Category Archives: Fun Mommy

I Don’t Know How To Do ANYTHING!

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Kid E came home from school in early October and unloaded his backpack.  Inside his folder was a piece of paper.  He happily announced in my direction, “This is for you.  From my teacher.  I will put it in your bin.”

I was excited that he had already mastered my rules established to conquer school-related entropy (for a quick ENTROPY primer, click here) by unpacking and sorting immediately upon entry.  I like to train them young around here.  Early independence of my kids is always a long-term goal.

So I let him do his jobs… his shoes get put in the shoe basket, his lunchbox gets emptied of any trash and leftovers and put on the kitchen table, important papers go in the bin on my desk.  He is always so proud when he completes these simple tasks.  And then he inevitably asks if he can watch videos.

Meanwhile, this kid has been glued to electronics since birth.  My bad.  I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not.  I have been such a slacker parent with him.  I always say yes when he asks if he can watch the video/ play the game/ download the app.  I get more done that way.  I mean, he’s my FIFTH kid.  But I think I am wrecking him.  He talks in a language I partly do not understand (“Mom, can you type in ‘skylanders swap force girl and boy super evil chaos?'”) and I partly am super worried about (see previous example).  In the beginning, I would always say things like, “Apple products are truly user-friendly!  Even my baby can use this iMac, and he can’t even sit up!”  I guess we’ll just see how my little experiment turns out.  Here’s hoping for the best.

Anyway, he gave me the paper from his kindergarten teacher and went off to watch YouTube videos of other people playing video games (I know, I know… Mother of the Year over here.  But he knows to turn it off if there are curse words worse than what I drop on the daily).  About a half hour later, I got around to browsing through my in-bin.

Kid E had been given a project.  Dun-dun-dun.  Well, crap.

The October kindergarten project (Man, I really hope this is not setting some sort of precedent for a new project each month, because that would be some bullshit.  It’s kindergarten, not grad school.) was to find a book that you liked, write some things about the main character and a short summary of what they did in the book, and then decorate a small pumpkin to resemble that character.  He had to bring it all in by Monday, October 28th.

OK, we had some time.  And the assignment wasn’t overwhelming or impossible or even that much of a pain in the ass.  So I presented the project to Kid E with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

“Hey, buddy?  Can you take off the headphones and press pause for a sec (and, yes, I made the universal gesture for taking off headphones).  This paper you said was from your teacher for me… actually, it is a fun project for you!”  I went on to explain the assignment with gusto.  But the kid was not buying it.  He was not excited.  He was not even happy.  He started to cry uncontrollably.

“But, MOM!  It is supposed to be for YOU, not ME!  What am I gonna do?  How am I gonna do it?  I can’t do it.  I don’t know how to do ANYTHING!”

I gave him a big, fat hug and helped him to bring it down a notch.  I explained that he most certainly knew how to do lots of things… like putting his shoes in the bin, and emptying his lunchbox and backpack, and putting important papers on my desk.  I reminded him that he also dressed and undressed himself, put his clothes in the hamper, and put the silverware and napkins on the table for dinner.  I pointed out that he can read now, and his writing was getting really good, and he knew how to do math problems.  Kid D heard the commotion at this point and (helpfully?) added that Kid E also cleaned up his toys, but only when I made him.  He also suggested a book for the project, The Runaway Bunny.  That part was actually pretty helpful.

“Perfect, ” I said.  “You like that book.  You can write about the little bunny and all of his shenanigans when he tries to run away from his mother.  And we could buy a pet-sized bunny costume and glue the ears on your tiny pumpkin!”  I continued to reassure him. “You know how to do lots of things.  Don’t you worry about a thing.  We’ve got this.”  Kid E stopped crying.

Then he asked if he could go back to watching the YouTube.  Of course I let him.  I had stuff to do.

I glued the ears, nose and tail on (yes, I own a glue gun!), and Kid E drew the eyes and mouth. Plus, he wrote out the book report all on his own (I helped him construct some of the sentences). He did so well that he's on his own from now on...

I glued the ears, nose and tail on (yes, I own a glue gun, smartasses), but Kid E drew the eyes and mouth. Plus, he wrote out the book report all on his own (even though I helped him construct one or two of the sentences).                              He did so well that next time, he’s on his own.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

The Scariest Thing

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I have already told you all how I tortured myself by watching scary movies as a kid (Friday the Thirteenth).  I watched almost every scary movie they made.  I did it by myself, in the dark, and usually while babysitting.  As a result, I was SO FREAKING SCARED of everything, all the time.  Scared to be home alone, scared to open the shower, scared to close the medicine cabinet, scared to go camping, scared to go to sleep, scared to swim, scared to drive at night, scared to make out in a parked car (just kidding… I still did that).

But over the years I have gotten smarter and I stopped watching the scary movies.  I saw The Blair Witch Project and The Sixth Sense (those were really the last horror movies I intentionally sat down to watch all the way through), but they were from last century.  I won’t even look at the previews for Paranormal Activity, or The Ring, or Mama, or the one where there is a really creepy old lady in Harry Potter’s window.  I just won’t watch them anymore.  And – funny thing – I’m not as scared of everything as I once was.

Except that I am.

I don’t know who I’m trying to fool.  I am no longer a teenager driving around the woods in the back of a pickup truck, looking for the Jersey Devil.  I am no longer the girl kissing a boy in a Nissan Pulsar in an empty church parking lot.  I am no longer the babysitter who answers the phone and fears that the call is coming from inside the house.  I am no longer any of these people.  I have evolved and changed.  I am different.  Now, I am a grownup.  Now, I am a wife.  Now, I am a mother, five times over.

And parenthood is by far the scariest thing ever.

"It's not like my mother is a maniac or a raving thing. She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes." - Norman Bates, Psycho (1960).

“It’s not like my mother is a maniac or a raving thing. She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes.” – Norman Bates, Psycho (1960).

Happy Halloween!

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

I Say It’s My Birthday

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

It seems like turning 16 just happened to me yesterday.  Well,  for that matter, so does turning 21, 30, 40, and even 42, but… man.  What are the odds that I would wake up today and it is my birthday once again?

One in three hundred and sixty-five, give or take.

Birthdays usually make me nostalgic.  They make me contemplative.  The put me in the mood to evaluate where I’ve been and where I am and where I want to go.  They remind me that everybody is getting older and that time is passing and that life goes on even though we are all going to die eventually.

chickenglass

I’m just kidding about the last part, even though it is true.  If you didn’t know already, I’m one of those pessimists masquerading as an optimist, with a heaping dose of sarcasm sprinkled on top.

Anyway, I have decided this year to forego the standard contemplation exercises of life and death and accomplishments and failures.  I shall instead spend the day making the most of it and enjoying the heck out of it and treating myself like a queen, like so many of my very smart Facebook friends have suggested already.  The kids all gathered in the kitchen before school and presented me with an awesome card that they made, which made me very happy and smiley-faced for a multitude of reasons.  Especially because one kid felt the need to sign his full name, because… “Who knows if you will remember who I am?”  I busted out the bread machine and started baking the first honey wheat loaf of the season to go with a tray of lasagna I plan on making for dinner.  And Sheepdog promised me a professional massage (his are decidedly un-professional, I assure you) this weekend.  All good stuff.

After school the kids have tutoring and ballet and baseball and football, so I’ll likely spend many of the evening hours in my car.  But that is okay, because I will use that time to hang out and talk with my goofy kids, making memories and sharing experiences with them.  Likely that will make me want to kill some, if not all, of them by bedtime, so maybe Sheepdog can take over before that happens and I will enjoy a glass of wine or two.  Then Sheepdog and I can hang out and talk before I finally climb into my super-comfy bed, which is getting switched over today with my favorite seasonal down comforter, courtesy of the Frost on the Pumpkin (it was 37 ° when we woke up this morning!).  Hopefully, I will drift off to a  pleasant dream-filled, yet uninterrupted (by children, husband, or the need to pee), full night of sleep.

Now, that sounds like a very Happy Birthday indeed.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

No Tooth, No Money

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Last Friday afternoon the boys bounded off the school bus, all limbs and backpacks and sweaty buzz cuts.  It was the start of a four-day weekend, and everybody was bursting with excitement.

“AbunchofmyfriendsaregoingtoplayfootballrightnowintheHall’syardCanIgotooCanIplayCanIgonow HuhCanImomCanImomplease?” Kid D asked before we even reached the house.

“We are going to movie night on the lawn at your aunt’s house right after dinner, but you can go play for a while.  Promise me you’ll call when you get there.  And be home by 5:45.”  I guarantee he didn’t hear anything after “go play,” but he is eight and I’m learning that’s just how eight-year-old boys work/ don’t work.

About and hour or so later, there was a knock-knock-knock at my side door.  In came Kid D, along with Football House Mom II (not to be confused with FHM I – If You Have to Poop, Go Home), and her son.  She led with, “Um, the boys had a little accident…”

I stayed very calm.  Kid D was being brave, but as soon as he saw me the dam broke and the tears started flowing.  FHM II explained that Kid D had collided with another friend and he had apparently lost a tooth as a result.  The blood was flowing generously from his mouth, so I really couldn’t see much of anything.  I asked if they knew where the missing tooth went.  Did it jam up into his gums?  Was it somewhere on the lawn?  Did he swallow it?

“We’re not sure.  It might very well be in the other kid’s head.”  Awesome.

FHM II and her son left to check on the status of the other kid.  I gave Kid D some salt water and told him to start swishing and spitting.  After he cleared away some of the bloody mess, I was able to determine that most if not all of the tooth was indeed gone from his mouth.  The rest should fall out on its own because, luckily, it was a baby tooth.  His permanent front tooth next to the new hole was a slight bit wiggly, but I wasn’t too worried.  And conveniently, we had dentist appointments scheduled for first thing Monday morning so I would have the experts confirm that he was fine in a few days.

I texted with the other kid’s mom and she confirmed that he was hard-headed and doing just fine.  He was worried that he might have a “discussion” from the bump on his head, but there was just a red mark.  No broken skin and no “discussion.”  Whew.

So I had Kid D swish and spit a little while longer so the blood would stop spewing forth.  Then I Motrinned him up and he felt much better.  We even brought FHM II’s kid with us to watch Hotel Transylvania outside at my sister’s house.  It was a beautiful night and the movie was funny and the kids (as well as the grown ups) had a good time.  It was late when we finally got home and put the boys to bed.

The next morning, Kid D was very disappointed.  Apparently, the tooth fairy had failed to make an appearance and he felt gypped.  And surprisingly, he found no solace in my explanation: “I believe the rule is – no tooth, no money.  Sorry, big guy.”

Kid D was having none of that nonsense, so he set out writing a letter to the tooth fairy.  And when I asked how the tooth fairy would know if he was telling the truth or not, he insisted that I sign off on his note as a witness.

Kid D tooth fairy letter

The very next night, the note went on his nightstand, front and center.

And he found this waiting for him in the morning:

Well, I believe that the tooth fairy needs to have more change on hand.

I guess it is “no tooth, no money,” unless you leave a polite, semi-notorized note.

Over the years, our tooth fairy seems to have taken a whole lot of liberties.  Is it just me, or does the tooth fairy seem like she/ he really makes up most stuff up as they go along?  And she/ he really should be better prepared  in the future by having change on hand.  I’m just saying.

P.S.  I also believe that my kids need some more work on spelling.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Girl Power – Winning! (Remember That One Time?)

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I am sorry that I went MIA for a bit.  I had a long run of consistent posting in September, what with the travel logs and the recounting of all of my recent screw-ups.  But then I guess I burnt out a little.  And then our house got hit with a stupid virus, which even had the nerve to try to take me down for a few days.

Yet, the show must go on.  Not everybody around here was sick, so some people still expected things like clean underpants and dinner.

“Maaaaah-ommmmm,” I would hear through the bathroom door.  “What’s for dinner?  I’m starving.”

“Um… english muffins?”  I hadn’t gone to the store in over a week.

“Again?”

“Leave me alone.  Quit your complaining.  I’m sick.  Make your own dinner if you don’t like it.”

“But I can’t even reach the oven.  I’m six.”

That’s basically how it went for most of last week.  I felt guilty for feeling bad and I felt bad for feeling guilty.

But I womanned-up made it through those icky feelings by remembering times when I was kind of awesome.  Like this one time:

Right after we got back from Europe, Kid A and I got thrown right back into the thick of things.  She had to go back to school.  I had to do whatever the heck it is that I do.  Time zone adjustment?  Get over it.  Travel exhaustion?  Ain’t nobody got time for that!  You miss waking up in a different country each morning and dressing for dinner and having someone else make and serve you three course meals each evening?  We feel so freaking bad for you.  I need a ride to my school project partner’s house.  She lives kind of far from here and we need to stop at the store first to buy $60 of random supplies on the way.

So we adjusted.  It was painful at first, but Kid A and I only complained to each other and that seemed to work pretty well.  Life went on.

It was day two or three post-vacation when Kid A’s car wouldn’t turn over.  It made that ugly click-click-click noise.  We called Sheepdog and he confirmed that it needed a new battery.  And since he was already at work and still in “I-don’t-want-to-hear-your-sob-story-I-was-left-at-home-with-these-kids-by-myself-for-two-weeks” mode, and Kid A needed the car to help me out later that day, solving the problem fell squarely on my shoulders.

So I did what any girl would do.  On my way home from driving the teenagers to school, I drove around the neighborhood to see if any of my friends were having construction projects done.  The last time I had car that wouldn’t start, Sheepdog was out of town and my across-the-street neighbor was getting a dream house update, so I texted her and asked if the big, strong guy with the big, strong truck could come over and give me a jump (minds out of the gutter, dirty birds… it was nothing sexual).  There is not much that scares me more than the red and black jumper cable thingies.  Except varmints in my attic.  But, I digress.

Sadly, I saw no one with an F-150 or saw horses in their driveway.  I was on my own.

So I went to the YouTube.  I found a video called “Using Jumper Cables, the Right Way” and I felt like it was the exact right video for me, especially since it had started raining a little outside and it was also raining in the video!  But I was still really nervous, so I went to fold some laundry for a bit.

“… and the Golden Rule is NEVER touch the clamps together!”  Great.  More stuff for me to worry about.

Then I gave myself a pep talk and I finally decided to go out and jump the stupid dead battery.  I could totally do this!  Unless, of course, I accidentally hooked up a cable to something really wrong and then I blew up both cars or caused battery fluid to leak out and I got horrible chemical burns, that is.  But I could probably totally do this.  Totally.

I pulled my truck up right next to Kid A’s car.  That was easy.  I opened up both hoods.  Not simple, but not rocket science either.  Then I got out the jumper cables.  I held them like they were made of asbestos or penises (TBH, nobody really wants to touch either of those things).  I planned to follow the steps from the video.

The first problem was that the cars I had in front of me looked nothing like the cars in the stupid video.  The bad car didn’t even have a battery, as far as I could tell.  No wonder it wouldn’t turn on!  And that was just step one.

I almost started to cry, but then I just got mad and decided that this effing project was not going to beat me.  I’m a little bit stubborn that way.  I was afraid to put my hand too far into the car at all because it reminded me of Flash Gordon when Prince Barin made him put his hand in the hollow stump and he could have been bitten and infected with deadly poison.  Like Flash, I tensely and very cautiously moved around in there.  Eventually I lifted up some plastic stuff inside the Saab’s front end and found what looked the most battery-ish.  Yay for no poisonous creatures!  Finally, I was on to step two.

Step two was not one bit easier, as the battery in a 2008 GMC Yukon XL is extremely well hidden.  It might as well have been wearing a wig and mustache and been hiding in the Witness Protection Program.  I actually had to get out the owner’s manual from the glove box and read it!  And surprise, surprise… the actual car battery did not look like the one in the picture.  But I figured it out anyway because I was good and cursing-out-loud angry at that point.  And I hooked up those mo-fo clamps.  I wasn’t sure that they were in the right place, but they were hooked, dammit!  Then it was time to start the good car.  I said a quick, “Dear God, please don’t let me lose my eyesight.  Or my right arm.  And thanks again for wine,” and I turned the key in my truck.

Nothing blew up.  I was actually amazed.  I was certainly relieved.  I let it run for a minute.  I eventually started breathing again.

Now it was time to turn on Kid A’s car with the bad battery.  For whatever reason, this step scared me more than all of the other steps combined.  I was convinced that this would be the part where the front yard turned into a cordoned-off post-bomb site, and they would be collecting pieces of me from neighboring lawns for weeks.

But I am stubborn and still determined to do this or die trying.

I went over to the passenger side, reached across the entire car from outside (because I planned to run away faster than the explosion, if at all possible), squinted my eyes, and slowly turned the key in the Saab.

It thrummed to life!

I started doing a weird, spastic dance in the driveway and cursing very odd things at that point, but I was so incredibly proud of myself that I did not care what I looked like to the outside world.  Stubborn beat out scared!  I did it!  And I didn’t blow up the cars or get battery acid all over myself.  It was a good day!  A very good day indeed!  Girl Power!

Then I drove Kid A’s car to the mechanic, where they charged me a ridiculous amount of money to replace the dead battery.  It didn’t matter, though, because I was still high from my automotive triumph.

But then I came home and no one was there.  And likely all of that spaz-dancing or the excitement/ extreme fear had worn me out, so I took a really long nap on the couch.  And then I didn’t make any dinner and I mumbled about serving english muffins or something lame again and everybody got mad at me for not doing a good job.

But I did do a good job, at least that one time, so whatever.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Arrivederci, Italia and Goodbye, Royal Princess – (The Last) Day Twelve in Venice

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Day eleven was our second At Sea day.  It was cooler along the Adriatic than I would have liked.  I wished to sit up on the Deck 16, sunning myself and reading a book, but the wind and clouds forced me to move on to Plan B.  So I worked out and then took a much-needed nap.

Day Eleven At Sea

Day Eleven At Sea

Our final stop on this cruise is Venice, Italy.  We started navigation down the lagoon around mid-morning, and we docked close to noon.  The views coming into Venice were absolutely spectacular, made even more amazing because we watched them from my great-aunt and uncle’s balcony on the bow of the Royal Princess as we celebrated their 52nd wedding anniversary with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

It was just the six of us touring Venice together on this final day (Mom, Dad, Sisters B and C, Kid A, and me).  The rest of our group went over on their own.  We took a short bus ride, followed by a water taxi to shore.  We wandered around the streets of Venice for quite some time.  We definitely got lost for a while, but apparently you are supposed to do that.  I liked Venice best when we were alone on the meandering, narrow streets, passing small cafes and shops and houses.  We even walked past an artist quietly painting inside his studio with the doors open so he could enjoy the beautiful day.

We loosely followed our map of the city and ended up getting gelato near a church (Fun Fact: there are more than 140 churches throughout Venice and the lagoon islands).  We also took a famed gondola ride.  By that time we had gotten lost in the crowds once again, especially when we reached the restaurants, shopping, and Piazza San Marco.

I was so pleasantly surprised by how much I loved the city of Venice.  The architecture was spectacular.  The views were breathtaking.  I don’t know how else to say it except that Venice left me with a really good feeling inside.  Being surrounded by the water was peaceful and calming and romantic.  It made me want to come back to visit.  And it made me miss Sheepdog so very much.

And what perfect timing, because early tomorrow morning we disembark the Royal Princess for good and take a ten-hour flight back to Philadelphia International Airport.  Following a three-hour layover, we will fly to Atlanta, where Sheepdog will be waiting to pick us up.  We gain six hours traveling westward, which will make it a 30-hour day, but that means we get to go to bed at a reasonable hour once we’re back on Eastern Standard Time.

So, now it is time to say farewell to all of the incredible places we have visited over the past two weeks.  It has been an amazing trip, filled with memories and laughter, long lines and swollen ankles, and more than a few bottles of wine and vodka.  Most importantly, we got to experience it together as a family.  Well, minus the too-pregnant-to-travel Sister D.  The trip just wasn’t the same without her.

Now when do we start planning our 2014 African Safari?

Arrivederci, Italia and Goodbye, Royal Princess

Arrivederci, Italia and Goodbye, Royal Princess

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Greek Mythology – Day Ten in Athens

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Our captain made the announcement from the bridge last evening that we would be docking in Piraeus along with five or six other cruise ships today.  Our ship alone held over 3,000 passengers and 1,500 crew members.  Times six!  That is a lot of people.  I definitely can’t count that high in Greek.  Also, they were forecasting bright sunshine with highs near 90° F, so get out the Vaseline.  It’s going to be another sweaty underpants and chafing thighs kind of day.

No matter, because I have been looking forward to Athens the most on this trip.  I have always been enamored of Greek architecture, culture and history.  I have been intrigued by Greek mythology, with all of its gods and goddesses and creatures, since the very first time I saw Clash of the Titans.  Athens has been inhabited by humans for the past 7,000 years, at least!  Athens was the home of Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum.  It was the host city for the first modern-day Olympic Games.  It is called the birthplace of democracy and the Cradle of Western Civilization, for goodness’ sake.  How could I not be excited to visit?

Well, let me tell you…

We opted for a Hop-On/ Hop-Off bus tour in Athens.  Hop-On/ Hop-Off is a great tour choice that was available in many of the cities we visited.  The gist is that these bus lines have several stops located at different points of interest throughout any given area.  You can stay on board and listen (in several different languages) as a tour guide explains pertinent details along the route, or you can hop off at any stop to walk around and explore in more detail.  You can then hop back on at any of their scheduled stops to continue on around the city or return to port.

At the port of Piraeus, there were three options for Hop-On/ Hop-Off bus tours… Red, Yellow or Blue.  There is little information to base your choice on, so we randomly chose the Yellow Bus.  We would find out later that it was not the best choice.

We started up with a brief tour of Piraeus.  From what I could tell, it’s a great place to live if you endeavor to be employed as a porn salesperson or a stripper.  But, to each his own.

Our first stop was the Acropolis.  Time for our first Hop-Off.  How exciting!

The main interchange there was jam-packed with vehicles, vendors, and people.  We loaded up on cold waters and set up the mountain toward the ticket office.  It took us a ridiculous amount of time to walk 100 yards.  When we finally made our way there, it had become clear that this was not the place to be on this day.  It was so overcrowded (and rumored to be very unsure footing) that we opted not to go see the Parthenon up close.  Instead, we climbed a smaller peak and got a spectacular view of the whole city.  No tickets necessary.

After our short hike, we walked back down to explore other parts of Athens.  We stopped for lunch (tzatziki, lamb, Greek salads, ΑΛΦΑ “Alfa” beer) and walked around a little more.  At that point we were ready to Hop-On to our bus.  It was easier said than done.

Once we finally found a Yellow Bus stop, we waited.  And then we waited some more.  While we waited we were unwillingly serenaded by aggressive musician-types, looking for money.  A young, gypsy boy came up to us and was playing the accordion (really poorly – not one lesson) right in our faces.  I did my standard, “No, no!” and waived him off.  Sister B did it too, but instead of moving on, this eight or nine-year-old boy stopped playing and yelled, “YES!” right back at her.  My mom got involved and then he said something inappropriate to her as well.  Sister B replied with, “You need to learn some manners.  You do not disrespect an old lady!”  It was turning out to be that kind of day.

So we waited some more.  And waited.  More waiting.  “14 stops in the city center.  A bus every 30 minutes.”  Um, no.  We waited with a Yellow Bus representative (who likely wanted to use his perky yellow tie to choke himself by the end) for almost an hour until a bus finally came to take us back to A4: The Acropolis & Parthenon.  Then we had to wait some more for another bus to take us around Piraeus and eventually back to the port.

The only fun part about all of the waiting was when we met a French couple who were also waiting, and we practiced our French phrases.  When Sister B said something really obscure and correct, she screamed, “Regardez-moi!”  Our new French friends laughed and laughed.

Around 4 o’clock, we finally got back to the ship along with several other groups of passengers.  We were all hot and tired and dusty, and we smelled like Greek soup.  I called out to no one in particular as we waited for the elevators to drag our sorry butts up to our rooms.

“So… did everyone enjoy Athens today?”

A man next to me answered in his thick Irish accent, “I enjoyed going there.  I enjoyed much more coming back.”

Ditto.  Athens was a big, fat bust.  Its awesomeness must only be a myth, just like the Centaurs and Sirens.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

September 11th as an American in Turkey

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

We left Istanbul the day prior and motored all night and into the first half of the following day.  We pulled into the port of Kusadasi, Turkey around noon on Wednesday.  Kusadasi is less than 900 kilometers (not even 600 miles) from Benghazi, Libya, the site of the attack on an American diplomatic mission exactly one year prior.  It is also just about 1,500 kilometers (approximately 900 miles) from Damascus, the capital city of Syria, where civil war brings daily images of death and destruction that most Americans can’t even begin to imagine.

I was worried.

I was on high alert.

I was situationally aware.

We were American tourists in Turkey on September 11th.

I had promised Sheepdog that I would always stay close to Kid A during our travels, but most especially on this day.  Most Americans over the age of twenty-five are able to tell you in detail where they were and what they were doing that clear, fall morning when the planes deliberately crashed on our American soil.  Even twelve years later, I can still remember those feelings of anxiety and fear and grief and uncertainty.

As a group, we decided to disembark the ship, go into the port, but not travel too far into town.  I was adamant that we have some sort of escape plan (as lame as it was to “escape” onto a cruise ship… it was the best I could do under the circumstances).  That meant no tour of Ephesus, the ancient Greek, and later Roman, city famed for the Temple of Artemis (one of the Seven Wonders of the World, which was destroyed by Goths in the 3rd Century AD), as well as the still-standing Odeum, the Celsus Library, the Temple of Hadran, and the Great Theater.  It also meant no visit to the House of the Virgin Mary, which is widely recognized as the final resting place of St. Mary, Mother of God.  So what was left for us to see and do in Kusadasi, you ask?  Take a wild guess.

My dad and I carefully watched my daughter, mom, and sisters as they moved from shop to shop throughout the winding district.  Shopping, as per usual, was on the docket today, especially once someone heard a rumor that shopping in this port rivaled and even surpassed that in the Grand Bazaar.  At least here I didn’t totally hate it, but only because the sales people in Kusadasi were less intimidating and pushy.  They were even kind of funny.

"Sir, I know I will like you VER much. Come." - common sales pitch heard in port of Kusadasi

“Sir, I know I will like you very much. Come.” – common sales pitch heard throughout the shopping district in the port of Kusadasi

We made it through the shopping district in under two hours.  And a wonderful thing began to happen during that time… I was actually able to relax a little and enjoy the people of Turkey.

Don’t get me wrong.  I was still very situationally aware and always had eyes on the Energizer Bunny Shopping Team as well as others around us, but I also interacted with many of the vendors while my dad and I waited outside of the stores.  Most, if not all, of them were kind and interesting and really enjoyed practicing their English (which can be a fantastic source of entertainment).  We asked questions of each other and I learned many things that I did not already know.  It was a wonderfully surprising experience for me.

When there was a lull in the procurement of souvenirs, we decided to sit down at a cafe for a bit to enjoy some wi-fi and Turkish beer.  It was a gorgeous day… sunny and in the high 70’s/ low 80’s.  We were checking in with family and friends at home, talking to one another and other people around us, and generally having a very nice afternoon.  We enjoyed it so much that we ordered another round.

Facebook check-in on 09/11/2013: Kusadasi, Turkey. God Bless America!

Facebook check-in on 09/11/2013: Kusadasi, Turkey. Mom, Dad, me, Sister B, Sister C, and Kid A.  God Bless America! (and free wi-fi)

It was getting later in the afternoon.  Soon it was time for the Muslims’ salat, specifically the Ahr (afternoon prayers).  We had learned a little bit about the five daily Islamic prayer times from our tour guide on Tuesday in Istanbul.  There was a mosque beyond the area where we were sitting that broadcast what I presume was the salat into the marketplace.

Imagine being an American tourist sitting at an outdoor cafe with your family on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, drinking an Efes Pilsener, and enjoying the company of those around you, all while listening to Islamic prayers playing live over a loudspeaker.  I have never had a more surreal experience in my life.

I understand that we were in a very insulated town that makes its income mostly from tourist revenue, so we were as safe as we were going to be in that part of the world.  Nevertheless, what a pleasant surprise on this day in Kusadasi, Turkey.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Talking Turkey (Day Eight in Istanbul)

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

WEIRD, REAL-TIME PHENOMENON:  Prior to going on this trip of a lifetime, I had only been on a cruise ship once.  I was pregnant with Kid D at the time.  It was a fun trip with my sisters and my mom, but I was not a huge fan of cruise ships following that vacation (you try shaving your legs with an unyielding, pregnant belly in a tiny box of a shower stall).  Then there are all of the grouchy, old people (you would think that people of every age on vacation would be happy, but noooooo, that is not always the case).  And the lines.  And the waiting for elevators because the stairs are nearly impossible to find and they never go all the way from the bottom to the top.  And the nit-picking, à la carte charges for all of the “extras” (I wouldn’t be shocked if there was a daily charge for my unborn child; but in fairness, I was eating for two).   Did I mention the never-ending lines?

When my mom was bouncing around the idea of the original six of us going away together, I was all “YAY!” but then she mentioned doing it on a cruise.  Well, bollocks (I’m much more European now, so I can use a fancy word like “bollocks.”  In the moment – pre-trip – I likely just said “crap.”).

But all of the cruise stuff ended up being fine (even the shower even seemed bigger because I wasn’t growing a human being inside of me this go-around) and I got over the lines and tried really hard not to be a grouchy, old person myself.  I had a really great time with all of my family and friends.  I’m sure all of the wine helped, too.

In the end, you can say that I am still not a cruise person, but I got to see so many interesting places and it really was a cost-effective way to travel.  I might even be on the fence about the whole deal.  So much so that last week I found myself going on the line and looking up other cruises to see where we could go and what it would cost.

Oooooh… Alaska!?!  That sounds fabulous.  We could even bring the kids for that price.  And look!  A short cruise up and down the California coastline.  That sounds romantic for me and Sheepdog.  And Airtran flies on the cheap to SFO.  We could totally do that!  

How quickly I forget.

Then, yesterday Good Morning America ran a news story about how the Royal Princess – the exact same ship we lived on for twelve days – had broken down in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, and was likely cutting the cruise short, giving people refunds, and making arrangements to fly them home.  Here’s an article about it: “Bollocks” doesn’t even cover it

A college friend, who had just texted me another article about scuba suit-wearing protesters throwing themselves in the Venice canal to block the passage of large cruise ships because of alleged structural damage to the city, summed it up best… “I can stay home and have the power go out for a lot cheaper.”  Agreed.

…but have you checked out the itinerary for that Alaskan cruise?

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I woke up to a cloudy view of a crowded city skyline.  It was the first time in over a week that my waking eyes weren’t met with an abundance of green mountains and/ or blue sea.  The forecast is for a bit of rain, followed by mostly sunny skies and a high of only 25° C (77° F). The date is September 10 and today we are in Istanbul, Turkey.

Turkey is a country of 75 million people.  15 million of them live in Istanbul.  Istanbul is divided by the Bosphorus waterway into two sections… half lies in Europe and the other half in Asia.  The European side has both historical and modern sections of the city, while the Asian side is primarily residential and offers much more room for growth.  In many ways (population, traffic, skyline, a general vibe of crazy), European Istanbul reminded me of New York City.  So I guess that would make the Asian side a kind of Turkish New Jersey.  I guess we’ll see tomorrow when we get to Kusadasi.

Our tour bus deposited us in the Hippodrome, which is a city square in a very busy section of historic Istanbul.  As we climbed off of the bus, it was loud and confusing and we were immediately met with several Turkish men who were trying to sell us guide books to Istanbul.  During the first week of our travels I had developed what I found to be a fantastic, universal language, Maverick-is-disengaging procedure (a loud, “No, no!” accompanied with a head shake, similar to what I would do a million times a day when my kids were toddlers) for use in such situations.  I used it in my best don’t-mess-with-me-cause-I’ll-cut-a-bitch voice, so the men left me alone.

My dad, however, had been out of the tourist game for a couple of days.  The cruise ship had made him soft, and you need to be tough or New York City Istanbul will swallow you whole.  He didn’t understand the language, the men were shoving the books (and now postcards too) into his hands, but he also didn’t want to offend anyone.  There was so much confusion and so many men trying to hand these books to everyone.  It was crazy and not a little scary.  We needed to get back to our tour guide.

I saw what was happening and quickly told my dad to hand the books back to the men and not to buy them.  In retrospect, that was probably not the wisest course of action for me to take.  The man who was on my dad whipped his head around to me and yelled with anger in his voice and fire in his eyes.

“You say, ‘No, no, Daddy?'”  Spittle flew from his venomous mouth.  “You should say NOTHING!”  The last word came out as a snake-like hiss.

Bollocks.

He turned to my dad and spitefully said, “You take.  Is gift.”  But I do not think “gift” actually meant “free,” because he and his friends all tried to get money from my dad at that point.  Blood pressures and tensions were definitely high.  My dad pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to the man, who finally left us alone so we could catch up with our group.

So, that was our first five minutes in Istanbul.

The rest of the day was actually quite awesome, especially because it was definitely filled with a lot less street fighting.  We went inside the incredible Blue Mosque, a 17th century landmark renowned for its huge domes and 6 minarets (historically, more minarets means it is built by and for the higher classes).  We also visited the Hagia Sophia, which was built in 527 A.D., has served at different times both as a Christian church and a Muslim mosque, and is now operated as a museum.

The most interesting part of the day for me was a demonstration by Turkish rug makers.  They won me over when they first offered us warm apple tea and raki (Turkish moonshine, like the Greek ouzo), along with simit (think sesame bagel, yet more savory), but what I learned about rugs was even cooler.  The incredible amount of work that goes into making them (time, talent, materials, natural dyes) was very interesting to learn about.  Now, I have a new appreciation for quality rugs.  And raki.  Şerefe!

We ended the day shopping (of course) in the Grand Bazaar.  I was kind of getting sick of the aggressive sales techniques on this trip, but my mom and sisters, along with Kid A, were having a ball bargaining and haggling and boosting the local economy.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

It’s All Greek to Me (Day Seven in Mykonos)

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

This is Monday.

This is Monday, September 9.

This is Monday, September 9, 2013, and today we are docked in Mykonos, Greece.

I have to repeat a similar mantra for each day we are on this trip, else I might lose my mind.  I am thrown off by the whole waking up in a different port/ city/ country/ continent thing.  I feel like I have been away from my family and my home for months at this point.  If someone had a finite number of days on this planet earth, I would highly recommend they spend their last ones on a cruise ship.  Time seems to double or often triple when experienced this way.

Day Six was spent completely at sea. We were excited for Day Seven so we could scream, "Land Ho!"

Day Six was spent completely at sea. We were excited for Day Seven so we could scream, “Land Ho!”
Coincidentally, that was also my nickname in college.

We have only a few hours in port today.

I’ll bet we spend some of it shopping.  It never ceases to amaze me how much shopping my mom, sisters, and Kid A can do.  Just when you think they’ve bought everything they could possibly need or want to buy, they see another store that they just have to browse.  My dad observed in Spain that he was missing the art gene.  If that is possible, then I am definitely missing the shopping one.

This port is incredibly beautiful. There is so much blue water, which is in stark contrast with all of the white buildings and white beaches.  Mykonos has a very relaxed charm, despite the fraternity/ sorority row comparison (I am just being sarcastic…. I’m perfectly aware which is the chicken and which is the egg).

Someone mentioned wanting to rent a house up in the hills here, but I fear it may be a little too quiet for me to spend an extended vacation.  I really wish we had more time to explore this city and see what it is all about, beyond the touristy stuff.

In the meantime, we are going to wander, window shop, stop for a most excellent Greek coffee, and take lots of pictures.  Most importantly, I want to put my feet in the sand and let the water splash over them.. What a glorious day to be at the beach!

Wish me luck for tomorrow…