Happy Mama!

There is a pretty good chance that this might sound cheesy and thanksgiving-ish, but I am thankful that both my sons are home with me, healthy, happy, independent, smart, cute and totally completely definitely make me proud: Arda with his sappy sentimentalism, forgetfulness, surprising wit and sheer charm, Tunca with his creativity, sense of humor, mind boggling brain, and a deep love for sleep. You guys helped me belong and are the best gifts ever.

Happy mother's day to me!

The never-ending program.

I am constantly haunted by my children's demands for programs on the weekends. And on holidays. And in the afternoons. Every day. Day after day.

To an extent, I am happy to oblige - many of our "outings" as a family end up being wonderful days and we all feel fulfilled, happy to have spent the day together, with family and sometimes friends.

The programs mostly include a meal outside, meeting friends, inviting friends, walks, bike rides, kite sessions, museums and parks and such. And according to the weather, and the fullness of the weekend schedule, they are more or less the same.

Add, however, the finicky basketball schedule of Arda's, a birthday party, someone (mostly myself) ill or miserable (with sun allergies), the terrible awful horrible no good senseless traffic for no good reason but the sun shining, the result is chaos and me screaming off the top of my lungs to just let me stay home. And sleep. Or watch TV. Preferably with a soccer game on.

After speaking to the boys about the limits of programs and my limits of sanity yesterday (ok, there was yelling involved, I admit) they were quietly playing with their toys and drawing today. Never even once asked for a program. My husband must have felt guilty that after basketball practice, he took them grocery shopping and bought the most unneeded yet essential items ever: almonds, ice cream cones, chocolate, a watermelon, 3 green apples and cocoa puffs.

We are determined to go to the beach or the forest next weekend close to the city. It's a 3 day weekend, May 1st is finally a legal holiday!

It's sad, I would have loved to take my children along to the protests, show them that the righteousness and purity of labor is something to celebrate, not frown upon or worse, look down on. No way. Never in İstanbul.

Darn it I missed it.

The previous post about our W40th apartment thru the eyes of Google Earth's Street View was my 100th post, apparently. Joy to the world. Here's a favorite poem from the 90s when everything seemed dreary and sad in the never ending winter nights of Massachusetts, and the credit goes to my brother Sinan, for introducing me to Vikram Seth and making me more depressed than ever before:

All You who Sleep Tonight

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

Vikram Seth

Peter Pan and I

Call me shallow, but amongst all the great movies I have seen (and believe me, I have seen many) the one that always, always moves me so is Peter Pan. Yes, that version of Peter Pan.

The whole "never is an awfully long time" thing moves me. So does the destitute in Hook's (and Tink's!) face when he realizes that Peter "has found himself a... Wendy. And Hook is all alone." And lines like "you... are a codfish" make me giggle. And Mr. Darling's reference to bravery about how he put away many of his dreams as he locked them in a drawer which gets harder and harder to close after he secretly admires them late at night... yet he still does close the damn thing.

Anyways, I just came across the movie while zapping through channels tonight, and after a dull Turkish Cup soccer game between Galatasaray and Altay, it felt just right.

We have the DVD and every chance I get, I tell the boys that I would like to watch it. Sometimes they agree, more often we end up cracking up at Spongebob or ScoobyDoo. They both do know that I would pick Peter Pan if it was up to me. They make fun of me when I cry at certain scenes, yet I sometimes catch a glimpse of a tear on their faces here and there as well. I want them to know that love is captivating (both in terms of imprisonment and amazement) and liberating at the same time. And I hope, really, truly hope that they are fine with feeling that way.

Our trip was great. A few friends cancelled at the last minute and we were worried about the road conditions for a while, but we made it safe and sound and had a wonderful time with dear friends.

Here are some photos:

Adatepe

Arda hanging out with goats on the way back from the Zeus Altar.

Tunca & Z hiking. Sorta.

Gang of boys @ Zeytinbağı.

Food @ Zeytinbağı.

New Year's Eve @ Zeytinbağı.

Cool ladies.

Cool ladies v.2

Holiday Cheer.

Yeah, I know the holidays are almost over. As usual, I never got around to mailing any cards (I forgot to even buy the cards this year, ha!) and the annual quintessential holiday email I send will probably be postponed until the week of January 5th.
Attention shoppers, Z is very lazy and busy this year, plus she's running around planning parties and gifts for 1179 children (seriously, the holiday parties at school were great but they really took their toll on me), plus a book fair involving over 60 publishers, plus getting together a gazillion documents for our trip to Austria (I swear, the only thing the Embassy did not ask for the visa documents was the color of my mom's underwear) plus getting tickets and dealing with everyone who canceled out at the last minute for our trip to Mount Ida plus getting gifts for my own children (Arda got an Ibanez GRG Micro electric guitar that he has asked for the past two years, as well as a sketching set, Tunca got my camera plus a little robot that, well, just walks) while having a grand time with my newest find, the Rowenta Lissima Clip and Press.
I am a bit scared that this blog will morph into a shopping frenzied mom's list of her endless endeavors into the shallow world of capitalism. Might happen, sooner or later, because the "purpose" of zymzym is my attempts at forcing myself to write. The countless stories and the two novels I started then dumped prove that I am not a long project oriented person but a shallow one with the attention span of a sparrow. Or a guppy.
Anyways, tomorrow we leave at 6AM to try and get on the boat to Bandırma to reach Mount Ida at a reasonable time for us to comfortably celebrate the arrival of the new year with our closest friends at Zeytinbağı, a nice little hotel on the outskirts of the mountains. But the boats have been canceled for the past two days due to storms and we are actually having a hard time deciding what route to take.
Anyways.
Happy new year everyone!
PTA members standing guard for the gifts.
All we need are earphones for Arda and earplugs for us now.
My new favorite gizmo.

The meltdown.

Turkish holidays are grand. After a 9 day holiday in November, we braced ourselves for the celebration of Eid, a Muslim holiday, for another 9 days, packed with activities. Most people go on a vacation of some sort, some overseas, some south to the Mediterranean, but we make do with short getaways during Easter, winter break and spring break since Burak works with an European schedule.

The first few days we managed fine, with lots of crafts and restaurants and family visits. Burak's birthday allowed us to keep them busy making lots and lots of cards and origami ("here mom, I made an elephant for dad but it turned out to be a boat") and sporadic food experiments (yes, we did the mentos & diet coke experiment in our backyard and dudes, it's awesome!) Then we went to a basketball game (well, we first took the kids to Asmalımescit and Pera area and walked around a bit), and the anticipation of that kept them excited and busy. Then we tricked them into staying at home for a few hours with the promise of a movie - at night and 7+ rating (they really did get a kick out of all the swearing in AROG, a Turkish comedy of some sort). But today, after all our plans fell thru and their cousin was late for a playdate and all my efforts (puzzles, more crafts, a 2 liter diet coke bottle and two packs of mentos, the computer games, 7 songs on Guitar Hero, cookies, more cookies, decorating the cookies, letting them clean up the mess from the cookies by licking the freaking table and giggling endlessly, then burning the cookies and letting them experiment with the burnt cookies) failed at keeping them entertained, I gave up.

I yelled at them after they started screaming into each others ears with makeshift loudspeakers, and they were very loud. I asked them over and over and over and over again to stop screaming, then they started to wrestle and screamed again and I had my first official meltdown of the holiday season.

So I decided to get my hair colored again, this time, back to its original brown. So there. I am the mother of two little boys, who seem to be having a great time screaming and giggling and doing silly stuf, just like they're supposed to be doing, and I just could not handle it anymore. So I want my hair back to its original color. That should do the trick.

Happy Birthday...

to me...

We all know the quintessential letter a blogger writes to her children for their birthdays, right?

Here's mine, to myself, for myself.

The aura that surrounds you will keep glowing and you will keep growing and though you may think that you do not deserve all that you have, you do. So trust yourself, and enjoy. Your children are your legacy since you do not seem to understand what everyone says about the "uniqueness" you supposedly have, so keep doing what you're doing - cherish them.

Stop bickering about directions with your husband while he drives. He hates that.

I'm on my way.

This will be the first "solo" vacation I have taken in... (drum roll, please) 14 years! Ever since I met Burak, I went everywhere with him. Save for a business trip here and there in the late 90s, we were always together. After the kids were born, I did join him in London for the past two years for a weekend, but other than those few exceptions, I went everywhere with family. My parents are actually going as well, so technically, I am not going "solo" but I think this counts as well.

I am going to visit my host parents from high school in San Diego because my lovely sister Alexis is getting married. Wouldn't miss it in a lifetime. I do feel guilty about leaving my family behind, but I think they can manage for a week without me.

As a punishment, I wow to buy/experience the highest heels, the most ridiculously expensive clutches, strangest shades of eye color and great Mexican food.

Family First Days

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I left home when I was 15 to go to high school in San Diego... I am desperately attached to my parents. At the age of 34, the thought of spending a few hours with them makes my day, and yesterday, as I sat on the edge of the Bosphorus with my dad, eating grilled meatballs in my Beşiktaş uniform and then walked to the stadium to see the game (in which we kicked Ukrainian Metalist's orange clad butts 1-0) I definitely felt happy. Truly happy. Yelled and screamed and cursed and jumped and cheered the Beşiktaş style among the raunchiest fans ever. Had a great time. Wished we had more tickets so my sons and husband and mom and brother and his son and wife and my in laws came as well, but just being with my dad was also enough.
I will tie this to Rebecca's and Kristen's shower, I really will.
When I was pregnant with Arda, 3 weeks before he was due, I went to my routine check up where I was informed that I was 3cm dialated and the baby looked and sounded great and not to make another appointment, that Arda would probably show up that week.

So I called my parents, who were living in İstanbul, while Burak and I had been living in NYC for the past 6 years and at the time enjoying the wonderful 175,000 degree NYC weather. My mom came two days later. Arda had other thoughts in mind, though, so he decided to show up a whole month later, a week after he was due. That made everyone's plans a bit tighter than then had planned, my brother, sister in law and my dad got on a plane the day Arda was born and arrived the next day.

So for Arda's first days at home, I was surrounded by all my family. It was wonderful to see everyone precious to me there to witness the most meaningful creation I had brought to this world. In that tiny one bedroom apartment, 3AM nursing sessions (no matter now painful and frustrating) turned into family chat times when my mom told me of my first days in life. The sporadic "this child is hungry and your milk is not enough" comments faded the second I told them I was determined to give it a serious try - they trusted my instincts. Arda was fussy, sleepless and I was such a novice - but having my very supportive family around for the first few days made me a more patient, more sufficient mom. With Arda's every whim, with questions about his umbilical cord, circumcision, breastfeeding, everything, they saw me, day by day, learn to be a "mom." We went to Bryant Park together in the afternoons for lemonade and sandwiches, and Arda was luck enough to spend his first days of life with everyone that I love.

It was the same with Tunca - this time it was easier and much much more fun because we were living in İstanbul then, and everyone could hang out at our house for hours, playing with Arda, eating, watching soccer games, taking walks, yet everyone had the chance to go back to their homes at night to leave me with my beautiful sons. But when the morning came, someone always dropped by, sometimes with a juicy watermelon, sometimes with some DVDs but more often, chocolate and ice cream.

So, I don't know Kristen's family relationships, but as far as I can tell, Rebecca has a wonderful time with her parents, and I do wish for both of their babies (and other children) to be surrounded by loving, supportive extended families as they grow up.

On another note, the seeds of the virtual community of "mom bloggers" probably soared from the pregnancy and playgroup forums back in the late 90s. I still keep in touch with some wonderful women from my June 2000 pregnancy (and then playgroup) IVillage board, and I am profoundly proud and lucky to have such a support group, no matter the thousands of miles and the millions of opinions that separate us.

Adventures

We leave for Bodrum on Thursday. We'll be taking the Sea Line boat, and the cruise will take 24 hours. It was always a hassle bringing the car to Bodrum, so it will hopefully be a practical and cheap considering the gas prices and finding a driver, arranging for his return to İstanbul etc. Anyways, more details on that to follow soon.

Here's a wonderful addition to the stuff I have to face every day, I got stuck in a bathroom stall this past Sunday. I think it tops my "most embarrassing moment" to date - that was when I got stuck inside a size 4 skirt in a clothing store two years ago and had to ask to manager to help me get out. I wear a size 8. Don't ask.

So I go to use the bathroom in a farm where my cool friend Pelin was having a birthday party for her daughter Mercan, Tunca's classmate. The minute I closed the door, the handle broke and I was stuck. Everyone was busy with presents and food and kites and all I could do was just sit on the stall and laugh at myself.

What would you do if you were stuck in a bathroom stall?

Climb on top of the wall, and jump to the next stall, right?

After cleaning the partition of the cobwebs and dust the best I could (what? I was wearing a new outfit) I climbed up, and being the chicken s*it that I am, was now, successfully, stuck on the wall, nearly 8 feet high, afraid to jump down. And there were spiders. And dust. I could totally feel all my allergies going crazy, and just as my hands started breaking out in hives, I saw the guy who was barbecuing right in front of the bathroom.

- Umm, hi, can you help me? I got stuck?
- Yeah, that door handle is broken. (You tell me that now? NOW? I know it's broken. You should have said something when I asked you where the bathroom is you a*swipe).

And with a quick step into the womens bathroom, he opens the door to the stall.

- Well, can you please call my husband? I can't get down. (I've climbed and I can't get down. Yes.)

Burak comes, along with Tunca, who has to pee right then and there, and before any attempts to bring me down, he attends to our wonderful son, who is screaming with laughter at my situation saying "look at mom, look at mom, perched up there like a bird" over and over.

Anyways, Burak brings me a chair, and holds me until I slowly lower myself down. I am so lame and unfit and a coward. With the "stuck in a skirt" situation, I know that I won't even have to see that store manager or the two saleswomen who tried to take the stupid skirt off of me, and they will not know my name and maybe they are laughing at me during their holiday parties , but hey, they're strangers.. With my wonderful family, the "perched on a wall like a bird" comment is likely to continue until I do something even more stupider.

Happy birthday to my baby II.

So, it's after 12AM here and it's your birthday Tunca.

Another post to write about my feelings. Here it goes: I had always feared how I could love another child like I did your brother. The cliche of a mother having endless love for all her children did prove to be true though - your birth was sudden, early and quick and it epitomized the notion of "love at first sight" to the dot. We thought you would be a brunette at first because the little hair you had was brown, and you had (and still do have) the darkest eyes I have ever seen - yet they seem to sparkle extraordinarily.

The myth of a second child being easier faded as I struggled with finding time for your very basic needs and those of your brother, who was just a toddler when you were born. I tried to love you the most when your brother was around so he could learn how to love another, and it seemed to work. As we always tell him, you were, and still are, awed by Arda, from the moment you opened your eyes. I know that is a good thing - you love him and you want to be like him, but you as yourself is precious and cherished just the way you are.

The guilt that I carry about not taking you to the park as many times as I've taken your brother, or not spending as much time as I did with your brother and many such worries seems to wane when I look at you and see what a great fabulous incredible wonderful child you have grown into.The way you don't give up, the way you try to do everything by yourself without any help, the way you sing made up songs with terrible four letter words and the way you force yourself to step right moves me - believe me that everything about is truly beloved.

Happy birthday baby, Tunca, the baby of the world. I love you.

Father's Day.

Another quintessential post, I know, I just feel like I have to write it though...

In no particular order...

To my dear father, who always forgives me, no matter how wrong I am, who always expects the most from me, no matter how insecure I am, who always trusts me, no matter how many times I let him down, and who always loved, loves and will love me as his little baby, no matter how old I get...

To my dear husband, who is an unbelievably understanding, giving, joyful, and selfless man to my wonderful children, who never tires of playing with them or explaining to them what is right and what is simply silly, who can watch himself in front of a mirror at 1AM and blow bubbles while washing his face: you rock our world!

To my father in law, who accepted me as a daughter from the moment I met him...

To my grandfather Ali, who patiently taught me how to ride a bike, how to swim, and pretended to have wet the bed that I slept in so I would not get in trouble, I miss you terribly and often dream of us dancing.

To my grandfather İsmail, whom I barely remember, but know in my heart that he held a special place for me in his heart, and can see his legacy in my fathers and uncles lives...

To Paul, who was courageous enough to take care of me as his own daughter at the age of fifteen and pushed me and my bike on countless slopes when my legs gave out...

To Sinan, who is patient and honest and funny and a role model for my children (god help me)...

Happy father's day!

Mother's Day, Italian style, during Formula 1

Mother's Day came and went fabulously. The "new" tradition for the past few years have been to gather all the family in my sister-in-law Zeynep's mom's house in Sapanca, have lunch and just hang out. This year, there were 24 of us.

Here's the list of who's who:
My family (4)
My brother's family (3)
My parents (2)
Hubby's parents (2)
My uncle (1)
SIL's parents (2)
SIL's brother's family (3)
SIL's SIL's sister's family (3)
SIL's SIL's dad (1) (her mom passed away a few years ago)
Both my grandmothers (2)
One grandmother's caretaker/companion (1)

The lunch was wonderful, activities included eating a lot, then eating more, and after dessert, eating more. The children played soccer in the nearby field while adventurous adults made attempts to catch a frisbee in between 8 courses of salads, appetizers, meat, more meat, more meat, even more meat, fried zucchini and calamari .

Highlights of the day included getting stuck in traffic for hours because some smart ass thought that Mother's Day would be the greatest time to schedule a Formula 1 race in Istanbul, because, you know, all Turkish mothers would like a gift of a golden pass for Formula 1. I actually might have enjoyed it, come to think of it.

The necklace that Arda had made when he was in preschool 3 years ago now has a matching twin, made by Tunca, but this new one has feathers. "Feathers. Like bird feathers. But we didn't pluck them off birds. Teachers have to do that on their own."

I'm waiting for my brother to upload his pictures to .mac (my new favorite these days) so he can show off his new camera - more pictures to come.