(Wrote this yesterday and then couldn’t post it… so here it is!)

Today I spent my 28th birthday in Antalya, Turkey. It was… a birthday to beat the band.

I don’t know what it is- whether it’s just spending the time making the kids’ birthdays special, or just getting older, but I find lately that I just like to do quiet, happy things with my family and friends on my birthday. Which is to say, I’ve gotten stodgy. No parties for me.

We left Istanbul on the 9^th, leaving this delightful room behind.

What the photos don’t show is the smell of the toilet, across the hall, or the five (six) of us sleeping like sardines in there with all our bags around us, or our children jumping around in a tiny confined space until our brains were all shaking rapidly in our little skulls.

Nor does it show the price. Does anyone want to guess? Hint- it might not be what you think.

But we headed out of Istanbul and flew to Antalya taking a one-hour flight that barely felt like flying. The flight attendants rushed to get the snacks out and pick up the trash and then we were landing.

But wait wait wait. I didn’t tell you anything at all about Istanbul. Let me backtrack and give you some of Istanbul in a few choice photos.

First, let’s talk about Turkish Delight.

The White Witch tempted Edmund for nothing. All he needed to do is go to Istanbul.

Because there’s plenty of Turkish Delight for everyone.

And it is truly delightful. The kids are waiting for their share.

If you prefer baklava, don’t fret, you could throw a bunch down on the sidewalk and roll in it, if you choose.

Here’s our good friend from back home contemplating her baklava choices.

But forget about Turkish Delight for a minute. Check out the Grand Bazaar.

It’s very, very old.

And cool.

You can buy beautiful lamps, but you won’t be able to afford them. Or-er- I won’t.

You could also buy brass stuff, if you wanted.

But forget about the Grand Bazaar, because there are also cool buildings and sights in Istanbul.

Like old pillars.

Or the Blue Mosque.

Or this beautiful wood building with decorative flower boxes.

And there is plenty of Turkish Coffee.

But back to my birthday. Okay, so we landed in Antalya, only to discover that the guest house that we had planned on staying in was closed. We stopped in our taxi to get out and try to get our bearings, and happened to stop right beside a guest house that had two adjoining beautiful rooms for us, run by a Dutch woman who had immense sympathy for me as I waddled in with a sleeping Leafy in my arms.

I felt like maybe Antalya was heaven. The air was balmy, there was a garden for the kids to play in, with real live tortoises for them to feed, and a beautiful room with space! And a shower! We ate a late dinner under the trees (never managing to wake the jetlagged Leafy Boy up) and met up with a bunch of the friends that we will be camping with. It was wonderful.

And then, this morning, I woke up to the sun. Oh, well, okay, I actually woke up to the jetlagged Leafy deciding it was time to play at 5:30, but forget about that. Anyways, Chinua got up with the kids at 6:30 and let me sleep longer.

We had Turkish breakfast in the garden: a plate consisting of a boiled egg, some bread, cheese, jam, olives and a couple of fruits and vegetables.

Later we walked around Antalya and picked up some stuffed bread to eat by the water. By the Mediterranean. I think this was the point that I realized how truly amazing it was to be spending my birthday in Antalya.

Then one of our friends watched the kids while Chinua and I took a little scooter ride around the city, dodging traffic, both foot and on wheels. We’ve done this before, a few times, and it’s always so special for us.

And then, the crowning touch:

Which is a whole story in itself and may have to wait another day. I’ll just say that it involved being punched in the backs of the thighs by a strong Turkish woman with oils on her hands, having previously had water thrown on me while I lay on my back in a 600-year-old dome. Also being scrubbed red from top to bottom, and rubbed down with soap like a little baby. Well, that’s pretty much the whole story. I guess it didn’t have to wait.

I am sitting in the traveler section of Istanbul- Sultanahmet- drinking a tiny cup of Turkish tea and trying to put sticky fingers on my feelings, being here. My wonderful and considerate husband suggested that I go out and spend a little time alone- did I mention that he is wonderful and considerate? Because he is, he really, really is.

The plane ride was hectic and long, as anticipated, but the kids were wonderful. They are not angelic or without their kinks, but they are little troopers. We didn’t sleep much, during the hours that we should have been sleeping, and I was surprised and amazed by how they just kept playing, and walking through airports, and standing in line, with a minimum of meltdowns. I was also blown away by just how bone-weary that journey made me. WOW. Being pregnant really adds another dimension to your jet-lag, like tracers and stuff.

We are a bit of a spectacle, wherever we go. Chinua already draws a lot of attention, with echoes of “Bob Marley, Bob Marley,” following us as we walk down the street. But with the three kids and my round belly, we get even more attention. It’s good attention; people everywhere call out, “Very Good!” in Turkish, which is cool, getting points just for dragging our kids around. They probably don’t see a lot of tourists with a young entourage like ours.

And the cheek pinching that has been going on! Turkish people are cheek pinchers, let me tell you, and once again, the kids have been responding really well- laughing and ducking their heads. Leafy has been giving people fives when they hold out their hands for handshakes, which just makes him look really enthusiastic, and YaYa has had her hair touched a lot. Will it get old? We’ll see. If people keep giving them candy, Turkey may become a favorite place for them.

Yesterday in the taxi from the airport a man in the car next to us started smiling and talking to Leafy. Then he picked up a little stuffed frog keychain and gestured for me to take it. I opened my car window and reached across to where he was holding it out. “Thank you! Thank you,” we said. It’s amazing how people love children here.

We are staying in the crappiest, tiniest little guest house, with artsy iron railings on the stairs and a kitchen where you should just close your eyes before you walk in. The guy working this morning made us a breakfast of bread, jam, cheese, tomatoes and boiled eggs, and later, when Leafy had finally woken up (at 10:30 we were starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, but I think he was just catching up) we found him some food. The manager came in, asking whether the protein was in the yellow or white of the egg- we fumbled our way through answering him, and he gestured toward Leafy, “I just was wanting to make sure he got some protein and I wanted to know what part of the egg to get him.”

It’s so heartwarming, when people look out for your kids’ protein intakes and give them toys from the next car, wipe their noses and exclaim over them. It heals that whole children are an embarrassment in public vibe that can emerge from American culture at times. And it seems like we are going to be okay.

Because of course there I am, wondering whether we’ll be okay, picking things to death philosophically, even while we wander the streets of Istanbul and my kids are playing leapfrog over the decorative short poles on the sidewalk, while we eat Turkish Delight (truly delightful) and my kids race each other through the park, while we walk through the Public Bazaar looking at lamps and dishes and rugs, and stand in the shadow of the Hagia Sophia. I am seeing it all, marveling, yawning, shifting from foot to foot, eyes wide and happy, but I am wondering one thing- Who are we now? Away from where we were? Who will we become?

And then I remember who we are right now. That we are loved, that we are holding each other’s hands tightly. I remember to trust God again, and to live in this day.

And Chinua and I see each other and smile and try to remember not to kiss in public.

Today we finished packing up all of our backpacks, taking things to the thrift store, and returning electronics that we needed to return.  Then we drove for a few hours to Seattle, leaving Canada and all the new growth on the poplars behind.

Goodbyes are the hardest part.  My parents have been so incredible during this time that we have been staying with them, and it’s so hard to go farther away.  Thankfully technology has reached a point where we can be in touch like never before.  But still it’s hard.

I’m sitting in a hotel room right now, a really swanky one that we practically stole on priceline, in a bit of a daze, wondering how many new things I am on the cusp of.  I feel as though we have reached the top of a really long hill, are just about to pull up over the crest to where we can see the other side.  We’re not there yet, and as I sit here in a strange city in a strange nice hotel room, I am wondering what exactly it is that I am on the other side of.

Tomorrow our first adventure begins.  We are flying to Istanbul, Turkey, ready to join a bunch of brothers and sisters from all around the world on a camping adventure.  The theme of the gathering is Peace in the Middle East.

Tomorrow we crest that hill, and perhaps our legs will run away with us as we head down the other side.  All I know is that I hope I’m not going to be doing a whole lot of actual carrying of my backpack, or I will be literally rolling down that hill.

For the plane ride, we are stocked with toys, stickers, a kid’s origami kit (Kid A’s latest craze), and books.  Should be a fun fifteen hours!

You find new things that comfort you.

A cup of tea in the perfect spot by the window. The notebooks from the stationary store down the street. Breakfast at that one restaurant with the really good lemon pancakes. You find new ways to breathe, different clothes to wear, new ways to look at people on the street.

You can change. You can see things with eyes that have not seen this before. The sun sets in the sky oddly. It becomes a familiar orb, foreign no longer.

You find the perfect market stall, the one with the piles of glowing fruit and the man with the exaggerated kindness. You make friends with his wife. You find new ways of cooking things. These are the things that I know to be true about traveling, about moving to new places.

It is 3:00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. It probably isn’t surprising, but what is surprising is that I haven’t been all that nervous before now. It began with the packing. I have pared our things down to the very basic, the most special, the smallest things, and yet, as I pack, I see how much we will have to leave behind. We will give more things away, and the most special will be waiting for us, one day, in a box that we will open and exclaim over. They are only things.

I remember my sense of loss when I moved to California from British Columbia. It took me years, and I went through the loops, around and around the culture shock trails, before I came to where I am today. Which is to say that I identify strongly with Joni Mitchell- Canadian born, yet singing of California as home. How amazing, that we can have more than one home.

It is the parenting parts that have empty spaces. I’m not sure exactly how this works, how we adjust together to the new tastes in our mouths. But in a way, it is like every part of parenting; there are always gaps, you are always figuring it out as you go, it is always a different child’s month for testing you in ways that make you reach for the farthest bits of strength, pulling them into yourself because you need to be stronger than the days ahead.

You find the paths that everyone loves, the new birds and flowers. You play in the waves. You find new soap, new types of clothing. You color together on paper that feels different than the paper at home. You watch excitedly through the window of the train, counting camels, sheep with long tails, elephants.

You listen to each other, you kiss and hug relentlessly, you write and you draw and you tell stories at night, when everyone is drifting off to sleep under a different night.

We have about four more days to get ready to fly away.

FOUR DAYS.

FOUR. DAYS. Until I move with my family to India.

What do you think the chances are that I can have Leafy fully potty-trained by then?

No, I thought so too. Bummer.

We fly to Turkey, and then Israel, and then from Jordan to India. Because moving with your family is not enough when you are six months pregnant and everyone is still five and under. We have to throw a little backpacking and rustic camping in the hills of Turkey in there too.

But the truth is that I’m looking forward to this more than almost anything in years and years. And then at night before I drop off to sleep I start thinking about moving away from EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE.

And then I ask Chinua to hit me over the head and knock me out.

Because the truth is, as I’ve learned during this month in Canada, there are plenty of things in the world that are more important than Mexican food and Target.

(Seriously, though- we are so excited. I’ll write a serious post about it soon. I promise. When I’m feeling more sane. FOUR DAYS! SERENITY NOW!)

1. Reaching into your diaper after you have pooped, and then coming towards me (or Grandpa) with outstretched hands. Totally, completely, and fully a disgusting habit.  Please cease and desist forever and ever.

2. Falling to the ground crying.  Why?  Because Grandma said that she turned the heat up.  Because the juice isn’t coming fast enough.  Because someone looked at you.  Not cool, son, not cool.

3. Repeating what I say back to you in a sassy voice.  For instance, “Look at my eyes, Leafy.”  “You look at MY eyes.”  Not okay.  Just not okay.

4. Peeing on the floor.  See number one.

5. Carrying your little teddy bear everywhere with you, so that you look like an adorable cartoon version of yourself.  Awesome.  Totally endearing.

6. Saying, “Can you hug me?” when you are in distress.  Um- I might keel over?  From love.

7. Putting your soft little hands on either side of my face when we are cuddling.  Oh Leafy, I love you.

I sandblasted your tattoos while you were sleeping. (!)

I’m only kidding, you would have felt that. (!)

Imogen Heap is coming to do a concert at your house. (!)

She wants to be your best friend. (!)

They’ve just confirmed that Santa Claus is really and truly real, and he’s coming to your house with bags of loot. (!)

My immediate family (a lot of tall people, some short, and most insane) has been having a little reunion this week, and yesterday a bunch of us went for a hike.  It was a hike in name only, though, since most of it consisted of standing around taking photographs or waiting for other people to take photographs.  You know.  Too many photographers.

But really, it was incredible.  We couldn’t help being shutter-happy, there were so many wonderful things.  We had walked into fairyland.  This area of British Columbia is a temperate rainforest, which means a lot of mildew, but even more beauty.

Here we are waiting for Elrond to show us the way to Rivendell.

And there’s a baby elf in the path!

And here we see that even dead remains of trees are lovely in the rainforest.

One of my favorite books growing up was about some kids who were orphans and didn’t have a place to live, so they made a home in a stump.  Then I moved to Northern California and had a few homeless friends who lived in Redwood stumps, all tricked out.

Maybe my next house will be in a stump, a really big one with bunkbeds and a little pot-bellied stove in the corner.

(Probably not.)

I have no idea what our next house will look like.  Maybe it will be tall and leaning, with curved staircases, like a house from a Dr. Seuss book.  Probably not.

Maybe it will be round and chubby, with thick earth walls and a hole in the ceiling.  Probably not.

Brick?  Cement?  Stucco?  Wood?  Tinfoil?

I’m hoping for a garden.  I still miss the earthiness of the Land, the blanketing screen of the trees with the sun coming through the leaves.  I want to sit in the dirt and smell flowers all around me.   The herb smell of warm weeds.   The metallic smell of the sun.

I’m hoping for doors and windows that I can throw open.

I guess we’ll see.

(I fixed the problem with uploading photos, so now you will unfortunately be subjected to the following. We’re keeping ourselves real busy over here while we get ready for our trip to India.)

So, I don’t know if you remember this post? It was a little example of what sometimes happens when my sister and I get together.

Actually, that was the last time that we hung out.

This is what happened this time.

(Becca)

(Rae)

(Becca)

(Rae)