Missing

I thought I would post more about the return to home, but it is so surreal and always changing and re-shifting that it is hard to keep up with the readjusted life. Basically I am making excuses for being a liver instead of a writer these past few months.

Things I remember, but didn't write down(which is always falsified information, because if anyone knows a writer, the reason we write is because we have terrible memories)about what it was like readjusting and the things I love about being home - here it goes:

I love that the grocery cashier helps me bag my groceries and that there are a kabillion yellow, plastic bags at the end of the line for my use if I choose not to be "green." (not that Istanbul didn't have bags, but they were always tossed at you at the end of the line and the expectation was self-bagging and fast - two things that do not translate well with children)

I love the turney-grocery bag thingees at Walmart.

Attending Disney on Ice.

I loved seeing Mexicans working on the landscaping at Chili's. I forgot about even having Mexicans living nearby.

I love hearing languages that I can't even recognize being spoken everywhere I go.

Getting a bagel with cream cheese and hot coccoa at 7-11 in the morning. I try to hold back and only get it once a week.

Getting a book I want in 3 days for 5 dollars.

Making homemade pizza with 3 dollar mozzarella instead of 8 YTL kasarli peynir.

Sitting at a "bar" nearby with friends and one orders a pita with chicken, the other orders salmon, another calamari, and myself a creme brulee. And EVERYTHING was delicious.

Signing my son up for 3 different athletic-based activities instead of one, weekly ballet class.

Driving to church in 15 minutes. Staying for 3 hours. Driving home in 15 minutes.

Being able to go to a pediatrician within walking distance any day of the week.

Realizing that so much of my life revolves around what I eat and what my kids need.

This is not a full list, but because of the delay it will never all come.

Party in the Cistern

Leave it to the Turks to dress up a cistern with neon lighting and serve dinner and have echo-microphone singing of Hotel California and a male belly dancer from Lebanon.

If you entered a place like this:


Would you really expect to see something like this?

My colleagues and I (let's be serious, who else do I ever hang out with) went out for a night of dinner and belly dancing. It was nice getting off campus and seeing another area of the city and getting to hang out in a cistern for the night. The food was good (I forget sometimes since the cafeteria serves a bad version of Turkish food) and the dancing even better.

Baggin' Chicks

Today at the market a boy of about 10 years walked passed the chick-box (the one that the duck was also in last week) and purchased two. The salesman put the chicks into a bag like a couple of apples and there were 2 little holes on the sides of the bag, for breathing I guess, and the boy scooted along.

Totally normal. Nothing to it.

I can see the text from his mom(all Turks have cell phones - I am convinced):
"Hey Alper! Pick up some chicks from the market on your way home from school today. Don't stop to buy cherries or grapes or strawberries. Just the chicks. And make sure they are the yellow ones. Those white ones are just not right. No ducks this time either."

Okay - maybe that is long for a text message, but it sounds accurate.

Culture Club

Kres had culture week this week and they asked parents to come and share their culture. As if these kids don't get enough American culture, I decided I would go to Kres and share some more. I googled some stuff (of course) and came up with the story of the Jersey Devil (for 4 yr olds) and NY's finest - the Black and White Cookie. I would have never made my own B and W's at home had it not been for this activity -- thank goodness, cause I will never be without B and W's again.

Moths to a Flame

The other day Pete and I had a meeting with a shipping company to talk about moving our stuff home. We got there early for the meeting so we chilled out in a Turkish colleague from HR's office for a bit.

While we were innocently sitting there with child strapped to my chest in the Bjorn (shout out to Dave and Catherine for gifting it to us), our colleague decided to just go tell one other person. She explained (and I already knew) that this is how Turks do it, she being a Turk herself. She went and told another colleague from HR about the presence of a young soul, and then that colleague also came into the room and the two women unleashed the high pitched tones only related to babies and Mariah Carey songs. All it took was Indiana Jones letting out a gleeful squeal before more than half a dozen women and one man poked their head in to get a look.