The trip to Turkey has been quite the growing experience for David. He’s
learned to go up and down staircases. He’s learned to play pee-a-boo. He
learned that when you run up and down a room with a metal grate, if you
fall, you hurt yourself pretty badly. He discovered playgrounds and slides.
He’s also started to exhibit a lot more toddler behavior. When you don’t
give him something he wants, he covers his face and turns his back to
you. He crunches up his eyebrows and gives you a look that defines
“That’s not fair!” He stomps his feet. He throws himself on the floor
and complains. He has adopted a variety of faces from “Oh, Come On!” to
“You’re Mean.”
Despite the recent behavior, he’s still pure joy to be with and poses
quite well.
When I was pregnant, I was determined to use Sign Language with David
when he was born. Jake and I went to a book reading on Baby Sign and
I was all gung-ho about it. Somewhere along the line, I was told it’s
best not to start until babies are six months old. So I didn’t start
right away. By the time he turned six month old, we had serious sleep
problems, we started introducing solids and there was way too much
going on for me to think about Sign Language.
A few months ago, I decided to stop feeling so disappointed in myself
and start signing little by little. As opposed to the typical fist
signs like “more”, “change”, and “food,” I picked “show me.” David
often walked into the kitchen and screamed and when I didn’t go see,
he’d come to the living room and scream until I got up and walked
with him back to the kitchen. Each time, he came into the living
room, I’d sign “show me” and I walked back with him. He didn’t seem
to pay much attention, but I kept doing it anyhow. It wasn’t out of
determination as much as boredom. Gave me something to do on the way
to the kitchen and distracted him slightly so he wouldn’t scream as
much.
Two weeks ago, he did the same screaming for something routine but
this time he signed. I thought I was hallucinating and he didn’t do
it again that day. But he did the next day. This time, it was so
clear, I was sure he was actually signing it. Over the last week, he
has become proficient in signing “show me” and uses it constantly. He
also started using “milk” which is a welcome replacement to the
previous “let me pull your shirt enough for you to lift it.”
Signing with David is so much fun. Now, when he wakes up grouchy from
his nap, I sign “show me” which makes him stop and think about what’s
on his mind. Such joy. Now that we’ve started communicating, I have
moved on to “help me”, “please” and “thank you.” Let’s see if we make
progress.
David has a little, yellow fabric cube that we bought when he was
born. It came in a set of four and this yellow one has a duck on one
of its faces. If you press hard on this face, it makes the duck quack
three times. No matter what kind of mood he’s in, this sound makes
David laugh out loud.
We should all have such a thing.
At a swap meet a few weeks ago, I bought David a plastic guitar. It
has buttons on it that play classical or pop music depending on its
mode. David carries this guitar all over the house and puts it down
wherever he rests. He then presses the buttons and dances while the
plastic guitar sings. I have never ever danced in front of this
little boy. I haven’t danced in over ten years. There’s no way he
observed this. I am wondering if moving to music might be a genetic
or inherent thing. Any ideas?
I used to be a scared, lonely little girl who cried a lot. I hung to
my mom’s skirt often. David, on the other hand, is an independent and
happy little boy. Making him giggle takes two seconds. Last weekend,
on the plane to St. Louis, he made friends with the stewardess and
ran up and down the aisle to hug her. When she pointed at me and told
him to come to me, he ignored me and went back to hugging her. He
smiles at everyone, especially girls and women. I am not sure how he
can tell the difference but he seems to ignore men for the most part.
Maybe it’s the makeup or the hair.
I am regularly amazed at David’s sweet nature. Not that he doesn’t have his moments but he’s such a joy. If they all turn out like him, maybe having a few more is not such a crazy idea after all.
 Well the
little boy is getting more mischievous by the hour. He now likes to
open drawers that he cannot even see into. He pulls the handle,
reaches into the drawer and just picks an item at random. Whatever
comes his way. He then dutifully brings it to me to show his new
finding.
He is completely obsessed with screwing and unscrewing water bottles.
He cannot unscrew them all the way though and once he closes them, he
comes to me and whines and whines until I open it back up. Same for
the little bowls we feed him from. He can close them but cannot open
them. Every day, he finds a new item for me to open so he can close
it. Today, during music class, he was very upset that the little
bells on a shaker wouldn’t come off. He kept brining it to me,
thinking I could do it for him. I tried to explain to him that they
just don’t come off but he wasn’t very pleased with my answer.
He has also made the correlation between the water bottles we drink
from and his sippy cup. If he can’t find his cup and he’s thirsty, he
finds and empty or full water bottle somewhere in the house and
brings it to me. I then find his cup and he, happily, drinks in big
gulps. Who says babies can’t communicate? He has started to sign the
sign for milk, but tends to do it at random times, not necessarily
correlating with nursing. He does, however, come over throughout the
day and try to lift my shirt up so he can have some milk. Getting too
clever, David.
After several months of no more teeth, one little one left of the
middle bottom one is now peeking out. Maybe there’s more to come
soon. He’s completely mastered walking and even walks sideways now.
He also has mastered picking up an object by just bending down a bit.
He eats at least one meal a day completely on his own (veggie burger
+ turkey meatballs + peas or some other vegetable and fruits). He’s
gotten pickier about the food and likes to bang his body back and
forth in the seat if I don’t listen to him. Mother always wins in the
end though and David learns that veggies have to be finished before
he can have his grapes. He loves, loves, LOVES grapes and
blueberries. And bread. I never give him bread at home so he follows
people around for bread whenever we go out.
Throughout the day, he comes over to my desk and puts his head on my
lap. Just to say he loves me. Still as smiley as ever and funny and
sweet. Takes all his toys and comes to sit by my desk to play.
I love you, little boy.
Anyone who’s seen David and Jake quickly exclaims that David is an
exact replica and then proceeds to ask whether I’m sure I’m the mom.
David really does look exactly like Jake and given that Jake was the
cutest baby ever, I have no complaints. As he continues to grow, I am
curious which one of our non-physical genes ended up in the little boy.
He’s one of the happiest kids I’ve ever seen. All you have to do to
get him to laugh is to laugh in his general vicinity and he breaks
into a guffaw. If you follow behind him as he walks around the house,
he quickly falls in to a game of chase and starts giggling. Loudly.
The joyous and constantly amused personality trait is definitely
inherited from Jake as well. I was a very quiet child with lots of
sticking to my mom’s skirt and crying.
Lest you think he hasn’t got any of my genes, I was sitting at my
table a few days ago when I could no longer see or hear David. My
work area is open to the living room and I can often see him playing.
When he goes out of sight, I can still hear the conversation between
him and the toys. If he disappears for over a minute, I generally
call him and he comes back to the living room or kitchen (which is
also fully visible from my work area) and laughs at me. On this
occasion, he had been completely out of my sight for a minute or two
and I couldn’t hear him talk at all. I yelled for him and he didn’t
come back. Worried, I leapt from my chair and ran towards the bedroom
thinking he was eating some crazy bathroom stuff he pulled out of the
drawers. On my way through the living room, I spotted him right by
the bookcases, quietly reading his book (well, maybe not reading but
looking through). He looked up at me with a quizzical expression and
went back to his reading.
That he got from me.
Almost a month ago, David turned one. While it was relatively
uneventful for him, despite the birthday party we threw on his honor,
it was a rather huge deal for me. I always knew I wanted to have
children but I never really felt ready to have them. When Jake and I
decided to start trying, it was mostly because we knew we both wanted
kids and we knew it might be a bad idea to wait much longer in case
we had problems. It all happened very quickly and next thing we knew
we were actually pregnant. Not that I am complaining but it was
sooner than we expected, that’s all.
I spent the first few months of my pregnancy worrying about the well
being of the baby and throwing up. Once I started feeling better, I
concentrated fully on worrying about the baby’s well-being. I worried
about it so much that I barely had enough energy left to worry about
the birth. David did me two favors and came out relatively quickly
and quite perfect-looking.
I spent the last year also worrying. What did I know about being a
mother? Was I feeding him enough? Was I eating right? Was he warm
enough? Was he too warm? David was and is a perfect child. He eats
like a champ, he now sleeps like a champ, he walks around like he’s
been doing it all his life and he laughs more than I’ve ever seen
anyone laugh.
There are no words for the amount of joy he has brought into our
lives. Even though it’s almost a whole month late, congrats of
turning a whole finger, my son, I am so proud of you.
It must be hard being a parent.
Here’s a recent theory I’m developing. The imperative word being “developing.” The impression I’m getting is that parents observe their children and try and fit them into certain ideas that they have in their minds.
For example, if their kid is a good student and the parents weren’t, they imagine a path where the kid goes to a good school, gets good grades, graduates and then moves on to a successful job, gets married and you know the rest. Now, if the said kid decides to take a year off midway through college to travel (or something similar) the parent’s idealized world has just fallen into pieces. This was not in the plan. What is this kid doing? The parent gets worried and decides the kid’s screwing up the future.
If the kid is significantly different than the parents, then it’s even harder to figure out what’s best for the child so I think the parents struggle even harder. It’s hard to give advice when you can’t relate. You want to be helpful and you want to guide but how can you advise on something you don’t understand?
When the plan goes awry, the parent panics. What if the kid’s ruining his life? What if this is a mistake that’s going to cost a lot? What if it’s the wrong choice?
The fact is, the kid is also an individual and as soon as he thinks he’s ready to make some decisions, he wants to make them. The idea, or illusion, of having control of your life and your path is really important to a young adult. It’s also crucial to learn to make mistakes as part of making decisions. If the kid never makes a mistake until he’s much older, the mistake will have bigger consequences and often a harder impact.
I have a friend whose parents sheltered her for a long time and such she never realized how mean people can be until she came to college. Trust me when I say that it’s much harder to swallow the truth at twenty. I learned the same fact at like six or seven when my classmates were mean and it hurt but I had years to get over it and build a shield for future protection.
I imagine it must be hard to let your kids do what they want to. The urge to protect must be overwhelming. The even more annoying fact is you have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong for the kid. Every person is an individual with his or her mind, luck, wishes and hopes. It’s nearly impossible to tell someone what the right move for that person is. The best thing to do is try and teach the right morals and a solid thought process to the child and hope that he uses it well. And also to trust.
The rest is up to them.
Previously? Savages.
I went wedding-dress shopping today.
My mom, my sister, one of her little boys, Jeff, and I filled in the car and drove to the other side of town. Jeff was coughing a bit and my sister’s doctor is in the same neighborhood as the dress shop so she tagged along. Since his brother got to go to kindergarten instead of the doctor’s, Jeff was feeling bummy and didn’t talk to us in the car.
After we made it to the dress shop, he decided he wanted some candy. He didn’t want to wait till we left the wedding store, he said and since we knew it was going to be a while in the store my mom went across the street and bought him some mints and some chocolate. The cute little two-and-a-half year-old sat quietly and chunched on his mints while we looked through collections of white dresses.
A half hour later, I put on the dress that we liked the most and turned to Jeff, who was now munching on a chocolate bar, I asked if he liked my dress. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Should I buy it?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Will you give me a kiss?’ I asked. He nodded and to the anxiety of my mom and the sales woman walked over to me in my white dress with his chocolate bar and gave me a kiss on each cheek.
He did not touch any of the dresses and when his bar was finished, he raised his hands and told my sister that her hands needed to be washed.
Not all kids make a mess.
I got a kiss from my nephew, found a pretty dress, arranged my invitations and even found comfy and pretty white shoes.
Today was a good day.
Oh, and the flight over was just fine. It feels good to be home.
Previously? That Time.
It’s that time again.
It might seem to you as if I go home very often, but to me, if feels like years have passed since the last time I saw my little nephews. My sister. My parents. My brother-in-law. My friends.
This time it’s even more special than usual. This time we have a celebration. This time we have Jake’s parents and his siblings. This time we get to take our relationship to the next level. To a more permanent one. This time I get to shop for wedding dresses. This time I get to prepare invitations and maybe even party favors.
All of that fills me with anxiety and excitement. But mostly happiness.
This will also be the first time I’ve been in a plane since the day before my birthday. I don’t even want to say the date that seems to roll off people’s tongue’s so easily lately. It hasn’t been that long and I personally haven’t adjusted all that well just yet. At least not well enough to have made it part of my vocabulary.
I’ve never been afraid of riding on a plane. When I was little, my mom would hold my hand on the plane, her palms sweating right into mine. I would tell her that there’s nothing to fear, the chances of something going wrong are very low.
I’m uttering the same words to myself now.
I’m not sure things are back to normal. I’m not sure they ever will be. But I am sure that for as long as my family lives that far away, I will regularly have to get on a plane and travel over the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t intend to let anyone stop me from being able to do that.
Especially not when it means I get to hug the two little boys I miss the most.
I will try and update frequently from home, but as always, no guarantees, so in the meantime feel free to browse the archives, leave some fun comments, or contact me personally.
And keep smiling.
Previously? Smut or Substance.
This time tomorrow, I’ll be over the Atlantic Ocean.
I’ve already written about my feelings when it gets this close to going home.
I’ve already written about hugging my nephews.
I’m sitting here and trying to come up with a pithy entry. Something that will make you think during the next few days that I won’t be updating the site. Something to keep you entertained. Something to keep you busy.
But all my thoughts fail me.
This is about the time when my feelings have completely taken over everything else. I go through my daily motions and do what I need to, but the whole time there’s this loud voice inside my head and all it says is:
“You’re going home!”
It’s not quiet. It’s yelling. It’s not subtle. It’s a continuous loop. It’s there during all my waking hours. It even creeps into my dreams.
I’ve packed all my presents, Jake’s clothes, my clothes, 4 library books on education, Derek‘s book into a piece of luggage. Add to that a bag pack full of printouts on education reform, Trail Fever by Michael Lewis, The Language Instinct by Pinker, my laptop and my Japanese homework and our passports and tickets. We’re set to go!
All this for nine days.
I hate packing. I want to take everything with me. All my books. My cameras. My laptop. More clothes than I could wear in a month. Mostly cause I hate to have to choose. I want it all so I don’t need to make any decisions. What if I finish all six books in one day and I have nothing left for the rest of the week. That’s what I think. Even after the last eleven trips where I barely finished a book, I take six with me just in case.
Just in case what? Your guess is as good as mine.
I simply suck at packing.
I apologize for the lack of depth in this post. But the voice in my head won’t let me do anything. All it can think of is lying on the couch in our balcony, playing with my nephews. Hugging my nephews. Hugging my nephews. Hugging my nephews.
My mom, my dad, my sister, my brother in law, my grandmas. But most importantly, my nephews.
See? This is why I should stop writing now!
I promise to have something much deeper to say as soon as I arrive in Burgaz.
Btw, I am in the process of putting together a new idea and I need volunteers. If you’re interested email me.
Previously? Courage and Fear.
I hate roller coasters.
That wasn’t always the case.
Thirteen years ago, my parents took my sister and me to Disney World. My father had been telling us stories about Disney World for years, all made up. He’d tell us that there would be buttons by our bedside and when we pressed them Smarties would fall down.
Our trip started in Paris and involved New York, Florida, Miami, and ended back in Paris. It was the best trip I ever took with my family. We went on every ride and made sure to maximize each day. I even got to celebrate my birthday in two different states. I remember quite a few of the rides but one of the most memorable is Space Mountain.
We didn’t know what we were getting into, we just eyed the extremely long line and figured it must be the best ride in the park. As we got closer to the ride, my parents got suspicious from the screaming and suggested that maybe we should go to another place. My sister and I whined about how long we’d already waited and how there was no way we were turning back now. And we didn’t. Our turn came and our car took two couples, one in front of the other. I opened my legs and my sister sat in front of me with my arms wrapped around her chest. My mom did the same to my dad.
If you’ve ever ridden Space Mountain, you’d know that the place is completely dark. You cannot even see your own hand. When we got off the ride, my mom said that for a second she was confidant that my dad’s heart had stopped as we did a huge dive. But I liked Space Mountain. It wasn’t scary. At least that’s not how I remember it.
By the time I made it back to United States, six years later, I had somehow done a complete 180. My boyfriend coaxed me to ride Steel Phantom and it was one of the worst experiences of my life. My head kept banging to the sides and I couldn’t understand the point of it. When Jake and I visited Florida, we rerode the Space Mountain and I hated it.
I’m not really sure what happened between 14 and 18, but scary events don’t seem to produce the exciting dose of adrenaline in me.
I don’t understand the joy of sitting on a piece of steel and having your body throttled around. Why is it such a rush? How come cutting it close is such a thrill? Does it make you cool if you die of something moronic like mountain climbing without proper equipment? Is it all to compensate for some other area of lacking? Or maybe it’s me who’s undercompensating. Maybe I’m running away from some bigger fear. I really don’t know the answers. All I know is that I hate motorcycles. I can’t stand roller coasters. I never felt the need to go bungee jumping. I don’t even watch scary movies. Nothing scary turns me on.
Except for jumping out of a plane.
But that’s a completely different story.
Previously? Noises.
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projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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