Computerless

I am without computer for the next week (at home at least) and I am thinking of discovering myself in the process.

What would we do without a computer to turn to? Who am I without a computer? Why do I feel so drawn to the computer for "stuff"?

Last night I was the clothing folder, dish washer, soda drinker, Chelsea Handler watcher who went and trained an NFL player's daughter how to play volleyball at 8pm 45 minutes from my house and came home to do housework instead of checking email at 10p. Who does housework happily at 10p at night? I do.

When there is no computer around.

I think I am going to find that I will be more productive in other, completely fulfilling areas of my life after this experiment. I was definitely happier and less stressed last night on my way to bed.
My back felt better since I wasn't in crouching tiger hidden dragon position while typing madly at the keyboard all night.

With my "To Do" list tucked in my bag, it was too difficult to care what was on it when none of it could be completed without a hard drive and motherboard. I was calm.

Tonight will be a test as to whether I will choose to do housework and veg in front of the TV or whether I will turn to my book to close my eyes for me. I think either way, I will feel better.

Overrun by Sneakers

advanced apology: over transitioned

My husband complains about all of my sneakers taking up room in the closet.

We have an apartment right now which makes our things "that used to fit in the apartment we lived in before we left that were stored in my parents basement combined with the things that we acquired for 2 years while living in a 3 bedroom townhouse in Turkey" seem like we once lived in a mansion before coming here.

We never lived in a mansion. And our things would let the rest of the mansion echo if we moved our stuff there. But our closets are filled with camping stuff and snowboarding stuff and electronics stuff and Christmas stuff...

Things other than clothes and shoes.

So our shoes, almost everybody's shoes, are in the front entry way coat closet. The bunch includes 4 pair of New Balance sneakers (all free of charge to me thanks to my awesome shoe-acquiring b-i-l).

This is precisely the complaint I often hear, "Do you NEED that many pairs of sneakers?"

And the answer is always yes.

Yes...

I need one for when I forget to wear the right socks at the gym and they get blood on the heel.

I need one for when I am out with the boys and need to leave the mud-filled pair out on the mat for the rain to wipe them clean (thanks rain).

I need one for nights out with the ladies at this place (the clean ones).

And I need one for just going to mom's house.

But maybe I should replace these 4 for 2 of these and hear less complaining:

1. Five fingers - the running would not end with blood so I wouldn't need anything else.

2. A nice pair of rugged yet sassy waterproof, black boots (I don't shop - can anyone tell me if these exist? Maybe the Croc people can work something up.) - I could wear these to 3 of the other places.

However, if I am working on femininity, isn't it all about having numerous shoes? Shouldn't I then replace the 2 other sneaks with cute open-toed heels or a nice pair of versatile sling backs and a nice pair of boots (Uggs is it?) and some galoshes? And possibly hold on to one set of sneaks for that leisurely run when I want to tone my buns?

I am not sure how to go about this. What I am sure of, is that the shoe complaining must come with the wedding ring and I really like all the attention.

The Dream

My prettiest sister asked me the other night, have you always known you wanted to go overseas?

The answer is yes -- yes I knew I wanted to be in a different culture and see how other people lived. I didn't want to just visit, I wanted to be there and live there.

In spite of being in another country, I didn't really feel like I lived in Turkey (since we were on the outskirts of the city and really on a multi-national campus) until my parents came to visit. Having them visit the second year really made me realize that I was picking them up at my airport. I was showing them around my town. I was leading them to the church that they should attend in my neighborhood.

It was a weird feeling to have somewhere else be my home.

The only evidence besides my memory that proved I had always wanted to live overseas was when my most thoughtful sister brought me a note I wrote to her when she moved to AZ (a big deal for me, her 18 yr old sister) that said that moving to another "culture" would be good and that I have always wanted to live in one for a few years. I even wrote, "not months, years." I was very specific in my message sending.

So the dream was to live somewhere else and I did it, so now what.

The rest of the dream was to come back, get a house, have 2 more kids, get a higher degree.

I am not sure the rest of the dream will hold up...

...not all of it at least. I have gotten to a point where I am okay with that.

I do my best dreaming in the car, and my mind often drifts to my college graduation where we broke clay pipes before lining up to process as a symbol of getting rid of our pipe dreams.

Dreams change. We change. For the better.

I think my kids have reshaped the dream, my husband has reshaped the dream. They were part of it from the beginning, but the way I see the world and what I care about has changed.

The dream involves them and is for them, its not about what I want anymore.

It's what I want for them.

My family is a piece of art, so I guess I need to start chipping away at this great sculpture of David (not you Pellicane) because he is hot and I want my family to be hot too.

Girly Girl

Calvin and I at the Eurasian marathon in Istanbul
2007
(we walked 10K)

It has been a struggle for me to foster my femininity.

I grew up being talented at things boys are known for doing.

I was good at soccer and then softball and then bowling and then basketball and then track and field and then volleyball. Somewhere in there I was a cheerleader but decided that I couldn't fake smile for that long, and I asked my dad to let me practice kicking touchdowns instead.

He conceded to my wishes, but maybe he knew that one night of attempting field goals would make me realize I should stick to punting soccer balls.

I dragged my parents into the world of suburbanite athletic competition.

They didn't make me a jock - it was my own doing and it built me.

Throughout my athletic career I was exposed to trying to pee in cups on backs of buses and tapping signs for good luck before entering games and taping breasts so they wouldn't knock into knees when running on the soccer field.

This, to me, was femininity. What better way to express ourselves than through physical strength and beating out someone else?

Femininity is not these things though - I have come to learn.

I notice when I have to borrow make-up and jewelry and cute shoes.

I notice when I get out of the car to go for lunch with friends and my keys are jingle-jangling next to my wallet in my pocket and I wonder why everyone else has a bag with them.

I notice when I invariably put on New Balance shoes for every occasion.

I notice when my kids play with my friends' kids and I feel like we are all in this child rearing thing together, not trying to beat each other out.

I am still trying to grasp the concept, and I think I can get there.

Just give me time.

To Go or Stay

Deciding to return home from Turkey was difficult. We found ourselves in a tight spot.

The land of lojman was so full for our son. He had the life: ten friends at his whim 24 hours a day. School with those friends and play and play and play with those friends. He went slip and sliding and played soccer with them. He met them at the park and went to picnics with them. He took vacations with them and went grocery shopping with them.

He also had a wonderful school there where he was taught in Turkish and English and went to school with all of his friends all day long. He learned through play and was truly loved, as each child was in this tight knit community.

All the things that made us feel we were in the film Ground Hog's Day, those things were what made lojmanlar just perfect for a 3 yr old boy. He felt safe and loved and had all the socializing he needed. It was hard to take him away from that.

Now he is experiencing new and different things each day and being exposed to things outside of my control and I love it. I love the excitement it brings and the way it helps him grow and develop, but I often wonder what one more year in Istanbul, in lojmanlar, would have brought for him. I wonder whether he would have continued to love it and whether he would have been able to develop more socially and academically had he stayed in the sweet space of his life with his friends. That time was so special for him.

He remembers, sometimes verbally, the kids he used to know and the things he used to do there. He remembers the laughter and playing and the security of being on a campus and "owning" the area he lived in and really knowing every nook and cranny.

But I love the person he is learning to be in this space we have brought him to where he can really grow. I think if we had stayed it would have been harder for him to leave after 3 years and understand what was happening. I think he knows that this is the place for him, and I hope it is the best choice for all of us.

It is hard to know what is best at any given time, but when we were deciding whether or not we should return I said, NJ is the place we need to be. I have yet to discover why that is, but I am glad I don't have to figure it out if I just know that it is.

I think everyone grows in different places. The labels attached to our trunks said: need snow, a touch of direct sunlight, old friends, deep roots, and variety.

...so I think this is where we grow best.

One For the Ladies

Calling all ladies! 


Any interest in answering a few questions about the realities of motherhood?  Whether you're a stay-at-home mom, a work-from-home mom, a working mom, a wannabe mom, or a don't wannabe mom, Life As We Blog It is interested in hearing from you. 

We want to know what it's like to be you, so we're reaching out to a good mix of ladies from all over the country and around the globe to explore how one's choices affect the realities of motherhood.  We are curious about the following:

• What are the differences between urban, suburban, and country moms?  Between domestic and international ones?
• Have life circumstances forced you to put motherhood on hold? 
• Have you decided not to have children by instinct or circumstance?
• Has motherhood been more of a struggle for you than a blessing?
• Did you get pregnant as a teen only to discover that it was the best thing to ever happen to you? 
• Would you go back to work in a heartbeat if you had affordable, trustworthy child care? 
• Do you feel guilty working full time and mothering overtime?
• Do you want to become a mom but are scared to death to do so?

If you're interested in sharing your experience with us for use in future posts, please post your email address below in the comment section of our blog, and tell us how you would categorize yourself (working mom, at home mom, etc).  

Wanna remain discreet? Email us directly at lifeasweblogit@gmail.com

Once we know you're interested, we'll contact you via email with questions. 

And once again, thanks for reading and for your support with this project!

Respectable

On my way home everyday I exit the highway and go on an exit ramp toward the town where I live. As I drive on this ramp, I can look to my right and see an underpass that goes beneath the bridge I cross. This underpass always entices me to look and part of my routine is to imagine what it is like to hang out there.

A bunch of people have made this spot, their place to go after work, their "Charlie Browns" I suppose or their bowling alley, depending on who you hang out with. It has really become quite a community hang out.

When driving by I frequently think to myself, do these people who hang out under there know what they look like to the passersby? Do they know that they represent the not so nice part of society? Or do they just think this is how life is and that they must keep pushing on like the rest of us? Or do they think everyone's life should involve chatting under a bridge?

I mean, there were a few weeks when the borough (not city) was doing construction on the bridge and had to send its pedestrians (I live in a walkable town) under the bridge. I think most walkers planned their route to avoid the stretch that extended itself under the passageway. But it did seem like the clan below grew in those few weeks, as if the pedestrians decided to add the chat under the bridge to their commute. I wondered, did some people say to themselves, "Hey - since I am taking this walk under the bridge, why not hang out under it for part of my life."

I sometimes wish I could make that choice, if only to write a book about it. (Would it be exploitation...or could I convince myself it is just good journalism?).

It has been about a month or two since the construction on top the bridge ceased and the walking over the bridge resumed.

As I drive by now I let my eyes drift and observe what goes on down under the bridge because I think I carelessly dream of living amongst the bridge dwellers.

But this week, I noticed something different....

Could it be? Could it be that they have civilized themselves? Maybe they are preparing a place for me, it is my time...

It took about 7 days to let it sink in, but I finally affirmed - they have a recliner and a garbage can at the hang out spot now.

It really brightens up the place, and makes me question my choice of becoming a homeowner. Maybe dwelling beneath the underpass might be a better option.

My kids wouldn't mind living near the river, under a concrete slab with cars whizzing by...

...now, of course, since there is somewhere to put up your feet and throw away diapers.

Saturdays Are Full of Hope

What I love most about my Saturday mornings: Ali Time.

Saturday mornings engender hope.

Unlike the mornings of the work week, Saturday morning invites opportunity to ring your phone and invite you to brunch.  It provides the luxury of waking up with the sun, yawning your way to the kitchen, and enjoying a cup of coffee in a real mug (steamed with your own milk, not cooled with a splash from a community carton).

Saturday mornings encourage conversation between husbands and wives, mothers and children, fathers and family.  Instead of offering a quick moment of rushed pecks and murmured goodbyes, Saturday morning rolls out the red carpet for hugs and laughter, newspapers and television.

But best of all, Saturday mornings empower our worlds with choice.  Will it be eggs and toast or slow cooked oats? Do we shampoo the carpets and organize the hodgepodge of lidless pots or do we forego all housework by hopping in the car and heading to the hills for a day of hiking at Hacklebarney?

For my husband, Saturday mornings hint at the option of a PM wake up; just knowing it's a possibility, albeit a rare one, is almost always enough. For me, Saturday mornings whisper words of freedom: "I don't care," they say, "it's up to you.  What do you want to do?"

Saturday mornings trust you; they know that you'll make the choice that's best for you and your family.

Imagine if your boss was that generous.