More soccer from F, without touching the ball!

F has her own way of playing soccer. She just runs with the other kids, looks to the other side if the ball comes close to her and does anything to avoid the ball touching her. Yes we had another practice and game last week.

After the practice, P and the coach started playing soccer. We were gonna drive little neighbor boy home, so he was with us too. He started playing with the big boys. F joined them at last. The trainer was impressed with the difference in F at the training and F after the training. She was really playing soccer, running hard after the ball, shooting and not shy.

The next day, the coach Can thought we had a break through, F would play as she is supposed to. She went to the field to meet the other kids and I saw her head bending to one side. When I see that I know it, she is getting shy and she doesn't know what to do. How can we explain the game to her, how can we make sure that she understands that:

• she has a team,
• there is a ball,
• when your team has the ball, try to score,
• when the other team has the ball, try to get it back.

We were trying to encourage her from the sideline, telling to run to the ball, to do her best etc. We kind of got frustrated at a certain moment, Can looked desperate. Then the game was over and F came to us. She actually had the idea that she did well. At that moment, the only thing I could do is to give a big hug while thinking 'what can I do to make her understand the game?!'. Next Friday is the next training. Good luck to all of us!

To Be Writers Journal 2 - Paul Newman died

Last Friday, Paul Newman died. He was 83 years old.

When I picked up the Sunday newspaper, his picture was on the front page. He looked old and still good. I don't know much about him, probably because he is from another generation and I do not especially follow actors' lives. I did watch some of his movies, though. I remember seeing 'the Sting' - one of my father's favorites, but Robert Redford is the one that I remember better. In 'the color of money', Tom Cruise was the one - I was a teenager.

Paul Newman's picture on the front page kept on getting in my sight, and finally I could not refuse to read the article. He was not the regular super star. He had a modest lifestyle, lived in Connecticut instead of Hollywood, was married to his wife for 50 years and he used his fortune and fame for charity. It sounds like a good 83 years he had, I hope it for him.

I look at the picture again. An 83 year old dead man. Why does his picture stays in my head, why am I fascinated with the article? I just try to refuse writing what I am actually thinking in the last three paragraphs. He makes me think of my father. It is not the fact that they both have those striking blue eyes; it is something different. It is the old face surrounding the eyes, it is the fact that my father is getting old too. And he is so far away, that I can go and see him just once a year; and every time I am there, I realize he got even older. Paul Newman is now dead...

I look at Paul Newman again, thinking about the time I was still living home. My father would get a childish sparkle in his eyes whenever one of his favorite movies was on TV for the first time. He would look at our reaction through out the show. He would get this triumphant smile at the end: 'you see, I knew you would like it!'. Funny how your parents seems so old when you are a child. When I think of those days, I realize that my father was then young.

To Be Writers Journal 1 - in the train

I am sitting in the train going back home from my first creative writing lesson. Nice to have some time off from my regular life and I look, unworried and relaxed, to my fellow passengers.
For the course, we are expected to keep a journal, a journal to write what you feel and think. That’s my interpretation of it. It has to be something other than my expat diary. For two weeks, I will transform my expat blog to my homework media. We’ll see how the audience will like it!?

So, I am sitting in the train and I write this posting on paper to be typed at home. The train is a good place to get some writing material. Look at me, I am stuck here, cannot go anywhere while I am actually in motion to my destination. This gives such a comforting feeling that I give myself the permission to relax and look around.

I sit in somewhere halfway in an almost empty wagon, and I watch the few other passengers. They look so regular, so uninteresting, but let me take you to their lives and you will see how interesting they can be: The guy at the front, second seat on the left with the blemished skin and crazy hair, is just back from a jam session. He never became the famous trumpet player he wanted to be – and became a dentist – but he never gave up his music. He goes every week on Monday evening to the Sunset bar, and jams for couple of hours. You can see that he still has the music in his head; he plays the rhythm with his fingers.

“NOW WE ARE APPROACHING BROOKFIELD”

Are we already at Brookfield station, this is going to be a short trip home.
The lady sleeping in the seat next to mine is a nurse. She is tired, very tired. She hopes not to miss her stop. It happened to her before. She woke up in Belmont, five stops too late. She just cannot keep her eyes open, they are just too heavy. She is supposed to work ten hours a day, giving shots, taking blood pressures, dealing with all kinds of patients. Some are friendly, others demanding, sometimes even mean. It is a hard job, but she likes it. She is good in it. Days like today, when her ten hours becomes twelve – a colleague got sick – she stays without complaining. She…” Which stop was that? Oh, OK, still two to go. Keep the eyes open, keep them open…”

“NOW APPROACHING WESTERN SPRINGS”

The guy on the back with the suit and the laptop looks around with a friendly smile. He fired to people today. Nobody really understood why those two had to go. With the current economic situation, nobody dared to ask a thing. “These are hard times”, everyone said. He is boss feared by everyone at the company. In the train though, he smiles friendly to these people he does not know.

“NEXT STOP WILL BE DOWNERS GROVE/MAIN STREET”

It is time to stop writing. I am almost home.

The web is gone crazy!

After my last posting just an hour ago, I decided to read for my writing course, I have real homework to do. Just before that I thought I will do a little reading and commenting on some blogs I follow time to time. I was very happy to see that Bleeding Espresso (http://bleedingespresso.com/) posted the potato salad recipe I was gonna search on Internet one of these days. We will have little BBQ soon. I commented - don't know if it went OK, I couldn't find my comment on the page later on, and went on reading some more stuff.

First this posting, and than that, I started following some links on subjects as 'how do you increase traffic on your blog' and one hour later, I GOT LOST ON THE WEB! It still amazes me how much time and energy people are putting in those blogs, I am a super rookie, my blog is not even a baby, it's an embryo. Looking at my homework, the messy house and the 2,5 hours a day I have alone to myself, my blog will stay an embryo forever! This is very sad and I can't even say 'I will get a drink and forget about the whole thing for a while' because I am stuffed with too many drugs (medicines!) at this moment. I think I will do something crazy, turn off the computer, take my antibiotic 2 hours too early -OK, too dramatic, I know 2 hours difference can't cause an overdose', and go to sleep! Ciao!

To sue or not to sue....

Two days later - and it feels like two weeks - I still have the pain, fortunately I can stand it with 2 instead of 4 Ibuprofen 800's a day. I didn't know it existed in 800 mg! Well the improvement is obvious. It's supporting to hear that more people compare tooth pain to bearing a kid or a c section - fellow expat women!

This morning I got a bit stressed when I saw that I had only 4 Ibuprofen left, it's a just a days dose! (I became an addict!) I decided to go see the dentist. He started telling me the same story about what probably happened, that the bleach supposed to kill the nerves (don't try it at home please) probably irritated the tissue around the root etc. He draw it on poster on the wall - exactly what he did last time I went to tell him that I was suffering -. Then he handed me a paper, one page with information about the risks of a root canal that he thought I should have received it the first time I was there. He asked me if I had read it, I said 'probably, but I am not in state of remembering such a thing'. He if I had it, I said, 'ah most probably'. He, thus, printed out the copy and asked me if I had signed it. I read the last line, it was about liability, something like 'I understand that horrible things can happen if I have a root canal but I accept it all beforehand'. The guy was probably checking if his ass was covered - sorry to say that way-. welcome to America! I almost said ' I am not here to sue you till your last dollar, I just want you help because I am suffering!!!!'.

He did. He gave me some medicine with steroids which kind of scared me. I checked with the pharmacist to make sure that it will not have strange side effects as growing hair, growing super muscles, transforming myself to a manlike woman, who knows? After the ass covering event, I slightly lost trust to my dentist as you see. Fortunately, now I am enjoying my 2 Ibuprofen evening and I even feel creative, maybe I will write one more post or study for my writing class. See doctor, no reason to get stressed.

Root canal and the kids

This is no comparison of a root canal with the behaviour of the kids. I am in pain, in real pain. Can't think of anything, this root canal just took over everything. Monday I left my new dentist - who coincidentally has Belgium roots and part of his family lives in Turkey, - with the positive feeling that I was just OK. No more toothache, I thought, not for a while. Yesterday the pain said 'hello, I'm coming' and today was AAAAAAAAA. And I can stand some pain, I think I am allowed to say that after delivering 2 kids 100% naturally. I am in pain and it paralyzes me. The only think I want to do is lay down and sleep. The whole day, I can't think of anything else. But...Of course I have the kids running around and I find myself getting angry for no reason, or just ignoring whatever they are saying to me. I have, today, continuously rejected playing princess or playing with F's new doll she got from the neighbors for her b-day. When I am writing this, I feel so guilty. She came home from school totally excited, she only wanted to play with her toy. She said she didn't do anything nice today, which is of course not true; but I know what she means. A was with me alone when the pain reliever had worked for a little while, so we had some fun together. My poor little F, she deserves so much attention after having her b-day without a celebration! We will have party for her, but it is in two weeks.

Oh! I can't write anymore, I just want to rip out this tooth and get rid of the pain. I hope my dentist is a good one - he looks really nice and reliable, but I have no other reference - and I hope there is nothing wrong with the root canal. Can't even round up this posting. Bye.

Please sleep....

It is 9.30 pm and I decided to take a post right in front of the girls' doors. A is sleeping and I just can't let F wake her up by...crying for some other song? They just don't mind the 'mad mum' I become when I get tired and cannot have it anymore. No there is no stop, no rest...The crying and calling goes on and on. The 'mad mum' gets more grey hair, gets more 'mad' which results in even more crying. That's why I am sitting on the floor with my aching back and writing. The sound of typing has a suiting effect on the kids, probably. There is no crying for the last 15 minutes. I think we have a great break through. We just have to sit and type every evening, sounds so appealing!

Well I shouldn't complain that much, I have to admit that I slept till 9.00 this morning and now I am paying the price. My back is hurting so bad, I will stop now. I will just continue making the typing sound and relax...

9 p.m. and still crying

9 p.m. is for our standards not so bad actually. Dear daughters are allergic to sleeping. But why is F crying this time, that is the question. She started crying like she was in panic. What is it? Do you have pain, did you get scared? What happened? She has music on when she goes to sleep, this a solution we found for her being scared after the lights go off. It worked quite well till now. Sobbing she says to me: 'this is such a nice song, this is so nice' -more sobbing-. Of course, why not? If you like a song - even if you hear it 1000th time - you cry. There is always a reason to cry! What should I do, laugh or cry?

I cry. I don't know why.

A has one of her 'I cry. I don't know why' days. She's been crying for everything, since yesterday actually. There is no way to make her happy. She is too tired I guess, the last weeks have been too much of her. The funny thing is, F has her excuse. She does something that makes A cry, something ranging from an innocent touch to really hurting her,and says: 'A, you are just too tired, you cry for everything'.

A gets also tired when she is busy with growing up - mentally I mean. Her speaking is getting better, she starts making real sentences. Her favorite word is 'No', in English! Love to watch the girls growing up.

A dancing F

F is starting Ballet lessons from next week. It will be so cute and she is so excited. She wants to get her tutu as soon as possible, so that she can practice at home. We will still do soccer as well.

Hospital stories 2

Don't worry, we are home now and P went to work today. He is tired but that is not strange if you think all he went through. I will finish the posting about the operation, than I can leave it behind, too.

I was telling how it went right after the operation. Well, we arrived to the hospital right at the moment that P was brought back to his recovery room. It was after 6.30p.m. We went inside with the girls. P looked like someone who was just coming out of narcoses, just waking up. Well, they kept him at the edge of sleep with some drugs so he wasn't actually waking up because he was awake. Too difficult to explain, anyway, he saw us. He was very emotional, and of course me too. The girls looked a little distant. They didn't jump on him or anything. A seemed quite confused, she didn't like P laying in bed. F was acting a bit shy.

P was talking, but he kept on repeating the same things - I hear some people laughing -. He said 'did you talk to my parents'; I said 'yes, I talked to your dad'; 'why not my mother, why didn't you talk to my mother?'; 'I just let them know that you were out, it is late there you know'; 'OK'. Two minutes later: 'Did you talk to my parents?' ..........

He also kept on telling F that he had her drawing with him the whole operation. He couldn't hold it in his hand, so the doctors taped it on the bed, just next to his eye. It is a very cute story but came coming back. He also kept on falling asleep.

The nurse said he probably would go home next morning around 9. Now, it sounded like the deadlines from an IT project, quite impossible, but what do I know about patients. We didn't stay too long, I thought it was better to let P sleep.

I went to the restaurant at the corner of the hospital with the girls. Not much later Kerry, Tita's daughter came. She was going to stay with me at the hotel and babysit. We had quite a nice dinner. F was totally impressed with Kerry. She kept on looking at her with a dreamy smile. I was glad to see that, we all met Kerry that evening for the first time and fortunately she is a very nice girl. I brought the girls and Kerry to the hotel, put the girls to bed and left for the hospital. I was glad I had a babysitter.

P looked better, he was not repeating himself and looked really awake. He didn't remember much from the first time we were with him. He was the only patient at the department. There was a nurse that took care of him. As all the other nurses and doctors we met, she was very nice. She said P could already get up. We tried it just before I left, but P felt sick right away. How was he supposed to leave the hospital the next day? I left the hospital after a while and went to the hotel where there girls were sound asleep. Finally a good night sleep.

Next morning, I went to the hospital around 7.30, I didn't want to miss the doctor. Kerry took the girls out for breakfast. I was still hoping to leave the hospital before lunch time and I was making the logistic plans for the departure. Of course I already had packed and everything. P didn't really looked that good. the was still in bed and weak. The doctors came by and said that the procedure went very well, although it was very long and they have good expectations about he results.

Anyway, hours passed by and I still didn't know if P could leave. I had to check out so I carried all the luggage to the car with Kerry and the girls, checked out of the hotel. While Kerry and the girls were waiting at the waiting room, I stayed with P. Nobody could tell me when P was leaving the hospital. I couldn't keep Kerry with me anymore, I had to say good bye to her around 2.00 p.m. It took still couple of hours till everyone gave it up, P was staying at the hospital one more night. Luckily, I could get a room at the hotel - the same one that I left that morning - for only 10$ more. Well, it was week-end, understandable. Only this time I had to carry all the luggage back to the hotel with the girls, without Kerry or P. In such situations, F is such a big help! She gets this look on her face, saying she accepts her destiny. I couldn't go the hospital to see P that night, no babysitter.. I took the girls to a TGI Friday's for dinner. Not that we felt like going out or something, but we had to eat. Bad restaurant choice, they put us at table at the backside of the restaurant - two kids, oh no, put them by the kitchen - and the music was so loud and busy. I left the restaurant half hour later with two crying kids. At the hotel, we were all exhausted.

Next morning (Saturday), P looked quite better except a pain in his chest and he was also a little short of breath. Well, after such a procedure, not so strange I thought. They took a chest film, that didn't really show anything to worry about. They saw that one of his lungs was a little deformed and they thought it was due to long operation. His other values looked OK except a little high blood pressure. The doctor came and finally said we can go home. I was very happy to hear this. I was already checked out of the hotel - I am still impressed with my planning and logistics -, I had removed the car one day before at a very good spot in the parking garage so that P didn't have to walk much or take a lift and was anxious to get home. On his feet, P left the hospital and beginning of the afternoon, we were at home.

P had a very bad night, He was coughing if he laid on his back. I was so tired, I thought 'why don't you lay on your side, then you don't cough'. Never think such a thing, you only feel guilty later. See why: Next morning P called the doctor from the hospital. He told about his coughing, shortness of breath and chest pain. The doctor sounded little irritated, but still we ended up at the emergency room where we basically walked in before all the people waiting there. P ended up staying at the hospital 2 more nights, took 6 different antibiotics and had probably something like 10 doctors walking in and out of his room. That was the lung Pneumonia that I wrote before. I hated going home that night, cried to Brooke on the phone and to Brooke and Paula, the head of the school next morning. I slept very bad and when P called next morning at 6.30 a.m., just to wake me up, I got to the phone in panic thinking something bad had happened. Probably I deserved it because I thought 'why don't you lay on your side, then you don't cough' while P couldn't breath normally and he was thinking they burned something very wrong during the operation and he will never recover/be normal again.

We came home around 2 p.m. on Tuesday. Just half hour later, we had two neighbors at our door with food - they came separately. It seems to be traditional here to bring food in such a situation. More Turkish than Dutch I would say. The next day, Paula showed up with food. Overwhelming. The next day, we baked 4 Swedish brownies for the 2 neighbors, Paula and Brooke. The girls baked one each and I kind of lost track of the measurements, so I was afraid they wouldn't taste good. Fortunately, didn't hear anything negative.

P is back to work since Monday and he is doing OK although he is still tired. Now, life just goes on....

News from the hospital, I mean from home!

We are home and everything looks good. P is tired, we are all tired. He takes antibiotics and he will visit some doctor close by couple of times in the coming days. They want to check some blood values, to make sure that the blood thinners are working as expected. I hope some rest will do him good, and he will be healthier than ever in just a couple of weeks. 8.30 pm and I think I am the only one awake in the house. I will go ahead and enjoy this free evening!

Something to feel happy about

P is sleeping. Just got a call from Brook who has the girls. She said F is speaking English, and she is speaking very good English. She put on a princess dress and she said 'where are the shoes for this dress?' And then she said, 'they are too small, can you make them bigger'. Little lady is making full sentences and with us she pretends she doesn't understand a thing. And she had a perfect accent. Brook thought this would cheer us up.

I decided to go back home tonight and come back tomorrow with the girls. Hopefully P can come home with us after that. Logistically this will make things easier for everyone except for P who will be alone here. Fortunately this is a good hospital and the rooms are not depressing. He has the executive room he says, he has windows on two sides at the 13th floor with scenery of the city.

Hospital stories 1...

It is already Monday and we are still at the hospital. I started writing about this whole thing while we were at the hotel but didn't have the chance to set on the Internet.

The present situation: the doctor said that P has probably a Pneumonia. (see at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumonia ). He has shortness of breath, temperature between 38-38.5 degrees, coughing. We heard couple of things as probably when he throw up after the procedure, he got some in his lungs which caused some infection, or he just got something at the hospital. But what we understand is that they do not know 100% what it is, but nobody looks too worried. They are giving him antibiotic cocktail. His temperature should go back to normal and probably then he will go home. What we don't like to hear is that they are not totally sure of what's happening. You ask yourself: 'what if?'. But I don't want to make anyone worried. The doctors and the hospital are really good here, and everyone is friendly.

The girls are at a friend of F's from school. I will call how they are doing. We are both glad that they are not here but we both miss them as well. Some crazy parental feeling.... When I brought the girls to the school I saw the director of the school - who called on Thursday to say good luck, she is so nice too - and Brook, I started crying again. What's happening to me!!!!............

Last night: I called with Brook, mother of F's friend to ask if she would be willing to pick up the girls from school. F is totally crazy about their daughter and they are so nice. When Brook heard what was going on, she said right away that the girls may even sleep there. She was so nice, understanding and supporting, I had to cry for the first time since the operation. F said she was OK with staying there and I hope A will just follow her sister. I wrote a users guide for the kids for her and packed their clothes. Fingers crossed, I hope they will do fine. On the way to school, I said to F that she should help A, especially if she wants her 'pesje', she should say that it is her pacifier. F said: 'I sometimes forget things but this one I will not forget'. I am sure she already forgot is.

When I was talking to Brook, I was telling about our previous hospital story where they kept P for 4 days and didn't do anything. I called that hospital 'the black hole hospital. You get in but you cannot get out'. They call it 'the pretend hospital'. Haha!

right after the operation: We are now at the hotel room. The girls and Kerry, our babysitter for the night is sleeping. I just came back from the hospital. P looked much more like himself, but got tired very fast. Amazing, he may leave the hospital at 9 am tomorrow! After a surgery of 10,5 hours – yes 10,5 hours – he can walk around tomorrow. We were at the hospital at 7 am this morning. It feels like a week ago. Around 7.30 - 8am, I am guessing, the surgery began. It was after 6 pm when they called to say that he was ready.

Today was a strange day. Waiting and waiting…. The rain didn’t stop a second. We got soaked for 3-4 times. I got wet through my raincoat. F was very brave and walked after me, the crazy mom who couldn't sit in the hotel room, under her little red umbrella. Her feet and pants were soaked, but she hardly complained. We also spent hours in the hospital building. From lunch at 12.30 till almost 5pm. The girls ran in the corridors, put on masks(the ones doctors have for operations), colored, played with water from drinking fountains… Well, it was dry and more spacious than the hotel room.

I will continue...