Most of my days are spent in and around the apartment complex we now call home. The kid and I enjoy leisurely breakfasts in front of the tv or on the balcony, squabble over when to go to the pool and which store to frequent for our daily bread. Whenever I can, I steal fifteen-minute increments to read Because I Said So, a collection of essays by thirty-three mothers who confide in me about everything from poverty to poetry. I sprinkle a few mindless household tasks on our lazy days, dream of trips to IKEA and scheme to convince the husband to serve as my chauffeur.
As I write these words, I'm enjoying a breezy morning on the balcony, nestled in the single corner that affords a bit of shade. At 9:24 am, the sun is already burning but I don't complain as I don't wish it to ever go away. Visions of beach towels drying on the railing and yesterday's bathing suits hanging on the backs of chairs remind me of how lucky I am. Any minute now I will be interrupted by the kid wanting breakfast. She's been watching the Disney Channel since we got up about an hour ago and I'm painfully aware of how bad it is for her to be watching so much tv. Yet, I just don't want to give up these few solitary minutes I have managed to log in to write, fueled by the incredible humility I feel every morning.
What's crisis-worthy about this life is that unless I'm reading or writing, I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I need a hobby, a job or a new project to fill in the gaps. Parenting a self-disciplining five-year old is not brain surgery, neither is making the beds in the morning or the massive amounts of laundry I need to tackle weekly. Yet, I need to operate. I always need to be researching, diagnosing, strategizing, operating and curing. What's crisis-worthy is that this life is incredibly disease-free. Or so it seems.
I'm afraid my need to always be solving problems may just create the next big crisis.
In the meantime, we had our first guest from New York, who enjoyed shopping sprees at the Grand Bazaar, antiques in Cukurcuma, a boat tour up the Bosphorus, lazy days by the pool, midnight feasts in Ortakoy, only to crash on a blow-up mattress at the end of the day in a room with no working light fixture. She didn't complain much, even when the kid's squeeky voice echoed in the empty hallways searching for her, as she tried to enjoy a cooling morning shower in a bathtub with no shower curtain. I know it was a good trip. It made me happy to share a part of this life with someone from my past. It made me happy to play host, to fluff up her pillows, place miniature soaps stolen from a Las Vegas hotel on top of the pile of towels I set out for her. Seeing my idyllic life through the eyes of a New Yorker who sells ad space for magazines (just like I used to) made me realize how far I traveled since March. This life is not for everybody. With or without a kid, this life is exactly what I needed during this stage of my life. I'll just have to learn to live disease free.
In the meantime, I'm happy to say I called my father to wish him a Happy Father's Day. A first in sixteen years.
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1 comment:
hey sis, don't worry about too much TV... You know we watched heaps and we are not that brain damaged after all, are we? :) just don't forget to feed her with some Muzaffer Izgu or whatever is equavelant in English or hopefully both; she'll be just fine :)
I don't even know when the father's day by the way... But I guess girls have father issues and boys have the moms :)
you rock!
cemo
xx
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