Yesterday I delegated my homeschooling responsibilities to someone else. I was out the whole morning driving this new family to the health department, Education Center and school to settle their children's schools. So in return, their eldest son agreed to take over teaching my kids for the morning. I laid everything out for him the night before.
I got back home at around 11:30 am. He was still busy teaching the kids. The events of the morning included punishing H because he bothered his sisters(as usual). N was riled up by my notes that mentioned she tends to dawdle, and in turn, completed her work in record time. S did her work quite intensively late because she was busy helping their new teacher sort things out. All in all, they did pretty good.
M, (my replacement) said that he realized it wasn't easy to homeschool, and he just did it for that day! He told me that he had organized a tutoring session three times a week back home. But he admitted that homeschooling occurs everyday and he realized what a big feat it is to undertake. He then went on to tell me about his experiences going to a public school in the UK and his sister's. His sister apparently still hadn't adjusted to the changes and was quite affected, but he wasn't. He attributed the cause for his sister's resistance to the age and length she was enrolled in the school.
I had sent my kids to theri house to play with their kids. They had a game that employs the use of dice. I had taught my kids not to use the dice because it is so close to gambling, even if it's not gambling. The parent then told me that my kids, all of them in fact, had told them that they couldn't use the dice because "it's like gambling."
I have long realized the reality of homeschooling, and have in all honesty battled with it all this time. Am still battling, but being gradually assured that it's the right choice. We received S's test results and she scored 445 out of 550. She doesn't have to take the test again and in fact scored at Advanced. However, she only scored proficient for processing informational texts. That's the lowest she got, so I guess we have to work on extricating information out of informational texts. I had focused so much on literary texts that I had forgotten about informational texts. A good wake up call.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
My Eldest Daughter
S was born a howler. When she cried, she wailed. It was the kind of baby wail that would drive you mad and extricate curious stares and unsolicited advice. I abhorred those unsolicited advices and stares. It took all I could muster to calm myself and her.
When she was three, she would sulk and determinedly disobey me. "No," was one of her favorite words back then, leaving me speechless, at a loss and angry at her stubbornness. Her sulking face was and still is intolerable to me. I repeatedly told her not to let me see 'that face' for it would just drive me mad. I told her if she wanted to act all sulky and difficult, go do it where people can't see her or hear her. The frequency of that had significantly diminished throughout the years, though when it was still in a fair amount of frequency, I couldn't contain the anger I felt. It drove the rift between us bigger. I felt that she was too like me and I hated myself for it. I decidedly thought that I couldn't get along with her.
Now she's eight, and already reaching the lobe of my ears in height. She's much more matured now and much much more wise. In fact, her growth has been so significant that she keeps on surprising me almost everyday.
There was the time when she offered to give us her Eid money to pay us for taking them out despite our weariness.
Then there was her "Jazakallah Khair," to her father when he bought her something so small it was merely a trinket from the store.
Yesterday, I had let her spend her money, where with she bought My Litte Pony. At night, after I had put them to bed, I lingered in front of their bookshelf, flipping through their books, looking for ideas to write my own. Suddenly she leapt off the bed and hugged me, saying,
"Jazakillah khair."
Then there were her countless thoughtful notes and cards saying,
"Thank you for taking care of us, Ummi. I love you."
Just this morning she asked me, while I'm sitting on the bed facing this laptop, typing the previous entry,
"Ummi, do you want me to bring you some pancakes?"
I nodded, saying Jazakillah khair. She popped back, asking me,
"With syrup?"
I shook my head.
And here I am now, with an empty plate next to me, two pancakes being digested in my stomach, writing about my eldest daughter. Just last night I was thinking about her name, which meant tranquility. I thought if the names we give our children help in shaping their nature and personaliy. S surely wasn't tranquil when she was a baby, what with her wails and howls, but she seemed to now possess a thoughtful nature that never ceases to surprise and please me every day. My eldest daughter, my best friend, my helper, my first born, how could I have thought I couldn't get along with her?
When she was three, she would sulk and determinedly disobey me. "No," was one of her favorite words back then, leaving me speechless, at a loss and angry at her stubbornness. Her sulking face was and still is intolerable to me. I repeatedly told her not to let me see 'that face' for it would just drive me mad. I told her if she wanted to act all sulky and difficult, go do it where people can't see her or hear her. The frequency of that had significantly diminished throughout the years, though when it was still in a fair amount of frequency, I couldn't contain the anger I felt. It drove the rift between us bigger. I felt that she was too like me and I hated myself for it. I decidedly thought that I couldn't get along with her.
Now she's eight, and already reaching the lobe of my ears in height. She's much more matured now and much much more wise. In fact, her growth has been so significant that she keeps on surprising me almost everyday.
There was the time when she offered to give us her Eid money to pay us for taking them out despite our weariness.
Then there was her "Jazakallah Khair," to her father when he bought her something so small it was merely a trinket from the store.
Yesterday, I had let her spend her money, where with she bought My Litte Pony. At night, after I had put them to bed, I lingered in front of their bookshelf, flipping through their books, looking for ideas to write my own. Suddenly she leapt off the bed and hugged me, saying,
"Jazakillah khair."
Then there were her countless thoughtful notes and cards saying,
"Thank you for taking care of us, Ummi. I love you."
Just this morning she asked me, while I'm sitting on the bed facing this laptop, typing the previous entry,
"Ummi, do you want me to bring you some pancakes?"
I nodded, saying Jazakillah khair. She popped back, asking me,
"With syrup?"
I shook my head.
And here I am now, with an empty plate next to me, two pancakes being digested in my stomach, writing about my eldest daughter. Just last night I was thinking about her name, which meant tranquility. I thought if the names we give our children help in shaping their nature and personaliy. S surely wasn't tranquil when she was a baby, what with her wails and howls, but she seemed to now possess a thoughtful nature that never ceases to surprise and please me every day. My eldest daughter, my best friend, my helper, my first born, how could I have thought I couldn't get along with her?
Teaching Myself
We were at some friends' apartment last night for a feast and a halaqa. I hadn't actually prepared the kids with things to occupy them while we have the halaqa, so it's no wonder that they were bored and ransacked the house.
There we were sitting in a circle, reciting Quran, when a loud bang came from the room. I got up and went to see what damage my children had done to the host's apartment. When I entered the room, a sight I hadn't been prepared to face greeted me. The top of a coffee table was lying askew off the table's base and N was right in the middle of the mess.
Anger consumed me. My mouth started to berate them, while my hands worked to fix the damage done. Then it occurred to me that the kids needed something to occupy themselves with. So I asked for the host for some papers and pen.
I left them with their papers and pen. A few minutes later, S came out and whispered to me that N took another paper out and was crumpling the rest. I had told them explicitly before I left the room,
"Just one paper each."
So when S came with the news, I was again sparked with anger at N. It wasn't free paper. That was why i had told them just one paper each. Apparently N was rebelling against me for berating her earlier and leaving her with a meager amount of 'distraction'. S had probably also told her to just be content with one paper, and she had probably rebelled against her big sister too. At a loss, the big sister came to me.
I sat in the room with them, angry at N, really angry at her for disobeying me and for being difficult. Suffice it to say, I lost the wisdom of being a parent at that moment. The wisdom that I never possessed in the first place. I would be lying if I say that I'm content with my competence as a parent. Only Allah knows how desperate I am to be bestowed the wisdom and patience of being a parent to three very different children. I must have sat in the room with them a good 15 minutes or so, all the while repeating the same reprimand to N, who was reduced to weeping in anger. I asked her,
"Did you do anything wrong?"
She shook her head. I was burdened with worry. How could she not think she didn'd do anything wrong. I asked her again.
"What you did just now. Was that wrong?"
She nodded. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. I prodded her on.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Angry," she said determinedly, her hands working furiously inside her shirt. She was obviously angry for my anger towards her. I totally understood how she felt, because that was how I felt whenever my father leashed his anger at me, regardless if it was my fault in the first place. Something in my mind clicked. My voice softened. I asked her again,
"If somebody came to our house, and broke your bed, how would you feel?"
"Mad," she said.
"Why?" I asked. I finally got her to respond to me albeit it in a grudging manner.
"Because I can't sleep on the bed anymore," she said.
"So how do you think the auntie will feel now that you broke her table?"
"Sad," she said, Her voice had softened too.
"As Muslims, we don't want our Muslims sisters and brother to feel bad. We want to make them feel happy. So what can you do to make her feel better?"
She was mute. I asked her again.
"Sorry," she finally said.
By then, all my angry tirade had dissipated, and surprisingly her rebellion too. I took her in my arms and stroked her back, telling her to say sorry to the auntie, whose table she had broken. She wept and her body racked with her sobs.
I returned to the halaqa calm and thankful to Allah. At the time I had most needed the wisdom, He had given it to me. I might not yet grasp the wisdom in my hand, but the event left me still reeling from the effect of the art of parenting. Before we left for home, I whispered to N, reminding her of what she needed to do before we left. She had remembered and actually apologized, albeit it be a tiny whisper. My heart soared when the auntie said,
"Sorry for what? Oh, that's okay."
I didn't actually hear her apologize, for I didn't want to make her feel pressured to do it, so i had moved away and concentrated on putting on my coat, leaving her to carry out the task herself, out of her own choice.
In that room that night, Allah had given me a little peek into the pleasure and reward of being patient and having wisdom. I don't know if I will be able to replicate the actions I committed in that room, that induced things to turn around for the better, but I now know what a little wisdom and patience can do.
There we were sitting in a circle, reciting Quran, when a loud bang came from the room. I got up and went to see what damage my children had done to the host's apartment. When I entered the room, a sight I hadn't been prepared to face greeted me. The top of a coffee table was lying askew off the table's base and N was right in the middle of the mess.
Anger consumed me. My mouth started to berate them, while my hands worked to fix the damage done. Then it occurred to me that the kids needed something to occupy themselves with. So I asked for the host for some papers and pen.
I left them with their papers and pen. A few minutes later, S came out and whispered to me that N took another paper out and was crumpling the rest. I had told them explicitly before I left the room,
"Just one paper each."
So when S came with the news, I was again sparked with anger at N. It wasn't free paper. That was why i had told them just one paper each. Apparently N was rebelling against me for berating her earlier and leaving her with a meager amount of 'distraction'. S had probably also told her to just be content with one paper, and she had probably rebelled against her big sister too. At a loss, the big sister came to me.
I sat in the room with them, angry at N, really angry at her for disobeying me and for being difficult. Suffice it to say, I lost the wisdom of being a parent at that moment. The wisdom that I never possessed in the first place. I would be lying if I say that I'm content with my competence as a parent. Only Allah knows how desperate I am to be bestowed the wisdom and patience of being a parent to three very different children. I must have sat in the room with them a good 15 minutes or so, all the while repeating the same reprimand to N, who was reduced to weeping in anger. I asked her,
"Did you do anything wrong?"
She shook her head. I was burdened with worry. How could she not think she didn'd do anything wrong. I asked her again.
"What you did just now. Was that wrong?"
She nodded. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. I prodded her on.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Angry," she said determinedly, her hands working furiously inside her shirt. She was obviously angry for my anger towards her. I totally understood how she felt, because that was how I felt whenever my father leashed his anger at me, regardless if it was my fault in the first place. Something in my mind clicked. My voice softened. I asked her again,
"If somebody came to our house, and broke your bed, how would you feel?"
"Mad," she said.
"Why?" I asked. I finally got her to respond to me albeit it in a grudging manner.
"Because I can't sleep on the bed anymore," she said.
"So how do you think the auntie will feel now that you broke her table?"
"Sad," she said, Her voice had softened too.
"As Muslims, we don't want our Muslims sisters and brother to feel bad. We want to make them feel happy. So what can you do to make her feel better?"
She was mute. I asked her again.
"Sorry," she finally said.
By then, all my angry tirade had dissipated, and surprisingly her rebellion too. I took her in my arms and stroked her back, telling her to say sorry to the auntie, whose table she had broken. She wept and her body racked with her sobs.
I returned to the halaqa calm and thankful to Allah. At the time I had most needed the wisdom, He had given it to me. I might not yet grasp the wisdom in my hand, but the event left me still reeling from the effect of the art of parenting. Before we left for home, I whispered to N, reminding her of what she needed to do before we left. She had remembered and actually apologized, albeit it be a tiny whisper. My heart soared when the auntie said,
"Sorry for what? Oh, that's okay."
I didn't actually hear her apologize, for I didn't want to make her feel pressured to do it, so i had moved away and concentrated on putting on my coat, leaving her to carry out the task herself, out of her own choice.
In that room that night, Allah had given me a little peek into the pleasure and reward of being patient and having wisdom. I don't know if I will be able to replicate the actions I committed in that room, that induced things to turn around for the better, but I now know what a little wisdom and patience can do.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Conference
We had our now monthly conference last Friday. I had jotted it down on my calendar but when the fated date came i totally forgot about it. So the phone rang unpicked by human hands. Instead the machine picked it up and after shushing each other, K's voice hailed us upstairs, in our ready stance to pick up the phone lest it be someone important. As soon as we heard her, we all rushed to our feet and picked it up before she hung up.
Such is my avoidance of the phone. It has all come to this. What have I done? All because I feel a phone conversation is very much like a face-to-face conversation. I simply refuse to be interrupted while on a phone conversation and that always produces 'abandoned children'. So I now steer away from it since I also can't say "I have to go," without feeling guilty about it. There was a time when i patiently listened to a telemarketer making her sale to me in a non stopping torrent of incomprehensible words, probably foolishly thinking that she had 'caught' me, only to hear me say no at the end. In a way i guess I was torturing her, but I was also too weak to say "no," from the very beginning. I'm lucky I didn't go to high school in the United States. otherwise I'd be in a whole lot of trouble with my inability to say "No."
The conference this time required K to speak with all of the kids and ask them about the history that they've learned so far.
H was the first one to talk on the phone. I sat back, watching him converse on the phone with hie assigned OHVA teacher.
"Yes,"
"No,"
"So people won't steal their stuff,"
"The Nile River,"
"Silt,"
were his audible responses.
Next to go was N. This one ran away to room so she could speak in private, I guess. Huh, typical girl phone behavior? Scary.
ANyway, I doggedly followed her and could see that she was speaking too softly. I kept prodding her to speak louder. She has this habit of holding the phone away from her ears. Don't know why, but suffice it to say, she doesn't have enough phone skills.
Next was S. Also girl phone behavior. Went to my room and placed herself comfortably on the bed, legs stretched out, back leaning against my propped pillows. Hmmm..comfortable indeed. Scary!
At the end of each conversation, K would tell how great the kids were and how well they remember what they were taught, especially H. Perfect time too for her to say that for I was feeling very down in the dumps lately, with the kids schooling. There were countless times where i have felt like giving up, like throwing in the stinky towel and taking to my heels as fast as i could. But I know I'd never be able to live with myself if I did, so i stuck through it, gritting my teeth and witholding complaints as much as i can. It's not easy.
All I can say is, if my kids do prove to retain the knowledge they have acquired thus far and turn out to be as normal as other kids, I would give all credits to Allah. The countless times I had turned to Him, seeking help, ease and patience. Everytime I was betaken with the feeling of helplessness I would sink in my own despair and ultimately turn to Him. I don't know how else i could do it wihtout His help. Nothing I do even if it was my best could help me if Allah does not will it.
Such is my avoidance of the phone. It has all come to this. What have I done? All because I feel a phone conversation is very much like a face-to-face conversation. I simply refuse to be interrupted while on a phone conversation and that always produces 'abandoned children'. So I now steer away from it since I also can't say "I have to go," without feeling guilty about it. There was a time when i patiently listened to a telemarketer making her sale to me in a non stopping torrent of incomprehensible words, probably foolishly thinking that she had 'caught' me, only to hear me say no at the end. In a way i guess I was torturing her, but I was also too weak to say "no," from the very beginning. I'm lucky I didn't go to high school in the United States. otherwise I'd be in a whole lot of trouble with my inability to say "No."
The conference this time required K to speak with all of the kids and ask them about the history that they've learned so far.
H was the first one to talk on the phone. I sat back, watching him converse on the phone with hie assigned OHVA teacher.
"Yes,"
"No,"
"So people won't steal their stuff,"
"The Nile River,"
"Silt,"
were his audible responses.
Next to go was N. This one ran away to room so she could speak in private, I guess. Huh, typical girl phone behavior? Scary.
ANyway, I doggedly followed her and could see that she was speaking too softly. I kept prodding her to speak louder. She has this habit of holding the phone away from her ears. Don't know why, but suffice it to say, she doesn't have enough phone skills.
Next was S. Also girl phone behavior. Went to my room and placed herself comfortably on the bed, legs stretched out, back leaning against my propped pillows. Hmmm..comfortable indeed. Scary!
At the end of each conversation, K would tell how great the kids were and how well they remember what they were taught, especially H. Perfect time too for her to say that for I was feeling very down in the dumps lately, with the kids schooling. There were countless times where i have felt like giving up, like throwing in the stinky towel and taking to my heels as fast as i could. But I know I'd never be able to live with myself if I did, so i stuck through it, gritting my teeth and witholding complaints as much as i can. It's not easy.
All I can say is, if my kids do prove to retain the knowledge they have acquired thus far and turn out to be as normal as other kids, I would give all credits to Allah. The countless times I had turned to Him, seeking help, ease and patience. Everytime I was betaken with the feeling of helplessness I would sink in my own despair and ultimately turn to Him. I don't know how else i could do it wihtout His help. Nothing I do even if it was my best could help me if Allah does not will it.
The Cheek of H
I have a feeling like I'm going to be writing a lot about the cheek of this boy. First. there's his artificial dimple. On the right cheek, it appears like a twinkling star everytime he bares his tiny pearly whites in a cheeky grin or a coy smile. People would remark on his dimple, thinking that it truly is a natural dimple. Beguiled, they believe that he was born with that dimple. Little do they know that the dimple was actually borne out of sibling rivalry, or better phrased as 'the entertainment in the trip from Iowa to Georgia'.
Ever since they were small, N and H have always been at each other's throat, but not in the form of verbal argument. No. The verbal argument is 'peacefully' left to H and S. S, being the big sister and the eldest, always insists that she is in the right. No matter how many times I tell her not to argue with the 'ignorant' (which is obviously, H), she always manages to drive herself mad over silly arguments with H. H on the other hand, seems to enjoy his heated 'conversations' with his big sister. At times he seems almost to insist being wrong just so S would get all riled up. At other times, he himself would rise up to the challenge and bark back at his older sister, insisting that he's the one in the right. Then he would go off stomping, crying and loudly insisting that he was right and others were wrong. It is at these times that my patience is really tried to the core.
Anyway, back to the milder sister, N. She is mild in temperament, and commanding her to speak is like commanding the cave to open for the thieves. Simply saying 'open sesame' would not be sufficient. I was unknoningly reduced to speak for her, which was later on brought into light by someone, fortunately. Despite her mildness, she is cunning in her own way. It was during these toddler times of hers that she showed her true nature. H would contentedly be playing on the floor with an assortment of toys around him, with his sisters lingering around, appearing to play with him. Suddenly out of nowhere, H would be crying pitifully, much like a baby kitten, with no apparent reason. At first I couldn't find the culprit, so i stopped looking for one. However, the crying began to occur more often and so i was forced to solve the mystery.
I was then that I noticed my children, in their true blue nature, at work. N, at the age of 2, had developed an uncanny ability to administer painful attacks rather stealthily. Her face betrayed nothing. if I wasn't watching that intently, I would have easily missed it. With her normal expression, wide eyed, calm manner, she would walk by her little brother in the most normal way possible. You wouldn't even think she was up to no good. Suddenly, like one of the boys in Oliver Twist, she would swipe her sneaky hand to his face or wherever she could get in on, and administer one of her very stinging attacks. Lo and behold, the poor babe wails! And the sweet litte wide-eyed angel walks away as if nothing had happened, in her sing song manner, singing her revenge away.
From then on, I made sure to watch her closely, but during the drive from Iowa to Georgia, which was unbearabably long, I failed to do that. We had put them side by side in their car seats. BIG mistake. The scratching tournament began. By the end of the trip, H's cheek was riddled with scabs upon scabs. It's a wonder only one of them turned into a dimple. Otherwise, he would have had a crater on his face.
Up to this day, his dimple, artificial as it is, stays as a manifest proof of N's artful attacks on her little brother.
There's THAT cheek of H. Then there's also his cheek with words.
"H made me angry!"
"No, I didn't!"
"H, don't make her angry,"
"But you said that no one can make anyone do anything. Yeah, you said that,"
Then, there's also:
They were riding in S's car and it happened that S has a toy bunny in it. H said,
"That's 'bunny' Israel!"
There're many more that I wished i had recorded for memory sake. In fact I'm racking my head trying to remember a particular one he had come out with, to no avail. And here he is, laughing away at his poor mother in choruses of evil laughter, who in all honesty, is just trying to record some of the most memorable moments of her children's childhood, for before she knows it, it will all soon pass. Ah.....the cheek of H.
Ever since they were small, N and H have always been at each other's throat, but not in the form of verbal argument. No. The verbal argument is 'peacefully' left to H and S. S, being the big sister and the eldest, always insists that she is in the right. No matter how many times I tell her not to argue with the 'ignorant' (which is obviously, H), she always manages to drive herself mad over silly arguments with H. H on the other hand, seems to enjoy his heated 'conversations' with his big sister. At times he seems almost to insist being wrong just so S would get all riled up. At other times, he himself would rise up to the challenge and bark back at his older sister, insisting that he's the one in the right. Then he would go off stomping, crying and loudly insisting that he was right and others were wrong. It is at these times that my patience is really tried to the core.
Anyway, back to the milder sister, N. She is mild in temperament, and commanding her to speak is like commanding the cave to open for the thieves. Simply saying 'open sesame' would not be sufficient. I was unknoningly reduced to speak for her, which was later on brought into light by someone, fortunately. Despite her mildness, she is cunning in her own way. It was during these toddler times of hers that she showed her true nature. H would contentedly be playing on the floor with an assortment of toys around him, with his sisters lingering around, appearing to play with him. Suddenly out of nowhere, H would be crying pitifully, much like a baby kitten, with no apparent reason. At first I couldn't find the culprit, so i stopped looking for one. However, the crying began to occur more often and so i was forced to solve the mystery.
I was then that I noticed my children, in their true blue nature, at work. N, at the age of 2, had developed an uncanny ability to administer painful attacks rather stealthily. Her face betrayed nothing. if I wasn't watching that intently, I would have easily missed it. With her normal expression, wide eyed, calm manner, she would walk by her little brother in the most normal way possible. You wouldn't even think she was up to no good. Suddenly, like one of the boys in Oliver Twist, she would swipe her sneaky hand to his face or wherever she could get in on, and administer one of her very stinging attacks. Lo and behold, the poor babe wails! And the sweet litte wide-eyed angel walks away as if nothing had happened, in her sing song manner, singing her revenge away.
From then on, I made sure to watch her closely, but during the drive from Iowa to Georgia, which was unbearabably long, I failed to do that. We had put them side by side in their car seats. BIG mistake. The scratching tournament began. By the end of the trip, H's cheek was riddled with scabs upon scabs. It's a wonder only one of them turned into a dimple. Otherwise, he would have had a crater on his face.
Up to this day, his dimple, artificial as it is, stays as a manifest proof of N's artful attacks on her little brother.
There's THAT cheek of H. Then there's also his cheek with words.
"H made me angry!"
"No, I didn't!"
"H, don't make her angry,"
"But you said that no one can make anyone do anything. Yeah, you said that,"
Then, there's also:
They were riding in S's car and it happened that S has a toy bunny in it. H said,
"That's 'bunny' Israel!"
There're many more that I wished i had recorded for memory sake. In fact I'm racking my head trying to remember a particular one he had come out with, to no avail. And here he is, laughing away at his poor mother in choruses of evil laughter, who in all honesty, is just trying to record some of the most memorable moments of her children's childhood, for before she knows it, it will all soon pass. Ah.....the cheek of H.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Sinus Infection - Monday Nov 7
He doesn't have pneumonia Alhamdulillah, but he has sinus infection instead. So H is on amoxicillin now. We didn't officially start school today because the visit to the doctor messed up our schedule. We also had to pick up H's prescription at Kroger. No matter. The kids are into writing letters now. They just mailed an envelope each to their grandparents and their penpals.
I have a dental appointment today. The girls lugged along their care bear. The check up took so long that F and the kids left me and went home by bus.
Another one of those things happened to me.
"J, you don't look your age. I was looking at your records and your kids, and I thought, 'hmm she doesn't look 29'. You have a young face."
Well, well, well, how was I supposed to respond to that? The american way would be to smile appreciatively and say thank you. The Malay way would be to vehemently deny it while hiding a building sense of joy inside. I did it the American way.
It made me think. How is 29 supposed to look like, I wonder?
When I got home, Love-a-lot was head down in the laundry basket. The girls had apparently played with her so much so that she probably accumulated all the germs and dirt existent in the dental building.
I have a dental appointment today. The girls lugged along their care bear. The check up took so long that F and the kids left me and went home by bus.
Another one of those things happened to me.
"J, you don't look your age. I was looking at your records and your kids, and I thought, 'hmm she doesn't look 29'. You have a young face."
Well, well, well, how was I supposed to respond to that? The american way would be to smile appreciatively and say thank you. The Malay way would be to vehemently deny it while hiding a building sense of joy inside. I did it the American way.
It made me think. How is 29 supposed to look like, I wonder?
When I got home, Love-a-lot was head down in the laundry basket. The girls had apparently played with her so much so that she probably accumulated all the germs and dirt existent in the dental building.
Eid Mubarak! Day 3
The kids donned on their Eid attire again. We were the only family there. The rest of them were students, single and very much on the ho hum if you know what I mean. I know. I was 'been there and done that'.
A group of students from Cleveland came in and there was one girl among them. She sat with D and me and looking at N, asked us,
"Family dia ni tinggal kat sini ke?"
For a while I had assumed she knew I was N's mother. After a while though, it appeared that she didn't and we replied heartily, "Yes."
She said I didn't look like I have three children. Now that is something really nice to hear!
Sunday was a good day but I was struck with a very great disappointment and depression at having witnessed something I didn't expect. Suffice it to say, it's really depressing to find out that people change. Even though we don't have any business judging people by their attire and appearances, it is apparent that Iman can't be hidden. When iman is present, its effect and presence is felt. When a change occurs as obvious as it did before my eyes then, I could see it as a downward movement, because prior to that, it was better, at least on the surface. We can't judge what's in people's heart and should have no business doing so. Even the hypocrites during the times of the sahaba were considered Muslims unless they announced it. That's between them and Allah, and not for us to judge.
Anyway, I hope it's a temporary stumble for her sake.
Back home, I had a talk with the kids. H had asked me on the way to the van,
"Why don't some people wear tudung(hijab)?"
We replied with "I don't know."
We didn't talk at all about it for fear of backbiting, but I wanted to make sure the kids understand what was going on.
So I hashed out a lesson on how important it is to keep our hearts pure and keep ourselves close to Allah so we don't veer away. Even minute insignificant things can steer us further away from Allah. Before we know it we can be million zillion of miles away from where we want to be.
Overall, the day had a somber mood to it, at least for us adults. We silently sat watching TV, not saying anything to each other, though I sensed that we were probably both thinking the same thing. I still can't get over how it happened.
Since it was pretty windy that afternoon, we let the kids fly their kites. I really marvel at their kite flying skills, because I have none! Even H knows how to steer his kite. However, his coughing sounded pneumonia-like. I resolved to bring him to the doctor Monday.
Over was our Eid weekend. All in all, it was a great Eid Alhamdulillah! May we see another one as we ascend up the ladder of iman insyaallah. Ameen...
A group of students from Cleveland came in and there was one girl among them. She sat with D and me and looking at N, asked us,
"Family dia ni tinggal kat sini ke?"
For a while I had assumed she knew I was N's mother. After a while though, it appeared that she didn't and we replied heartily, "Yes."
She said I didn't look like I have three children. Now that is something really nice to hear!
Sunday was a good day but I was struck with a very great disappointment and depression at having witnessed something I didn't expect. Suffice it to say, it's really depressing to find out that people change. Even though we don't have any business judging people by their attire and appearances, it is apparent that Iman can't be hidden. When iman is present, its effect and presence is felt. When a change occurs as obvious as it did before my eyes then, I could see it as a downward movement, because prior to that, it was better, at least on the surface. We can't judge what's in people's heart and should have no business doing so. Even the hypocrites during the times of the sahaba were considered Muslims unless they announced it. That's between them and Allah, and not for us to judge.
Anyway, I hope it's a temporary stumble for her sake.
Back home, I had a talk with the kids. H had asked me on the way to the van,
"Why don't some people wear tudung(hijab)?"
We replied with "I don't know."
We didn't talk at all about it for fear of backbiting, but I wanted to make sure the kids understand what was going on.
So I hashed out a lesson on how important it is to keep our hearts pure and keep ourselves close to Allah so we don't veer away. Even minute insignificant things can steer us further away from Allah. Before we know it we can be million zillion of miles away from where we want to be.
Overall, the day had a somber mood to it, at least for us adults. We silently sat watching TV, not saying anything to each other, though I sensed that we were probably both thinking the same thing. I still can't get over how it happened.
Since it was pretty windy that afternoon, we let the kids fly their kites. I really marvel at their kite flying skills, because I have none! Even H knows how to steer his kite. However, his coughing sounded pneumonia-like. I resolved to bring him to the doctor Monday.
Over was our Eid weekend. All in all, it was a great Eid Alhamdulillah! May we see another one as we ascend up the ladder of iman insyaallah. Ameen...
Eid Mubarak! Day 2
Saturday: well officially day 3 of Eid, but our day 2 was spent at home, while F went to campus to do his work. We didn't do school though. That night we visited some of the Malay guys' houses.
We were invited at 9 am Saturday to one of the Indonesian guys' apartment, who is a Chef.
It was really GREAT food. Fried talapia with Indonesian-mexican salsa and sayur. I really love frequenting these Indonesian houses.
There was an American lady there amongst us Malaysians and Indonesians. We had a Quran recitation and she sat through it, next to me. I took the opportunity to explain bits and pieces of the verses we were reciting. Interestingly they chose to read Surah Al-Imran, which is chock full of stuff on Christianity. Coincidence? I would never know.
The girls received Love-a-lot. They were ecstatic and lugs it everywhere they go from then on. After the great food we went to Al Maghrib's study session. Lugged all the kids. However, last minute H bailled out as A dropped us off on campus. He had dozed off and when we woke him up, of course he was all moody and refused to come with us. So we let him go with A. Turned out, he spent the afternoon playing computer game in the guys's house while we sat through the study session with the girls.
It was another great day of great food, Alhamdulillah. The next day, Sunday, we are to sample the Malaysian's cooking. Another cooking-free day for me. Nasi kerabu and nasi dagang were my anticipated menu for the day. Can't wait!
We were invited at 9 am Saturday to one of the Indonesian guys' apartment, who is a Chef.
It was really GREAT food. Fried talapia with Indonesian-mexican salsa and sayur. I really love frequenting these Indonesian houses.
There was an American lady there amongst us Malaysians and Indonesians. We had a Quran recitation and she sat through it, next to me. I took the opportunity to explain bits and pieces of the verses we were reciting. Interestingly they chose to read Surah Al-Imran, which is chock full of stuff on Christianity. Coincidence? I would never know.
The girls received Love-a-lot. They were ecstatic and lugs it everywhere they go from then on. After the great food we went to Al Maghrib's study session. Lugged all the kids. However, last minute H bailled out as A dropped us off on campus. He had dozed off and when we woke him up, of course he was all moody and refused to come with us. So we let him go with A. Turned out, he spent the afternoon playing computer game in the guys's house while we sat through the study session with the girls.
It was another great day of great food, Alhamdulillah. The next day, Sunday, we are to sample the Malaysian's cooking. Another cooking-free day for me. Nasi kerabu and nasi dagang were my anticipated menu for the day. Can't wait!
Eid Mubarak! Day 1
S fasted full the whole month! Mabrook!! N missed 2 days because she was sick. And H fasted 7 full days, 2 three-quarter days and 1 half day. Eid fell on Thursday, after much waiting until at night on Wednesday. The kids had already gone to bed that Wednesday and they fell asleep not knowing that the next day was Eid.
Clad in their Eid clothes, we all headed to the Bill McDonald Sports Complex for the Eid prayer that was supposed to commence at 8:30 am. But of course, Muslims and their perception of time, we only started praying at around 9 am or later. I didn't even pay attention because we were rushing like crazy, thinking we were late for sure, and when we got there, they haven't even lauded the Takbir yet! S came with me to the women's side while N and H went with their Ab to the men's side. In our rush S forgot to bring her hijab, we when we arrived at the complex she had to wear N's hijab while N had to go without. So much for all the training during Ramadan!
The Eid prayer went on smoothly, we heard the khateeb very well. Overall it was a very nice Eid prayer. We rushed back home for our open house. Received Indonesians and one Malaysian. The other Malaysians who were supposed to turn up before noon didn't turn up until much later in the day, rendering us bleary-eyed and weary. I vowed never to hold an open house without making sure people can actually attend, ever again. To make it worse, it was on a weekday and most people had to go back to class and work. I also just realized that most of the Muslims here live in clans and have their own families to spend Eid with, though I'm sure there are some who don't but they had to go back to work. Spending Eid in a university town where most of the Muslims were foreigners was much different than here. I still have to get used to it.
We had promised the kids we would go to Chuck E Cheeses, but the people came to our open house group by group, one after the other, stretching our open house hours longer than we intended to have it. F had specified it to be from morning till noon, but it became extended till 4 pm. We were also invited to our Indonesian friend's house at around 5/6 pm, so that meant we had to rush to Chuck E Cheeses right away. We promptly left at 4 after our guests left.
I was dead tired by then. Never had I wished for guests to leave like I did then. Some didn't stay too long, but some did. By the time we all were in the van, headed for Chuck E Cheeses, I was very deathly silent; a very abnormal occurence for a chatter like myself.
I felt bad for the kids, because we only had a small slot of time left to spend at Chuck E Cheeses then. We had planned to go around 3 pm initially. So since maghrib came in around 5:30, we only spent a rushed half an hour or more at Chuck E Cheeses. ALhamdulillah though, the kids had fun and didn't demand more.
The last part of the day was spent at our Indonesian friend's house and it was such great company. The kids really enjoyed themselves there too because there was a lot of romping space. Alhamdulilah our day ended with joyful company.
When we got in our front door, S said to me,
"Ummi, here's my money. It's for you."
"What for?" I asked, simply relieved to be back home.
"For bringing us to all those places even though you were tired," she replied.
My heart melted right there and then. Did I ever mention that we were tired to the kids? I didn't think we did. My silence was what probably did it, or maybe I did unknowingly say to F that I was exhausted beyond exhaustion in Malay in the van, unaware that S understands Malay.
Alhamdulillah, to Allah the most High for blessing us with very good children.
We went to bed that night excited to go to another invitation the next day. The host is a chef, so I anticipated GREAT food. Night, night, don't let the bed bugs bite.
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