The one you love.

"The mind has some many pictures, why can't I sleep with my eyes open?" asks Rufus Wainwright in the song, The One You Love. Since the bulk of my literary adventures have been mostly limited to murder mysteries for the past decade or so, song lyrics often screw with my head, in a good way, most of the times.

So what we have been up to?

A month down South, lots of wine, loads of sunshine, weekend sailing, family and friends. Lovely. Exhausting, but absolutely wonderful.

The one I love, the ones I love, cannot leave you down any avenue, promise not to, but could use a few days of my own!

Salty sand

Sea shells and rocks and pebbles and sandy toes, the treasures of my kids' days during vacation. Lots of sunshine, as their hair turns all the more blonde, I can literally see them grow up. Slightly unnerving yet completely tranquil within the chaos of never ending sunscreen, food, wet bathing suits, the picking and hanging of towels always a bit damp early in the morning.

Tunca says he can see the salt water in the sand. He probably means he can taste it.

And, happy anniversary babe!

Happy Birthday to my Baby!

So hard to believe it's been a decade since I first laid my eyes on you. You are growing up to be such a good guy, such a sweet guy that as I type this, I have tears in my eyes. I promised you, that first night we lay awake next to a stranger in a hospital room with an incredible view of the Hudson that I only saw after a whole day, that I would give you everything, anything, that would make sure you grew up to be a wonderful, happy boy. And you made me proud. With your charm, understanding, slightly sappy yet overwhelmingly sweet sentimentality, courage, wits, insight and your big big heart, you make me proud, you always have, you always will. I love you, so much, so much so much that I, once again, have tears in my eyes. Happy birthday babe.

Alternate versions of reality

Is it possible to run out of things to say? To write about?

The notes I mentioned in a previous post seem to be decreasing in amount and frequency. Or I'm losing them. I distinctly remember writing something about what to do with all the hand crafts the kids make, and it was all witty and cute and funny at the same time (or so it seemed). It's either somewhere hidden in the deep dusty yucky crevices of my purse or I am totally losing my mind and remembering alternate versions of reality:

Got the ATM card activated
Got my notes in order
Wrote contracts
Wiped off gunky mascara
Cleaned my desk
Measured Tunca's height
Measured the wall where I'm supposed to buy a bookcase kinda thing.
Charged my phone
Found and brought pregnancy and baby name books for my cute friend Asyak

Reality:
Still have no cash
Questionable existence of notes
Got two blank pages open in Word and Pages, it's a start
Gunky mascara all over my face, not just my eyes
Sticky desk with piles and piles of paperwork
Can make that up
Could go by without a bookcase kinda thing for 8 months, probably don't really need it
Found the charger
Who borrowed my Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy book? Come out and identify yourself. And for punishment, cross to the European side and hand deliver the books dammit.

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!

Muse oh Muse

There are days when I cannot stop thinking about, arranging and rearranging words in my head, something seems to have inspired me, yet when all the hustle and bustle ends and I finally sit down to write them down (somewhere, this blog, a piece of paper, one of the many journals I have begun and never managed to follow through) and that inspiration morphs into a checklist, a to-do list, an email, or completely disappears, fleeting to the depths of my mind, often to surface at a totally irrelevant and inappropriate place and makes me look totally dumb for pulling over somewhere and writing on a piece of credit card receipt.

Here are a couple that I fished out of my purse:

(can't read the handwriting here, probably written while driving?)
Seems like two ends of a sectional that never quite fit together, always a bit crooked, needy of pushing around...

Those crazy pink flowers have bloomed in the most ridiculously awkward curve, threatening to make me giggle and lose control somehow (ok, this was written in traffic, I remember this from last week)

Lull

My dad checks up on this blog from time to time. A faithful follower. Like he's always been.

Yesterday, I was in the middle of trying to explain to my almost 10 year-old son how sometimes life is so not fair, and there are times when he could believe that he was %100 right and noone would understand him, or care about his feelings of beliefs. Now he's probably not old enough to understand that whatever stand he makes on even the silliest issue has some sort of impact and more often serious consequences that follow. Maybe this event was the first he came across, it's the first one that I can think of, or at least know of.

Anyways... Thanks, dad, for telling me to always stand up for what I believe. Even though that got me in lots of trouble more than I can remember, I was able to tell my son that yes, he would probably get in trouble, but if he truly believed whatever he did was not wrong, he should stand up for himself. And a special congrats to my mom who taught me to be polite and practical. And she quits smoking too! My hero!

As for the lull in posts... Been busy. Organizing a picnic that's turning into a logistical nightmare. When I say picnic, I mean PICNIC in caps, an event for 5,000+ people and a concert to follow. Fun but exhausting. Also had surgery, no big deal, still recovering happily.

Also, found out that backstabbing and gossip never ceases to exist no matter who you are, what age you are, and whatever status you think you belong to... So glad I have some true friends to stop me from kicking some serious butt. And a cute hubby who volunteers to do that for me because he's thoughtful like that.