Did I Sign Up For This?! An Expat Mom's Life

2010-03-14T15:13:00.002+02:00

Sigh. 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.

http://jbe.smugmug.com

2010-01-03T16:38:00.014+02:00

As Seen on TV - Chinese Style

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.

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.

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.

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.

What I did spot however, was the Pack Sand Maker.

How could I say no?? Such cute sandwiches...such fun for the children...such joy I would bring to their boring little packed lunches.

Egg salad! PB&J! Even chopped up ham and shredded cheese! The possibilities were endless.

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!

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...

put the second piece of bread on

And it should look like this

Ummmm, ours? Not so much. They looked like this

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.

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.

And this is the lunch for tomorrow.

Maybe unsuccessful, but oh, so entertaining.

2009-11-24T10:38:00.002+02:00

My 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

2009-11-05T13:09:00.005+02:00

Several Random and Completely Unrelated Recent Observations

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.

"Yes, I want a taxi." And thank you. I get it.

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.

3. The weather dropped below 70F/20C for the first time since we've been here. Bundle up Hong Kong.

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.

2009-09-21T17:02:00.002+03:00

So, 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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

Ocean Park and giant buddha - here we come!

2009-08-13T00:01:00.002+03:00

So, 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.

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!).

Here are two of the oddest moments so far:

- 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.

- 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.

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!)

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?

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.

-

2009-06-24T22:26:00.001+03:00

After 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.

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.

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.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”
--Dr. Seuss

2009-05-30T22:49:00.002+03:00

Language...it's always all about the language

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.

If you don't understand what your are hearing, how can it be wrong?

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.

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??

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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!)

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.

2009-04-08T21:04:00.004+03:00

A 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.

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.

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.

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!"

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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?"

What!!!!! I don't know if I can even explain this in English...

2009-03-28T17:23:00.002+02:00

Oh, 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.

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.

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.

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.

2008-10-31T19:39:00.002+02:00

'Splain This One...

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.

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.

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!

Brought it home anyway. I think I will do a quick fast forward after the kids go to bed just to double check.

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-27T18:36:00.000+02:00

Life 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!

2008-10-21T21:05:00.002+03:00

Weird 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!

2008-09-20T16:16:00.002+03:00

Signs that our overseas lifestyle is paying off...

In the car on the way to Saturday morning soccer:

Lucas: Who's running for president again?
Me: Obama and McCkain
Lucas: McCain?? That's an odd name. What's his first name?
Me: John. John McCain. And Barak Obama.
Lucas: John McCain. That sounds so weird.
Me: What about Barak Obama? Does that sound strange to you?
Lucas: No. Why would it?

And one more small rant, directed to the people at Dell -

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.

2008-08-19T10:08:00.002+03:00

Between two worlds

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

The crevice underneath our feet is getting wider and wider and soon we all have to make the jump.

2008-07-13T21:50:00.002+03:00

An open letter to the powerful Turks in charge of the Istanbul electricity grid -

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.

Please, oh please, tonight, no power cuts. I will be indebted to you forever.

2008-07-12T19:17:00.002+03:00

I'm really sorry, it's been over a month since I've blogged! That's just horrible.

Kids and I are heading off to the US early Tuesday a.m. so I'll try and write from the road.

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.

Troye is a quilter and has spent the last few weeks (maybe months?) sewing. Up late, up early, she's been a busy bee.

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.

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.

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.

So if you are so inspired, you can read about her project here: http://www.quiltsformelisa.blogspot.com/

and you can visit the quilt auction here:http://picasaweb.google.com/troyegirl/AuctionQuilts

And if nothing else, maybe you too will be inspired as I have been by Troye's efforts.

More from the road in the US.

2008-06-09T23:31:00.003+03:00

Some 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.

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.

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.

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.

And, mom, I do prefer the homemade burger these days. Just make sure you have the seeded buns.

2008-06-01T21:11:00.006+03:00

First, to add to the last post. Here's a photo of the cheese toast I was raving about.

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."

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)

Hostage for Carpets

Chapter 1

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.”

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.

“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.

Chapter 2

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.

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.

2008-05-17T07:28:00.002+03:00

Two quick items of note, and more later (yeah, yeah, yeah)...

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!

2. I read this on another blog I liked today:

Here's a quote from Harvard University psychology professor Daniel Gilbert:

"Parents tell me all the time that: 'My child is my greatest source of joy'," he said.
"My reply is that: 'Yes, when you have one source of joy, it's bound to be your greatest'.

You can read her blog here: http://frogandtoadarestillfriends.blogspot.com/

Add to checklist: find another source of joy before current joy source abandons me for college/boyfriend/good cheese toast.

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.

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.

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.

2008-05-14T08:16:00.002+03:00

One quick comment on today's news (or non-news as the case may be)...

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.

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.

But...

Why doesn't he give up Iraq for golf?

2008-05-09T13:06:00.003+03:00

Oh! 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.

This week has been Science Week at school.

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?)

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.

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."

So, as I gingerly tap the keys with my ancient shriveled talons, I will do my best to blog again soon.

2008-03-29T11:28:00.002+02:00

Answer: stomach flu and rain
Question: what are the two worst things to bring along on your vacation

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.

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...

Do you know Frozone...one...one..one? Watch me..me...me!
Yes...es...es! And I'm Optimus Prime...ime...ime!

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.

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.

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!

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!

2008-03-07T07:34:00.001+02:00

Surreality

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.

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.

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??

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.

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!

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.

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.

2008-02-18T22:04:00.003+02:00

IMPORTANT NOTICE: IF YOU ARE A TURKISH TRAFIK JANDARMA OR UPTIGHT SCHOOL ADMINISTRATOR, PLEASE DON'T READ ANY FURTHER!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

Jandarma office: "Call the Polis"
Polis office 1: "Call the Jandarma"
Jandarma office: "Call the Polis"
Me: "I did call the Polis"
Polis office 2: "Call the Jandarma"
Me: "I did call the Jandarma"

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.

No worries about me suddenly switching to a life of crime. I'm clearly not cut out for it.

2008-02-12T17:56:00.000+02:00

I love the sound of my children's voices...usually. But when they practice their song, or more specifically, their three lines of the song, for the school assembly OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER, at the top of their lungs, (Mom! I'm projecting!) I want to take a spike and drive it into my skull. Calgon, take me away! (anybody else remember that commercial from the 70s?)

OK, I'm back from the ledge.

It's February in Turkey, grey and cold. The only thing this winter weather is good for is skiing if there's snow. Luckily, for Darcy, she leaves on Sunday to go skiing with the school. Skiing. With her school. But not her parents. For four days. Without her parents. And she's not yet turned 9. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I am fighting the urge to lock her in her room until she's 16 and have not openly expressed any of the internal angst I am feeling.

The kids are, as you can imagine, about to burst out of their skin with excitement. Of course, we don't HAVE to let her go, but we can't think of a compelling reason not to. I always feel sad for the dozen or so kids left behind, feigning excitement about the "special projects" they are working on and the movies they get to watch in school.

Did I mention that we have to drop the kids off at 5:45 A.M.??? Guess it's good that they get on the bus early. And so I have the full, entire day to obsess about them getting to the destination safely.

I know it's good for them to develop independence, to grow up, and am thrilled that they get the opportunity to go. This chance to live overseas, to meet friends from all over the world, to go places they might not get to otherwise, it's all good. And they are growing up. Sometimes it goes by quickly, sometimes so achingly slow.

Darcy did show great maturity over the weekend when she was seated on both flights to and from London next to what must have been the smelliest people on the plane. You know the type, every slight body movement releases a fresh burst of not-so-freshness. Let's hope she can show the same maturity when it comes to brushing her teeth, changing underwear, and going to bed at a decent hour.

2008-02-05T12:11:00.000+02:00

Over the years, I've worked in a number of offices, and I've managed various staff members. Some were good, some were great, and some were, well, they gave me lots of practice in writing performance reviews. These days, my "staff" is limited to a cleaning lady who helps me out two days a week. Luxurious according to US standards, I know.

And, honestly, I think sometimes she manages me more than I manage her, teaching me how to make various Turkish recipes, tsk-tsking me when I go out the door without my hair being perfectly dry, zipping up the kids coats and they bolt out the door to school, and instructing me on what we should do about the ants in the kitchen.

I like to think that I was a fair boss, sympathetic to work/life balance issues and reasonable in my expectations. I understood the need to leave early for a doctor's appointment, catch a child's school performance, or even take the occasional mental health day, as long as there was no abuse of the system. So when Nurcan, my cleaner, explained yesterday that she might need to leave early, it was OK with me. In my Tarzan Turkish, I asked if everything was OK, if her daughter was fine, and she gave me a reason that I can honestly say I've never heard before:

Our cow is going to give birth.

A rapid exchange of Q&A: Inek var mi??!! You have a cow? Evet, inek var. Yes, I have a cow. She uses the international sign for pregnant - hands together outlining a large balloon shape from one's belly. You have a COW? Yes, a cow. And the COW is pregnant. I surmise that it is indeed the cow that's pregnant, and I haven't misunderstood her need for a obstetrician visit of some sort. Don't ask me where the bull is in the scenario. My Turkish doesn't extend to reproductive processes or IVF vocabulary.

She doesn't live on a farm. She lives in a nearby village on a street with other houses next door. Not exactly center city but not exactly country, either. I ask Darcy, who has been to her house for a birthday party that Lucas and I had to miss because of the flu. Yeah, she confirms the existence of a cow. Nurcan's father-in-law offered for the kids to come over sometime and visit the cow.

So now I'm planning on a visit to the non-farm that's in the middle of the suburbs to see the baby calf next week. I can't even begin to imagine what we will find.

On a side note, Nurcan covers her head (except when she's cleaning), though her sisters-in-law who live with and nearby her, do not. We had a interesting conversation the other day about the whole head scarves in university debate that's currently the hot topic in Turkey. When I asked why she did and her sisters-in-law didn't, she simply said, "I'm Muslim." She explained that her family wore headscarves and she started when she was nineteen. She had some problems with her hair being dry and a doctor told her it was better to keep it covered to prevent it from falling out. Interesting. That and the fact that her father told her to cover it. It's times like that when I wish my Turkish was far better than it is.

2008-02-01T07:10:00.000+02:00

Tight Races, Turbans, Tiny Pieces and Tariffs

Don't you just love alliterations. I am into the news alot these days. Watching CNN, checking out the headlines on the Turkish press, reading online. The US presidential primaries are heating up and it looks to be a good match in the Democratic primary. Hillary? Barack? A woman and a black man. FINALLY!!!

And in Turkey the big news is the debate over whether women should be allowed to wear headscarves, or turbans as they are called in the politically correct media world, in universities. Currently, they are not allowed. It was a decision made in the 80s that goes back to the foundation of the Turkish Republic and their determination to maintain a politically secular nation while remaining overwhelmingly Muslim. Some see it as an attempt by the conservative government to slowly impose stricter Muslim laws on the population; others see it as nothing more than a personal choice. It is dominating conversation at the water cooler and providing stirring up lots of controversy.

What else? Ah, yes, January in Turkey means it's time for the annual hike in utility prices. Natural gas (for heat), water, electric - everything has gone up 15-25%. Gulp! Makes me long for my American utility bills in the double digits. Istanbul continues to be a very expensive place to live. Filling up our Ford Sedan now costs $130. Kids, grab a sweater and light the candles!

Other news is that Lucas turned 6 this week and has adopted an all-Lego-all-the-time attitude. Specifically Star Wars Legos. "Life savers" aka light sabers, and Anakin, Luke, Darth Maul (Maul? Mole? I never saw the last 3 movies), Yoda, and much, much more. He spent a good two hours putting together the kit he dubbed "star fighter." "Can I get just one more help, Mom?" was the most often-heard phrase of the week. Most of the help involved looking for the latest miniscule Lego piece to drop to the floor and become camouflaged in one of our intricately designed Turkish carpets.

Any reason those darn pieces have to be so small? Why can't they be magnetized? Would make finding wayward pieces easier. And keeping the finished product together easier too. Hmmm, will have to start drafting the letter to Lego, Inc. "Dear Lego People, please make your pieces magnetized. My 41-year-old eyes are having trouble finding them. Best regards, etc. etc."

2008-01-20T14:46:00.000+02:00

I keep moving from place to place in the house, hoping to find a few moments of peace and quiet on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but my kids keep finding me. I can run, but I can't hide. Meanwhile, Matt is happily ignoring the activity while sitting in the middle of it and is alone with a Sports Illustrated magazine in his "man cave." There could be a nuclear explosion and he wouldn't notice at this point.

The kids are both chewing some rock-hard Turkish gum in a way that makes them sound like a cow chewing its cud and suddenly I know what my mom was talking about all those years ago when she used to chastise us for chewing gym with our mouths open. They are actively debating the rules of "jinx" and "personal jinx" that you call out when two people say the same thing at the same time.

And they both have the same ladybug toy from the goody bag at a recent party, but their interaction with them are totally different. Lucas brings his bag over to me and when I say, "Babe, I'm trying to find some quiet time," he replies "OK we'll be quiet." Hmmmm, let's just say I don't believe him. While Darcy has been painstakingly applying the spots to the back of the plastic ladybug in an intricate geometric pattern, Lucas slaps his on and then engages the ladybug in a winner-take-all deathmatch with a plastic soldier. He begins with the "truck sound" that all boys learn to make at about 8 months old. The soldier is fighting valiantly against the giant light blue ladybug but I'm afraid he doesn't stand a chance. And, can you believe it, it's not actually as quiet as he promised. Darcy rolls her eyes in a "i'm nearly 9, now, you know, and this is SO childish" and suddenly the ladybug is losing to the soldier who is now a Ninja. "Mom, can you believe it! He was a Ninja all along! He was hiding his powers!" Who knew...

I joined a new gym that opened just before Christmas and got in on their pre-opening discount. I told my friend I would join on the condition that my gym buddies were not rock solid 20-year-olds with matching yoga pants and bra tops who looked liked they didn't really need to be at the gym. Luckily, the other gym rats who were there when we went to check it out were average looking, 40-ish like the rest of us. We had to schedule an assessment the first day we went in so the trainers could provide us with a customized workout program. What's there to assess, I thought - you need to get your butt on that treadmill.

My two completely perfect Turkish-speaking friends and I went together and got ourselves assessed. I tried to pay attention when Fatih, my new hardbody trainer, was working his way through the regime but my mind kept wandering. What am I going to make for dinner? Do the kids have clubs after school? Where did I put that new blue shirt I bought? etc. etc. I would slip in on the conversation from time to time, pick up a phrase or two, then get lost and wander again. Until he turned to me and held up the little slip of paper that was spit out by the magic machine that not only weighed us but measured our body mass and fat ratio, all by way of two innocent handles that you held out to your sides. In halting English he says to me, "You're quite fat, but strong, almost like a man." I started cracking up. One of my friends elaborated, saying "he said you have dense muscles. you obviously worked out before." I just kept laughing. Yeah, that's my problem - I've just let my training regime slip a bit. Nothing a few thousand sit ups can't change. I guess it could've been worse - he could have said strong - like an ox, or strong - like a mule.

I will take my man-like strength, invoke my own secret Ninja powers and once again go roam the house in search of a quiet corner of peace.

2008-01-03T21:35:00.000+02:00

Hitting the Road

We just returned from a few days in Vienna and Budapest, or, as we dubbed it "The Hot Chocolate Tour of the Habsburg Dynasty." Why so many warm beverages, you ask? Well, the most defining aspect of the trip was that we were cold. Not in a sissy, it's so warm in Turkey way, but in a, holy moly the temperature is -7C cold. Celsius or Fahrenheit, choose your favorite scale, that's cold. Lucas spent the first few hours with his mittens and hat stuffed in his pocket, complaining about how cold he was and Matt and I assuring him he wouldn't be so uncomfortable if he would just DRESS APPROPRIATELY and after finally acquiescing and bundling up, remarked "Gosh, it's not too cold if you wear a hat, is it Mama? Ugh!

I had a moment in the airport in Vienna where I was pulling up the rear of our little family tour group and I saw my kids each wearing their own carry-on backpack and pulling their small rolling suitcase behind them. Matt and I only had to carry our own luggage! I could scarcely believe it. For just a second I was so proud of my little ducklings and was so happy that the days of strollers and bottles, diapers and portable cribs were long gone. "This will be a great trip" I thought. They are so much more self-sufficient, now we can REALLY enjoy ourselves.

...why oh why do I allow myself these thoughts? Haven't I learned my lesson? Within minutes, Lucas began winding up some really textbook examples of cranky 5-year-old behavior. It's as if he knew Matt and I had let our guard down just momentarily and decided to go for the jugular. After a strained check-in at the hotel, a painful late lunch in a nearby restaurant and some amazing boundary-pushing and limit-testing, we remembered the first rule of traveling with children: flexibility. I sent Matt, who had completely run out of patience and Darcy, the human sponge and willing observer, out to explore and found some secret untapped reserves of patience. I took Lucas back to the hotel room, sat him through an excruciating time out, and never raised my voice. It was as if some super-human Wonder Mommy took over my body. It was a true test of wills, and I won. This battle, at least. I'm sure there's a rematch scheduled soon.

A trip to the indoor swimming pool and the hot tub to burn off some energy and everyone resumed their happy countenances and we continued on our merry, yet freezing, way.

The last morning of the trip we treated ourselves to the buffet breakfast at the hotel in Vienna. We were in Austria, so there was sausage and bacon to be consumed. I love breakfast and love to watch how different people approach buffets. All the usuals were in attendance: the couple in their late 50s/early 60s who will only eat a bowl of Corn Flakes and a banana (for God sakes people! One meal. C'mon!) The family that divides and conquers, each attacking a portion of the buffet and loading up plates to be carried back to their table, creating their own little mini-buffet, as if they haven't eaten for days (we were staying at a nice hotel in the middle of the tourist district so I felt fairly certain they had had a little something in the last 24 hours). As an aside, they left at least 6 pieces of bread and a huge platter of fruit untouched on their table when they left. I thought of my mom: "Your eyes are bigger than your stomach!" Then there was the family of three, with two parents bringing plate after plate of food to their daughter, who wrinkled up her nose at everything they offered and finally deigned to pick at one pallid- looking bagel. I'm hoping she wasn't feeling well and wasn't being the amazingly spoiled child she appeared to be. None of them spoke English, yet they all looked so familiar to me. Haven't I seen you at a buffet table someplace before?

Despite the temperature, we had great fun, with a train trip to Budapest to see friends, some fantastic sledding on New Year's Day, and loads of snow to play in.

All in all, the kids did so well, maybe it's time to start planning for a summer 2008 Eurorail adventure. Family hostels anyone?

2007-12-10T21:41:00.000+02:00

The holidays are here!

Turks do trees for New Year, so ornaments abound. Loads of glitter and gold. Of course, you can't exactly find Nativity scenes or Christmas wrapping paper easily, and there's no caroling in the square. We had Matt's office Christmas party last week, and one of his colleagues, Didier, made an appearance as Santa. Leading up to the event, the kids were excited because they figured Santa=presents. We were unprepared for Lucas' beeline for the far side of the room, as far away from Santa as possible when Santa walked in the door. He was clearly nervous, and despite our encouragement to go over and get his gift, he was talking a mile a minute: "NoI'mOK. Idon'twanttogooverthere. NoI'mnotscared." Riiiiight.

It dawned on us that Lucas' Santa exposure has been limited. No annual visits to the Mall to sit on Santa's lap and share a secret list. The last time Lucas saw Santa he was nearly 2, we were living in Thailand, and the Santa was our friend Charlie, with whom we had partied hard the night before our playgroup's annual Christmas party. I think that Santa Charlie was still a little hungover that morning. Lucas screamed as 2-year-olds are supposed to do when encouraged to sit on a stranger's red lap, but he never got to do the 3- and 4-year-old visits when they slowly, slowly get to the point where they will allow you to take a photo where everyone's smiling and happy. After the swarm of small children had dissolved in front of Santa, Lucas finally got close enough to stretch his arm as far as possible to collect his present.

A few days later, we had the annual Winter Bazaar at school. A new feature this year was Santa in his grotto (it's a British thing, don't ask - I always imagine Santa in a damp cave with nymphs flitting about) and the chance to have your photo taken. While I wasn't exactly expecting the professional Santa who frequents our neighborhood mall in the US with his real beard, snowy white to match his hair and his hearty Ho, Ho, Ho! our school Santa was, um, uncomfortable to say the least. He was the husband of one of the preschool teachers, a lovely man who's quite shy, and thirty seconds before the kids were meant to arrive, we were frantically scrambling to find a beard. I prepped Lucas, telling him who Santa's helper was. He wasn't exactly excited but agreed to pose. I managed to get the kids next to him for 10 seconds to get a photo, and Lucas looks as if he's been arrested. Darcy has the lip-closed smile that is seemingly the only way all the girls in her class are smiling this year, apparently the only appropriate way to smile if you are an 8- or 9-year-old girl.

Deck the halls!

2007-11-14T17:48:00.000+02:00

Anybody else remember the Sears Wish Book? You would come home from school one day...and there it was. Smaller than the regular Fall catalog, which had just arrived a few weeks earlier and was full of boring stuff like Tuffskins and sensible Carter's underwear, the Wish Book was just for kids. All of the latest toys, games, and your every Christmas desire. My brother and sister and I would page through it, time and time again, pouring over every entry, skipping the "baby" toys, turning down the pages on the things we wanted most of all, marking it up with a pen, making, revising, and revising again the precious list for Santa.

Well, we don't have a Sears here, or a Wish Book, and no matter how you look at it, scrolling through the Toys 'R Us website just doesn't hold the same thrill. So when my mom sent the Legos and E-Toys catalogs I requested, my childhood came rushing back. Lucas has SLEPT with the Legos catalog for the past 2 nights. He has memorized each and every item, well aware of which he can request because they are for Ages 6-12. He's reserved the 16+ items for Christmas in 10 years when he assures me he will be waiting anxiously for the Star Wars Death Star model he currently doesn't qualify for.

It's so sweet to see the smallest things make the kids so excited. The odd package of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, a Nick Jr. magazine from 5 months ago that Lucas "rediscovered" in his room, the bottle of Heinz BBQ sauce a friend sent home via her son and delivered to Darcy to bring to me. "Mom! It's from America!" she exclaimed as she brought it out of her bookbag.

Absence does make the heart grown fonder.

2007-11-09T10:41:00.000+02:00

These retinas of mine - so demanding! Such divas! Pay attention to meeeee! Like 2 squabbling siblings, each must have their own fair share of the attention. Surgery on one...the other demands equal treatment.

Let me now compare and contrast vitrectomy surgery in the U.S. and Turkey. No, just kidding. I will leave the debate over technological advances in modern retina-ectomies (my own made up medical term, can you tell?) to the scholarly journals. I will say, though, that after the US procedure, I was hustled out of the hospital's outpatient surgi-center faster than an obnoxious dinner guest - here's your hat, what's your hurry. OK, so nobody in the small Turkish eye speciality hospital spoke much English except the doctor and one nurse I clung to like a life preserver, but hey, when you are high on Valium and the post-operative anesthetic hasn't quite worn off, language is kind of secondary anyway. Plus, they let me stay overnight and considering the surgery wasn't until 6:30 in the evening and I didn't get back to the room until close to 10, I was OK with that.

I've now memorized every fiber of the one-foot square patch of carpet I can see as I've been lying on the floor for nearly 2 weeks. I do wander from spot to spot in an effort to relieve my back and neck pain. Later today a recommended massage therapist is coming over, hopefully to nudge away some of the knots that have built up in my shoulders.

On the days when it's sunny, I lay like a cat in the sun, soaking up the vitamin D, at least on the back of my head. Same benefits, right? We've also had some cold, miserably windy days that are typical in November, when the rain pours down in sheets and I am glad to be inside, though fighting with myself not to let my mood turn as grey.

We have been showered with help in the form of rides for the kids, wonderful meals, visits and phone calls. If I need to fill every dish that's come into my house before returning it, I'll be making chocolate chip cookies for the next year. Send more Nestle toll house morsels! Quick!

But wait, this is supposed to be a blog about my wacky adventures raising the kids overseas, right? Sorry, that is based on the assumption that I could actually leave the house with them. There will be more, soon I hope. Promise.

P.S. Go on, comment. Really, you can do it. I've got nothing but time to read at the moment. Just click on the colored text where it probably says 0 Comments. You can remain anonymous if you want.

2007-10-31T09:06:00.000+02:00

My other retina detached! I cannot believe it. Seriously, what the heck is going on??? Surgery Saturday night, back home on Sunday, Turkish holiday on Monday so Matt was home and the kids were off school. Yesterday was my first day alone and I spent most of it trying to come up with a dish for the American table at the International Food Court that was 1)easy, 2)not sweet (we already have brownies and chocolate chip cookies), 3)kid-friendly, and 4)could be served hot or cold.

This is what I thought about. All day. I am not kidding. How pathetic is that!!

I finally came up with BBQ chicken. Gosh, talk about a tough day at the office. I am trying to remain calm and open to healing. Light some candles, burn some incense, channel my inner peace. Ommmmmmm...

P.S. Feel free to comment on any of these posts if you'd like. At the bottom of the post, where it says "0 Comments" just click there and you can reply. You can use your own name or just post as anonymous if you don't feel like logging in. Hope to hear from you!

2007-10-17T14:08:00.000+03:00

The Long Arm of the Mouse

I've written before about the heralded arrival of the Disney Channel here in Istanbul. This fall saw the frenzy rise even further for the European premiere of "High School Musical 2". Those wacky kids from West High (or is it East High - I can never remember) are at it again, this time there are lots of hi-jinks at the local country club. Same old story - the privileged kids spending their summer swimming and golfing and the middle-class kids working to save money for college. They've even translated one of the songs into Turkish and play this painfully sappy video of a guy and a girl singing while strolling through the famous sites of Istanbul. Of course they play it over and over and over again. Did my friends and I act this ridiculously when Grease or Footloose came out? I can't remember but I'm sure we didn't, right...

But the Mouse has reached into our house in other ways. Friends have recently returned from their half-term break trip to Disneyland Paris (or EuroDisney as I think it was once called). Apparently, we are one of the few families who haven't ever been to Disney.

Darcy seems to think that it's her birthright as an American to go to Disney. "But Mom, EVERYONE has been there but me!" I've heard on more than one occasion. And I'm not adverse to going, and enjoy a theme park as much as anyone else, but there were just always other places we wanted to go more (at least Matt and I wanted to go more) and I always figured we would go to the one in Florida some day when we were back in the States. Now she's worried she'll be too old to enjoy by the time we move back. Lucas has now joined in on the chorus of the unfair.

I never thought of EuroDisney until recently. It seems weird to me to consider going to a place that looks to recreate various parts of the US - there's the Santa Fe southwest hotel, the New York high-rise hotel, the Santa Barbara beach hotel. And I'm not sure if they'll get "It's a Small World After All" sung in French, but will it really matter? Buzz Lightyear in Europe looks the same as Buzz Lightyear in the US, after all. And, I guess, in the end, this is one of those trips that is purely for the small people in the family.

P.S. Feel free to comment on any of these posts if you'd like. At the bottom of the post, where it says "0 Comments" just click there and you can reply. You can use your own name or just post as anonymous if you don't feel like logging in. Hope to hear from you!

2007-10-14T18:32:00.000+03:00

A note for all my New York compadres or visitors to the Big Apple -- if you find yourself in Union Square and want to check out some cool art, visit Frances Goodwin's acupuncture office. There you'll find some really fun and funky prints by my friend Pip Moran, a talented, funny, sassy Aussie we know from our Thailand days. Pip has returned to Oz and continues to create fresh, colorful, whimsical art. Matt and I have a Pip Moran original which we cherish. I think of all my Bangkok posse every time I look at it. Pip's art will be on display at

Frances Goodwin Space
One Union Square West
Suite 914 (9th floor)
New York, NY
212.414.0388

You will have to call to check on hours for viewing as the art space doubles as an acupuncturist's office. You can also see Pip's work on her website: http://www.pipmoran.com

The art will be on display starting in November. Enjoy!

2007-10-14T08:14:00.000+03:00

It's 8:14 a.m. and I am still the only one up! Amazing. I will treasure this morning as a once in a lifetime event. Usually some small person interrupts my early morning silent solitude about 6 minutes after it starts. The kids were up a bit late last night and it's been raining, raining, raining, all night so it's still kind of grey and their rooms are still a bit dark. Bliss!

Hopefully the rain will fill the reservoirs and relieve the drought that seems to be everywhere. It's that cold, grey rain that signals the beginning of the real autumn, despite what the calendar says. It's also a holiday weekend, Seker Bayram, Sugar Holiday, so things are pretty quiet. Lots of people go away, and the rest are busy visiting family, etc. There are loads of candies available for sale, as it is the custom to give chocolate to people who work for you, small kids, etc. The kids had fun writing notes to the guards who sit at the entrance of our compound and for the gardeners who don't work for us exactly, but who work for the compound and so nicely mow our grass, etc.

The holiday means we won't have soccer today either. I'm not too upset about that since it is pouring and my kids always want to go, despite the weather. There's always a small crowd of dedicated parents through the worst of the winter, freezing their butts off as we consume large thermal carafes of coffee.

Last week's soccer brought an intense episode of a local challenge we have with our little soccer group. The kids play on a fenced "football pitch" which is owned by the town and somewhat managed by the town cooperative. There was always a lock on the gate which we figured was put on by the town, though no one seemed to have a key for it. We have permission to use the facility so weren't too bothered by it. Next to the locked gate some innovative soul had ripped open a hole in the wire so children and coaches could get through to play.

Occasionally we would find cow pies on the field. Not too surprising as out here roaming livestock is an everyday sight. Last week, we hit the cow pie jackpot. Literally, the field was covered. So while the older high boys who help out ran the warm-ups and drills for the 4-6 year olds the coaches cleared off cow shit. And I mean a LOT of cow shit.

Having helped to set up this little soccer group, and having enough of the smell early in the morning, I decided to call someone I know who is on the board of the cooperative to see what was going on. This is the story and I am not making any of it up or exaggerating for your reading delight:

The lock on the field was put there by the local police. They use the soccer field to hold the juvy cows running rampant through town. This, apparently, is illegal. The cow's delinquent parents, who let them run amok in the first place, are then called to pay a fine and release their charges. The biggest offender is the town mayor. His cows are consistently getting into trouble (isn't that always the way?) His theory is, Hey, these cows were here before any of you moved into your new fancy homes.

An age old story repeating itself in new and interesting ways. And making a normal event like 6-year-old soccer just a little more adventurous.

And, of course, just as I finish typing Lucas has shattered my morning silence with a full-on body slam/hug. The day begins...

2007-10-10T14:35:00.000+03:00

I still smell them... my kids, that is...mostly while they are sleeping or when I am giving them a squeeze and can sneak in a sniff of their freshly-washed hair or slightly sweaty necks. They catch me from time to time..."MOM! Stop SMELLING me!" That's what I missed most of all while I was away.

But the thrill is gone. I've had at least one "you're the meanest mom" muttered under the breath of the sullen 5-year-old and one "you don't UNDERSTAND" at top volume as I refuse to drop everything and help the frustrated 8-year-old finish the homework I asked her to do ages ago and offered to help with when I wasn't up to my elbows in raw chicken that I am cooking for dinner.

I'd like to think I'm a little more patient, and have been, kind of. Except for the last minute dash upstairs to get the thing they just HAVE to have for school and can't find seconds before walking out the door.

We've already been through one more business trip, one potluck lunch. I've met all the new people who aren't really new anymore, caught up with old friends, and told the story of the worst summer vacation ever more than a few times.

I've settled into a (mostly) happy routine of school stuff, freelance writing (some incredibly heart-pounding legal textbook promotional copy revisions, among other stuff), and the ebb and flow of mom-hood.

My new frustration is that every time I want to log into this blogger.com site and add a post, it wants to direct me to the Turkish site, I guess because it recognizes that I'm coming from a Turkish web connection. Of course, that Turkish site does me absolutely no good because while I can now order a whole Turkey for Thanksgiving and confidently ask where the envelopes are (zarf - the Turkish word for envlope. I just love it! It sounds like some sort of alien character created in a seventh grade study hall, doesn't it) I can't translate 'edit post', 'create html' and other such technical lingo. Where's the 'English' button? Arrrggghhh!!!

2007-09-27T22:10:00.000+03:00

Just sit right back
and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip...

FINALLY! BACK HOME! 12 weeks later. Like a salmon swimming upstream, this trip was long and arduous but it is over at last.

On Monday, I was restless all day. My flight didn't leave until 8 p.m. Luckily, repacking my bags so they weren't over the 25 kg. limit took a good amount of time. I wasn't so successful as one of them was 27 kg. but both the Lufthansa rep and I conveniently ignored that fact.

After initially telling me that she couldn't find my reservation, I nearly leapt over the desk and grabbed her by her sassy little yellow Lufthansa kerchief but cooler heads prevailed and I simply asked her to check with her supervisor. I'm sure others around me noticed the half laughing, half crying excited demeanor of a crazy person who's about to lose it.

One hour prior to flying I took the altitude sickness medicine that doubles as a eyeball pressure reducer. Using the breathing techniques I downloaded from an iTunes meditation Podcast and committed to memory during my face down horizontal prison, I managed to remain calm during takeoff and ascension to 35,000 feet. I tried not to think about what could go wrong.

I endured the 7 1/2 hour flight in economy next to Chatty Cathy and her husband heading to Munich for Oktoberfest and behind the ubiquitous slam-the-seat-all-the-way-back-and-crush-your-knees-for-the-entire-ride passenger. I had over an hour to make my connection when we landed in Munich, but we suddenly stopped in the middle of the runway. "Um, won't there be another plane come in behind us?" I thought. After a few minutes, the pilot came on and informed us that:

"One of our hydrolic systems has just failed so we will have to wait until someone comes to tow us to the terminal."

Let's ignore the fact that the layover clock was running and just go back to the first part of that - our hydraulic system has failed????? I'm not so familiar with airplane mechanical technology, but that sounds a bit serious. Right, just be glad it didn't happen while we were in the air and count this as another bullet dodged.

The rest of the trip went like this:

Flavorless airport food - 10 Euros
Airport Parking Fee - 6 YTL from the friend who picked me up
Heavy traffic impeding our trip all the way home (of course) - 10 grey hairs

Arriving back and seeing the kids again - priceless

2007-09-17T18:21:00.000+03:00

Grrrr. The frustration of living out of suitcases for so long is getting out of control! Can't find the red folder I had a bunch of papers stored in. Where is it? Did I leave it at one of the many homes we've stayed in this summer? Did I bury it in the suitcase that has stuff I am carting back to Turkey? The one I'm not opening before I get back as I may never get it closed again? Or did I send it with the other pile of books and papers I shipped through Matt's interoffice pouch in anticipation of returning last week? Now that I've been delayed AGAIN, the pouch will surely arrive before I do.

Since my eye is healed and I'm just waiting for this stinkin' gas bubble to get smaller, I am trying to get some freelance writing work done, work on some new story pitches, follow up on e-mails etc. BUT, in my infinite wisdom, I have Outlook Express set up on my home computer to download the e-mails from my Yahoo! server for my business e-mail address. A few weeks ago, when I asked Matt to retrieve an e-mail address for me, it downloaded a summer's worth of correspondence. So now, as I try to follow up on my laptop, they're gone. *&%$^#%. And I can't change the settings without being at home. And Matt had to go to Paris for an important meeting. The kids are staying with friends and they have a key, but I'm not sure that I trust the 5 or the 8-year-old to hack into my Outlook Express account to retrieve the information I need. Stalled. Again. I see a pattern. And I don't like it!

2007-09-12T01:27:00.000+03:00

I listened to an interview with Haleh Esfandiari today on NPR. She's the Iranian American academic who was held in solitary confinement for 4 months on suspicions of aiding attempts to overthrow the government. She sounds like an unbelievably strong, amazing woman. Esfandiari said in the interview that she couldn't think about her husband and daughter as it was too painful. Instead, she wrote a book in her head about her grandmother, who has passed away. She said it was easier to think about people who had already died.

Every time I miss my family and start to feel down, I try to remember that it could always be worse.

2007-09-09T03:14:00.000+03:00

Do you read your horoscope? With no newspaper delivered directly to my door every day in Istanbul, I rarely do. I look at the NY Times and the Post online, but I have to admit I don’t read my horoscope. I don’t really know that I believe in horoscopes, but I appreciate their entertainment value.

While staying at a friends over the summer, I once again enjoyed the luxury that is a daily paper showing up at your door with no more effort on your part than writing a check or providing a valid credit card account. I spent Labor Day there, and with no agenda or schedule other than the 10 a.m. Labor Day parade up the street, I enjoyed a cup of coffee with the paper. “What’s a horoscope?” my godson Sam asked, reading over my shoulder. I explained the concept and then we found his. Turns out he and I are the same. This is what it had to say for the day:

"Today features the kind of electric and fleeting moment in which you suddenly know everything there is to be known. Then, it’s back to your usual state of lavish innocence."

“Whoa, we better carry around a notebook for any sudden inspirations!” I said, after quickly glancing at a few others to make sure it wasn't some sort of delayed April Fools’ prank.

Suddenly knowing everything there is to be known? What pressure! Since I’ve been in a bit of a holding pattern lately, recovering from eye surgery, I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things. I’ve wondered if the gods of karma and fate had sent me this experience to teach me a lesson or two. Maybe it was payment for something I did in a previous life. Or maybe I was just a recipient of an unusually long run of bad luck. Either way, I usually try to make the best of any situation so I was looking for some new perspective or flashes of inspiration..

So far, I have no great revelations to share other than yet another reminder that you should:
...appreciate good health whenever you have it
...not take your eyesight for granted
...rely on others when necessary
...thank them sincerely and often
...be generous with hugs
...have a tissue handy when your kids tell you they miss you a billion jillion gazillion times over the phone
...remember that family and friends are the most important things in life
...and that sometimes it’s good to just slow down a bit.

Bombshells? No.

Suddenly knowing everything there is to be known? Hmmm, maybe the horoscope wasn’t so crazy after all.

2007-08-30T04:28:00.000+03:00

You know those daydreams you have when you’re a mom....you imagine yourself checking into a hotel somewhere, just you, maybe your husband if your lucky or so desire. Kids happily spending the week with grandparents, auntie, or family friends. You and a small bag filled with only your clothes, your necessities -- no crayons, coloring books, Hot Wheels cars, stuffed animals, granola bars, Cheerios, sippy cups or other kid paraphernalia. You imagine a few days of life as it was before kids -- sleeping in without a bed wetter, a nightmare, or a vomiting child to awaken you. A leisurely breakfast while reading the paper, COVER TO COVER, if you want. Endless days to spend as you wish, heading to the museum to see the exhibit you want to see, staying in your pajamas until 4 p.m. if you want, afternoon matinees, eating when you are hungry and drinking as much as you want and engaging in other adult behavior with your partner of choice.

The next time your having that daydream in your head, do me a favor and make sure to specify to the daydream fairies that you would like to spend that time vertically, instead of horizontal with your facing looking toward the floor for a solid two weeks.

Don’t make the same mistake I made!

My recent surgery to repair the torn/detached and general insufficient retina gave me a whole new view of the world.

Heads up! Finally, I am back looking at the world face forward, instead of face down. A few times I ventured out, once I was feeling a bit back to the normal and the walls of the hotel suite were beginning to close in on me. I walked to the Starbucks around the corner, desperate for something better than the bottomless mug of crap hotel coffee on offer at breakfast. My head was still down, and I felt like some sort of freaky character in a student film project who stumbles along the street, mumbling and not making eye contact.

I’m sure that my forced horizontal inverted prison sentence was a way of life teaching me a few lessons, but it’s still a little too soon to digest them all and see the big picture. They’ll come to me at some point. The wound is still a little too raw.

I did get to watch some stellar examples of the crappiest American television ever produced. The TV on offer while most of the American public is working is some of the scariest stuff I have ever witnessed. Here are my top three observations/favorite TV moments:

1. There is an entire channel dedicated to showing game shows. Not surprisingly, it’s called the Game Show Network. Since there aren’t exactly that many game shows on TV any longer, they show reruns. Of game shows. From the past 30 years. Why an episode of Joker’s Wild (Higher! I’m gonna go higher!) from 1985 is of interest to anyone is beyond me. Maybe they are catering to the subsection of the population that is housebound and bored to tears (OK I spent a few moments in that group). At some point, if you’re bored enough, I guess a replay of Match Game from 1978 will entertain you. A chance to see D-list starts of the 70s lowering themselves to embarrassing levels and making "funny" jokes with loads of sexual innuendo. Of course, today they would have their own cable show, but that’s another channel.

2. Stage moms are still really scary. My favorite line I’ve heard on TV for a long time came from a stage mom who accompanied her lovely 13-year old to the Dr. Phil show for a segment called “Make My Kid a Hollywood Star.” 5 kids, competing for a prize package that included 4 months in a serviced apartment in Hollywood, auditions with agents and producers, and exposure to all the stuff you need in order to get your kid on TV, I guess. The 13-year-old was cute, but looked unbelievably uncomfortable on stage and during the minute she was allowed to perform, managed to change keys at least three times in the song she was singing (though she wasn't supposed to). Hmmmm, maybe a few lessons are in order. But really, as Dr. Phil, pointed out, “they are all winners.” All the non-winners (formerly known as losers before it became a self-esteem issue) were given iPod nanos, X-box 360s, and a vacation. Not too shabby. So they interview all the moms and kids after the winner is announced, and Stage Mom says “I’m not here to judge. They girl that won was ok and I guess she has ‘the look.’ BUT I DID NOT TRAVEL ACROSS THE COUNTRY FOR AN XBOX 360!"

Meow! Watch your back!

3. As my good friend Danika says, “Americans do crap food really well.” But a cooking show hosted by a down home southern girl named Paula Deen took the cake (pardon the pun). She shared a dish with her viewers that started with a chunk of leftover baked macaroni and cheese. She wrapped that in bacon, dipped in in flour, then dipped it in a beaten egg, then rolled it in bread crumbs, then dropped it into a vat of boiling hot peanut oil and deep fried it. OH MY! I felt my arteries clogging just looking at it. Seriously, I cannot think of anything more disgusting. Really, it’s the worst. I don’t know where to start. My stomach is churning just thinking about it. Fried funnel cake at a county fair - OK. Fried onion rings - sure. But fried macaroni and cheesee...PLEASE.

...YOU PEOPLE HAVE GOT TO STOP.

...It’s just plain embarrassing now.

2007-08-09T03:51:00.000+03:00

Ways Not to Spend Your Vacation

Here, in no particular order, are my suggestions for things to avoid on your holiday.

1. Do Not Get Stuck in an Elevator. More specifically, do not get stuck in an elevator with your 5-year-old who suddenly annouces that he has to go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW. Or, if you do choose to get stuck in an elevator, choose one where a) the security cameras are really working, see you jumping up and down in front of them, and are not just props; b) the CALL button is actually hooked up to someone who you can call and who can help; or c) where the fire department who eventually answers the EMERGENCY button can come in less than 20 minutes even though they are only about 5 minutes away. NOTE: The games on most mobile phones can entertain the average 5-year-old for approximately 7.5 minutes.

2. Do Not Get Involved in an Accident With an Old Person. Avoid getting struck by an old man who is exiting a parking space along the side of a road where there is only one other lane of traffic which you happen to be driving in and a concrete median on the other side. If you do encounter such a vehicular incident, take photos which your mobile phone so he cannot claim responsibility at the scene and subsequently tell his insurance company that there were two lanes of traffic and he was clearly in the right lane. Stay calm as you explain to the insurance investigator that if that was the case you would have rear-ended the old man rather than having him plow into you wiith your two kids in the car. Smile politely as the old man looks at the damage to your car, estimating the damage to be a few thousand dollars and then relaying the story he heard of a man who spent $11,000 on his cat, can you imagine, on his cat!?

3. Do Not Undergo Major Emergency Medical Procedures. Avoid tearing your retina in an unexplained fashion and remain calm as the doctor questions you about secret long-term steroid use. If you do have to go such a procedure, when the doctor instructs you to stay bent over, keeping your head at waist level until you can lie down in the back hallway of his office, remember to move far enough into the hallway so that your feet do not stick out into the other hallway, prompting other patients to whisper loudly about your “condition.” Avoid procedures that require you to change position every 2 hours for one week, alternating between sitting up straight and lying on your right side, propped up by at least three pillows. Take pain pills with reckless abandon. Rely on your previous experience as the mother of a newborn to get you through the nights where you get little to no sleep. Send your husband and son out on daily expeditions so that they do not drive you insane.

Follow these tips for a stress-free vacation!

2007-07-28T13:38:00.001+03:00

Coming Home

It's always a mix of emotions when we head back to the U.S. We are so happy to see our family and friends, of course. And every year I vow that we will not be running around all summer; that we will take a break and actually relax. ....And every year I fail! So now I am trying to embrace the chaos and make it my own.

The kids love seeing grandparents, aunts and uncles and playing with cousins. There are always cries of outrage when we have to leave. Darcy still has some friends from our days in the States - she was 4 1/2 when we left and had been in daycare and later preschool so we get together with some of her buddies every year. It's funny to see how they all change over the course of a year. It usually takes a few minutes for everyone to break through the shyness and get back into the swing but the magical power of "play" kicks in before too long.

Lucas, unfortunately, was only 18 months old when we left so his social network was not so fully developed. Plus, I had stopped working so he didn't benefit from daycare friends. We enrolled him in a camp for a week so he could get some fun of his own. Unfortunately, when I took him on the first day the camp location had moved. But there were other camps at the YMCA camp center so I asked what my options were. Kinddergarten enrichment or Mini Gym. Hmmmm, which would be better for a 5-year-old with a bundle of energy and two speeds, off and on???? Mini Gym it is! Of course, I ddn't process that this stood for Mini-Gym-nastics! So he hung out with 2 other boys and a room full of girls for the week. His new best friend is Abby and as she says "Hi Lucas!" each morning he greets her with a shoulder nudge and a smile.

I think Lucas also experienced his first crush this summer on our family friend Madison who is going into 7th grade. Her sister Danielle and Darcy are the same age and their mom Bonnie and I have been great friends for years. Matt and their husband/dad Bruce has similar senses of humor and we love getting together with them. Danielle and Darcy immediately picked up where they left off last summer and began playing at the pool. Madison spent loads of time throwing ball with Lucas in the pool and later playing Wii at their house and Lucas couldn't stop talking about "that girl with the long blond hair" for days after we left.

The kids also suffer a sort of culture shock as they don't always have the same frame of reference as other kids regarding all the things kids talk about. When they are asked if they watch this TV show or like that kind of cereal or have read a particular book, they sometimes look kind of confused. I fight back the urge to step in and explain that we don't have the access to some of the things there friends do and wait to see how they will work it out.

While vacationing in South Carolina with Matt's aunt and uncle, the kids spent some time at a local park with Aunt Maggie while Matt and I enjoyed our books, a quiet house, and their dogs. When they returned, Darcy was telling me about the kids they met who said "ain't" a lot. A southern word that I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to explain the derivation of. Why do they say "ain't"? Ummm, I don't know, they just do. Apparently, the kids asked where they were from, and when Darcy and Lucas told them Turkey, they said, "Turkey?! Is that near China?" Darcy spent the next few minutes trying to explain where Turkey was but the kids were uninterested in a geography lesson. Welcome to the world of the returning expat! We've all been there!

2007-07-28T04:08:00.000+03:00

I'm Baaaack

Sorry for the month-long hiatus. Jetlag, remote locations with no discernable wireless access, and a few unexpected medical emergencies are to blame. More to say in a few days...

2007-07-04T15:37:00.000+03:00

A Day's Long Journey Into Night

I'm coming out of the jetlag fog that always clouds my brain for the first few days after traveling. Finally able to form a coherent thought. Our trip was chronologically short, only 3 hours to Germany, and then 8 1/2 to the U.S. Daytime flying the whole way. For us, compared to the days of 28 hours to Thailand, it wasn't bad. However, it was made worse by the fact that Lufthansa decided to serve the worst airline food every prepared on the trip (except for the kids' meal, which Matt and I looked at longingly while the kids ate), and the fact that the onboard entertainment video service was kaput. WHAT!!!??? As an airline traveler, don't I have the right to at least have my kids watch ONE cartoon movie over and over and over again?? We enjoyed the business show portion of the service, and then were treated to the instructions for foreigners entering the U.S. and directions on how to fill out customs forms OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. They actually tell you not to write the number "1" with a little flicky tail that some people use at the start. Never cross your "7" in the middle. And don't allow the top of the "4" to touch in a point. Seriously. I am not joking. There were instructions on how to write your numbers. Who makes these rules? The kids were pretty good, all things considered. It was, quite possibly, the most boring flight ever. We were all happy to leave.

We arrived around 6:30 p.m. -- our body clocks told us it was 1:30 a.m. We enjoyed the luxury that is the baggage claim area at Dulles airport as we waited over an hour for our luggage to come off the belt. They kept making announcements "We apologize for the delay in the arrival of luggage from flight LH414. The guys needed to take their dinner break so you poor suckers will just have to wait your turn." Finally, the last few pieces slowly appeared, one at a time, painstakingly spaced apart, and we were off to the Fairfield Inn. Just next door, we stopped at the local Bob Evans restaurant (for those of you not familiar with the chain, their specialties are pork sausage and all kinds of pie), and 2 kids meals and lemonades later, we were tucking into bed. The kids were in that "I'm so tired I'm bouncing off the wall like a monkey hyped up on heroin" mode but we persevered and as soon as the lights went off, they went to sleep. Well, at least I did so if they stayed awake I didn't hear them.

We did wake up a few hours later to the sound of our door opening, or closing. I noticed Darcy wasn't there. Panic. Matt checked the bathroom, thinking she was trapped. Not there. Increased Panic. He opened the front door to find Darcy walking down the hall toward our room. Not away, but toward. Keep in mind she's only wearing her pajama top and underwear. She was sleepwalking and managed to open all the locks on the door and leave. We resisted the urge to completely freak out, interrogated her to see if she had seen or talked to anyone, tucked her back into bed and put our heaviest suitcase in front of the door. We were on the ground floor and figured we could escape out the window if necessary in case of fire. Deep breathing to control the rising panic. Don't think about what could've happened. Turn off your brain. Don't even go there.

All this happened in about 2 1/2 minutes in the middle of the night. While our brains were drugged with the heavy sleep that you fall into when you are so tired you can't walk. Must be the adrenaline. And parenthood.

We've recovered, though the kids are still waking up around 6 a.m. But everyone is staying in their beds. Happy Fourth of July!

2007-06-24T21:05:00.001+03:00

Goodbyes

This week will be sad. For expats, the end of every school year typically brings a turnover. Some years lots of people leave, other years it doesn't seem like many. This year will be tough as I am losing 4 good friends. Ones I saw every day at school, commisserated with over kids issues, discovered Istanbul with, and shared lots of glasses of wine and lots of laughs.

There's Julia, my fellow American and supplier of vanilla extract, boxed cake mix and other American "necessities". We've shared a number of taco dinners with kids while our husbands were traveling. Our kids get along well and they always have fun together. Julia is a mom who "gets it" and we've always been able to rely on our shared experiences to help each other out.

Then there's Liz, one of my British posse who knows the best places to find any odd item you might need, from felt to party supplies to styrofoam food containers. She knows the streets off the Spice Bazaar like the back of her hand and is so much fun to shop with. She throws spectacular parties and we've had some really great girl's nights at her place.

Kris, my good friend from Belgium, cracks me up. We've laughed A LOT. She would also give you the shirt of her back if you asked. She is a master kids party planner and makes the most fantastic invitations and cakes you've ever seen. She's also an amazing cook and we've had some great dinners at her house that usually end late and see a lot of wine consumed.

Sian is another Brit and Matt and I have spent lots of time with her and her husband John. Who knew there were others with such eclectic musical tastes? They've made our time in Istanbul really special and we will miss hanging out with them, whether it was taking the kids to the forest, sitting in their garden with a cup of coffee, or sitting by the water in Ortakoy taking in the view.

Now I'm looking forward to our trip home to the states, but I know when I come back this will be a different place. Don't get me wrong, i still have a lot of friends here, but it will be strange to come to school on that first day back and not see the faces I'm so used to seeing.

It's the one aspect of expat life that never gets any easier. We don't have our families here, so our friends become so close. But we won't say goodbye, we'll say see you soon.

2007-06-20T07:28:00.000+03:00

It's the little things...

You know those small details that can make or break your mood. Here's my current annoyance. I have been trying to find file folders here. Manila, third cut, basic folders that you fill with papers and stick in a hanging file in a filing drawer. Not exactly high technology. But do you think I can find them? Office store, high-end stationary store...they all look at me as if I'm nuts. They have the hanging file but not the folders that go in it. When I asked what they use to put inside (using horrifying obscence hand gestures and Tarzan Turkish) they pointed me to the plastic report covers. No No No. The plastic just doesn't work people. It bends, it falls. You can't write on the little thingy that sticks off the top to indicate what's inside!

I finally resorted to having Matt bring pack an Office Depot pack of 18 during his last trip to the US. So now I have my 8 1/2 x 11 file folders stuffed with A4 (European) sized paper - which is just about 1/3 of an inch longer than the folder. My only other option was to have Matt bring a few reams of the paper back to match. Just couldn't do it. My sense of order is not perfect, but it will have to do for now!

If I were Queen of the World for the day, I think one of my first orders would be to have all the nations of the world agree to some standards - weight, height, size of office paper, that kind of thing. Did you know that a North American tablespoon holds 20 ml, but an Australian one holds 15? And Turkish recipes give instructions such as "add one water glass of water." What?! Which water glass? Big one? small one? I'm all for cultural diversity, but c'mon...

2007-06-16T08:15:00.000+03:00

Local Flavor

Thursday night, Matt and I were invited to celebrate the birthday of the Queen of England with several hundred of her loyal subjects and other friends. I don't actually think her birthday is in June, but the weather is more predictable in June in England so that's when they celebrate. Good party planning if you ask me. We went to the gardens of the British Consulate in Istanbul, which is a beautiful spot. It's always a little bittersweet to go there as it was the scene of a horrific series of bombings a few years ago that killed the Consul General and a number of staff. Nevertheless, everyone was in a great mood and the champagne was flowing. We went as guests of some friends who work at the consulate. British husband, American wife -- though the husband grew up in MD, is a huge Redskins fan, and doesn't exactly sound British. Such is the life of diplomats.

We had a great time and enjoyed talking to friends we ran into and meeting some new ones as well. There were appetizers being passed around, and at one point there seemed to be a mass movement toward one man who reportedly was carrying pork sausages on little toothpicks. Poor guy, he had no idea what was happening.

Fast forward two hours and we were heading out the door to get to our car. Champagne + wine + not much food=me a little bit buzzed. Matt was driving and still jetlagged so he didn't drink much. But we were both HUNGRY. The kids were at a friends house and, apparently, still up at 9:15. School the next day and I didn't want them up so late. What to do?

We could've stopped by Burger King, or McDonalds, but there were three flights up in the shopping mall and we were feeling lazy. Oh, and did I mention we were hungry? And then, there, next to the escalator down to the parking garage, we saw it....CORN!

Styrofoam cups of yellow corn, slathered with butter, salt, parmesean, red pepper - choose your flavor. We had seen the corn stands before and it had become a bit of a joke since Matt's office is just next door.

"Hey honey, how was work?"

"Great day, sweetheart, I had my CORN!"

But now, slightly tipsy and ravenous, that corn was looking mighty good. We sidled up to the faux country market stand and ordered two large cups. Butter and salt flavored, please. We decided to go for the basics on our first corn venture. Let me tell you, that was some good corn! Maybe it was the subtle buttery texture mixing with the champagne, or maybe it was just that we probably would've eaten just about anything. I still wonder about the corn. Why corn? Why in a mall? I think it's probably the upscale version of the corn on the cob that you can buy out in the market streets in Istanbul, a portable, tasty, not that unhealthy snack that fills you up. We have Cinnabon in the US, Turkey has corn.

So, for any visitors coming this way, you know what will be one of our stops as we tour the city.

2007-06-11T23:07:00.000+03:00

Sometimes life just takes you in a direction you don't anticipate. And sometimes you just have to give in and enjoy the ride.

I had a flat tire today. My second in 2 weeks. It was pointed out to me by two well-meaning gentlemen in the car next to me. On my way to play tennis. My one "expat wife" thing that I do every Monday. Matt is still away (still...) so I arranged for a friend to take the kids to school. You should know that I'm not good at tennis. I'm a beginner. At our annual tournament, when people asked how i did, I could honestly say, "Someone has to come in last place." And, truly, I don't care. I have fun, like my teammates, and believe it or not, I've improved since the beginning of the year.

I'm 10 minutes away and it is pointed out to me that I have a flat tire. I find an appropriate spot to pull over at the entrance to a park. Not the front entrance, but the back, where all the heavy equipment is and all the park employees roll into work every morning. First of all, I can't believe I have ANOTHER flat tire. What's the deal?

The guvenlik, or security guards, all come to inspect. At first I think, right, I'm not an invalid, I can change a tire. And I COULD, if I could READ the jack instructions in a language I UNDERSTAND. So I begin to think about hailing a cab to pay him to change the tire.

Suddenly a new guard comes up and I recognize him as a guard who used to work at the school. He recognizes me and we say our hellos. Tea is offered, so of course I must accept. Again I try to explain that I have to be somewhere soon and I can take the tire to get repaired in our little village of Zekeriyakoy if I can just get the tire changed. My new best friend, Mert, assures me that he will take care of everything and quickly takes off on a motorbike.

His friend, Tuncay, engages me in conversation and asks where I am from. When I tell him I cam from America, he begins to tell me of his love affair with Manhattan. He LOVES Manhattan, it's beautiful, and he wants to move there. He then proceeds to tell me how much is salary is and asks if he can make that much or more in Manhattan. He has seen movies and knows he would like to live there.

I try to explain that I haven't actually lived in Manhattan since 1993 and I'm not sure what the salaries are like these days. I don't bother trying to explain that everyday life is just a little different than it is on the TV and in the movies. He asks me how hard it is to get a visa into the U.S. I try hard not to laugh.

Back returns Mert, who tells me his "friend" will be there in 10 minutes to repair the tire. Again i try to explain that I just want to change the tire but I realize the situation has moved out of the realm of my control. More tea is served. More discussions about salaries in Manhattan.

Of course this is all being conducted in my poor attempts to speak Turkish. When Tuncay asks me if I have kids, I know I should say "I have two kids", and I actually know how to say this, but it comes out "I my two kids."

Finally "friend" appears and fills my tire up with air and diagnoses the problem as a leaky air valve. Once again I try to explain that if we can just change the tire I can get it repaired. But no, there will be none of that. More tea is served and our little group has grown to four persons; we discuss the beautiful weather.

My tire is pumped up with air and I am told to drive quickly behind "friend" to his shop so he can repair the tire for 20 YTL (about $16). As if I have a choice.

As I drive I can hear the hissing of the air leaving my tire with great speed. We make it to the shop, I am again offered tea, and "friend" repairs the tire in about 10 minutes. It's all about the 10 minutes and the tea.

By the time all is said and done, I have consumer 3 or 4 glasses of tea, my tire is completely repaired and I have missed my hour of tennis. But I have lots of new friends.

And if any of you in Manhattan are looking for an eager, hard-working, very nice Turkish-speaking security guard who makes a mean cup of Turkish tea...

New Turkish Vocabulary
lastik - tire

2007-06-06T22:01:00.000+03:00

I had one of those moments today. One of those moments where I was so proud of one of my kids that I nearly burst. Darcy was in a horse show today. She's been riding for about a year and a half. We've had some good times, and some bad times. She's fallen twice and luckily wasn't hurt, except that her confidence took a bad hit. Several lessons were tear-filled and nerve wracking. The smallest bit of wind scared her. On more than one occasion I told her that she didn't have to keep riding if she wasn't enjoying it, but she insisted on continuing. Slowly but surely, things improved. Recently, she's started riding a new horse and everything has just clicked. She's become so confident and has worked so hard. After the dressage course, there was jumping. She's done a jump or two, but this was a jumping course outside with not one, not two, but 5 jumps. An entire course to ride through. I was flipping out inside.

I purposely didn't go over to her before her jump because I didn't want her to waiver. I decided that she would do it if she wanted to and wouldn't if she wasn't comfortable. I gave her a quick thumbs up and held my breath. Honestly, I don't think I took a breath for the 2 minutes she was going through the course.

At the end, she was, as our British friends say, chuffed. Bouncing. Out of her mind excited. And so was I. Not only did she not hurt herslef, she excelled. Pushed through the fear. It was one of those moments when your heart fills your entire chest and threatens to come right up out of your throat. And she did it all on her own.

Oh my goodness, she's growing up.

2007-05-27T22:38:00.000+03:00

I was feeling a bit down. Until I read this:

From The Washington Post, Sunday, May 20th edition:

I am reading about diabolical Christian cults and Kabbalah in "Foucault's Pendulum," while waiting for my daughter as she learns Indian classical music and Hindu hymns from a Muslim originally from Afghanistan. The other students include an African American lady, a mother and daughter from Bangladesh and a massage therapist who rents a car just to come to class. There are also Boy Scouts in full regalia meeting in a room around the corner. And a ballet troupe in pretty pink tutus, practicing for an upcoming event in the big hall. All in an Episcopal Church in the suburbs. I love America.

Sanjiev Chattopadhya

Sanjiev, you rock! Thanks for bringing me up out of my funk.

2007-05-27T09:38:00.000+03:00

I Need A Job!

Good golly, I miss working. I can close my eyes and remember the days of working from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Deadlines, no time for lunch, industry reading at home. OK... no, that part I don't miss.

But the past 2 years have been HARD. I'm a much better wife and momma when I have something else that needs my attention every now and then. I worked part-time while in Bangkok and that schedule was perfect. OK, the pay wasn't great but it was enough to pad our vacation fund.

But here. Oy! No work permit, no job. And just try getting one of those. Precious commodity.

Right now I'm trying to start a freelance writing career. I've been reading, getting motivated, even wrote a few articles and am working on ghostwriting a book. I just need to get it all coordinated and keep the momentum rolling.

Meanwhile, we're making it work on one income like so many other families.

And I'm chairing the school's annual Fun Day. A full day of kiddo fun at school - games, activity stalls, cotton candy, bouncy castle, whoo-wee. And a big push to help the school's charity. A great one that hits close to home. One of the school's staff members has a daughter who needed a kidney transplant earlier this year. Yikes! A 10-year old.

Their insurance covered some but as usual, there are extra costs. The family had to essentially move near the facility that had the best chance of getting a kidney soon. So, they borrowed 50,000 YTL (about $35,000) to save her life. It's what you do for your kids, isn't it. We'd all do the same thing.

Of course, Turkish salaries for lower management aren't exactly generous. The charity this year has given the kids a chance to see exactly how they can affect one person's life for the better. A good lesson for all of us.

Peace.

2007-05-19T08:15:00.000+03:00

My New Blog! OK, I've spent a good chunk of Saturday early morning setting this up while Disney Channel plays in the background. Not exactly quality mommy-time, but whatever. Why is it that all these things never get done while they are at school? Why do I come up with my brainstorms at the most inapparopriate times? And why didn't I realize before I had kids exactly how much you can get done between the hours of 6-11 p.m. My goodness, knowing what I get accomplished now during that time, I should've had a PhD before I even popped out kiddo #1 8 years ago.

Our live at the moment sounds so very ordinary. Darcy at a sleepover, Matt still snoozing, Lucas sitting in his T-shirt and Spiderman underwear watching TV. His legs are covered with little boy mystery bruises. The war injuries of every 5-year-old.

Matt just came back from Croatia a day ago and brought back bacon! Pork products (yes, we live in a Muslim country)! Off to make eggs and bacon for breakfast. Yum! A real treat.