(no subject)
The holiday was lots of fun, but not relaxing by any definition! We had to keep constantly busy and entertaining for Ethan, which involved lots of walking and swimming in the baking heat, but like I said, loads of fun. The food and booze was fit and all-inclusive (which we will *so* be doing from now on until he gets quite a bit older and will tolerate meals out).
All the activites were included too, I did belly-dancing (which is so much more difficult than it looks! I thought having a big ass would be enough, but no! You actually need a sense of rythm and the ability to concentrate on more than one set of limbs at the same time) and scuba diving, which was fantastic. I've wanted to do it for ages, but was worried I'd be all nervous underwater, which I wasn't. There's a big scuba diving shop and learning centre in Macclesfield and my parents have offered to buy me some lessons as a christmas present, as it is a hobby I definitely won't be able to afford until I graduate!
The plane journey there was a bit rough for Ethan for the first part and he screamed like mad before we took off on the way home, but both trips he fell asleep. And he coped with the sun well, even though the constant sun block and having to wear a hat all the time really annoyed him.
Oh, and I forgot to add how much the people loved Ethan there. I don't know if it's like that in all of Turkey, but the hotel staff, passer-bys and shop owners couldn't leave him alone. They played with him, chased him, pinched him, hugged him, spoiled him with bits of chocolate and fruit. He loved it! Even when he was smushing melon in his hair at breakfast they smiled and waved at him and people didn't scowl at us when we ventured into town for a drink in the afternoon and he shouted in the cafe. It was so child-friendly. They asked me if I was still feeding him myself and stuff, which gave me the impression breastfeeding is much more tolerated than over here and didn't glare at me for having to nerve to ask if there were facilities to de-stink him like people do here too.
But no more sugar for Ethan! Dear god! At home he is not allowed sugar, juice, cakes or anything like that. Occasionallyhe has a biscuit or a piece of chocolate, but nothing else. Well, we thought holidays would be the times that this rule would be relaxed, as we grew up with a similar rule and have fond memories of fanta and ice cream induced highs on holiday. Bad idea. On the day in question he had honey and pancakes for breakfast, an ice cream sundae, chooclate pudding at lunch, pieces of turkish delight in the afetrnoon, and fresh cherry juice in between his water and milk. That night Carl escaped to watch the football and I planned on sitting on the balcony smoking (hey, it's a holiday and they're only a pound a packet!) and drinking tea, but Ethan had other ideas. He jumped up and down on the bed (no hands) banging empty water bottles and squealing until almost midnight. It was kind of fun, I built a duvet fort and chased him around the room all evening and he was laughing and screaming lots. But yes, it was hard work. I rang my Mum that evening and she laughed as she said she knew it would happen the first timne he had sugar. The lesson has been learnt though!
We both got asked if we were Muslims quite a lot, which has happened to Carl in the UK a couple of times because of his beard, but he got asked about 4 or 5 times a day on holiday. And even I got asked a few times because I wore a head scarf (to cover my parting, which always burns) even though bits of hair were clearly visable. But because I didn't have my baps on display and because of Carl's facial hair, local people and tourists were both asking us if we were Muslims. And yes, lots of people thought I was Dutch or German. which always happens when I go on holiday. Maybe it's the ass, or the weird clothes, or the love of beer, who knows?
In other news, it turns out that I am very mental. I have changed to some different medications and am working on getting my work done and handed in as I just want to get this year out of the way and spend the summer concentrating on my family and mental health. The only problem with this new medication is NO BOOZE ALLOWED!!!
One of them advises you against drinking alcohol, whilst the other strictly forbids it. So I am having a 'goodbye booze' party this weekend, before I start taking the tablets. This meant I had to be honest and tell all of my friends why I was going to get so wasted this weekend and why I will be demurely drinking lime and soda from now on. It's a move in the right direction, as I'm always ranting about the stigma attatched to mental health problems, whilst only a handful of people knew how mental I was until last week. Some people were sympathetic, some people were just like 'ok, whatever' and carried on drinking, no-one was worred about catching crazy from me by touching the same ashtray as me for sure.
I won't miss hangovers, I know that for sure. But the annoying thing is I really don't drink that much these days, I wasn't very drunk at any point on the holiday and I was surrounded by (sort of) free booze. But not being able to have that one cider on a hot day or have a nice vodka in the bath is upsetting me more than it should. And this teetotal state isn't a short term situation, I am looking at not months, but possible several years of not drinking. Not one glass of champagne at a wedding, not one barrel of beer a wake, not even an irish frigging coffee! This is like pregnancy, but so much worse! Still, it'll give people more cause to ask us if we're Muslim next time we go to a Muslim country for holidays.
I am currently reading 'Fat is a Feminist Issue', which I have been meaning to do for ages. It's fascinating and is making a lot of sense to me, considering how much food is tied up in comfort, depression, time with my mother and sexuality for me. In the past 6 months alone I have lost/gained almost 2 stones through dieting, exercising and binge eating. I was almost a size 12 when I was doing well at college, going out lots and being sociable. Now I'm crazy again I'm back to a 16. Needless to say I am finding it very useful. I expected it to be more of a critique of body image and stuff in western socities, but it is a self help book for compulsive eating, from a feminist perspective.
Being a big self help book reading fag looks like my lot for a while too, as I had my CBT assessment a few weeks ago and was told that yes, they could help me but I need to join the 10-12 month waiting list. The therapist has sent a reading list and my Mum in law has sent me some details about the books on prescription scheme in this area, so yeah. Lots of reading and exercises to make me feel really self conscious and silly in front of the mirror from now on...and no cocktails!!!
Anyway, enough.
All the activites were included too, I did belly-dancing (which is so much more difficult than it looks! I thought having a big ass would be enough, but no! You actually need a sense of rythm and the ability to concentrate on more than one set of limbs at the same time) and scuba diving, which was fantastic. I've wanted to do it for ages, but was worried I'd be all nervous underwater, which I wasn't. There's a big scuba diving shop and learning centre in Macclesfield and my parents have offered to buy me some lessons as a christmas present, as it is a hobby I definitely won't be able to afford until I graduate!
The plane journey there was a bit rough for Ethan for the first part and he screamed like mad before we took off on the way home, but both trips he fell asleep. And he coped with the sun well, even though the constant sun block and having to wear a hat all the time really annoyed him.
Oh, and I forgot to add how much the people loved Ethan there. I don't know if it's like that in all of Turkey, but the hotel staff, passer-bys and shop owners couldn't leave him alone. They played with him, chased him, pinched him, hugged him, spoiled him with bits of chocolate and fruit. He loved it! Even when he was smushing melon in his hair at breakfast they smiled and waved at him and people didn't scowl at us when we ventured into town for a drink in the afternoon and he shouted in the cafe. It was so child-friendly. They asked me if I was still feeding him myself and stuff, which gave me the impression breastfeeding is much more tolerated than over here and didn't glare at me for having to nerve to ask if there were facilities to de-stink him like people do here too.
But no more sugar for Ethan! Dear god! At home he is not allowed sugar, juice, cakes or anything like that. Occasionallyhe has a biscuit or a piece of chocolate, but nothing else. Well, we thought holidays would be the times that this rule would be relaxed, as we grew up with a similar rule and have fond memories of fanta and ice cream induced highs on holiday. Bad idea. On the day in question he had honey and pancakes for breakfast, an ice cream sundae, chooclate pudding at lunch, pieces of turkish delight in the afetrnoon, and fresh cherry juice in between his water and milk. That night Carl escaped to watch the football and I planned on sitting on the balcony smoking (hey, it's a holiday and they're only a pound a packet!) and drinking tea, but Ethan had other ideas. He jumped up and down on the bed (no hands) banging empty water bottles and squealing until almost midnight. It was kind of fun, I built a duvet fort and chased him around the room all evening and he was laughing and screaming lots. But yes, it was hard work. I rang my Mum that evening and she laughed as she said she knew it would happen the first timne he had sugar. The lesson has been learnt though!
We both got asked if we were Muslims quite a lot, which has happened to Carl in the UK a couple of times because of his beard, but he got asked about 4 or 5 times a day on holiday. And even I got asked a few times because I wore a head scarf (to cover my parting, which always burns) even though bits of hair were clearly visable. But because I didn't have my baps on display and because of Carl's facial hair, local people and tourists were both asking us if we were Muslims. And yes, lots of people thought I was Dutch or German. which always happens when I go on holiday. Maybe it's the ass, or the weird clothes, or the love of beer, who knows?
In other news, it turns out that I am very mental. I have changed to some different medications and am working on getting my work done and handed in as I just want to get this year out of the way and spend the summer concentrating on my family and mental health. The only problem with this new medication is NO BOOZE ALLOWED!!!
One of them advises you against drinking alcohol, whilst the other strictly forbids it. So I am having a 'goodbye booze' party this weekend, before I start taking the tablets. This meant I had to be honest and tell all of my friends why I was going to get so wasted this weekend and why I will be demurely drinking lime and soda from now on. It's a move in the right direction, as I'm always ranting about the stigma attatched to mental health problems, whilst only a handful of people knew how mental I was until last week. Some people were sympathetic, some people were just like 'ok, whatever' and carried on drinking, no-one was worred about catching crazy from me by touching the same ashtray as me for sure.
I won't miss hangovers, I know that for sure. But the annoying thing is I really don't drink that much these days, I wasn't very drunk at any point on the holiday and I was surrounded by (sort of) free booze. But not being able to have that one cider on a hot day or have a nice vodka in the bath is upsetting me more than it should. And this teetotal state isn't a short term situation, I am looking at not months, but possible several years of not drinking. Not one glass of champagne at a wedding, not one barrel of beer a wake, not even an irish frigging coffee! This is like pregnancy, but so much worse! Still, it'll give people more cause to ask us if we're Muslim next time we go to a Muslim country for holidays.
I am currently reading 'Fat is a Feminist Issue', which I have been meaning to do for ages. It's fascinating and is making a lot of sense to me, considering how much food is tied up in comfort, depression, time with my mother and sexuality for me. In the past 6 months alone I have lost/gained almost 2 stones through dieting, exercising and binge eating. I was almost a size 12 when I was doing well at college, going out lots and being sociable. Now I'm crazy again I'm back to a 16. Needless to say I am finding it very useful. I expected it to be more of a critique of body image and stuff in western socities, but it is a self help book for compulsive eating, from a feminist perspective.
Being a big self help book reading fag looks like my lot for a while too, as I had my CBT assessment a few weeks ago and was told that yes, they could help me but I need to join the 10-12 month waiting list. The therapist has sent a reading list and my Mum in law has sent me some details about the books on prescription scheme in this area, so yeah. Lots of reading and exercises to make me feel really self conscious and silly in front of the mirror from now on...and no cocktails!!!
Anyway, enough.