S. Mission Turkey advises that Turkish media is reporting warnings of an Easter threat by ISIL against places of worship, including churches, synagogues and diplomatic missions. The Turkish National Police plans enhanced coverage for these types of locations. No specific locations are named nor is any of the information being attributed to the U.S.

U.S. citizens are reminded to maintain situational awareness and the ability to communicate in an emergency. Keep a low profile, stay away from crowds and demonstrations and avoid becoming time and place predictable.

I am registered in the STEP program and with the embassy so I actually receive these types of messages more and more frequently.  Usually the messages are indicating a protest and advising citizens to steer clear of the area.  All emails are concluded with web links for safety updates, travel advisories, embassy and consulate links, as well as a general admonition to be vigilant and aware of your surroundings, etc. etc. etc.

But this one made me nervous - so I talked with Tolga, talked with some military friends, and in the end decided to go to church anyways.  There are several churches in Ankara - but the one I go to is Tolga approved because it is so secure.  Nothing is foolproof, and there are always a million things that can happen anyhow - but the chapel is not advertised and its on the American military base which is inside the Turkish military base - which could make it more of a target but that game of trying to outthink danger never ends.  

So we all said prayers and went and made it back.  The only difference I noticed was at the first security checkpoint I stopped well behind the suburban in front of me, and the car behind me did the same thing.  We were all giving each other space. . . .

Ugh.


But then, I entered little America and its easy to forget what's out there when I look around and see everyone like me, in Sunday dress, singing from hymnals and sharing Bibles.  And while I don't miss America - I am still thankful for these moments.

beautiful smiles amidst spring petals

There are two amazing things about this photo:
How well they ate, and there is ham on both of their plates.

My Turkish-German sister-in-law sent me this
photo and Happy Easter Greetings ...
I'm confused but it seemed to complicated
to ask wha they were celebrating Easter ... I'm guessing
a foreign neighbor.  

rain, fat lip, and first smiles

Cold spell and rain boots

Teoman getting down from a chair, did the
chin-to-table, tooth-to-lip thing.

6 Weeks!

6 weeks!

get me in shape please

They day after my 33rd birthday, I got up out of bed in the midst of a hailstorm.  I picked up my camera and took a picture of the golf ball size hail and then the camera slipped out of my hand onto the floor.  I was tired - it was early in the morning and we had been out on the lake the day before.  I had even wakeboarded behind the jetski - I wasn't so graceful, but I did it.

So when I yawningly bent over I felt a pop in my lower back and my muscles seized up.  The pain took my breath away and I wasn't sure I would be able to take another breath -- just a repetitive short gasps --- inhaling inhaling inhaling until I would pass out.

The sensation was very similar to dislocating my shoulder - the feeling of something sliding out of place, the muscles spasming, trying to pull it back into place, and the breathlessness.  I concluded that I must have dislocated my back, and the next thing would probably be paralysis.

I learned later that I had fallen near to that huge statistical category that says 80% of employees miss work at some point due to a back injury.  I had missed it by two elements: I wasn't between 35-45 years old, and I wasn't actually employed.

I learned much later, when reading about back injuries that it is sometimes called a slipped disc because of the disc bulging or "sliding" out of place - which was exactly the sensation I had, but until that point I had thought was impossible.  I had injured it once more a couple years later at Target doing a very benign reach, a year or so later coughing, and then finally picking up Tomris.  After that time, I had an MRI to which the technicians commented on my scans: were you in a car accident?

So here's my theory.  In a freak collision on a turf soccer field whose foundation was unforgiving cement, I injured my knee.  I had surgery and I never fully regained my strength nor did I return to my active lifestyle.  I got fatter and weaker and disproportioned so my back became vulnerable and eventually injured.  When the doctor and the anesthesiologist showed me my scans, I cried.  I knew it meant I could never have my health back to what it once was - it was something I would have to live with and maybe the exhaustion of the pain, no sleep, kids, and now this - well, I felt the loss of my invincibility then, because there was no way to make that black area in my spine white again.

I started taking the idea of exercising for my health more seriously.  I'm still not that great at it - but while I was pregnant I took up walking everyday, and later swimming.  Last week, I began exercising again - while its really hard for me to leave home and the baby - I started with squats in my room.  I did twenty on each leg the first day and couldn't exercise again for three days because of the ridiculously sore.  Another day I was doing planks and Tomris was climbing on me - sitting on my back.  I was out a couple days after that too because the next day I felt it in my back.  I eventually made it to the gym and did the elliptical and treadmill.  The elliptical is easiest on my body, and the treadmill helps me keep up a pace of fast walking (otherwise I start to lolli-gag and daydream).  It turns out I'm a terrible speed walker.  I heard once it's all in the hips so I tried moving my hips more, but all that got me was another break in exercise because of back pain.

I have got to get my strength back.

but I need you..

I used to not understand people whom I thought were such good people - when praised, would just shake their head, barely able to take a compliment.  I figured their dismissal was part of what made them so great, it's not me, it's the grace of God in me.  
Sure, I thought, but because you are so humble and willing you can say that.  So, it's partially you too.  
Or they just hard on themselves - seeing their faults as bigger than they were.  But now I find myself in that position.

"Rachel you're such an angel for living with you in-laws."
"You're the perfect bride."
"Everybody talks about you, how amazing you are working and having small kids at home."
"Turkish brides don't get along with their in-laws, they wouldn't do what you're doing these days."

And so on...

I shake my head in embarrassment.  I appreciate and even soak up their praise, but it's embarrassing too because I know my heart - and it's far from angelic.  And so, I am beginning to understand these people that I admired, these people who I thought were acting humble but I believed to be superhuman ... well, I see why they didn't know how to respond.  It's hard to be proud when you are so aware of your own ugliness.  It's not false humility, it's not self deprecating - it's just the human condition.  Imperfect and in need of redemption. Every. Single. Day.

I can take this in a religious direction - about how God uses our weakness and is made strong - but it sounds insincere when I do that - jargon that not everyone can connect too.

So here's part of the truth of what I'm experiencing currently in our living condition.  My in-laws are in the house with us - a 4 bedroom apartment on the 9th floor holding five adults and three children.  I am very happy these days with a full house - it's a relief to have Gokhan getting groceries and the kids playing with their Babanne when I'm busy with the baby.  It's fun watching Dede do puzzles with Teoman and love on the baby.

They stayed with us almost the entire year for a couple of years.  But last year, they left in early April and didn't come back until this January.  I was visiting their house in the summertime.  Baba worked in his garden, Anne worked in her kitchen.  They were happy when we came, and sad when we left - but they all chose to stay, and stay for a long time.  They called and said how much they missed the children, and now they are here and are talking once again about how much they will miss the children when they leave again.  When the weather is warm enough they will go to Kusadasi.  They will be sad to leave their grandkids, they will cry - but they will leave anyhow.  We will give them money, the house, pay for the bus tickets and the monthly bills - and I will be alone.

So, when they are here - here's one of the phrases I fight with in my head.  I don't need you.  Everyone is so willing to help when they are here.  Anne wants to cook food - not for herself, or Baba or Gokhan - but for the kids.  She offers to help me with baths, or they baby, or whatever she can.  But alls I can feel is - they are all going to leave us . . . 

music in the background

Weirdly, popular music has never been a big part of my life.  I didn't care for lots of music when I was younger and I was terrible at understanding the lyrics, let alone learning them.  This has always been a source of embarrassment for me - because it's a conversation starter where people get to understand what kind of person you are and thread in many groups that draws personalities together, and a conversation I could never join.  Sympathetic people would try to reel me in by fishing through a whole genre of song titles trying to find one I liked or even knew - and I would sometimes try to play along, but mostly it just became more and more embarrassing ending in this awkward silence where a person tried to process the idea of how a young person could be so ignorant about music.  Older people said: ah, you're just to young for that song.  My peers would say: You don't know that song?!?  And younger people would say the same and add: Ms! You out of it.  Once I was at a bar my friend was waitressing at ... it was early evening and the bartender gave my $5 asking me to choose  a line up for the evening from the Jukebox.  I tried to decline but he pushed the money saying, "I'm sure you can find something to play."  I flipped through the CDs trying to distract my friend from her job long enough to get some decent suggestions.  She said, "Go with so-and-so, you can't go wrong with him."  So I found the artist she had suggested, and then had to choose one of his hundreds of songs ... I was so stressed at the impending embarrassment.  I had no idea if these songs were popular or not, bar appropriate or not.  The first song started playing and I just started choosing song after song blind, then quickly sat down not wanting to be associated with the one that picked that song not the jukebox - but secretly hoping my musical lottery picks would make people nod at my prowess.  To my horror, the bartender went over to the jukebox and unplugged it.

This writing exercise gave a first sentence prompt (shown in bold) - I was to build on the description for a thousand words - but instead I experimented with a few memories.

The first time I heard From a Distance by Bette Middler (place and action) I was in the 7th grade riding the district's yellow school bus in the dead of Minnesota's winter.  It was so cold even the sun was hesitant to come up.  Even though the bus had driven 15 or 20 minutes out to the country to pick us up, the only difference from the temperature outside was there was no wind.  I sat on my gloved hands to keep a barrier between my bottom and the unforgiving chill of the vinyl seats.  Our road was well maintained, but nonetheless, it was gravel and the thin window rattled against their metal casings, echoing in the hollow cold of the bus with Bette Middler as we barreled down 110th street.  I really really hated that song.  

The first time I heard A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton I was standing in the crowds at the PNC Art Center theater in New Jersey waiting for Dave Matthew's concert to begin.  This small girl came on stage or at least she looked tiny on the bare stage in her white dress and dwarfed by a grand piano.  I stood and listened to her numbly.  It was August 17th, 2002 and I had just received a text that my best friend had checked herself into the hospital for attempted suicide.

The first time I heard Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville I was plastered outside of the Tweeter Center in Mansfield, Massachusetts.  It was embarrassing that I had never even heard of him - but friends of friends had invited me along in their limo to drink a tub of margaritas during the hour and half drive - so by the time we got there the girls with the coconut bras and the guys with their Hawaiian shirts all blurred and swirled together.

to the embassy

I have a lot of help in the house - but I still have those moments where everybody needs me at once.  

The kid's friend Mina came over today - and I thought it would keep them busy while I worked on some paperwork for my school - but instead it just kept me busy.  

"Mama, Tomris pulled my hair."

(A little bit later)

(Tomris crying) "Abi pushed me."

"Mama, Mina doesn't want to be the little girl."

"Tomris is sitting in my way."

I was sitting at the table scanning documents and searching for files in between feeding or changing Tuana.  I also decided to get a start on warming up some lunch seeing as Anne had retreated to her room, Zuleyha was ironing, and Baba was hanging around the kitchen.  Tomris told me she was hungry too - which wasn't surprising, seeing as her and her Dede seem to be on the same feeding schedule.  They both almost always start eating their meals together before anyone else gets to the table.

So I heated up the yoghurt soup, boiled cauliflower, and boiled peas with ground beef, as well as the few dolma left - a boiled cabbage leaf wrapped around a ground beef and rice mixture.  Boiled vegetables is usually how things are cooked here - with a oil, tomato and red pepper paste, onion base that always makes the vegetables a bit soupy and washed in red.  

Turks have found me strange when I ate a green bean or snap pea raw or as a snack and I don't think I've ever seen a vegetable here steamed or roasted. 

Amidst all this - Tolga was calling to see what time we should leave.  I was on the embassy website too looking for directions - I still had to change, get the baby ready and settle down Teoman who was now crying because Mina wouldn't sit and eat lunch with him.

Tolga had come home and upstairs - he was nervous and stressed about driving to the embassy - worried as to whether roads would be blocked because of the recent threats as well as trouble finding parking.  He happen to come home when I had just sent Mina home with Emily, Teoman to his room with Zuleyha to put down for a nap, and Tuana to sleep after nursing her.  

So to him, I was just wandering around in my sweatpants.

argh.

At the embassy we had to leave most everything in the car as many things weren't allowed for security reasons.  People were lined up outdoors and every person had a clear slip cover with their documents inside - no one carried a purse, or a phone, or even a cigarette lighter.  As a US citizen, I could bypass the line I suppose, but we joined the line instead because our first appointment was for Tolga's visa.  However, when the Turks started noticing we were carrying a baby without a proper blanket on this cool day they all agreed to push us to the front.  There was another line of five or six waiting to get in the security room and those guards took as first as well.  

I had our papers in a blue multi-tab file - they were really strict in the past about bringing your appointment paper with a barcode but no one asked for these I suppose because our name was on their list as well.  We waited, interviewed, gave lots of documents - passports, IDs, birth certificates, marriage licenses, applications, transcripts, pictures - paid, and it appears both Tuana's passport and Tolga's visa will be approved and mailed to us in one to three week's time.  And hopefully they will return all the important documents we gave them too...

We celebrated with Starbucks.

Echo - review

It's refreshing to be back to my favorite genre - the last book sucked the life out of me.

I have read Pam Munoz Ryan before, and enjoyed her books - but this was one may be the best so far.  It was unique and beautiful.

There are five stories she spins - the first set in the late 1800s, and a boy's life is intertwined with an encounter with three girls from a fairy tale he is reading, but the story is unfinished.  The next story is set in Nazi Germany, the next on the East Coast of America, and the last in California.  All the stories are connected by music and a harmonica with "ethereal" qualities.  Each story is told, and then stopped at it's climax, then tied together at the very end.

What I liked: The historical contexts, the music connection, and the struggles.  The first boy's family is experiencing the propaganda of the Nazi's - the danger of not following, and the dividing power within a family.  The second story involves orphans and loss, the third involves a Mexican family and Japanese family - both experience segregation because of the war.

What I didn't like: The climax of each mini-story was actually skipped even in the end - each story stopped just before, and the end of the book resolved each story - but without the climactic moment.

What I wanted to know: The character of Kenny was interesting, but we never got know him - he ended the story but his generosity to Ivy's family and all that he did for her seemed to not have enough context.  His character needed more explaining to make him more believable.

Rating: 5 of 5

though the paces

First I interviewed with the Literacy Coach and the English department head.
Tuana and Zuleyha were in the car.
Then I interviewed with the middle school principals.  There were two - the English one and the Turkish one.  They just wanted to seem me for themselves.
Tuana and Zuleyha were in the car.
Then I interviewed with the director of the school.  He just wanted to meet me and learn a little about my background.
Tuana and Zuleyha were in the car.

I feel like I'm being vetted and I'm not sure why.  Or maybe I should know why - having met and worked with so many unreliable native English speakers.

And clearly, my mind is mostly with the baby because I can't bring myself to leave her at home.

They are planning on hiring me - but have yet to make an offer.  Why I do know is that they are not offering me the same as they would give a foreign hire which is absolutely maddening considering it is to both of our advantage to hire someone who lives here and is invested in the school and country.  My kids will go to the school for years to come - and they will have someone here consistently who is certified, qualified, and experienced.

The Director asked me if I had any questions and I didn't ask about benefits because I figured they had to do with Human Resource - but I suppose the Director would have been the person to fight for the extras.

Don't give me less because I live here - Give me the same if not more, because I live here.


But - I'm not very good at fighting for myself - especially considering my main goal is being accomplished: my kids education will be of no charge.  Besides that: Tuana and Zuleyha were in the car.  I got a baby to look after!

more to lose now

When I was younger, I was excited at the idea of challenge and struggle - I was waiting for a hard thing to happen to me so I could seek God and have a testimony to tell of how through this and that God saved me, how in my darkest hour I called on God.  I mean - I'm pretty sure I was jealous of all the backsliders out there because they had such good stories to tell.

I thought junior high was hard.  I had written on my locker what would Jesus do? long before it became a fad and a bracelet.  It came out of our family devotions and the book the phrase come from, In His Steps.  Junior high was hard.  I'm pretty sure I cried about something every single day.  It was, at least hard, from the perspective of a junior higher.  And high school wasn't much more fun either.  I had hard days - relatively.  But in a way I embraced those days - I prayed and believed, or at the very least believed something would come of those days.

And now I don't find myself as eager to embrace struggle and hard days.  I don't really want it any more even though I know they are coming - I'm seeing myself on a path of total pain avoidance, which I know will more likely lead me to pain I could have avoided.

When I was younger I wanted the adventurous life - one that trusted God.  Where I took risks out of faith, without knowing the outcome.  I don't desire those risks any longer, and I am disappointed in myself for this.

I'm planning, planning, planning, budgeting, without asking, or risking.  Just ploughing through the pages, but losing the adventure.

And, I kind of want to be adventurous again.

Kind of.

Update in pictures...

I have waiting for a couple of books to become available on my online library, and in the end settled for two.  The first was from an adolescent literature author I like, Jerry Spinelli.  

What I liked: The use of eggs to knit the story in the beginning and end.
What I didn't like: I think I already read this book, but I don't remember most of the beginning or the end, so I just flipped through it quickly and didn't spend time reading it again... it must not have been that good if I don't remember it.

What I liked: Some really beautiful lines that could stand by themselves in a book of quotes.
What I didn't like: I found her mid-life faith crisis boring, her failed marriage depressing, and her stories too vague.
What I would have liked to read: More personal anecdotes.  While I liked her intelligent references to other writers, I couldn't connect to it.

So let me move on to the week in pictures.

One month old - bear and rabbit for scale

Tomris is a really good eater - when she gets going she eats
just like her Dede

Baba was away this week - His hotel showed
none of the football matches so Gokhan
propped the iPad infant of our TV so Tolga
could watch the games over FaceTime

They love to sing and make music...sometimes
really REALLY loudly

5 weeks old

Working on smiles in the
morning

what do you wrestle with?

I'm going to a BS (that is, Bible Study) on Thursdays on the American army base.  It's through the chapel and so I knew a few people, and now its been a couple of weeks and I know most of the eight to twelve women.

I missed this - I forgot about this.  A woman's Bible study was how I really got to know and get connected to the women in New Jersey - and I already feel it here -  in just these couple of weeks.  (I LOVE maternity leave!)  I enjoy the company and found a few sisters (they don't know yet, but I'm pretty sure we are on the same plane).

So last week and today posed good questions:  What are some adversities you have faced and some lies you tell yourself about this?  I'm doing the exercise here - because while I hadn't thought about it before, I know there are things I've been telling myself that just aren't true - and maybe if I could just identify them, they would take a little less of a hold.

Belief: I am an outsider, I'm weird.  I am a yabanci, a foreigner - never to be on the in.  I don't fit.


I don't feel this with Tolga, we share everything, talk things out if there's a problem, and when I feel on the outside, I tell him and he gives me the affirmation I need to dismiss that crazy outsider feeling.  And, over the years, the feeling comes up less and less.

It is a feeling that occasionally flares up when something happens and turn me into a suddenly short-of-breath panicky person thinking crazy thoughts when something seemingly benign to everyone else has happened.

This feeling most often came up when I was around Hakan and his wife.  My sister-in-law takes on the traditional role of the Turkish bride with all its duties.   When my sister-in-law comes to our home in Kusadasi she takes over serving tea, and she won't accept my help (that's her German side).    My brother in-laws don't call me abla or yenge.  The house no longer feels like mine or ours - but that I'm a visitor, or worse a spoiled useless guest sitting while my sister-in-law is sighing and serving Anne, Baba, her husband Hakan, and whomever else needs to be served.

The reason this feeling of being an outsider is hard to reconcile is because in some ways I keep myself on the outside in my attitudes that are criticizing and condemning certain cultural habits.  For example, I kind have wanted to smack Hakan upside the head when he sat down and asks his wife, multiple times to fill his tea while she is juggling cooking and babies or limping from a turned ankle or a hurt back.  I get irritated when Anne is still serving Gokhan tea and preparing the table in spite of having cooked all day or in spite of some ailment - while Gokhan has done nothing but stare at his computer all day.  So, I want to be on the inside, be their abla or yenge, without embracing all the traditions.

I'm okay with wives serving their husbands, I'm just not okay with the tradition creating lazy men and  overworked, resentful, and ailing housewives...

Sigh.

I guess that's what makes me the yabanci.  It's behaviors that my Turkish family and others do - the ones that I can't understand, the actions or words that don't make sense to me - these are the ones leave me sometimes standing on the outside holding my backpack of beliefs and bags of common sense and suitcases of my own cultural thoughts.

So where's the untruth here?

disaster plans

My sister sent an email to the whole family about disaster planning - she sent an outline of questions and planning created by Ramsey County in Minnesota.  Her reasoning for sending this to the family was "in light of the recent bombings in Ankara and because disaster planning is my job".  (She's a BANKER...)

Okay - so it's wise to talk about these things in the very least.  But it's also so American.  The idea that we can plan and control events in the event of a disaster.  And, to an extent, I suppose we can make a plan for organizing emergency services, mass casualties, natural disasters - I've gone through training drills myself on the ambulance corps, coordinating with fire and police, triaging patients, etc.  We try to prepare for all angles - so we won't be helpless.

And we need to do this, to an extent - but this also seems to build and existence around the fear of the unknown, and the illusion that when the unspeakable happens, we can handle and control the next steps.  This is the confidence and pride of Americans that cannot imagine a situation where in all our strength we could be helpless.  But seriously, is hiding in the corner of a classroom really a good disaster plan for a school shooter.  Are these the kind of events we are no preparing ourselves for - the million what ifs.

And yet, haven't we all lived through situations where we have been helpless to change the course of events happening to us?

So, instead of going into that - I'm going to take time to make fun of this disaster plan instead.

1. How will we get warnings? Air sirens - no.  Media - assuming its working.
2. What are our hazards?  earthquake, bombings, coups d'etat, war
3. Household safety equipment: fire alarms - one, check.  Carbon monoxide - nope.  Fire extinguisher - nope, Flashlights and batteries - somewhere.  Emergency radio - I don't know, do they have emergency channels here?
4.  Emergency Kits: I watched a presentation on earthquake preparedness at the high school here once - part of their emergency kit recommendation was a C-collar.  I thought to myself - great, we'll have lots of people with broken necks walking around.  Here, they recommend an evacuation kit, shelter kit, and car kits ... that's a lot of kits laying around ...
5. Evacuation plan - As in, how to evacuate your home, i.e. two exits in each bedroom.  That is an extremely novel idea for this building (or any apartment building in Turkey) to have two exits at each window.  You're lucky to have two exits within the building.  Also, it suggest to have an evacuation plan of the neighborhood - following road closings and guidance of emergency services, and a shelter to go to.
6. Communication plan - How will we get in contact with each other? How will we find each other?
7. Pet info, out of state contacts, other important contacts (doctors, family, insurance, etc.) - really?  pet info?  To quote Royal Tenenbaums: Too late!  Leave the dog!  Go! Go!

And how far will we take this planning?  My brother Aaron bought a bow and arrow just in case he has to hunt for food one day.  Another American I know here bought brass knuckles for himself, pepper spray for his girlfriend, and stores small water jugs (he says the small jugs are easier to carry and barter for other things you may need).  or to even do any of it in an orderly fashion in the midst of it all.  But then I remember the stories of how all the workers inside the Twin Towers orderly evacuated the building, quickly and silently down so many flights...and then I flip to our school's fire drills that involve skipping, singing, and squealing with excitement while we line up within flame licking distance of the building.

We've talked about worst-comes-to-worst - living Arvin's mountains, where we met.  Or Kusadasi, where it's warmish.  The emergency plan is good, I suppose, I just can't imagine remembering to grab all that stuff - to remember which kit is in which place, or to check and restock.  And to sit and dwell on all the what ifs and create plans and strategies for each - its a lot of energy, time and thought spent on some very dreary stuff.

What I do know is this:
In the earthquake in Izmit in 1999 - Tolga was in Izmit and his family was in Artvin.  They had no way of contacting each other to find out if Tolga was okay - phones, Internet, nothing was working.  Hakan got on a bus in Artvin - there was no room and so he convinced the driver to let him lay in the compartment where the driver sleeps.  It took 24 hours for hime to travel from Artvin to Izmit, and somehow, in the midst of all of it - Hakan found his brother.  

treating others

When I was young, Thanksgiving was usually hosted at our house with a small mix of relatives.  I don't even remember which ones - I think from my mother's side.  It was a fun, except for the days (or was it weeks...) before spent cleaning everything.  My mother put us to work - and while I don't remember doing anything exceptional, I just remember hating it.  If there is anything my mother gets embarrassed about, or obsesses about, its cleanliness.  She washes towels after a couple of uses, she has tons of cleaning rags, she has packages or tissues in all of her purses, jacket pockets, and drawers.  She regularly washes and changes sheets to the point where we've all grown up obsessing over clean sheets.  (But I couldn't tell you the connection between clean sheets and Thanksgiving dinner - it was all a part of the pre-day great clean up).  I love a clean house - but even now - with all of us grown and gone - I can pretty much guarantee the washing machine (or dryer, or both) is running at their house.

Well, that is not the case here.  Or it is - but it's different.  It's not washing clothes and towels and sheets that are important.  The important things for a Turkish housewife to have when hosting guests are: clean windows, clean curtains, and cake forks.

After Teoman was born, Anne insisted we get special dishes for guests and cake forks.  I was reluctant to spend the money for guests that were unlikely to come - we had more pressing expenses at the time, but I relented for the sake of her and the culture I now live in.  Food is central.

Tolga is a selfless person as it is - but when it comes to food, generous preparations are the norm.  It's like a holiday when guests come over - or when we go somewhere.  Fun, but a little stressful.  Guests sit on the couch with small tea tables being brought out and plates of salty and sweet - cookies and biscuits and types of crackers are served.  Each plate is filled.  It's not a cup of coffee or glass milk and cookie.  It's three or four five different cookies, two or three or four different non-sweet biscuits, börek or cake or both.  And tea of course.  The host serves everyone, sits down but has to get up again before the first bite to refill tea glasses.

This is also why my American friend and I feel so relaxed around each other.  We get our own glass of water, we may or may not eat together, we feed each other's kids if they want to eat.  It's no big deal.  There is no expectation to put on tea or coffee, but we do it if we want or because we want to. Sometimes, this is my experience with close family and close relatives but it really depends on the person - some relatives will jump in the kitchen and help, when our guests came last week - Tolga served the tea and made his male friend help.

So last week, when we were at the park - I didn't think twice about offering the simit we had brought. Not because I'm Turkish, but because I'm practical - we have extra, little kids from around the park starting coming by and staring hungrily, no problem.  (All Turkish kids love simit).  Another American sat on the ground near us.  I had just met her and she pulled out the classic American food: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on sliced bread cut into your squares, kept in in a Ziplock bag.  None of those things have I ever seen in a Turks possession.  She pulled out a container of hummus too (surprisingly, also never eaten here in Turkey), and dipped mini carrots in it to snack.

I didn't think twice about her actions either, however Tolga pointed out later - even if she had brought the food for herself, even if there wasn't enough, even if it wasn't a food that can be shared because your dipping into - she should have offered her food first to others.  This is the expectation of the culture - everyone does it.  I've taken the gesture for granted as just nice.  Even natural.  Someone is eating, they always offer to share - it's normal among friends.  But it's normal among strangers too.

Sometimes, lots of times, I'm so embarrassed that our first thought is not of others.

what's going on over there?

My sister asked me if I was scared via text at five in the morning.

I may be in denial, but I wasn't.  But whereas the bombing a month ago I was quite separated from mentally as my whole focus was on our newborn - this time I am sharing the heartbreak a lot more.  It may be postpartum hormones - but tears are coming easily when I hear sirens, see clips or pictures, or read words I half understand.

Am I scared?  America is just as scary, in a different way.  The danger here is more tangible - but the danger everywhere is just as uncontrollable and unpredictable.  I'm just more aware of it here.

What's going on over there?  Another friend asked.  Well here's my horribly simple and not so educated summary that I'm sure my husband will correct or add to later:

We live in a strategic location - a Westernized country, sort of democratic, and Muslim.  The go-between in more ways than one.  But Turkey some Turkish are Kurdish, and for the last thirty years or so have been fighting for their independence.   This group of people, a political party called the PKK has claimed or been accredited for various terrorist acts.  Two and half years ago, the fighting began again - mostly in the southeast of Turkey, mostly on military, and probably being encouraged by the war and gains of Kurds in Syria.  The US has labeled the PKK as a terrorist group, but they are supporting Syria's equivalent group - which Turkey is not happy about.  Turkey has been actively attacking Kurdish military camps.  Turkey's government isn't so nobel though - and some have questioned whether the ruling party is behind some attacks in order to recruit sympathy and favor for their side while proving the other side to be dangerous and justify military responses.

First it was at a peace rally outside of train station on a Saturday morning, than it was a military bus on a Tuesday night.  But why a city center was targeted on a Sunday night?  A place that is a major transfer point for public transportation, a time when families are going home and young people are going out?

I don't know.

ben-gay and soup

Anne woke up from her nap unable to lift her right arm.

The whole house smelled like Ben-Gay.  Baba asked me for the hot water bottle - I assumed it was for himself because he had showed me his neck this morning with a grimace, but I heard a couple of minutes later Anne telling Teoman she couldn't play because her arm was hurting.

I looked in on her and Anne had a miserable look plastered on her face with an impressive grimace.

The next morning Anne didn't get up again.  Baba was up and hungry so he went into Gokhan's room to get him up to make breakfast.  It took about a half hour of Baba going back and forth from Gokhan's room encouraging him to get up.  He didn't get mad or impatient.  He just said,
"Let's go my dear boy.  I need to take my medicine."  And when Gokhan finally got up, he showered him with praise.
"My dear boy."
Gokhan came to the kitchen and started emptying the dishwasher.  When Anne's sick I am especially grateful that Gokhan is here.  He and his father help her, sympathize with her, and Gokhan takes care of things like breakfast and seeing if she's okay.

 Anne stayed in her pajamas and in bed - coming out for meals at Gokhan's order.  She told Teoman she's only eating soup because she's sick.  Gokhan and Anne discussed the source of her arm pain and concluded it was because they had left the balcony door open and the cold air had come in.

But the soup seemed to help.  After Anne's nap - she took a shower to wash off the Ben-Gay - and came out smiling, looking fresh and clean announcing she was much better showing us all that she could move her arm now - albeit not easily.

Soup - it's not just for colds.

presenting...me!

I think I'm really bad at interviews.  I'm not sure why - false pride, slow wit - it could be anything.  I really wish I could get feedback from someone - but I realized after hearing my sister talk the other day about someone who interviewed badly, that I'm not sure I'd have the courage to ask.  Of course, it could be some simple reason like they wanted someone younger/older/with this experience/with that degree, or more frighteningly - it could be because of some personal flaw, something I don't know, never saw - and once my interviewer pointed it out - it would inflate and encompass my whole vision, embarrassing, shaming, and shadowing all interviews from that point forward.

Unlikely, I know, but that's just how skewed my perception can get when left to its own devices.

I think I interviewed badly because I don't sell myself.  I believe in myself, sort of, but I'm not good at selling myself.  Part of it is my Scandinavian/Peterson side that has routinely over the years not dwelled on successes or touted them for others, so much so that I hardly recognize successes as much more than me doing my job.  Not to mention, I feel quite shy about showing what I've done - partially because I'm not always confident as to whether I've done something so educationally sound that it should be shared with all, partially because I know only some things I do are good, while some things I do are bad which makes me feel like a fraud, and partially because - well, no one seems to really care about what I've done.

And then I read two recommendation letters from previous co-workers.  I'm almost just embarrassed at my inability to see myself correctly as my inability to interview.

I expect certain things from myself - and I know that I can be flexible, teachable, hard working, committed, a team player, and diplomatic -  but I kind of forget to mention those things.  I forgot to mention how I tackled new challenges willingly, how I enjoy looking for new material to motivate my students, how organized I am with data with all of my students organized into charts and comparative tables - something I made just to try it.  How I have a locker with files A-K to each class section.  How I have created the curriculum to coincide three different curriculum changes - complete with lesson plans, powerpoint, worksheets, quizzes, exams, PDFs, and interactive kinesthetic activities.

Instead, when they asked me "Do you use technology in the classroom?"  I said, Yes I do.  I use a computer.  I turn it on.  I create things to go with the lesson and show it not the Smartboard.

I gotta start seeing myself rightly.

good guys

sometimes you need a shield to sleep...

Tomris pooped and peed in bed last night.  I thought Teoman was tired because he hadn't napped - but it seems Tomris proved more tired.  I'm not exactly how she managed to poop without waking up.  Or possibly, it was poop stuck from going potty before she slept ... I can't figure out how she managed this one.  So we got up, I peeled her clothes off her while she could barely stand, washed her legs, and put dry clothes on.  All the while Tomris slumped over me, bear hugging my head while I knelt down to change her pants.  She woke up just enough to spot their Captain America shield key chain - a "toy" they love to play good guys and bad guys with.  She grabbed it off the sink ledge and climbed into my bed while I washed out her clothes.  By the time I got back to bed, Tomris was already sleeping again - no longer gripping her shield.

Tuana is one month old now.  The kids woke up late - 8am - and my morning trying to get some work done went like this: take out computer, change kids clothes, get serial, help child to bathroom, clean up spill of other child, open computer, take out printer/scanner, eat breakfast, nurse baby, finish eating breakfast, change baby, scan document, playing the "bad guy"to Teoman's good guy, scan another document, throw pillows at Teoman and Tomris, nurse baby, send email of documents... and so on.

Superheroes is still a big theme these days in our house.  Tomris doesn't quite get out to fight good guys and bad guys.  She likes the tough talk, the capes, and the pretending - but if I fall down as if I'm the bad guy getting hurt, she'll help me up.  If I take a bear hostage and Teoman saves it, she'll get it back for me.

One Month Old!

I love being home, but it's hard to get things done - and I surely don't want to sacrifice time with the kids - which leaves my other choice to be sacrificing sleep - and that's a hard one too.  Forget about exercising and getting back into shape.

After everybody's nap we made chocolate chip cookies together.  I have a stash of chocolate chips and Zuleyha caught us all dipping into the cookie dough.  She said,
"It will hurt your stomach.  I don't like dough." To which I said,,
"Ohhhhh, but you haven't had this kind of dough before - they even sell it mixed into ice cream."  I gave her a chunk and she was hesitantly tasted it.  I watched her face change from doubt to pleasure and I laughed.  Who can resist cookie dough?

We made cookies and Anne made tea and börek for our guests.  An American friend from school and his fiancé came to visit - to see Teoman and Tomris and welcome the new baby.  The kids were having a blast tackling Michael abi, and playing with Ipek abla.  Both kids kept coming back to me to fix their capes - a baby blanket tucked into the collars of their shirts - before scampering back into battle.

Our guests brought an outfit for Tuana, a bottle of wine for me, and presents from other friends: the woman who took over my position sent a gift with them for Tuana, and Mark - a large British man who's claim to fame was doing Elvis Presley impressions - had posted a package to school for our new baby.  (He only worked a few months with us before leaving via mutual agreement - he had had quite a hard time teaching children).

Tomris promptly put Tuana's new knit sweater on and was quite pleased with her self.  Teoman asked - where's my present?