tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-336044142024-03-14T00:36:58.754+05:30Did I Sign Up For This?! An Expat Mom's LifeOne family, 2 kids, 1 dog, and now 10 years of living overseas. Bangkok, Istanbul, Hong Kong, and now Delhi. New languages, new cultures, and lots of long-haul flights--watch the sparks fly!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173499761418247195noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-66567695246848079072010-03-14T18:43:00.002+05:302010-03-14T18:46:23.681+05:30Sigh. Oh blog, you mock me with your blank screen. I have been neglecting you. I know. So for this post I will chalk it up to the 8-week photography class I've been taking. And instead of a written post (sorry) I will put up a link to my newly created photo page. Some portraits, some travel-type stuff, and a lot in between. Enjoy.<br /><br />http://jbe.smugmug.comJennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-80348819977185471092010-01-03T20:08:00.014+05:302010-01-03T20:57:33.203+05:30As Seen on TV - Chinese Style<br /><br />For most of my days, I have been occasionally been amused by, but never actually purchased, some of the infinitely useful and reasonably priced gadgets "as seen on TV". The Flowbee hair cutting system, the Chia Pet, the Thighmaster, OrangoGlo cleaner...as appealing as they can be when you are sleep-deprived and nursing an infant at 3:00 a.m. I've managed to avoid dialing that 800 number. <br /><br />While shopping this past Christmas, however, I somehow fell under the spell of a product so magical, so obviously useful, and so adorable, I just felt that it deserved a coveted place under our Christmas tree.<br /><br />I stumbled upon it while shopping with a friend at a large Toys 'R Us in the New Territories. Even Geoffrey the Giraffe has managed to set up shop here in Hong Kong. While strolling through the "Fun Cooking" section while my friend was looking for plastic food for her kids, I spotted a large, green contraption that looked like a marble run but was, actually, a complicated slide that doubled as a noodle cooker. You placed your bowl of steaming hot broth at the bottom of the slide, put your pile of rice noodles at the top and poured your boiling water over the top, setting the noodles off on a fun-filled journey toward the soup bowl, and eventually, you stomach. It was 2.5 feet in diameter and stunning in all its glory.<br /><br />But that's not what I bought. Really, in a three-bedroom apartment, I DO NOT have room for any type of playground equipment for our food. <br /><br />What I did spot however, was the Pack Sand Maker. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CwDwDfjWI/AAAAAAAAABc/MwLtJwgF8k4/s1600-h/IMG_0219.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CwDwDfjWI/AAAAAAAAABc/MwLtJwgF8k4/s320/IMG_0219.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422527529839725922" /></a><br /><br />How could I say no?? Such cute sandwiches...such fun for the children...such joy I would bring to their boring little packed lunches. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CwpFVkOsI/AAAAAAAAABk/qQJEIvh6eR4/s1600-h/IMG_0220.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CwpFVkOsI/AAAAAAAAABk/qQJEIvh6eR4/s320/IMG_0220.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422528171207834306" /></a><br /><br />Egg salad! PB&J! Even chopped up ham and shredded cheese! The possibilities were endless.<br /><br />Plus, we'd be able to make croutons in the shape of hearts and flowers from the extra bread after we roll out our happy piggy sandwich shapes. Cause, you know, we used croutons so often! <br /><br />With school starting up again tomorrow, we began to experiment. Darcy opted for egg salad and made it herself. Lucas, always a traditionalist, chose peanut butter. It was clear that we'd have to buy squishy, crustless bread to make sure we could "seal" the edges. Here, in Asia, this bread is everywhere. We even managed to find the wheat version, rather than the Wonder White style that brought back memories from the 70s. According to the directions (suprisingly in English, even!), just line up the guide on the bread, fill it up with your choice of filling...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0Cx1DEMnNI/AAAAAAAAABs/8iSG4YRm4Tw/s1600-h/IMG_0213.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0Cx1DEMnNI/AAAAAAAAABs/8iSG4YRm4Tw/s320/IMG_0213.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422529476268170450" /></a><br /><br />put the second piece of bread on<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CyKGEzJtI/AAAAAAAAAB0/_w0eH5e1yA0/s1600-h/IMG_0214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CyKGEzJtI/AAAAAAAAAB0/_w0eH5e1yA0/s320/IMG_0214.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422529837853255378" /></a><br /><br />And it should look like this<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CzrOq89hI/AAAAAAAAACE/08LtKfAvAjc/s1600-h/IMG_0223.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0CzrOq89hI/AAAAAAAAACE/08LtKfAvAjc/s320/IMG_0223.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422531506608076306" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Ummmm, ours? Not so much. They looked like this<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C0K9XIctI/AAAAAAAAACM/Bx840jwz8uE/s1600-h/IMG_0215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C0K9XIctI/AAAAAAAAACM/Bx840jwz8uE/s320/IMG_0215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422532051717354194" /></a><br /><br /><br />Our poor little faceless piggy, oozing peanut butter. Tsk, tsk, tsk. No one seemed to surprised that our new Pack Sand Maker was not churning out the pristine little piggies as shown on the packaging. A family of cynics, that's us.<br /><br />So, it's now sparkling clean and packed up, ready for the next second-hand sale.Or maybe a small visiting friend who wants to dig out the playdough.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C09ccZdKI/AAAAAAAAACU/W8VDREegnuo/s1600-h/IMG_0222.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C09ccZdKI/AAAAAAAAACU/W8VDREegnuo/s320/IMG_0222.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422532919054398626" /></a><br /><br />And this is the lunch for tomorrow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C1QZ4ZN6I/AAAAAAAAACc/F_QI3lqQGz8/s1600-h/IMG_0211.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/S0C1QZ4ZN6I/AAAAAAAAACc/F_QI3lqQGz8/s320/IMG_0211.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422533244784031650" /></a><br /><br />Maybe unsuccessful, but oh, so entertaining.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-78318523763856558142009-11-24T14:08:00.002+05:302009-11-24T14:27:06.064+05:30My nasal passages have been assaulted by two very distinct smells recently. The first is cheese - not a bad smell, in my book. Matt bought a load of cheese to take to our friends in Istanbul as gifts from afar. While Turks do salty, soft, white cheese really really well, the cheddar...not so much. Pork products and cheese are the currency of expats in Istanbul and while living there, I would have much rather received either than flowers at any dinner party I hosted.<br /><br />But I digress. So he bought all this cheese, and then he forgot it. Oof. He also forgot the salami and parma ham. Those are stored safely in the freezer. But cheese doesn't freeze so well, so I'm left with a mini-fridge full of cheese. And now I'm looking for recipes to use up the cheese, preferably things I can freeze for later. Jalepeno cheddar scones caught my eye, and of course there's macaroni and cheese, but I'm not sure how well that would freeze. And while I will certainly eat some of it before he comes home, even I, cheese-lover that I am, can't eat that much. <br /><br />So if you are in the Hong Kong area and are thinking, Hmmm, you know what would taste good right now? Some CHEESE. Just come on over. Apples and crackers will also be provided. <br /><br />The other scent is the pungent odor of mothballs. I took the subway recently and the smell just about knocked me over. Strong and unrelenting, combined with a packed rush-hour train. Looooovely. Since the temperature dropped, everyone has raided their closets and dug out the winter wear. It's gone up above 70F/20C again, so maybe I will be spared for the next week.<br /><br />Thanksgiving is just a few days away and I have to admit, after 6 years overseas, it's the one holiday that can make me a touch homesick. Why? I think it's the fact that Thanksgiving is a simple, uncomplicated holiday. You eat turkey, maybe play some football (or at least watch it on TV), enjoy crunchy fall weather (at least on the East Coast where we lived), and then eat leftovers. There's not much else involved. And it's a national holiday, with no attachment to religious affiliation. So just about everyone is doing the same thing. And if we were in the US, we would be too.<br /><br />It's just the kids and I this year, so I think we'll have a turkey breast and the basic trimmings. With some cheese thrown in for good measure. And, if we get all the homework done, we can even watch the beginning of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade before bedtime. <br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving everyone!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-13045143226153896332009-11-05T16:39:00.005+05:302009-11-05T17:00:36.944+05:30Several Random and Completely Unrelated Recent Observations<br /><br />1. I was at the grocery store the other day, laden with several unwieldy bags. Definitely time for a taxi. I approached the store staff member stationed by the exit door "Excuse me, can you please tell me where the nearest taxi stand is?" She looked at me, smiled, and said, "You want a taxi?" And in that moment, I understood. She did what I so often did in Istanbul. Someone would speak a relatively uncomplicated sentence in Turkish and I would respond with my understanding of what they were asking, in the most basic of terms. Hoping that I got what they were asking.<br /><br />"Yes, I want a taxi." And thank you. I get it.<br /><br />2. People here are spoiled. Absolutely no doubt about it. Anyone can find inexpensive domestic help. But... I was walking our dog Teddy the other day when I came upon two domestic helpers walking one small dog. 2 people, 1 dog. They paused by a garbage can, one of them pulled a roll of toilet paper out of her bag, and wiped the dog's butt. I. am. not. joking. Then, she pulled more toilet paper off the roll and wiped each of his feet. In my ever optimistic frame of mind, I hope that was voluntary and not required.<br /><br />3. The weather dropped below 70F/20C for the first time since we've been here. Bundle up Hong Kong.<br /><br />4. Halloween was 4 days ago, and the day after, apartment workers were busy unwrapping and preparing Christmas decorations. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-22038783364345953082009-09-21T19:32:00.002+05:302009-09-21T19:43:39.956+05:30So, I’ve been writing this update in my head for a good long time and am now actually sitting down to do it. For the most part, all is well and I cannot complain. Getting settled in Hong Kong is miles easier than getting settled in our last post on so many levels. First, there’s the fact that so many people speak English. We are living in a large apartment block with maintenance people and staff to call when things inevitably go wrong. Supermarkets are well-stocked with plenty of familiar items. But, it’s still a new place where we don’t know anyone.<br /><br />The kids seem to be doing well at school, adjusting to the new curriculum and sailing along academically. Older daughter has started playing the flute for the band and is trying to catch up to her classmates who started last year. She’s actually doing very well, though she is frustrated that she’s not playing like James Galway from the word go. <br /><br />She’s also taking swimming lessons that eventually csn lead to a swimming team. The pool is a 50-metre lap pool. HUGE! After the first lesson she wobbled to the stands on legs that looked like they were made of jelly. While she’s swimming (and I’m waiting) I watch the Chinese kids who train in the same pool for the pool’s club team. Imagine 25 kids in each lane, swimming lap after lap after lap, keeping a distance of about 2 feet between swimmers, never more, never less. Like a well-oiled machine they just keep going and going and going. For those practicing backstroke, they take an empty yogurt drink container and have to balance it on their forehead while they swim. Unbelievable!<br /><br />She's made some friends though there’s some 5th grade girl meanness to deal with. One girl in particular is nice one day, not nice the next. We’re still learning the hierarchy but there seem to be a few small groups and then a large pool of mostly nice girls who sort of float between groups. Girl politics! Ugh.<br /><br />The smaller boy has also adapted well and is boldly speaking Mandarin enthusiastically. He has a fantastic teacher who I think he feels very comfortable with. The teacher is experienced and encouraging while setting the bar high for the kids. He’s taken up basketball, karate and golf, with lessons each week for both. He’s also playing floor hockey at school. Next term, who knows. There’s rugby, soccer, cricket, tennis – you name it, they can try it! <br /><br />I marvel at the way they’ve adjusted and then, BAM!, we’ll have a setback or a rough night with someone in tears. Tonight was the smaller boy's turn and I have to admit that I’ve not heard him sob that way in a long time. He was missing his friends from our last post, and named each and every one -- from his friends at school, to friends from our compound, to his favorite 13-year-old guy babysitter. I tried to comfort him by telling him we could send some e-mails tomorrow to say hello and he said, “I don’t want to just e-mail them, I want to TOUCH them.” It just about broke my heart. We’ve arranged for a playdate on Friday after school so slowly, slowly, we are getting there.<br /><br />My husband's job is only a short 15 minutes away. It has been a real treat to have him often home by 6:30 p.m. for dinner when he’s not traveling. We can actually eat together, or at the very least, have him home to help with a bit of homework and tuck in the kids.<br /><br />And me? Well there is certainly no excuse for being bored, as every possible activity ever invented is available for those who are interested. And yet, Hong Kong has a way of making you feel utterly and completely lonely sometimes in a way only a large, crowded city can. <br /><br />I’ve signed up for 8 classes of Catonese which is ridiculously hard as we are not learning to read or write, just speak. Throw in 5 different tones and words that start with a “ts” or “ds” sound and it’s an 1 ½ hour brain scramble. We learned that if you say the word for 9 with a “middle” tone versus a “rising” tone you will instead be saying the word for male genitalia. Proceed with caution!<br /><br />Grocery shopping, as I said, is relatively easy as there are plenty of familiar foods available. All displayed neatly next to the unfamiliar yet entertaining foods like chicken feet (imported from Brazil!), tongue, pigs hooves, and snacks such as BBQ-flavored shrimp puffs. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword because for so many years it was easy to keep my kids off crappy American snack food as we couldn’t find it or it was unbelievably expensive. Here, you can often find it and it’s merely more expensive. A slippery slope. And of course, there are 4 or 5 major chains and you can’t find everything you need at one place. Things come and go, so buy when you see it as it may not be there tomorrow!<br /><br />The weather has gone from scorching hot to just blazing hot. When the humidity’s below 70% it’s bearable. And when it’s higher, yuck. The kids have off a week at the end of October so we’ve decided to stay here and play tourists, doing all the stuff we would have liked to do when we first got here but couldn’t because it was just too hot.<br /><br />Ocean Park and giant buddha - here we come!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-85797535957835932292009-08-13T02:31:00.002+05:302009-08-13T03:20:16.480+05:30So, two hazy days in Hong Kong - hazy for so many reasons. The weather's been alternately rainy, foggy, drizzly, cloudy, stormy, basically anything but sunny. And warm in a way that reminds me of an unpleasant visit to a 70s-era retirement home, or a crowded, stuffy doctors office when you don't feel well. My mind's been in an award-winning haze from the 12-hour time difference and jet lag, trying to pull myself out of it; wide awake at 4:00 a.m. (always with Lucas) and at 4:00 p.m. feeling like I'd stayed up all night and drank too much the night before. <br /><br />Fun, no? While it sounds rather unpleasant, it's not. we are all happily, lazily, investigating our new surroundings. Swimming in between the raindrops in the super-duper pool downstairs. Spending time each day with Teddy in the quarantine facility. Discovering the small grocery store a short walk away. I just know Darcy is already imagining herself walking there to grab some milk. Taking the apartment shuttle that drops you in a completely convenient shopping street to try and find a hair dryer. Opening up a joint bank account (wow! I don't even have to have a work visa!). <br /><br />Here are two of the oddest moments so far:<br /><br />- in the bank, opening up our local bank account. While waiting for the bank rep to type in all our information, I was looking through the details of the rental insurance. Turns out, you can add Golfer's Insurance. It covers you for up to HK$3,000 (just under US$400) for Hole-in-One celebrations. I chuckled, and showed Matt, thinking it was some sort of vanity option. He told me, no, it's serious business. Apparently in much of Asia, and especially if you are playing with Japanese businessmen, and you score a hole-in-one, you are expected to share your celebration with everyone you are playing with, and you foot the bill. It's an extra US$5 per month. We'll decline and risk it.<br /><br />- in a cab on the way back from visiting Teddy. I speak no Chinese. Not one word. I can't even say please or thank you, yes or no. Before moving to Turkey and Thailand, I did manage to learn a few words before getting off the plane. For no apparent reason, I've not made the same attempt here just yet. Will do, but haven't. But most people here understand the minimum of English to get by. <br /><br />So when the taxi driver kept muttering to himself I wasn't worried per se, but aware. His muttering got increasingly animated and I kept wondering if we were offending in some way, if the kids were too loud, what the problem was. I also suddenly thought one of us has stepped in dog doodoo while visiting Teddy. Crap, he's pissed off at us. (no pun intended!) <br /><br />Suddenly, he's waving at the available taxi that's in front of us as we approach a stop sign on a busy, busy road. I ask, "Are you OK?" and he says "OK, OK YOU GO THAT CAB". What?? In the middle of a major road? <br /><br />Then he says, "I GO TOILET". Now, I am very familiar with the need to sometimes use the present tense of a verb in a language you don't really speak very well because at the very moment you need to speak that language, you are flustered and upset or in a bit of a crisis. I hustle the kids out the cab, and feel bad for the man that's hopefully speaking in the future tense, and not, poor guy, the present or the past.<br /><br /><br /><br />-Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-66404600473306259312009-06-25T00:56:00.001+05:302009-06-25T00:58:28.138+05:30After four years in Istanbul, we are down to 3 more days. Incredible. Where did the time go? I keep thinking I have time for one more trip here, one more stop there. But I don’t. The packers have come and gone and the house is empty (imagine major echo here). There are a few things left; the dregs of a lively, laughing, sometimes screaming house full of… us. It’s so sad to see a stray hair clip or action figure leg lying helplessly in a corner. <br /><br />The past 2 days have been a train that has picked up speed and is DEFINITELY on autopilot. I have nothing to do with any of it now. Our suitcases are packed and I expect to arrive in the US like a kid on a bike that hasn’t learned how to stop, careening in, slamming on the brakes, overstuffed suitcases leaking Turkish delight and stray socks and one last pair of silver earrings and lovely cards from much loved friends and last minute purchases of our favorite lentils tucked in to every corner. <br /><br />Ahhhh, vacation. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and it does keep getting brighter. A few more hurdles – award ceremony at school tomorrow, goodbyes to our great friends who are leaving for vacation, a half-day last day of school, no doubt full of tears and hugs and laughing. Turning over the keys, one last lap around the compound, a swim in the pool and our last night dinner with friends. Bittersweet. I’m not really one for cloying sentiments – I never liked those big-headed kids who were all over the “Love is…” paraphernalia of the 70s. But I did recently hear something that made me smile, a smile of understanding, sadness, and sweetness all rolled into one.<br /><br />“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”<br /> --Dr. SeussJennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-36779504331155676012009-05-31T01:19:00.002+05:302009-05-31T01:41:30.682+05:30Language...it's always all about the language<br /><br />Do you remember being younger and singing the words to a song, and then finding out that the words you were singing were SO VERY WRONG! Blinded by the Light by Bruce Springsteen comes to mind.<br /><br />If you don't understand what your are hearing, how can it be wrong?<br /><br />Recently I took the kids and Darcy's friend to see the Hannah Montana movie. Yes, I took one for the team. Matt went to see the new Star Trek movie at the very same time. To say he owes me is an understatement. <br /><br />Prior to the movie, there were the obligatory commercials and previews. Turkey is famous for what often turns out to be a half-hour of crap before the actual movie starts. So we sit through all of this, kids getting increasingly squirrely, and the last preview that comes on flashes a warning "This preview has been rated R" Wha-wha-what??<br /><br />Why are you showing an R-rated preview at a kids movie?? It was for the fine cinematic creation called My Best Friend's Girl. The preview started with the term "blow job" in the first 30 seconds, included a scene in a strip club with a young lady on her hands and knees and a young man facing her posterior with both hands on her hips, and included more swear words than I've ever heard in 2 minutes. And I have been known to let a few fly.<br /><br />Gulp! I complained to the manager who said, "Really?? I didn't know it was so offensive." Guess I wouldn't either if I didn't speak the language. I wish I knew the words in Turkish to explain the gravity of the situation.<br /><br />Two days later, my cleaner showed up at work with a shirt for Darcy. She has seen one or two of Darcy's occasional pre-teen outbursts and has 2 nieces around the same age. She's very sweet and wanted to get her something special. So she shows up with a black tank top with silver writing all over it. A bit too old for Darcy but I figure I can get her to wear it one day, the cleaner sees her wearing it, and I'm off the hook.<br /><br />Except when I look at it a bit closer, I realize that there is one word you can actually read. One word among all the silver letters that suddenly jumps off the shirt to me. The word is "orgasm". Oh....my....goodness....<br /><br />I call my Turkish friend to ask what the protocol is when your cleaner gives you a completely inappropriate shirt for your 10-year-old and to ask what the word is in Turkish as there's no way I can get around telling her why I can't accept the shirt.<br /><br />For future reference, the word is the same, just add an "i" to the end. I sheepishly point out the now very obvious to our cleaner, who is beyond appalled. Cok Kutu! she declares (Very bad). Cok comik! I reply (very funny). Hayir! Cok ayip! (NO! That's shameful!)<br /><br />I can only imagine the language she will use with the poor unsuspecting stall owner when she returns the shirt to the Wednesday market. I'm sure there will be no misunderstanding.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-22277307630536992742009-04-08T23:34:00.004+05:302009-04-09T01:06:40.312+05:30A couple of weeks ago, I went with some girlfriends for a quick 24 hours away. We headed to Termal, a small, quirky and completely wonderful little place that proudly displays it's award-winning status "Voted gold medal spa in 1911" on the front cover of their brochures.<br /><br />We had heard about their healing waters, their Turkish baths, steam room, and, most importantly, a break from our darling offspring. So, after a not-so-quick trip through Istanbul's legendary traffic, a short stint on a fast ferry, and a few wrong turns on the other side of the Marmara Sea, we arrived. <br /><br />While Termal resort is a spa, think old school Eastern European taking-the-waters spa with 25-year-old decor, not shiny, white, fluffy towels-type spa. Our expectation level had been appropriately set and we were more than ready to hit the water, in this case, the thermal baths and hamam.<br /><br />We started out for the mixed hamam which was also the entrance to the outdoor thermal pool. When I see "mixed", I think men and women, together. Turkish mixed, however, seems to mean "25 or so men wearing small swimming trunks and towels covering their hairy shoulders staring at the 7 foreign women who appear to be the only females of any kind who are about to strip down to their swimsuits in front of us. Yee-haw!"<br /><br />We quickly decided perhaps this was not the section we were looking for and hightailed it out of there. Once we found the women's spa, we got into the groove. Warm, wooden changing rooms, warmer marble spa room with toasty soaking tub, and warmest steam room. Hea-ven! <br /><br />After visiting some of the tourist hamams in Istanbul, which are still enjoyable, this haman was like comparing home cooking to carryout. Grandmothers with little girls, friends getting together on a Friday evening, old ladies brushing their hair, teenagers sitting together and singing Turkish pop tunes. <br /><br />A couple of women started talking to me while waiting for our dried skin to loosen and rub off. One was an English teacher and one was a Religion teacher at a local school. The religion teacher was really interested in who I was and what I was doing there. She even asked my zodiac sign.<br /><br />The conversation got interesting when she asked what religion I was. Christian, I replied. Then she asked if I went to church. When I said "not on a regular basis" she asked "Why?" I began to wonder if my mom had prompted her to call. Keep in mind that we were discussing religion in a mix between elementary Turkish and English for non-native speakers. <br /><br />The best moment was a while later when we reconnected in the steam room. She wanted to ask just one more question. Sure, why not. <br /><br />"In Islam, we have one god, Allah. There's the prophet, Mohammed, but just one god. In Christianity, you have three - the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. How exactly does that work?"<br /><br />What!!!!! I don't know if I can even explain this in English...Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-79438743168900686722009-03-28T20:53:00.002+05:302009-03-28T21:05:06.654+05:30Oh, I have been such a reluctant blogger. I must be better about posting. Will make an early- to mid-year resolution to improve. I have to admit there have been times where I think "Oh, that would make for a good blog entry" and then convince myself that it's too boring or self-absorbed or complicated to explain. Then I find another blogger somewhere who's even more boring or self-absorbed or explaining something ridiculous and don't feel so bad. Or by the time I have the time to write about it, my middle-aged mind doesn't remember what I was going to write in the first place. <br /><br />So what have been our adventures in expat parenting lately? Life in general, I suppose. Broken bones, school trips, homework supervision and the like. We spent nearly an hour in a clothing store with the 7-year-old boy trying on jeans and shirts to replace the jeans with holes in every knee and shirts that have suddenly become too small. Everything is European sizing in centimeters which I have figured out, though each time I shop I have to take a minute and remember. But, annoyingly, 7-year-old boy refused to let anyone else in the changing room with him and had to try everything on himself. This, as you can imagine, made the process take muuuuuch longer than necessary. He did manage to strike a pose every time he came out which did add some comic value of the entire procedure. <br /><br />We are also processing through the fact that we are moving to Hong Kong in June. While everyone is excited, the impending move has thrown an emotional wrench into the entire family. Preteen girl is most susceptible and is a bit like a ticking time bomb at the moment. <br /><br />I realized while thinking about moving that we will have been here 4 years when we move which is the longest I have lived in any apartment or house since I was 18. Now that's weird.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-87440135305083011432008-10-31T23:09:00.002+05:302008-10-31T23:27:20.694+05:30'Splain This One...<br /><br />Went to our local video store today. A wonderful man runs it and he loves the kids and is so kind. We went to find something for Darcy and her three friends to watch tomorrow night during a sleepover and stock up for the weekend. Here in Turkey, movies get their own rating which is sometimes marked on the DVD, sometimes not. Once, I noticed that Team America was in the kids section. Yes, it was a puppet film but most assuredly NOT at all for children. <br /><br />Today I went and as Lucas was cruising through the kids' section and begging me to get the first Fantastic Four movie, I noticed The Complete Persepolis. Animated but again, NOT for children. A fantastic book, and if you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. But unless you want your kids to discover the graphic details about Iranian politics and culture during the Islamic revolution, I wouldn't recommend it. <br /><br />On the flip side, Nancy Drew (the remake starring Emma Roberts) was in the grownup section and rating 18+. Huh?? I tried to read any of the Turkish on the back but no luck. I kept inspecting it to see why it was rated 18+, if maybe I missed something the first time around and half afraid I would inadvertently show 4 9- and 10-year-old girls graphic violence or sex. Or what if it was one of those cleverly renamed porn flicks?? Oh my goodness - can you imagine the phones calls from the other moms afterward!<br /><br />Brought it home anyway. I think I will do a quick fast forward after the kids go to bed just to double check. <br /><br />Happy Halloween!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-34151901522423638192008-10-27T22:06:00.000+05:302008-10-27T22:10:43.258+05:30Life in a foreign country - over the weekend Turkey blocked access to blogger.com and other blog sites. Why? Not because someone is dissing Ataturk, not because someone is threatening someone else's Turkishness. No, it plain ol' corporate greediness. Digiturk, a large Turkish cable network, got pissed off because it was possible to see video on some blog sites that they charge for as part of their premium service. So they petitioned the courts to have the websites blocked. Because NOTHING is more effective at stopping people from doing something than saying they can't do it. More later as I get more details. Thanks to my kids, I've discovered the way to use proxy sites to access blocked websites, like YouTube and now blogger sites. I KNEW there was a reason we decided to have kids!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-64695216315851646842008-10-21T23:35:00.002+05:302008-10-21T23:39:13.000+05:30Weird Turkish language moment: Me, translating into Turkish from English for native French-speaking expat friend to my cleaner, Nurcan. Nurcan, subsequently translating from my "Tarzan turkish" into actual Turkish for her friend who may or may not clean for my new expat friend. Oy, my head hurts!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-54476408261796581182008-09-20T18:46:00.002+05:302008-09-20T18:53:21.669+05:30Signs that our overseas lifestyle is paying off...<br /><br />In the car on the way to Saturday morning soccer:<br /><br />Lucas: Who's running for president again?<br />Me: Obama and McCkain<br />Lucas: McCain?? That's an odd name. What's his first name?<br />Me: John. John McCain. And Barak Obama.<br />Lucas: John McCain. That sounds so weird.<br />Me: What about Barak Obama? Does that sound strange to you?<br />Lucas: No. Why would it?<br /><br />And one more small rant, directed to the people at Dell - <br /><br />Do you think that everyone works in a dark cave? The ulta-beautiful, super-color monitor looks great at night. But with any small amount of light, it performs better as a mirror than as a computer screen. Is it just my aging eyes? You should add a warning when you are ordering your computer online.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-61965492832436273942008-08-19T12:38:00.002+05:302008-08-19T12:41:34.965+05:30Between two worlds<br /><br />Some of our trips get named. There was the Hot Chocolate Tour of the Hapsburg Empire during an extremely cold December. The Spaghetti Bolognese Tour of Vietnam when Darcy and Lucas seemed to eat nothing but. And the infamous Storms and Stomach Flu Driving Tour to southern Turkey when we sensibly decided to call it quits early and just come home. As Kenny Rogers said, “You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em.” <br /><br />We haven’t named our most recent sojourn. We aren’t even officially back yet (at least we weren't when I wrote this. Now we are back) so am I tempting fate by writing this now? For 3 ½ weeks the kids and I have been traipsing up and down the east coast. This trip was ordinary in a good way, the predictable events happening as one would expect and the surprises mostly positive. There was the flat tire on the rental but all in all, considering I was traveling alone with two children under 10, not bad. We ate too much (mmm bacon), I sometimes drank too much, tried to see everyone and do everything, and seemingly gave a year’s support to the struggling US economy in less than a month.<br /><br />If there’s been any definable trait to this trip, it seems to me that we are all on the brink at the moment, one foot set in one side and another crossing over. Each of us on our own journey, each stuck in the middle. <br /><br />For Lucas, the biggest trial was traveling without his dad along and having to use public restrooms. At 6 ½ he is repulsed and embarrassed at the thought of going into a women’s bathroom. I cannot express in words the strength of his conviction. This isn’t such a big deal in some spots – a restaurant, a minor league ball game. But the Newark train station? Or the airport in Rome? If you happen to read on another blog about a not-small American woman standing strangely close to the door of a men’s room, arms on her hips, a worried frown on her face and staring seriously at the door as if she could see through it, that would be me. <br /><br />There were a few times where I had to insist, such as the Newark train station and the airport in Rome, and no amount of whining, angry, defiant protestations could sway me. I did my best to hustle him in without any other females seeing him. I’m not entirely sure if he was more embarrassed about them seeing him or him seeing them, but nonetheless it was hard. He’s a self-proclaimed “little big boy”. Not ready for a scary movie but ready for the sometimes scarier men’s room.<br /><br />Darcy is teetering on her own edge as well. With her 11 and 13 year old cousins she was all about shopping at Claire’s for earrings and buying a cute purse, what to wear and ponytailing and reponytailing her hair every 7 ½ minutes. With her younger friend Tess she was playing house with stuffed animals. At a visit to the pediatrician, she confirmed that she is literally on the edge (discrection Jenn!), sitting in the rollercoaster as it is about ¾ of the way up the hill, starting to slow in anticipation of the huge stomach-churning drop that’s about to happen. Are we all sufficiently strapped in yet? <br /><br />And me, I spent two weeks at my mom’s house watching my kids growing up on one side and my mom slowing down on the other. We cleaned out the basement, saying goodbye to stuff that needed to go. Luckily, she’s in good health, with some of the hiccups that accompany the 70s, but considering what could be, not bad. Watching other older relatives age and decline. Balancing the knowledge that time is passing while still trying not to dwell.<br /><br />And the best part? I joined the legions of over-40s who benefit from progressive vision glasses. For the uninitiated, those would be bifocals. Free from the tell-tale lines that used to announce one’s declining vision from afar, bifocals have been rebranded. A marketing triumph. Progressive vision – the hip new trend. Hide them inside flashy frames and no one will be the wiser. Only you will know that you are no longer the hip chick gazing back at yourself from the photos of that kick-ass party 10 (ok, make that 20) years ago. <br /><br />The crevice underneath our feet is getting wider and wider and soon we all have to make the jump.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-32649020357229215432008-07-14T00:20:00.002+05:302008-07-14T00:27:16.937+05:30An open letter to the powerful Turks in charge of the Istanbul electricity grid - <br /><br />I am about to singlehandedly fly for 12 hours to the US with 2 children, including a stopover and a 4 a.m. departure from home. Tonight I have plugged in 3 iPods, one laptop capable of playing DVDs, 2 Nintendo DS hand-held games, and one digital camera.<br /><br />Please, oh please, tonight, no power cuts. I will be indebted to you forever.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-29471514001892534102008-07-12T21:47:00.002+05:302008-07-12T21:59:24.397+05:30I'm really sorry, it's been over a month since I've blogged! That's just horrible. <br /><br />Kids and I are heading off to the US early Tuesday a.m. so I'll try and write from the road. <br /><br />In the meantime, I wanted to share another blog from a great friend who's doing something really good. Her name is Troye and she's decided that one person CAN make a difference.<br /><br />Troye is a quilter and has spent the last few weeks (maybe months?) sewing. Up late, up early, she's been a busy bee.<br /><br />Troye knows of a little Turkish girl named Melisa who has a horrible tumor growing behind her eye. Not only is it affecting her sight, it's created an unsightly lump on her face as well. Something none of us would wish on anyone. Coming from a family that doesn't have the money to just pay for private medical care, she is relying on the Turkish national health care. Not exactly top notch, as I'm sure you can imagine. The gap between rich and poor here seems to grow daily, as in many other countries.<br /><br />Anyway, Troye is auctioning off her quilts to the highest bidders. Any money she raises will go toward Melisa's medical bills. Not a dime for expenses, supplies, anything. She's made the quilts, and along with the assistance of some friends, set up a web site and is running an auction this weekend. She saw a problem and decided to do something about it. Period.<br /><br />In addition to taking on this project and just taking the bull by the horns, Troye is the mother to 6 great kids between the ages of 5 and 29. She is a constant source of inspiration and my go-to girl on many a parenting issue.<br /><br />So if you are so inspired, you can read about her project here: http://www.quiltsformelisa.blogspot.com/<br /><br />and you can visit the quilt auction here:http://picasaweb.google.com/troyegirl/AuctionQuilts<br /><br />And if nothing else, maybe you too will be inspired as I have been by Troye's efforts. <br /><br />More from the road in the US.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-85127955419941900202008-06-10T02:01:00.003+05:302008-06-10T02:29:31.676+05:30Some of you may remember growing up in the 70s, when the gas crisis was in full swing and the US was in the middle of a recession. As one of three kids being raised by a single mom, we were not in the practice of going out to dinner a lot. We would beg to go to McDonald's or Burger King, but mom would say "Good news! We ARE having hamburgers. I made them." They, of course, were never the same. Who wants a nice, fresh, juicy, thick burger when we could've had the thin, formerly frozen fried patty slathered with freeze-dried onions that all our friends were eating?! The worst was when the store was out of hamburger rolls (or maybe my mom just didn't buy them). A burger between two slices of bread. Mmmm, mmmm.<br /><br />I digress. I had this little flashback tonight while trying to recreate taco seasoning. Matt's away, and I was trying to decide what to make for dinner for me and the kids. I had leftover chicken in the fridge, and avacados were a)available and b)ripe. I decided to make tacos. Amazingly, the El Paso taco kit can be found in a small nearby little market that specializes in overpriced exported foodstuffs. Course, the El Paso kit costs 15 YTL (about $11), and probably expired in 2005. <br /><br />So I figure, How hard can taco seasoning be? It's got to be chili powder, onion, cumin, paprika, etc. So I google "homemade taco seasoning" and on thriftymom.com or some similar web site, find a recipe. I doctor it up, substituting here and there as you do. Mix with some water, the leftover chicken, substitute lavas (a tortilla-like flatbread) for taco shells, cube the faux cheddar cheese slices, cut up the other required condiments and serve with a smile.<br /><br />One of the benefits of living overseas, despite the encroachment of western franchises such as McDonald's and KFC, is that some of this "American" food is still new to the kids. Having never been exposed to Taco Bell or even the El Paso of my childhood, Mom's Homemade Turkish Tacos were a huge success. <br /><br />And, mom, I do prefer the homemade burger these days. Just make sure you have the seeded buns.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-10607133146616160052008-06-01T23:41:00.006+05:302008-06-02T13:17:30.347+05:30<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/SELn30faoHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/jI91NOYzX9M/s1600-h/cheese_toast.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_GMTX3OU0zTw/SELn30faoHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/jI91NOYzX9M/s200/cheese_toast.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206979065362948210" /></a><br />First, to add to the last post. Here's a photo of the cheese toast I was raving about.<br /><br />June 1 - my own little official summer start date. June, July, August - to me, all summer, all the time. I have moved squarely into "if you didn't swim in the pool, you need a bath" and it's antithesis "If you've been in the pool for more than 1/2 an hour, all that chlorine will kill whatever germs are on you. No bath tonight."<br /><br /><br />In the spirit of the old Family Circus cartoons that appeared in every American newspaper (sorry friends from other lands), I am turning this post over to the younger Eliot generation. What follows is a story by Darcy, written after a sudden burst of inspiration while enjoying a long soak in the tub... (please excuse any unintentional stereotyping)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Hostage for Carpets<br /></span><br /><br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;">Chapter 1</span><br /><br />It was a dark, gloomy night. The power had gone out but Darcy was used to it because were she lived there were always thunderstorms. She heard weird noises; she thought “Oh it’s just the wind, nothing to worry about.”<br /><br />But then she heard someone whisper “I’ve got her, go get the other three” in a French accent. Darcy was scared so she shouted, “MOM!! WERE ARE YOU?” but there was no answer, then the French accent said, “There’s no point in calling to her or the rest of your family.” Darcy thought “Why does that voice sound so familiar?” Then she realized it was Mehmet the carpet seller.<br /><br />“Why are you holding me and my family hostage?” Darcy asked, “Because your mother and father wouldn’t buy one of my carpets.” He answered back. “But there’s no point holding us hostage because somebody will find out.” She explained.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"></span>Chapter 2<br /> <br />Darcy knew Mehmet was greedy because she went to his store when she and her family were on holiday in Cappadocia and hated his carpets. She thought quickly and came up with a plan to trick him. Darcy said, “Me and my family will buy a carpet in Cappadocia if you let us go.” “Oh, deal.” He thought he they were going to come and buy a carpet at his store. He and Darcy shook hands and he let them go.<br /><br />Over the weekend Darcy’s family flew to Cappadocia and bought a carpet from Ruth and Faruks store, they thought it would look good in their house. Later that afternoon they went to Mehmets store and told him, “There, we bought a carpet in Cappadocia.” “But you didn’t buy one from my store.” He wailed, he was taken aback. “Yeah , but our deal was we’d buy one in Cappadocia...not at your store.” Darcy said with a smile. “You think you’re all that but you’re not Darcy Eliot!” Mehmet yelled as the happy family walked out the door.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-58417848109684581602008-05-17T09:58:00.002+05:302008-05-17T10:10:37.532+05:30Two quick items of note, and more later (yeah, yeah, yeah)...<br /><br />1. After trolling through more internet sites I realized my insightful comments about Dubya were made by about, oh, 3 bajillion other people. So I take no ownership, but I do say...great minds think alike!<br /><br />2. I read this on another blog I liked today:<br /><br />Here's a quote from Harvard University psychology professor Daniel Gilbert:<br /><br /> "Parents tell me all the time that: 'My child is my greatest source of joy'," he said.<br /> "My reply is that: 'Yes, when you have one source of joy, it's bound to be your greatest'.<br /><br />You can read her blog here: http://frogandtoadarestillfriends.blogspot.com/<br /><br />Add to checklist: find another source of joy before current joy source abandons me for college/boyfriend/good cheese toast.<br /><br />Speaking of cheese toast, we are about to go to Saturday Soccer, one of my favorite times of the week because I get to hang out with my friends who live "downtown". This little soccer club opens their doors to the crazy yabangi (foreigners) who want to play the game the rest of the world calls football.<br /><br />Anyhoo, they have THE BEST CHEESE TOAST sandwiches in the world. Here, in Turkey, they are made with a panini-type press (flat, with no lines - like a trouser press) on a roll-type bread product. Whatever it is, the cheese, the bread, or the remains of other cheese toasties that have crusted their way onto the press, they are so damn good. <br /><br />And my poor husband, who went to Dushanbe, Tajikistan for 4 days and ended up staying for 10, only wanted to come home last night. However, his flight was announced as 2 hours late because ????, then come to find out it was only 1 hour late because they didn't have enough fuel in Dushanbe and had to stop at some unnamed Russian city, but he missed his connection in Moscow and now has to spend 7 hours in the Moscow airport where the concept of e-ticket is newish, and then spend Saturday night in Zurich so his entire weekend is shot. And he's still wearing those original 4 days worth of clothing, cleaned at the hotel of course, but still...And all of this happens in the wee hours of the morning.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-8624257817473825382008-05-14T10:46:00.002+05:302008-05-14T10:50:42.075+05:30One quick comment on today's news (or non-news as the case may be)...<br /><br />Just read on CNN that George Bush told a reporter he gave up golf in solidarity with the families of American soldiers fighting in Iraq. <br /><br />Let's not even get into the contrast of his sacrifice vs. those of just about everyone else involved in the conflict. The list would be far too long.<br /><br />But...<br /><br />Why doesn't he give up Iraq for golf?Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-83273427932328725572008-05-09T15:36:00.003+05:302008-05-09T17:10:37.146+05:30Oh! I have been delinquent in posting. And I do apologize. There are no excuses except for the end-of-the-school-year train that is increasingly picking up speed. Sports Day, Fun Day, Mother's Day - every day is a party! I might as well just keep my camera in my purse and stick around every day to see what photo album-worthy event is up next. So I have no excuse and every excuse that a mother understands. <br /><br />This week has been Science Week at school. <br /><br />Darcy's class has been studying the nose. Today's science tip: "Mom, don't clean that mucus off Lucas' nose! Don't you know that mucus warms the air and protects his sinus cavity??" (Ummm, isn't that only when it's safely stored on the INSIDE and not crusting up the OUTSIDE?)<br /><br />Lucas' kindgergarten class has been learning about the skin, which, as you can imagine in a class of 5 and 6-year-olds, has led them to discuss where babies come from and poop. Obviously. Though, to their credit, their teacher reports that these have not been the typical giggle-inducing discussions you would imagine among that crowd. On the contrary, quite the opposite. They were a serious group of little scientists. <br /><br />Lucas has sidestepped the intricacies of the whole baby thing and the only thing that concerns him is that he can't remember when he was a baby. I tried explaining that no one can; I can't remember what it was like when I was a baby. His response is "Yea, but your life is mostly finished. No one can remember back that far."<br /><br />So, as I gingerly tap the keys with my ancient shriveled talons, I will do my best to blog again soon.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-62104854270256247312008-03-29T14:58:00.002+05:302008-03-29T15:23:55.777+05:30Answer: stomach flu and rain<br />Question: what are the two worst things to bring along on your vacation<br /><br />Our week-long meandering car trip down to the idyllic and as yet uncrowded southern coast of Turkey was, let's just say, not our best ever. Darcy managed to get sick in the car and in the middle of the night so both the car and the hotel room were quite fragrant. Poor thing. The only sunny day we had she spent with fever and in various stages of sleep. Knock wood, no one else managed to pick up the bug. She has recovered nicely as well.<br /><br />To Lucas, it was the best holiday ever because the small B&B we stayed came complete with a 6-year-old boy to play with, free of charge! The only drag was that Bora had to go to school each day and wasn't available to play 24/7. I took the two boys to the nearby beach one afternoon. The sun was shining, we were in a small cove, steep hills on either side and across the water. I was sitting on a rock, enjoying the warm sun on my face as I could hear the gentle tinkling of bells on the sheep nearby. And then this...<br /><br />Do you know Frozone...one...one..one? Watch me..me...me!<br />Yes...es...es! And I'm Optimus Prime...ime...ime!<br /><br />My quiet reflection was ground to a halt by the echoing shouts of two little sets of ribs and shoulder blades, one topped by stick-straight blond hair, the other by a mound of brown curls. Two little bodies racing through the still-chilly water, oblivious to the cold. The milky white one and the toasty brown Meditteranean one. Gorgeous. They couldn't have had a better time. Together they fought the dark forces of evil in the courtyard of the B&B, each getting stuck in the tree and after crying and examining their war wounds, climbing right back up again. <br /><br />Unfortunately, their powers were not quite strong enough as the dark forces of weather conspired against us and the rain appeared. Being the off-season, there wasn't much to do if you weren't out and playing in the water, on a boat, or hiking around. After much debate, we decided to cut our losses and head back to the big city. We still had a few days left at home to chill out and just relax. <br /><br />Back to school and work on Monday. The itch to do some serious spring cleaning has struck and I am driving everyone nuts by furiously emptying closets and creating piles of stuff everywhere to go through. I am making progress and will soon have closet closure! <br /><br />If you ever find yourself in southern Turkey, about 40 minutes south of Marmaris, we can highly recommend Jenny's House in Selimye (http://www.jennyshouse.co.uk/) Jenny and her husband Mehmit, their son Bora, along with their family, run a beautiful little B&B with spotless, comfortable rooms, amazing breakfast and a great little village to explore. She also offers dinner if interested, and the food is delicious and a real bargain. We hope to go back again soon!Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-16419438736212437382008-03-07T11:04:00.001+05:302008-03-07T11:05:56.589+05:30Surreality<br /><br />I have these moments, very infrequently, where I will be in the middle of what is most likely a very normal situation and suddenly have a momentary glimpse of what I’m doing and where I am and think, How did THIS happen? Not exactly an out-of-body experience, though that would be interesting. It’s more of a combination of wonder and usually appreciation, though occasionally mixed with annoyance, depending on the circumstances. <br /><br />I have one about a week or so ago, when i went out early in the morning to grab a loaf of bread from our local newsstand because I had forgotten my list at the grocery store the day before. It’s was early, about 7 a.m. and quiet. Quiet except for the swishing sound of young men washing cars. Out where we live, in our compound and the neighborhood nearby, some of our neighbors employ men whose job it is to take care of “stuff.” And one job they have is to wash the cars on a daily basis. Not a simple bucket and sponge scenario, but a hose attached to a broom and loads of soap and water. Every day. Can you imagine how much water they are using? Not only is it environmentally criminal, but with the cost of house and garden water rising constantly, it must be obscenely expensive. Let’s just say I don’t see them using “grey” water or a tank of rainwater they’ve collected. Different strokes for different folks.<br /><br />And I thought, for just a moment, How did a little girl who grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, where we used to wash our big ‘ol station wagon in the driveway once in a while when we wanted extra allowance go from there to a place where our neighbors have staff who wash their multiple cars every day??<br /><br />I remembered a time last year when the kids noticed the daily car washing of our neighbor and I used it as a math lesson. They both thought this would be a great job and we tried to figure out how much money they would earn if they washed cars all day and charged what they charge at our local tire garage/oto yikama (car wash). The predicted salary we calculated, to them, sounded like a fantastic wage. I decided not to ruin their dream with the harsh reality of adult perspective.<br /><br />This feeling of surreality (I do realize that this is not a real word but sums up nicely what I’m feeling at the moment) has continued with a quick trip to Dubai, where I am at the moment. I trailed along with Matt on a business trip at the last moment. IFC has this nice benefit where Matt earns “spouse points” for every night he’s away from home on business. Once he’s collected enough spouse points, he can trade up for a better spouse. No, just kidding. Once he’s collected enough points, I’m allowed to go along for the ride. Or, as I sometimes think of it, once the spouse has had enough of the draining, frustrating, mind-numbing job of being a single parent while the other spouse is away and is just on the edge of losing it, along comes a free business class trip ticket to salve your open oozing wounds. I think you have to earn 200 points, which translates to 40 weeks away from home. Oy!<br /><br />So here I am in Dubai which, to me, looks like a cross between a enormous construction site, a movie set and Disney World. In the middle of the desert there’s a ski slope, large swaths of green, and intricately shaped man-made islands full of luxury villas, the scope of which I could have never imagined. The place literally oozes money. Luckily, one of my pals from Istanbul moved here last year so I am balancing the bizarre with a great big healthy dose of catching up with a good friend. <br /><br />And, I have to admit, with the sun shining, no one to worry about but myself, and wait staff scurrying nearby to bring me a drink by the pool at the slightest glimpse in their direction, I appreciate this brief dip into surreality.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33604414.post-19150993121910914222008-02-19T01:34:00.003+05:302008-02-19T02:19:51.829+05:30IMPORTANT NOTICE: IF YOU ARE A TURKISH TRAFIK JANDARMA OR UPTIGHT SCHOOL ADMINISTRATOR, PLEASE DON'T READ ANY FURTHER!<br /><br />It's been snowing here in the 'bul. A furious flurry shower last Wednesday prompted administrators to cancel school for the day (of course, by 11:15 the sun was shining). We got the call that school was going to close at 7:55 a.m. School starts at 9:00. Anyone who comes by bus usually leaves around, oh, 8:00. As I quickly scanned my first of two Emergency Phone Chains, I realized the person I had to call lives nearby and drives her kids as I do. We leave around 8:35. Another friend, however, lives further away and her kids go by bus. I made the executive decision to call her so her kids wouldn't get on the bus, only to be brought home 40 minutes later.<br /><br />My friend, a new parent to the school and also an American, gasped in mock horror upon answering, "Are you calling me out of order? Are you breaking THE EMERGENCY PHONE CHAIN?!" Yes, I admit it, I broke the Emergency Phone Chain. Deviant, troublemaker, rabble-rouser. No wonder kids today have no respect for authority! Just look at the examples that are being set at home! Do you think they have support groups for people like me?<br /><br />On the very same day, I realized that we were out of just about any food that would a)allow me to make a decent breakfast or lunch at home, and b)make for a more bearable day at home with 2 children. Since Matt usually goes to work a bit later to avoid the legendary Istanbul traffic, I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and ran to the local market to avoid making the trip with 2 bored children which is about as fun for me as pulling my toenails out one at a time.<br /><br />I see a sweet parking spot near the front door, and begin maneuvering in. Plenty of room, the only obstacle is a small sign for the compound across the street warning patrons not to block the driveway. No problem, I have left plenty of room. Plenty of room if the sign wasn't tipped over on its side, sharp pointy metal corner ready to graze any unsuspecting cars. I tap against said sharp pointy metal corner and inspect the miniscule damage before shopping. Eh, it's hardly noticable. I continue on my merry way.<br /><br />When I get home, I mention this insignificant little event to Matt, who takes a look. We'll have to get that fixed, he warns, and because of where it is they will probably have to replace the entire back half of the car (ok maybe he said rear bumper, when it comes to cars I am truly clueless). I go out to see what he is talking about and see that the tiny insignificant scratch seems to have grown since I left the store. "You'll need a police report"--the phrase that strikes fear in the heart of many. It's true, our lease (and most insurance here) stipulates that no matter who is at fault, you can't move your cars and you definately need a police report. And since we lease our cars, if we don't get said report we have to pay, no matter who is at fault. <br /><br />I call my British friend who is married to a Turk and studying to be a lawyer while at the same time working at her husband's law firm (Geez, what a slacker). Well, the thing is, she says, you can't get a police report once you've left the scene. "What can I do?," I implore. And then, she certainly doesn't tell me to go back to the scene of the accident and park the car again and call the police. Noooooo. Still in my PJ top, no bra and jeans, I bundle the kids in the car, throw some crayons, notebooks, and reading material at them, and pray that the parking spot is still empty. Of course, just as I am driving up, someone parks there. I mutter a stream of obscenities under my breath and drive around for a bit. I ignore the children's rapid-fire questioning: where are we going? what are we doing? why do you keep driving around? and promise chocolate bars once we get to the store. <br /><br />Finally, my spot is free! I park again (it is the same spot after all. it's not REALLY that immoral. It's not as if I faked the accident somewhere where it didn't even happen. Please!) and "bump" the same sign. I call the Jandarma and after 6 or 7 more calls in increasingly frustrated Turkish, finally get someone to agree to come. The penance for my crime? Have to endure a Laurel and Hardy-type conversation between the Jandarma, the local military police, and the Polis, Istanbul's finest. It's kind of complicated, but while in Istanbul you call the Jandarma for certain problems and the Polis for others, out by us in the hinterlands it's all Jandarma all the time. After what seeemed like endless conversations like this: <br /><br />Jandarma office: "Call the Polis"<br />Polis office 1: "Call the Jandarma"<br />Jandarma office: "Call the Polis"<br />Me: "I did call the Polis"<br />Polis office 2: "Call the Jandarma"<br />Me: "I did call the Jandarma"<br /><br />someone finally showed up. I think the bitter cold, half-rain, half-snow showers may have had something to do with their reluctance. 40 minutes, 2 chocolate bars, 2 drinks, 3 episodes of me hissing "just stay quiet until we get home!" and as much Turkish as I can muster, I am on my way with the golden ticket, aka a Polis report. <br /><br />No worries about me suddenly switching to a life of crime. I'm clearly not cut out for it.Jennifer Barnes Eliothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05430186436923741833noreply@blogger.com2