Friday, December 28, 2007
Going to Houston
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Hubby had secured a second driver so I wouldn't have to drive on the trip to Houston. With a nursing baby, it would just be a hassle. Baby Z's car seat was placed at the very back seat so I could nurse in full seclusion since we had another brother with us.
Qadar Allah, the brother was afflicted with what might have been some stomach trouble. He stayed in Kentucky, and we proceeded. My husband had lost his second driver, and attained a reluctant moi.
Suffice it to say, the drive to Houston from then grew gradually arduous. It reached its peak worst when we reached Lousiana. I drove us through parts of Alabama and Mississippi, and handed it over to hubby because Baby Z had woken up. It was back breaking nursing him in cramped quarters in the very back seat, and I didn't get enough sleep due to our sudden change of plans. However, alhamdulillah the kids behaved, and Baby Z slept exceedingly well.
The pediatrcician, when he found out we were driving to Houston, said,
"Well, your kids are well behaved, so I'm sure you'll be fine."
As he left us though he said in a conspiratorial whisper,
"Give them some Benadryl,"
and as he walked away,
"I didn't say that. I didn't say that."
Alhamdulillah, we didn't have to give them Benadryl. Allahu Akbar!
It was close to fajr when hubby stopped somewhere in Lafayette, Louisiana to sleep. I woke up to find us at a gas station. Baby Z woke up. S and I went to the restroom to change his diaper. We were honored by two Hispanic moms conversing in Mexican.
We let hubby sleep for a while more and I offered to drive the next leg of the trip.
Bad decision.
My eyelids were super droopy. I slapped my face, asked H to recite to me, talk to me, and even pinch my hand but I kept falling asleep on the wheel. We took the next exit and I almost had a car hit us when I switched lanes without looking. Alhamdulillah hubby is not one of those people who cuss.
Hubby took the wheel, and we proceeded. The plan was not to stop anywhere for the night, hence the idea of the second driver, which of course had fallen apart by then.
The drive from then on seemed so long and torturous. We prayed Fajr at a town called Sulphur. Our spirits were lifted as the sun rose. The dark night sky is truly fit for sleeping, as Allah has intended it to be; that much I can appreciate. With the rays of the sun, our hopes were revived and we looked forward to push on despite lingering sleepiness.
"We're in Texas, where's the welcome sign?" I asked as we approached the border.
"You're not welcome," hubby quipped.
My laughter filled the van. It was probably the first glimmer of normalcy in how many hours of silent worrying.
In Texas the highways seemed wide, unlike Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana's thin, bayou and tree lined highways. It was a welcome change of scenery. Alhamdulillah. Though I have to say I rather enjoyed looking at the misty bayous and swamps inhabited by leafless trees that look like something out of a horror movie.
We set out from Columbus, Ohio on Tuesday at around 9 am, and arrived safely in Houston, Texas on Wednesday 10 am. Alhamdulillah.
The beds in the hotel room were our yusra.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Houston, Here We Come!
Tomorrow, early in the morning inshaallah, we will be setting out on a road trip to Houston, TX, for the annual Texas Dawah Convention.
Baby Z's food? Check
Clothes laid out for tomorrow? Check
Two abayas each in the bag? Check
Three pairs of clothes in the bag? Check
Food? Check
Baby Z's Cetaphil? Check
It has been a grueling preparation, and I have been losing sleep over making lesson plans for this trip. May this be a fruitful journey inshaallah.
Houston, here we come!
EiD MuBaRaK!!!
Baby Z's food? Check
Clothes laid out for tomorrow? Check
Two abayas each in the bag? Check
Three pairs of clothes in the bag? Check
Food? Check
Baby Z's Cetaphil? Check
It has been a grueling preparation, and I have been losing sleep over making lesson plans for this trip. May this be a fruitful journey inshaallah.
Houston, here we come!
EiD MuBaRaK!!!
Saturday, December 08, 2007
The Dissertation
Last Sunday was dissertation day, where bleary-eyed and zombie-like, I sat in front of the computer from after Fajr all the way till midnight editing hubby's dissertation, the long editing session broken temporarily by the study session I attended on campus.
I didn't have much sleep the night before. I had underestimated the length of that paper, which was basically not a 'paper' at all, but a book! Or maybe I was just feeling Sunday-ish.
We changed the tenses, fixed weird prepositions. It took so long that I had to nurse Baby Z in front of the computer. As I sat there rooted in front of the computer, holding a squirming baby in my arms who would smack the keyboard every now and then, and reading strings of sentences out loud in what must have sounded like garbled English (due to 'rushing it), poor baby must have thought his parents had gone cuckoo.
Even H seated himself next to me at one point, and read out loud his father's dissertation, watching me fix technical errors. I ignored him, thinking he would get tired of it at some point, but he remained there, reading, until hubby had to call him away.
That night, even baby Z stayed up, since I was practically stuck there, so I somewhat abandoned his usual routine. I didn't finish editing it that night however. With bloodshot eyes, I went to bed, and as I nursed Baby Z lying down, hubby said to me,
"Tomorrow I'll bring the laptop up here so you can edit it after Fajr."
Great. Thanks!
Suffice it to say, my mind was harangued by this dissertation business for days after, and in fact, days and weeks before that editing day. I felt like I was the one doing the Phd.
But the climax of this dissertation business didn't happen until two days ago. Hubby had just given Baby Z his bath, and no matter how many times he has done it, he couldn't for the life of him remember what to put on Baby Z's eczema-laden body and cheeks. So he'd usually holler to me,
"What do I put on?"
All the way from the kitchen or living room, I would usually holler back,
"Hydrocortisone and then Aquaphor!" or
"Just Cetaphil!" or
"Hydrocortisone on his cheeks, wait a bit and then Cetaphil!" or
"Desitin on his bum!"
That morning, he asked me,
"What do I put on?"
Absentmindedly, I answered, my mind thinking 'Desitin',
"The dissertation."
I didn't have much sleep the night before. I had underestimated the length of that paper, which was basically not a 'paper' at all, but a book! Or maybe I was just feeling Sunday-ish.
We changed the tenses, fixed weird prepositions. It took so long that I had to nurse Baby Z in front of the computer. As I sat there rooted in front of the computer, holding a squirming baby in my arms who would smack the keyboard every now and then, and reading strings of sentences out loud in what must have sounded like garbled English (due to 'rushing it), poor baby must have thought his parents had gone cuckoo.
Even H seated himself next to me at one point, and read out loud his father's dissertation, watching me fix technical errors. I ignored him, thinking he would get tired of it at some point, but he remained there, reading, until hubby had to call him away.
That night, even baby Z stayed up, since I was practically stuck there, so I somewhat abandoned his usual routine. I didn't finish editing it that night however. With bloodshot eyes, I went to bed, and as I nursed Baby Z lying down, hubby said to me,
"Tomorrow I'll bring the laptop up here so you can edit it after Fajr."
Great. Thanks!
Suffice it to say, my mind was harangued by this dissertation business for days after, and in fact, days and weeks before that editing day. I felt like I was the one doing the Phd.
But the climax of this dissertation business didn't happen until two days ago. Hubby had just given Baby Z his bath, and no matter how many times he has done it, he couldn't for the life of him remember what to put on Baby Z's eczema-laden body and cheeks. So he'd usually holler to me,
"What do I put on?"
All the way from the kitchen or living room, I would usually holler back,
"Hydrocortisone and then Aquaphor!" or
"Just Cetaphil!" or
"Hydrocortisone on his cheeks, wait a bit and then Cetaphil!" or
"Desitin on his bum!"
That morning, he asked me,
"What do I put on?"
Absentmindedly, I answered, my mind thinking 'Desitin',
"The dissertation."
Friday, December 07, 2007
Smart Mouth
"H, are you excited that Abi is now a Dr.?"
"No."
"No? but aren't you excited that your father is a Dr.?" Amused, I continued eating my lunch while H indignantly responded with another 'No'.
"But why not?" I asked, hiding a smile.
"He's not a doctor Dr.!"
"But, your father is a Dr.!" I said again, grinning at his indignant expression.
"Then you can ask Kak N, A, W, M how they feel too," he said, which left me gaping in surprise.
Kak N, A, W, and M are definitely children of Drs; Dr. M & N of USM.
It didnt even occur to me that H could make that connection and bring it into the conversation for use as comparison. I was too blown away to keep pestering him about it.
Later on, I asked him,
"H, how'd you get to be so smart?"
"I listen to people when they're talking," he replied.
"You mean you eavesdrop!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah, and I also look at the computer when you're reading or writing your email."
Uh oh!
"No."
"No? but aren't you excited that your father is a Dr.?" Amused, I continued eating my lunch while H indignantly responded with another 'No'.
"But why not?" I asked, hiding a smile.
"He's not a doctor Dr.!"
"But, your father is a Dr.!" I said again, grinning at his indignant expression.
"Then you can ask Kak N, A, W, M how they feel too," he said, which left me gaping in surprise.
Kak N, A, W, and M are definitely children of Drs; Dr. M & N of USM.
It didnt even occur to me that H could make that connection and bring it into the conversation for use as comparison. I was too blown away to keep pestering him about it.
Later on, I asked him,
"H, how'd you get to be so smart?"
"I listen to people when they're talking," he replied.
"You mean you eavesdrop!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah, and I also look at the computer when you're reading or writing your email."
Uh oh!
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
The New Toy
"This is for your kids," she said, and handed me a rectangular golden-colored box.
Completely taken aback, I asked her, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing, just something for your family," she replied with a laugh.
"Aww, jazakillah khair!"
It was an IPOD, containing Tafsir, Quran recitations, Ahadeeth, Asmaa ul Husna and the meaning, plus a feature for recording voices.
Suffice it to say, this became the newest toy in the house. Just before I set out to compose this entry, I had to tell H,
"H, go shower," for the umpteenth time.
He had been sitting in his chair and on the bed, earphones stuck in his ears, spectacled eyes glued to the screen of the IPOD, while Saad Al Ghamidi's recitation of Surah Al Baqarah rang faintly through the earphones.
"Ummi, do you know that Surah AlBaqarah has so many stories?" he asked me, taking one earphone out of his ear.
"Ummi, why is it in Surah Al Baqarah, there was so many ayat that says that the if the Jews don't listen to the Tawrah and Injil, that they would be punished?"
"Did you pass the story of the cow yet?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Ummu, there's a story of Musa and the twelve springs, do you know what number that is?" he asked me back.
"No," I replied.
"Sixty," he said, with a somewhat smug voice.
"And it's in the Quran challenge game too, " he continued.
"I like surah Al Baqarah," he annonced out of the blue, still listening to the recitation.
Yesterday, while I was in the kitchen, making two of my Luscious Trifle pies, I peeked at the kids in the living room. S was sitting with Baby Z, holding him with one hand, while the other held the IPOD playing surah Yusuf, and her eyes was glued to the screen, reading the translation of each ayah as it was recited.
Another snapshot was of H reclining on the couch with Baby Z half lying on his lap, one hand holding the IPOD, while Baby Z fingered the wires of the earphones, cheeks and lips plopping in concentration. He wore what hubby would have dubbed the 'Chinese face'.
May Allah reward the sister and whoever else is involved in the generous gesture of Muslim sisterhood immensely for this wonderful gift. Ameen.
Completely taken aback, I asked her, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing, just something for your family," she replied with a laugh.
"Aww, jazakillah khair!"
It was an IPOD, containing Tafsir, Quran recitations, Ahadeeth, Asmaa ul Husna and the meaning, plus a feature for recording voices.
Suffice it to say, this became the newest toy in the house. Just before I set out to compose this entry, I had to tell H,
"H, go shower," for the umpteenth time.
He had been sitting in his chair and on the bed, earphones stuck in his ears, spectacled eyes glued to the screen of the IPOD, while Saad Al Ghamidi's recitation of Surah Al Baqarah rang faintly through the earphones.
"Ummi, do you know that Surah AlBaqarah has so many stories?" he asked me, taking one earphone out of his ear.
"Ummi, why is it in Surah Al Baqarah, there was so many ayat that says that the if the Jews don't listen to the Tawrah and Injil, that they would be punished?"
"Did you pass the story of the cow yet?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Ummu, there's a story of Musa and the twelve springs, do you know what number that is?" he asked me back.
"No," I replied.
"Sixty," he said, with a somewhat smug voice.
"And it's in the Quran challenge game too, " he continued.
"I like surah Al Baqarah," he annonced out of the blue, still listening to the recitation.
Yesterday, while I was in the kitchen, making two of my Luscious Trifle pies, I peeked at the kids in the living room. S was sitting with Baby Z, holding him with one hand, while the other held the IPOD playing surah Yusuf, and her eyes was glued to the screen, reading the translation of each ayah as it was recited.
Another snapshot was of H reclining on the couch with Baby Z half lying on his lap, one hand holding the IPOD, while Baby Z fingered the wires of the earphones, cheeks and lips plopping in concentration. He wore what hubby would have dubbed the 'Chinese face'.
May Allah reward the sister and whoever else is involved in the generous gesture of Muslim sisterhood immensely for this wonderful gift. Ameen.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Of Porridge and Cougar
Today is turning out to be a relaxing day. Yesterday was dissertation-editing day which extended all the way to this morning.
We didn't have any food for lunch, well not enough for everyone anyway.
"Come on, S. I'm going to teach you how to make porridge!" I called out as I marched down the stairs.
"Uhhh," S responded, continuing to crochet her 'rug' while sitting on the couch.
"I want to!" N chirped, bounding into the kitchen, as I set the stockpot on the stove.
"Okay, come. Oh. we're gonna need carrots. Here, peel the carrots," I handed her two carrots, and she took out pieces of newspaper to peel the carrots over.
"Ok, we're going to saute or sweat the onions," I chanted. Alhamdulillah I had some chopped onions bagged in a ziploc baggie. I hate cutting onions.
"Get the stool, N, and stir this while I grate the carrots."
She stood on our kitchen step ladder and stirred the sauteing chopped onions.
"Add the chicken!" I hollered over the stove fan.
N dumped the whole ziploc bag of cut up broiled chicken I had frozen a few days back into the pot.
As she stirred the contents of the pot, I almost forgot to add the washed rice. Rice, coriander, cumin, salt, a whole anise star, black pepper, and soon a nice spicy fragrant infused the kitchen.
This is one of the things I love about winter. Back in 2004, we had some bouts of heavy snow, and I still recall that particular winter with fondness. I'm not that fond of the cold, but when you turn up the heat with a few cups of steaming hot cocoa, few bowls of hearty red lentil soup, and a bustling kitchen, you can almost forget that it's below freezing outside where the trees stand bare against the unrelenting winter wind.
It's not snowing yet, but since the trees have already shed their leaves, I consider it winter. It troubles me to see trees looking so bare, as it reminds me of everything gloomy and somber. Though I must say, winter is a very inspiring season for writing.
Pretty soon, our stockpot of chicken rice porridge was bubbling with vigor.
"N, come. see how the rice are fattening up?" I spooned up a few rice grains to show her the transformation.
"With porridge, we want the rice to absorb so much water that the break up and make it all porridgy," I continued.
She nodded and smiled. Her usual calm and quiet response.
"Ok, I think I'm gonna make my agar-agar too," I announced.
"Do you think I should make the chagar-chagar or the creamy caramel?"
"The caramel!" they shouted in unison.
"What are we gonna name it?" I asked them.
"Cragar!" piped S.
"Nah...please, not that," I said.
"Ooh, how about Creamy Cougar?" I exclaimed.
"Ugh!" S made one of her blegh face.
"A cougar is kind of golden, right?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Ok, we'll call it Golden Cougar then!"
The name was decided.
I proceeded to make the burnt sugar, added that to the pot of dissolving agar-agar, had S throw in a Pandan leaf, and took out a can of coconut milk.
By the time I was done, we had a pyrex dish of cream colored agar-agar, our Golden Cougar.
As I'm typing this, N suddenly came to me and asked me,
"Ummi, if you were to make a recipe book, the porridge that we made, would you name it Perfect Porridge?"
"Hmm..I don't know. Would you?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said.
So, Perfect Porridge it is then. A relaxing day of Perfect Porridge and Golden Cougar.
We didn't have any food for lunch, well not enough for everyone anyway.
"Come on, S. I'm going to teach you how to make porridge!" I called out as I marched down the stairs.
"Uhhh," S responded, continuing to crochet her 'rug' while sitting on the couch.
"I want to!" N chirped, bounding into the kitchen, as I set the stockpot on the stove.
"Okay, come. Oh. we're gonna need carrots. Here, peel the carrots," I handed her two carrots, and she took out pieces of newspaper to peel the carrots over.
"Ok, we're going to saute or sweat the onions," I chanted. Alhamdulillah I had some chopped onions bagged in a ziploc baggie. I hate cutting onions.
"Get the stool, N, and stir this while I grate the carrots."
She stood on our kitchen step ladder and stirred the sauteing chopped onions.
"Add the chicken!" I hollered over the stove fan.
N dumped the whole ziploc bag of cut up broiled chicken I had frozen a few days back into the pot.
As she stirred the contents of the pot, I almost forgot to add the washed rice. Rice, coriander, cumin, salt, a whole anise star, black pepper, and soon a nice spicy fragrant infused the kitchen.
This is one of the things I love about winter. Back in 2004, we had some bouts of heavy snow, and I still recall that particular winter with fondness. I'm not that fond of the cold, but when you turn up the heat with a few cups of steaming hot cocoa, few bowls of hearty red lentil soup, and a bustling kitchen, you can almost forget that it's below freezing outside where the trees stand bare against the unrelenting winter wind.
It's not snowing yet, but since the trees have already shed their leaves, I consider it winter. It troubles me to see trees looking so bare, as it reminds me of everything gloomy and somber. Though I must say, winter is a very inspiring season for writing.
Pretty soon, our stockpot of chicken rice porridge was bubbling with vigor.
"N, come. see how the rice are fattening up?" I spooned up a few rice grains to show her the transformation.
"With porridge, we want the rice to absorb so much water that the break up and make it all porridgy," I continued.
She nodded and smiled. Her usual calm and quiet response.
"Ok, I think I'm gonna make my agar-agar too," I announced.
"Do you think I should make the chagar-chagar or the creamy caramel?"
"The caramel!" they shouted in unison.
"What are we gonna name it?" I asked them.
"Cragar!" piped S.
"Nah...please, not that," I said.
"Ooh, how about Creamy Cougar?" I exclaimed.
"Ugh!" S made one of her blegh face.
"A cougar is kind of golden, right?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Ok, we'll call it Golden Cougar then!"
The name was decided.
I proceeded to make the burnt sugar, added that to the pot of dissolving agar-agar, had S throw in a Pandan leaf, and took out a can of coconut milk.
By the time I was done, we had a pyrex dish of cream colored agar-agar, our Golden Cougar.
As I'm typing this, N suddenly came to me and asked me,
"Ummi, if you were to make a recipe book, the porridge that we made, would you name it Perfect Porridge?"
"Hmm..I don't know. Would you?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said.
So, Perfect Porridge it is then. A relaxing day of Perfect Porridge and Golden Cougar.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
The Crochet Craze!
"Girls! Look at this!" I squealed, and they came running down the stairs.
"Look, look, see! So cute!!" I exclaimed.
I had squealed in uncontained delight at the sight of these the night before, while hubby ignored me.
"Ooh! the girls would love this!" I said out loud, and I resolved to let the kids see it the next day.
That was the catalyst to our crochet craze, in which I made two kufis, one for hubby and one for H, and a hairband for S and N.
S made purses for her, N and H, to place their recreation center ID cards in.
Right now, S is making a rug (we'll see how that will turn out to be), while I am supposed to make a winter hat for hubby, complete with earflaps.
I am in awe of N's persistance in crocheting, because it was not that easy for her, but she kept at it despite skipping some stitches thus making her growing piece somewhat deformed. She'll inshaallah gain the full mastery in a few years or soon if she keeps at it at this rate!
S has successfully mastered the art of crocheting, at least for her age, and I must say she does it quite beautifully mashaallah!
And now...we are due for another trip to Jo Ann for more balls of yarn.
"Look, look, see! So cute!!" I exclaimed.
I had squealed in uncontained delight at the sight of these the night before, while hubby ignored me.
"Ooh! the girls would love this!" I said out loud, and I resolved to let the kids see it the next day.
That was the catalyst to our crochet craze, in which I made two kufis, one for hubby and one for H, and a hairband for S and N.
S made purses for her, N and H, to place their recreation center ID cards in.
Right now, S is making a rug (we'll see how that will turn out to be), while I am supposed to make a winter hat for hubby, complete with earflaps.
I am in awe of N's persistance in crocheting, because it was not that easy for her, but she kept at it despite skipping some stitches thus making her growing piece somewhat deformed. She'll inshaallah gain the full mastery in a few years or soon if she keeps at it at this rate!
S has successfully mastered the art of crocheting, at least for her age, and I must say she does it quite beautifully mashaallah!
And now...we are due for another trip to Jo Ann for more balls of yarn.
What's Up With NanoWrimo?
Yesterday, NanoWrimo ended.
My 'novel' was only written up to chapter 4.
N's on the other hand, was completed, at over 4,318 words.
Shame on me.
Right now, my writing skill has deteriorated. I need to up my reading.
Check out Motherverse -> Living With Kids -> As We All Know.
Soon...yes...soon.
My 'novel' was only written up to chapter 4.
N's on the other hand, was completed, at over 4,318 words.
Shame on me.
Right now, my writing skill has deteriorated. I need to up my reading.
Check out Motherverse -> Living With Kids -> As We All Know.
Soon...yes...soon.
Elimination Diet
As a result of my elimination diet, I have come up with some weird substitute snacks for myself. I craved chocolate, and seeing the family indulging in chocolate only made me crave it more, but to my dismay, when I looked at he ingredients, all of them have dairy.
I haven't eaten ice cream for over a month either. I crave that too, but I'll be patient.
I have been eyeing the cocoa sitting on my wall shelf in the kitchen for quite some time now. That, and the seaweed plus coconut milk would make a perfect chocolate snack for me. So I made my own cool, creamy, chocolate jello snack, using good ole Asian seaweed.
Results: oh la la! I've never been more proud of myself for inventing my own recipe!
"What do you think I should name taht chocolate agar-agar?' I asked the girls as I was typing this.
"Chagar-Chagar," S responded.
"Because it's chocolate agar-agar," she continued.
So, Chagar-Chagar it is!
Chagar-Chagar
8 cups water
2 cups coconut milk
1 45g packet of seaweed
3 estimated tablespoons cocoa
a dumpload of sugar (I didn't think of measuring it when I dumped it in)
1. Bring 8 cups of water plus a dumpload of sugar to a boil
2. Throw in the whole packet of agar-agar (seaweed)
3. Stir it till the agar-agar completely dissolves
4. In 2 cups of coconut milk, stir in the cocoa until the cocoa is dissolved
5. Pour the creamy chocolatey coconut milk into the pot of sweetend dissolved agar-agar
6. Stir till combined
7. Pour into dish and let cool to set
8. Cut into desired shapes
I had myself a chocolatey snack for a few days.
Today, we had another try at Kuih Sagu. Again, I overestimated the amount of water to the amount of tapioca pearls, so we ended up with a Kuih Sagu that is not that easy to slice, so we spooned it and rolled it in grated coconut. Still oh la la!
I wonder what else I can 'cook' up. I'll probably end up with my own cook book of 'elimination diet' at the end of this journey. All thanks to Baby Z who now has impetigo in his face, poor boy!
I haven't eaten ice cream for over a month either. I crave that too, but I'll be patient.
I have been eyeing the cocoa sitting on my wall shelf in the kitchen for quite some time now. That, and the seaweed plus coconut milk would make a perfect chocolate snack for me. So I made my own cool, creamy, chocolate jello snack, using good ole Asian seaweed.
Results: oh la la! I've never been more proud of myself for inventing my own recipe!
"What do you think I should name taht chocolate agar-agar?' I asked the girls as I was typing this.
"Chagar-Chagar," S responded.
"Because it's chocolate agar-agar," she continued.
So, Chagar-Chagar it is!
Chagar-Chagar
8 cups water
2 cups coconut milk
1 45g packet of seaweed
3 estimated tablespoons cocoa
a dumpload of sugar (I didn't think of measuring it when I dumped it in)
1. Bring 8 cups of water plus a dumpload of sugar to a boil
2. Throw in the whole packet of agar-agar (seaweed)
3. Stir it till the agar-agar completely dissolves
4. In 2 cups of coconut milk, stir in the cocoa until the cocoa is dissolved
5. Pour the creamy chocolatey coconut milk into the pot of sweetend dissolved agar-agar
6. Stir till combined
7. Pour into dish and let cool to set
8. Cut into desired shapes
I had myself a chocolatey snack for a few days.
Today, we had another try at Kuih Sagu. Again, I overestimated the amount of water to the amount of tapioca pearls, so we ended up with a Kuih Sagu that is not that easy to slice, so we spooned it and rolled it in grated coconut. Still oh la la!
I wonder what else I can 'cook' up. I'll probably end up with my own cook book of 'elimination diet' at the end of this journey. All thanks to Baby Z who now has impetigo in his face, poor boy!
Friday, November 30, 2007
NOT made in China
We have been avoiding buying toys for Baby Z since all the toys in the stores are Made in China. Everytime I peeked at the bottom inscription of the toys, I would end up snorting in disgust. Now, I don't even bother peeking. I give up.
This fall, we enrolled the kids in the usual recreation center free classes. Alhamdulillah, they are now taking archery, ceramics, wrestling, and street hockey.
The recreation center closest to us (now that the other one we usually frequent is closed for renovation) has more sports classes than home economics ones, so S is only taking ceramics. She refused to take the other more athletic types of classes. N is taking archery and ceramics, while H is into wrestling and street hockey.
It's no surprise that H is into push ups, since his coach in wrestling told him to do them at home. As for the girls, they came home last week with trays full of ceramics food, shaped, painted and glazed. N actuallly made a very real looking corn on the cob.
One day they brought all their play food to the living room to play with, and after a while, I noticed that they actually had loads of toys in front of them, none of them Made in China!
This fall, we enrolled the kids in the usual recreation center free classes. Alhamdulillah, they are now taking archery, ceramics, wrestling, and street hockey.
The recreation center closest to us (now that the other one we usually frequent is closed for renovation) has more sports classes than home economics ones, so S is only taking ceramics. She refused to take the other more athletic types of classes. N is taking archery and ceramics, while H is into wrestling and street hockey.
It's no surprise that H is into push ups, since his coach in wrestling told him to do them at home. As for the girls, they came home last week with trays full of ceramics food, shaped, painted and glazed. N actuallly made a very real looking corn on the cob.
One day they brought all their play food to the living room to play with, and after a while, I noticed that they actually had loads of toys in front of them, none of them Made in China!
When Kids Are Around
"Ummi, I think they don't like to learn it."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because when you keep telling them to repeat the letter, their face looks like they want to cry, like how I feel when Abi does my surah with me."
I have been teaching some sisters how to read the Arabic alphabet with the tashkeel, using the Malaysian IQRA' series. Of course the pronunciation is the hardest part, and many times I had to ask them to repeat the pronunciation until they get it right. I had asked my kids to help me because since it's just me teaching a bunch of sisters, I couldn't possibly do it with all of them at once since it's easier to work with individuals at a time. The kids eagerly agreed, but in practice, I ended up teaching the sisters by myself.
I was contemplating whether to go to the masjid or not one Saturday, because most of the sisters had said that they were not coming, but a few of them hadn't yet replied to my email about whether she could come or not. So the kids are always aware of this extra curricular activity of mine very weekend.
So I suppose, it's no surprise that H shared his insights with me. His face was serious when he said the above. I couldn't help smiling, and in return I asked him,
"So you don't like doing surah with Abi?"
"Well, I like doing the review, but I don't like when we first start learning it," he explained.
S had also once reported her observations to me, regarding the army of cupcakes I had made for the AlMaghrib promo.
"Ummi, don't make that frosting again. I don't think they like it. I saw one cupcake half eaten behind a door," she said with a giggle, thinking of that poor cupcake sitting by itself, abandoned behind a door.
"Hmm...then they like the sweet kind, you think?" I asked her.
I hated the sweet frosting, so I had made the less sweet but buttery kind of frosting. Well, apparently, the Somali taste buds prefer the sweet kind, as one Somali sister said to me.
"So do you think I should make half and half then, S?"
We were discussing possibilities of cupcakes for the class Code of Scholars, (which has passed us by the way and we ended up not making anything for it).
S nodded, still giggling over the thought of that lone half eaten cupcake.
I'm half ashamaed to say that my kids are experts at eavesdropping. It can be good and it can be bad, but so far it has been rather amusing to say the least.
H or was it N once offered me an analysis of a sister's character based on that sister's pattern of conversations with me. I guess maybe they've been doing too many character analysis in language arts.
And when I told the sisters what my kids had said, they either were amazed or burst into laughter.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because when you keep telling them to repeat the letter, their face looks like they want to cry, like how I feel when Abi does my surah with me."
I have been teaching some sisters how to read the Arabic alphabet with the tashkeel, using the Malaysian IQRA' series. Of course the pronunciation is the hardest part, and many times I had to ask them to repeat the pronunciation until they get it right. I had asked my kids to help me because since it's just me teaching a bunch of sisters, I couldn't possibly do it with all of them at once since it's easier to work with individuals at a time. The kids eagerly agreed, but in practice, I ended up teaching the sisters by myself.
I was contemplating whether to go to the masjid or not one Saturday, because most of the sisters had said that they were not coming, but a few of them hadn't yet replied to my email about whether she could come or not. So the kids are always aware of this extra curricular activity of mine very weekend.
So I suppose, it's no surprise that H shared his insights with me. His face was serious when he said the above. I couldn't help smiling, and in return I asked him,
"So you don't like doing surah with Abi?"
"Well, I like doing the review, but I don't like when we first start learning it," he explained.
S had also once reported her observations to me, regarding the army of cupcakes I had made for the AlMaghrib promo.
"Ummi, don't make that frosting again. I don't think they like it. I saw one cupcake half eaten behind a door," she said with a giggle, thinking of that poor cupcake sitting by itself, abandoned behind a door.
"Hmm...then they like the sweet kind, you think?" I asked her.
I hated the sweet frosting, so I had made the less sweet but buttery kind of frosting. Well, apparently, the Somali taste buds prefer the sweet kind, as one Somali sister said to me.
"So do you think I should make half and half then, S?"
We were discussing possibilities of cupcakes for the class Code of Scholars, (which has passed us by the way and we ended up not making anything for it).
S nodded, still giggling over the thought of that lone half eaten cupcake.
I'm half ashamaed to say that my kids are experts at eavesdropping. It can be good and it can be bad, but so far it has been rather amusing to say the least.
H or was it N once offered me an analysis of a sister's character based on that sister's pattern of conversations with me. I guess maybe they've been doing too many character analysis in language arts.
And when I told the sisters what my kids had said, they either were amazed or burst into laughter.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Handling my 'Best Buddy'
H always calls Baby Z his 'Best Buddy'. Today, H really helped me out by entertaining his 'Best Buddy' in his time of need.
We were out of lunch and dinner food. I had to cook, so I nursed Baby Z. As usual, he fell asleep while nursing, so I brought him upstairs, placed him on the bed and proceeded to leave the room. He opened his eyes, saw me and started to smile. I kissed his forehead, as usual, told him to sleep, and left the room. He cried for a few seconds and then quieted down.
N hadn't yet takend a bath, and needed to take the hair brush from my room.
"Ummi, Z is not crying, can I go to your room to get the brush?"
I nodded.
As soon as she closed the door after her, Baby Z started wailing. He never stopped. Sighing, I picked him up and put him on his blanket in the living room, while I proceeded to have whatever food is left for lunch. By the time I was about to cook, he was cranky again, so I nursed him again till he fell asleep.
Again, I put him on the bed. He woke up and cried. I left the room anyway, hoping he'd fall asleep after a while. He didn't so I picked him up, and told H to entertain Baby Z while I cooked.
Did H really went all out to keep Baby Z entertained.
At first H lamented,
"But he wouldn't laugh!"
"He won't laugh, 'cause he's sleepy, but I need to cook now, and so you need to keep him busy."
H did his soccer stunts while Baby Z sat on the couch watching him. I managed to finish making the Mee kari and Agar-agar, do the dishes, and clean the kitchen and fridge.
In the midst of it all, I called H to the kitchen, gave him a hug and told him how big of a help he was. You don't get moments like these always, and when you do, you really treasure it, and make your appreciation known.
Too bad the age difference is pretty big between H and Baby Z. it'll be sometime before H could play soccer with Baby Z, but it'd be interesting to see how the dynamics of their relationship would be when Baby Z grows a little bigger. I was worried about H's acceptance of Baby Z before Baby Z was born. Alhamdulilah, H has turned out to be quite a Big Brother, mashaallah.
We were out of lunch and dinner food. I had to cook, so I nursed Baby Z. As usual, he fell asleep while nursing, so I brought him upstairs, placed him on the bed and proceeded to leave the room. He opened his eyes, saw me and started to smile. I kissed his forehead, as usual, told him to sleep, and left the room. He cried for a few seconds and then quieted down.
N hadn't yet takend a bath, and needed to take the hair brush from my room.
"Ummi, Z is not crying, can I go to your room to get the brush?"
I nodded.
As soon as she closed the door after her, Baby Z started wailing. He never stopped. Sighing, I picked him up and put him on his blanket in the living room, while I proceeded to have whatever food is left for lunch. By the time I was about to cook, he was cranky again, so I nursed him again till he fell asleep.
Again, I put him on the bed. He woke up and cried. I left the room anyway, hoping he'd fall asleep after a while. He didn't so I picked him up, and told H to entertain Baby Z while I cooked.
Did H really went all out to keep Baby Z entertained.
At first H lamented,
"But he wouldn't laugh!"
"He won't laugh, 'cause he's sleepy, but I need to cook now, and so you need to keep him busy."
H did his soccer stunts while Baby Z sat on the couch watching him. I managed to finish making the Mee kari and Agar-agar, do the dishes, and clean the kitchen and fridge.
In the midst of it all, I called H to the kitchen, gave him a hug and told him how big of a help he was. You don't get moments like these always, and when you do, you really treasure it, and make your appreciation known.
Too bad the age difference is pretty big between H and Baby Z. it'll be sometime before H could play soccer with Baby Z, but it'd be interesting to see how the dynamics of their relationship would be when Baby Z grows a little bigger. I was worried about H's acceptance of Baby Z before Baby Z was born. Alhamdulilah, H has turned out to be quite a Big Brother, mashaallah.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Oh My God! Oh I'm Sorry!
Yesterday, they all had eye appointments, and since we had to play catch up with time for them to make it to their ceramics class, hubby brought them to a space near an emergency exit to pray Asr while H chose a new pair of glasses.
Apparently, while they prayed, two times, someone opened the door, and didn't see the girls behind it, thus banging it on them.
Our resident poet wrote two acrostics (also the latest craze they're into) about the incident.
By N
Apparently, while they prayed, two times, someone opened the door, and didn't see the girls behind it, thus banging it on them.
Our resident poet wrote two acrostics (also the latest craze they're into) about the incident.
Oh my God, it's Oh my God!
How did she not know we were there?
My sister was smashed by the door,
You wouldn't believe it,
Goodness gracious me, she said,
Oh I'm sorry, that's what she said,
Door was banged on us and then we started to giggle!
Oh I'm sorry, Oh I am sorry,
Hit by the door
I was soo mad,
My sister was, too!
Suddenly the woman said, "Oh, I'm very sorry!"
Oh I am very sorry! We both laughed at that remark
Right after we finished praying.
Rolling with laughter, laughing uncontrollably
You just wouldn't believe it!
How did she not know we were there?
My sister was smashed by the door,
You wouldn't believe it,
Goodness gracious me, she said,
Oh I'm sorry, that's what she said,
Door was banged on us and then we started to giggle!
Oh I'm sorry, Oh I am sorry,
Hit by the door
I was soo mad,
My sister was, too!
Suddenly the woman said, "Oh, I'm very sorry!"
Oh I am very sorry! We both laughed at that remark
Right after we finished praying.
Rolling with laughter, laughing uncontrollably
You just wouldn't believe it!
By N
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
...
"Are you grateful you have a cute baby brother like Baby Z?"
"Yeah!"
"And we're grateful that we have a smart mother who can crochet!" exclaimed N.
I stood there open-mouthed, speechless. Baby Z had nothing to do with crocheting!
"She always says things that make me speechless," I finally said.
"Well, that's going on my blog," I continued.
"Ummi, I think my new hobby is crocheting," N confided.
We had recently taken up crocheting after ooh and aah-ing at this.
I had tried to teach them crochet couple of years back, and while hubby played soccer with the other Malaysians, we sat in the shade and crocheted, or tried to at least, with library books propped open on the picnic mat we had laid out on the ground.
They gave up after a few tries, complaining that it was too hard.
This time, S really managed to master it, and whipped up a purse for herself, one for N and one for the little boy named H. I made a kufi for hubby and H. We were in crochet land for a while. Let me just say that the trip to Jo Ann to buy the yarn was the loudest shopping experience I ever had with the three kids. They were all too excited to buy more than one ball of yarn. I limited it to two balls of yarn each after quieting them down.
"Yeah!"
"And we're grateful that we have a smart mother who can crochet!" exclaimed N.
I stood there open-mouthed, speechless. Baby Z had nothing to do with crocheting!
"She always says things that make me speechless," I finally said.
"Well, that's going on my blog," I continued.
"Ummi, I think my new hobby is crocheting," N confided.
We had recently taken up crocheting after ooh and aah-ing at this.
I had tried to teach them crochet couple of years back, and while hubby played soccer with the other Malaysians, we sat in the shade and crocheted, or tried to at least, with library books propped open on the picnic mat we had laid out on the ground.
They gave up after a few tries, complaining that it was too hard.
This time, S really managed to master it, and whipped up a purse for herself, one for N and one for the little boy named H. I made a kufi for hubby and H. We were in crochet land for a while. Let me just say that the trip to Jo Ann to buy the yarn was the loudest shopping experience I ever had with the three kids. They were all too excited to buy more than one ball of yarn. I limited it to two balls of yarn each after quieting them down.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Hello Cheeky!
S is my right hand man. She gives Baby Z a bath. She changes his diapers. She puts him to sleep. In fact, she has been putting Baby Z down for his nap ever since he was a month old. She could do it better than me, because with me, Baby Z will always look for a feeding even when he's more sleepy than hungry. With S, he falls asleep, mostly on her chest.
"He's sleeping?" I would ask disbelievingly, when S would come out of my room after putting him to sleep.
S would nod.
One evening, while waiting for hubby to come home, the girls and I were crocheting on the couch, while H played with Baby Z on the floor. Suddenly, H called out to me,
"Ummi, he's wet over here!" showing me two wet ping pong ball-sized spots on Baby Z's bottom.
Befuddled, I stared at it, trying to figure out if it was urine. It didn't seem to come out from any of the usual leakage point, which would be the sides of his waist. The spots were on his bottom where the diaper would have been covering.
"Do you want me to check it?" asked H.
I gave him the green light and he proceeded to unbutton his brother's onesie.
"Look!" H uttered, and all our eyes laid upon the most unbelievable sight of the day.
My jaw must have hit the couch with a thud.
Cooing and chuckling, Baby Z lay face down on H's lap while his left bottom greet us with a cheeky 'hello'. The diaper had come undone on one side, exposing one cheek, and opening the flood gate at the same time.
The minutes that followed were full of uncontrollable laughter and Baby Z's chuckles.
"S, you didn't put his diaper on properly," I said, still laughing.
"Yes, I did!" she insisted, still laughing too.
"Well, he must have tried to open it as usual, and you buttoned him up without fixing it," I said.
Meanwhile, Baby Z cooed and babbled away.
"Oh! Oh! get the camera!" I exclaimed.
'Oh no, the battery's low," I uttered, as I remembered that I had forgotten to recharge it.
Well, my right hand 'girl' is not without flaws, but I'll take those flaws if the lead to incidents like this. Now, if only she could also nurse him...
"He's sleeping?" I would ask disbelievingly, when S would come out of my room after putting him to sleep.
S would nod.
One evening, while waiting for hubby to come home, the girls and I were crocheting on the couch, while H played with Baby Z on the floor. Suddenly, H called out to me,
"Ummi, he's wet over here!" showing me two wet ping pong ball-sized spots on Baby Z's bottom.
Befuddled, I stared at it, trying to figure out if it was urine. It didn't seem to come out from any of the usual leakage point, which would be the sides of his waist. The spots were on his bottom where the diaper would have been covering.
"Do you want me to check it?" asked H.
I gave him the green light and he proceeded to unbutton his brother's onesie.
"Look!" H uttered, and all our eyes laid upon the most unbelievable sight of the day.
My jaw must have hit the couch with a thud.
Cooing and chuckling, Baby Z lay face down on H's lap while his left bottom greet us with a cheeky 'hello'. The diaper had come undone on one side, exposing one cheek, and opening the flood gate at the same time.
The minutes that followed were full of uncontrollable laughter and Baby Z's chuckles.
"S, you didn't put his diaper on properly," I said, still laughing.
"Yes, I did!" she insisted, still laughing too.
"Well, he must have tried to open it as usual, and you buttoned him up without fixing it," I said.
Meanwhile, Baby Z cooed and babbled away.
"Oh! Oh! get the camera!" I exclaimed.
'Oh no, the battery's low," I uttered, as I remembered that I had forgotten to recharge it.
Well, my right hand 'girl' is not without flaws, but I'll take those flaws if the lead to incidents like this. Now, if only she could also nurse him...
Can't Catch Up!
She's almost as tall as me, though H keeps saying,
"S's taller than you!"
Whenever I read something, she eyes it. I was reading 'How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk' when she caught sight of the comics illustration in it. Before long, I found her sitting on the couch reading the book. As usual, I have more than one books splayed on the couch, my side activity while nursing Baby Z. The two books I had taken out were 'Pushed' and 'A Child in the Jungle'.
It's also a habit of mine to bring the books with me when we go out, even when we go grocery shopping. I never read them, well, sometimes I do, but most of the time, it's just out of habit that I lug the books along. While they were helping me get the diaper bag in the van, they saw 'Pushed', and N asked me,
"What's that book about, Ummi?"
"Oh, it's about people having babies," I said.
Yesterday, S saw me reading 'Soft Spoken Parenting' while nursing Baby Z. I noticed her eyeing it.
Today, while I was crocheting and nursing Baby Z (yes, I have acquired the true skill of multitasking now), she picked up 'Child of the Jungle' and before we knew it, she was lost in the faraway jungle of West Papua, in someone's memoir.
I can't catch up! Children, they grow up too fast. Now, if only I can hold to Baby Z's coos, slobbery fists, toothless grins, and an attempt to say 'Ummi' a little bit longer...
"S's taller than you!"
Whenever I read something, she eyes it. I was reading 'How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk' when she caught sight of the comics illustration in it. Before long, I found her sitting on the couch reading the book. As usual, I have more than one books splayed on the couch, my side activity while nursing Baby Z. The two books I had taken out were 'Pushed' and 'A Child in the Jungle'.
It's also a habit of mine to bring the books with me when we go out, even when we go grocery shopping. I never read them, well, sometimes I do, but most of the time, it's just out of habit that I lug the books along. While they were helping me get the diaper bag in the van, they saw 'Pushed', and N asked me,
"What's that book about, Ummi?"
"Oh, it's about people having babies," I said.
Yesterday, S saw me reading 'Soft Spoken Parenting' while nursing Baby Z. I noticed her eyeing it.
Today, while I was crocheting and nursing Baby Z (yes, I have acquired the true skill of multitasking now), she picked up 'Child of the Jungle' and before we knew it, she was lost in the faraway jungle of West Papua, in someone's memoir.
I can't catch up! Children, they grow up too fast. Now, if only I can hold to Baby Z's coos, slobbery fists, toothless grins, and an attempt to say 'Ummi' a little bit longer...
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
All at Once
Baby Z didn't roll over by his 6 month check up. I was worried.
"Oh, his muscle tone is great, so no need to worry," explained the doctor."
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving, they never stop," he added.
Baby Z started rolling over just recently, while we were praying. Weirdly enough, it seems that he only does it when we were in sujud, so that by the time we got up, he was on his tummy. Everytime after we gave salam, the kids would shout,
"He rolled over! He rolled over!"
Today, he mastered yet another feat; sitting unsupported. For quite some time, he sat quietly, and fingered the book the kids had checked out of the library for him, cheeks drooping, baby drool dangling, and bottom lip jowling.
H had taught himself to climb down the stairs backwards even before he started walking. I wonder what Baby Z will do now that he has apparently begun to embark on the mobility journey.
"Oh, his muscle tone is great, so no need to worry," explained the doctor."
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving, they never stop," he added.
Baby Z started rolling over just recently, while we were praying. Weirdly enough, it seems that he only does it when we were in sujud, so that by the time we got up, he was on his tummy. Everytime after we gave salam, the kids would shout,
"He rolled over! He rolled over!"
Today, he mastered yet another feat; sitting unsupported. For quite some time, he sat quietly, and fingered the book the kids had checked out of the library for him, cheeks drooping, baby drool dangling, and bottom lip jowling.
H had taught himself to climb down the stairs backwards even before he started walking. I wonder what Baby Z will do now that he has apparently begun to embark on the mobility journey.
Appeasing Ummi
"Uh oh! It's open," S announced, as she closed the oven door after peeking in at the baking Fatayer.
"Ugh...I knew that would happen," I said.
I hate making Karipap, because for some reason, my fingers are stiff when it comes to anything that requires encasing filling and pinching the seams closed. I've had karipaps that open up while being deep fried, and boiling water turning brown from the leaking palm sugar filling inside poorly seamed onde-onde. However, that didn't prevent me from trying to make this Fatayer, even when I knew there would be filling and seaming involved.
While I was spooning the spinach filling in the circle of dough, H rolled out the other ball of dough for us to cut more circles out of.
Making the Fatayer had become a family affair. All cooking nowadays have become a family affair as there was always someone needed to tend to the crying Baby Z if it happens to be at the time I am in the kitchen. Sometimes, I would just direct S verbally while I sat on the couch nursing Baby Z. And don't you know it, Baby Z is a relaxed nurser; he sure does take his own sweet time.
"Ooh you can see the inside. It's gonna open up in the oven, I just know it!" I muttered, exasperated.
"Oh, I've seen some at the masjid that are open a little bit," said H.
"Really?"
H nodded, assuring me that I was doing just fine. That made me feel slightly better.
If the ones sold at the masjid have that flaw too then mine are not so bad, I thought.
"Oh..I hope they don't burn in the oven," I said, announcing another worry.
"Oh I've seen black ones at the masjid," H said.
"Really?" I asked again, disbelieving, but feeling better by the minute.
"Yeah, some are really black!" he chuckled.
As the oven door banged shut after S's announcement of the opene-up Fatayer in the oven, H again made a remark,
"I've never seen anything like that at the masjid."
"Ugh...I knew that would happen," I said.
I hate making Karipap, because for some reason, my fingers are stiff when it comes to anything that requires encasing filling and pinching the seams closed. I've had karipaps that open up while being deep fried, and boiling water turning brown from the leaking palm sugar filling inside poorly seamed onde-onde. However, that didn't prevent me from trying to make this Fatayer, even when I knew there would be filling and seaming involved.
While I was spooning the spinach filling in the circle of dough, H rolled out the other ball of dough for us to cut more circles out of.
Making the Fatayer had become a family affair. All cooking nowadays have become a family affair as there was always someone needed to tend to the crying Baby Z if it happens to be at the time I am in the kitchen. Sometimes, I would just direct S verbally while I sat on the couch nursing Baby Z. And don't you know it, Baby Z is a relaxed nurser; he sure does take his own sweet time.
"Ooh you can see the inside. It's gonna open up in the oven, I just know it!" I muttered, exasperated.
"Oh, I've seen some at the masjid that are open a little bit," said H.
"Really?"
H nodded, assuring me that I was doing just fine. That made me feel slightly better.
If the ones sold at the masjid have that flaw too then mine are not so bad, I thought.
"Oh..I hope they don't burn in the oven," I said, announcing another worry.
"Oh I've seen black ones at the masjid," H said.
"Really?" I asked again, disbelieving, but feeling better by the minute.
"Yeah, some are really black!" he chuckled.
As the oven door banged shut after S's announcement of the opene-up Fatayer in the oven, H again made a remark,
"I've never seen anything like that at the masjid."
Monday, November 19, 2007
Do It Right
"An American friend told me, if you want to teach your kids something, do it right," she said.
She was talking about training her children to fast. I took that bit if information home with me and mulled over it. If we dissect the above sentence, we can make a perfect analysis of hidden messages or connotations or mentality of a certain culture or human nature.
I've always thought that there's something amiss with this attitude of
'Oh they're still kids, don't tell them everything. Don't tell them they they have to wear the hijab. Let them have fun first, and tell them when they have to start doing it.'
Some parents actually let their kids anything they want and then try to make them observe the ways of the deen when they hit puberty. Personally, I think it's bad move.
"You need to train your daughter to wear the hijab before she reaches puberty, because it will be hard for her to wear it all the time when she hits puberty. And she has to wear it all the time once she hits puberty," was another advice given to me by a sister who at the time had a 10 year old daughter. A sweet girl she is too.
"And if I die, I will be asked why I never taught my children the deen," the sister added.
I nodded, a clearer picture forming in my mind. That was about seven years ago. It had become quite a habit of mine to go 'interviewing' some parents about the way they raise their children, especially parents with older children. It's like a private survey, and I treasure these little bits of wisdom from these parents.
Yesterday's events brought me to another realization. I was chatting with the kids just this morning about how I don't actually like the environment of a gathering where the men and women mix freely. It disturbs me that they don't immediately recognize the 'evil' of the environment. I had to explain it to them. I quickly made a mental note to myself,
"Have to talk to hubby about attending anymore of those invitations that we attend out of courtesy."
In the Malaysian student community, it's unfortunate that there are mixing, and I don't like it one single bit. Whenever we're invited, we feel obligated to attend. Yesterday, my heart was really begging me not to go, to the extent that when we got there, I hesitated getting out of the van. Fortunately, I was nursing Baby Z, so there was an excuse. But, I couldn't sit in there forever. Then when we got inside, I was not in my usual 'banter and chat it up' mood, so I must have seemed quite 'aloof' (hindsight) to the host. I couldn't help it. I have told hubby that if we arrive there on time, it will just be a waste of time because we both know how the Malays are not on time. To add to the fact that I didn't really want to be there, that possibility of us wasting our time waiting for them was really distressing me. We were right. We arrived and no one was there yet, not even the food. We excused ourselves and went ahead to do our grocery shopping. We came back, ate, chatted a bit, and left. They came one hour later. Typical Malaysians. I'm sorry to say but this problem of untimeliness is not just the habit of Malaysians, but the practice of all Muslim cultures. Sad, huh?
So there I was, in silent shock while explaining to the kids the difference between a gathering where there are men and women but no mingling happens, and a gathering where there are men and women mingling freely. I really really hate the latter. May Allah keep my hatred for it permanent, for I would not like to start being desensitized to it such that I will think it 'normal'. When that happens, that's when we start to deteriorate as an Ummah.
"Do it right."
An excellent piece of advice from an 'American friend'.
On the same line of advice, I recall an observation of mine several years ago. I noticed that the Muslims from the so called Muslim countries try to hard to dress like the westerners that to a certain point, it becomes hard to tell if they're Muslim or not. On the other hand, the American Muslims try so hard to look Muslim that you would sometimes think that they come from the 'so called' Muslim countries.
"People think that I come to America, I would get worse," said a sister to me, telling how she came to don the hijab when she came to the United States, to her family's shock.
I understand that expectation and mentality. Most people outside of America probably thinks that once you get there and live there, you're going to turn out a bad Muslim. To a certain extent, from my experiences living here, it's actually easier to practice your deen properly as you are not blinded by the gray line between Islam and culture like back home.
*Considering that we are not supposed to divulge our wrong doings, I have refrained from mentioning anything of my past in this post. I apologize if this seems hypocritical as a result.
She was talking about training her children to fast. I took that bit if information home with me and mulled over it. If we dissect the above sentence, we can make a perfect analysis of hidden messages or connotations or mentality of a certain culture or human nature.
- 'An American friend' - denotes that the opinion of an American friend is highly valued whereas the opinion of a fellow Malaysian might not be so valuable or credible
- Also there is the hidden message that the fact that the person receives advice from an American friend (and from the way it was said, it seems that that American friend is not Muslim) says that the person is in 'enviable' company because the person does not just stick with the Malay community but mingles.
- Also, if the friend giving advice is not Muslim, this is conveying that 'Muslims don't know what they're doing nowadays, so I take advice from a non Muslim'.
I've always thought that there's something amiss with this attitude of
'Oh they're still kids, don't tell them everything. Don't tell them they they have to wear the hijab. Let them have fun first, and tell them when they have to start doing it.'
Some parents actually let their kids anything they want and then try to make them observe the ways of the deen when they hit puberty. Personally, I think it's bad move.
"You need to train your daughter to wear the hijab before she reaches puberty, because it will be hard for her to wear it all the time when she hits puberty. And she has to wear it all the time once she hits puberty," was another advice given to me by a sister who at the time had a 10 year old daughter. A sweet girl she is too.
"And if I die, I will be asked why I never taught my children the deen," the sister added.
I nodded, a clearer picture forming in my mind. That was about seven years ago. It had become quite a habit of mine to go 'interviewing' some parents about the way they raise their children, especially parents with older children. It's like a private survey, and I treasure these little bits of wisdom from these parents.
Yesterday's events brought me to another realization. I was chatting with the kids just this morning about how I don't actually like the environment of a gathering where the men and women mix freely. It disturbs me that they don't immediately recognize the 'evil' of the environment. I had to explain it to them. I quickly made a mental note to myself,
"Have to talk to hubby about attending anymore of those invitations that we attend out of courtesy."
In the Malaysian student community, it's unfortunate that there are mixing, and I don't like it one single bit. Whenever we're invited, we feel obligated to attend. Yesterday, my heart was really begging me not to go, to the extent that when we got there, I hesitated getting out of the van. Fortunately, I was nursing Baby Z, so there was an excuse. But, I couldn't sit in there forever. Then when we got inside, I was not in my usual 'banter and chat it up' mood, so I must have seemed quite 'aloof' (hindsight) to the host. I couldn't help it. I have told hubby that if we arrive there on time, it will just be a waste of time because we both know how the Malays are not on time. To add to the fact that I didn't really want to be there, that possibility of us wasting our time waiting for them was really distressing me. We were right. We arrived and no one was there yet, not even the food. We excused ourselves and went ahead to do our grocery shopping. We came back, ate, chatted a bit, and left. They came one hour later. Typical Malaysians. I'm sorry to say but this problem of untimeliness is not just the habit of Malaysians, but the practice of all Muslim cultures. Sad, huh?
So there I was, in silent shock while explaining to the kids the difference between a gathering where there are men and women but no mingling happens, and a gathering where there are men and women mingling freely. I really really hate the latter. May Allah keep my hatred for it permanent, for I would not like to start being desensitized to it such that I will think it 'normal'. When that happens, that's when we start to deteriorate as an Ummah.
"Do it right."
An excellent piece of advice from an 'American friend'.
On the same line of advice, I recall an observation of mine several years ago. I noticed that the Muslims from the so called Muslim countries try to hard to dress like the westerners that to a certain point, it becomes hard to tell if they're Muslim or not. On the other hand, the American Muslims try so hard to look Muslim that you would sometimes think that they come from the 'so called' Muslim countries.
"People think that I come to America, I would get worse," said a sister to me, telling how she came to don the hijab when she came to the United States, to her family's shock.
I understand that expectation and mentality. Most people outside of America probably thinks that once you get there and live there, you're going to turn out a bad Muslim. To a certain extent, from my experiences living here, it's actually easier to practice your deen properly as you are not blinded by the gray line between Islam and culture like back home.
*Considering that we are not supposed to divulge our wrong doings, I have refrained from mentioning anything of my past in this post. I apologize if this seems hypocritical as a result.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Siblings Dynamics
I woke up yesterday feeling nervous about attending this event. Let's face it, I'm an introvert, and if it were totally up to my whims, I would be cooped up at home or not talking to anyone outside the house at all. But as it is, I do force myself to socialize for the sake of sisterhood, and for normalcy.
Left the baby at home with hubby, and drove to the library with the rest of the kids. It was the first time I drove at night with the new van too. Alhamdulillah the lights turn on automtically, I still remember fumbling for the light switch with the old van. It had been a while since I had driven at night, and I spent a good 15 minutes panicking that I would drive home with no headlights on. I think I did? I don't remember, but oh boy, do I hate going out by myself, especially at night! Last night, I was reassured that I was not alone since the kids were with me. It's funny how I already depend on them, when it should be me they would be depending on.
"Kids! I can't open the door! I can' find it. How do I open it?" I wailed in the dark, after killing the engine. (Ok, I'm really revealing my foolishness here, so please don't laugh)
I fumbled. Panic set in. (Did I tell you that I panic easily?) I fumbled again, all the while thinking,
I'm so dumb. How can I not know how to open the door?! It's so simple! Where's my brain?! Knock knock! Oh god! How am I gonna get out of the van?!
I seriously forgot how to open the door, and I kept pawing at the door handle and thinking,
How could it not be there? How could the thingy (whatever it's called) not be there?!
The kids didn't laugh at me, bless them! As they themselves got themselves out of the van, H scrambled to come and help me. They didn't laugh at their fumbling mother! Oh Jazahum Allah Khair.
I laughed at myself though, after he panic eased off.
"Oh, I found it!" I announced, laughing. (I don't know why I'm publishing this on blog, but I'm just elated I survived last night)
"Lock it, Ummi!" H reminded me.
Like a kid, I obeyed him.
"You know how to lock it, right? Press once," he said.
Mashaallah, the boy is really growing up. He'll be my bodyguard sooner than expected, I think.
I nodded.
On the bright side, all that panicking distracted me from my nervousness of sitting in a room full of other people. (I had done this before, come on! I even read out my heart's content to a group of people I don't know in a writing group, but, still, it just still feels...strange)
The session lasted for about one and a half hours. It was pretty helpful. I talked about the kids, how two of them quarrels, and the other one just wants to be left alone. She offered me suggesteions, but mostly it's about getting the kids to learn how to resolve conflict. Nothing I hadn't read about before, but still, it was refreshing to hear it firsthand, and most importantly, to be able to ask firsthand.
When we were done, I got to talking with a fellow attendee. The group moderator went out of the room, came back in and said to me.
"Are those three well behaved children yours?"
"Yeah, well now they're well behaved," I replied.
"It was so easy to tell. The older one and the younger one are playing with the trains and the middle one is on the computer by herself. So easy to tell which was which. You should go see. It's really funny," she said, nodding emphatically.
Wow, I had really painted the exact picture of my three kids when I described them to her in the session.
She did say in the session,
"The gift that they have, having this conflict is that they get to learn how to resolve it. If only more people are taught conflict resolution since they were young, we probably wouldn't have all these wars today. One less gun in the world is improvement to me."
She had pointed out that one reason why my kids are fighting is because they're together all the time since they're homeschooled. She also said that kids will always fight anyway. Knowing myself, I know I tend to go overboard when I describe the negative. The perfectionist in me filters out the positive and I may paint a slightly worse picture than the reality, and I guess I do realize that, which makes it consoling to know that my kids are not all that bad. It's probably because I'm with them all the time. People are always saying how well behaved they are, and I keep thinking,
Really?
but then I think back, and I say to myself,
Give them some credit. They are good kids. Alhamdulillah.
Recently, we went to Dr Mamdouh's talk on the Quran. A sister came up to me and said,
"You always bring your children to these events!"
"Well, who would I leave them with?" I responded with a chuckle.
"And mashaallah, their good mannerism is really something," she continued.
Alhamdulillah. I guess I do need to give my kids some credit. Don't get me wrong, I do commend them in their face, but of course when problems occur, I go into the 'oh how am I going to correct these kids' mode. But as Mrs. M reminded us last night,
"Nothing lasts forever. This will pass."
She's right. Nothing lasts forever. So I guess I should treasure the good moments and save the bad moments for laughing at in years to come inshaallah. Meanwhile, they will just need to accept the fact that they have a mother who may need their help trying to figure out how to open the van door once in a while.
Left the baby at home with hubby, and drove to the library with the rest of the kids. It was the first time I drove at night with the new van too. Alhamdulillah the lights turn on automtically, I still remember fumbling for the light switch with the old van. It had been a while since I had driven at night, and I spent a good 15 minutes panicking that I would drive home with no headlights on. I think I did? I don't remember, but oh boy, do I hate going out by myself, especially at night! Last night, I was reassured that I was not alone since the kids were with me. It's funny how I already depend on them, when it should be me they would be depending on.
"Kids! I can't open the door! I can' find it. How do I open it?" I wailed in the dark, after killing the engine. (Ok, I'm really revealing my foolishness here, so please don't laugh)
I fumbled. Panic set in. (Did I tell you that I panic easily?) I fumbled again, all the while thinking,
I'm so dumb. How can I not know how to open the door?! It's so simple! Where's my brain?! Knock knock! Oh god! How am I gonna get out of the van?!
I seriously forgot how to open the door, and I kept pawing at the door handle and thinking,
How could it not be there? How could the thingy (whatever it's called) not be there?!
The kids didn't laugh at me, bless them! As they themselves got themselves out of the van, H scrambled to come and help me. They didn't laugh at their fumbling mother! Oh Jazahum Allah Khair.
I laughed at myself though, after he panic eased off.
"Oh, I found it!" I announced, laughing. (I don't know why I'm publishing this on blog, but I'm just elated I survived last night)
"Lock it, Ummi!" H reminded me.
Like a kid, I obeyed him.
"You know how to lock it, right? Press once," he said.
Mashaallah, the boy is really growing up. He'll be my bodyguard sooner than expected, I think.
I nodded.
On the bright side, all that panicking distracted me from my nervousness of sitting in a room full of other people. (I had done this before, come on! I even read out my heart's content to a group of people I don't know in a writing group, but, still, it just still feels...strange)
The session lasted for about one and a half hours. It was pretty helpful. I talked about the kids, how two of them quarrels, and the other one just wants to be left alone. She offered me suggesteions, but mostly it's about getting the kids to learn how to resolve conflict. Nothing I hadn't read about before, but still, it was refreshing to hear it firsthand, and most importantly, to be able to ask firsthand.
When we were done, I got to talking with a fellow attendee. The group moderator went out of the room, came back in and said to me.
"Are those three well behaved children yours?"
"Yeah, well now they're well behaved," I replied.
"It was so easy to tell. The older one and the younger one are playing with the trains and the middle one is on the computer by herself. So easy to tell which was which. You should go see. It's really funny," she said, nodding emphatically.
Wow, I had really painted the exact picture of my three kids when I described them to her in the session.
She did say in the session,
"The gift that they have, having this conflict is that they get to learn how to resolve it. If only more people are taught conflict resolution since they were young, we probably wouldn't have all these wars today. One less gun in the world is improvement to me."
She had pointed out that one reason why my kids are fighting is because they're together all the time since they're homeschooled. She also said that kids will always fight anyway. Knowing myself, I know I tend to go overboard when I describe the negative. The perfectionist in me filters out the positive and I may paint a slightly worse picture than the reality, and I guess I do realize that, which makes it consoling to know that my kids are not all that bad. It's probably because I'm with them all the time. People are always saying how well behaved they are, and I keep thinking,
Really?
but then I think back, and I say to myself,
Give them some credit. They are good kids. Alhamdulillah.
Recently, we went to Dr Mamdouh's talk on the Quran. A sister came up to me and said,
"You always bring your children to these events!"
"Well, who would I leave them with?" I responded with a chuckle.
"And mashaallah, their good mannerism is really something," she continued.
Alhamdulillah. I guess I do need to give my kids some credit. Don't get me wrong, I do commend them in their face, but of course when problems occur, I go into the 'oh how am I going to correct these kids' mode. But as Mrs. M reminded us last night,
"Nothing lasts forever. This will pass."
She's right. Nothing lasts forever. So I guess I should treasure the good moments and save the bad moments for laughing at in years to come inshaallah. Meanwhile, they will just need to accept the fact that they have a mother who may need their help trying to figure out how to open the van door once in a while.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Hadhlah & Muntah
"Hadhla means muntah," H exclaimed.
They had just come back from the masjid from their Arabic class. So far they had been 'teaching' me new Arabic words.
So I took in the new word as I did the others. Whenever Baby Z would spit up, they would all chorus,
"Hadhla! Hadhla!"
Eventually, I used the word too.
One day, they broke the news to me.
"We made it up."
Incredulous, I asked them,
"You mean, it's not a real word??"
"No, you think it's real?" they said, chuckling.
"Yeah!"
"When you muntah it sounds like hadhla, that's why we said hadhla," H explained, apparently very proud of himself for fooling me.
On the other hand, they also propagated the word muntah to non Malay speaking people.
I was holding Baby Z when he spit up, and if I wasn't mistaken, the Arab lady sitting with them exclaimed,
"Muntah, muntah!"
I didn't realize it at the time, but after we got home, I got to thinking and I am pretty sure she said 'muntah'.
She obviously had been talking with the kids. Oh boy!
They had just come back from the masjid from their Arabic class. So far they had been 'teaching' me new Arabic words.
So I took in the new word as I did the others. Whenever Baby Z would spit up, they would all chorus,
"Hadhla! Hadhla!"
Eventually, I used the word too.
One day, they broke the news to me.
"We made it up."
Incredulous, I asked them,
"You mean, it's not a real word??"
"No, you think it's real?" they said, chuckling.
"Yeah!"
"When you muntah it sounds like hadhla, that's why we said hadhla," H explained, apparently very proud of himself for fooling me.
On the other hand, they also propagated the word muntah to non Malay speaking people.
I was holding Baby Z when he spit up, and if I wasn't mistaken, the Arab lady sitting with them exclaimed,
"Muntah, muntah!"
I didn't realize it at the time, but after we got home, I got to thinking and I am pretty sure she said 'muntah'.
She obviously had been talking with the kids. Oh boy!
Baby Z's on a Roll!
He finally rolled today! Well, yesterday they had put him on tummy time, and he had rolled from his tummy onto his back. But today he actually rolled onto his tummy and then onto his back by himself, with no nudging from us. Alhamdulillah.
His doctor had said,
"He just has no desire to roll over right now,"
and
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving they won't stop."
True, that. That he had no desire to roll over, because we're always in his face!
Now, he has taken to screaming, and it's surprising how loud a baby can be. I guess you can say it's ear-splitting. And he doesn't scream because of distress, but for fun. So you can imagine the racket we have in the house with me trying to explain something to the kids when homeschooling with Baby Z's lungs exercise in the background. Before this, the challenge was trying to explain things to the kids, while trying to keep my temper while holding a very fidgety baby with one hand. Add a screaming baby and I got myself a nuthouse.
Nevertheless, I somberly realized last night that in four months time inshaallah, he will be a year old. Oh how fast time flies. It's depressing. So in the meantime, I will cherish and revel in the sour smell of his hands that spend quite some time in his mouth, and that sweet baby breath of his. Months ago, he was so small that we were able to carry him with just one hand. Now, you sometimes have trouble holding him with both hands!
His doctor had said,
"He just has no desire to roll over right now,"
and
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving they won't stop."
True, that. That he had no desire to roll over, because we're always in his face!
Now, he has taken to screaming, and it's surprising how loud a baby can be. I guess you can say it's ear-splitting. And he doesn't scream because of distress, but for fun. So you can imagine the racket we have in the house with me trying to explain something to the kids when homeschooling with Baby Z's lungs exercise in the background. Before this, the challenge was trying to explain things to the kids, while trying to keep my temper while holding a very fidgety baby with one hand. Add a screaming baby and I got myself a nuthouse.
Nevertheless, I somberly realized last night that in four months time inshaallah, he will be a year old. Oh how fast time flies. It's depressing. So in the meantime, I will cherish and revel in the sour smell of his hands that spend quite some time in his mouth, and that sweet baby breath of his. Months ago, he was so small that we were able to carry him with just one hand. Now, you sometimes have trouble holding him with both hands!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Nano Nano!
N's at 2441 words, inching closer to her goal of 6000 words.
I'm at 3468 words, crawling pathetically towards 50 000.
Hey, at least the kids like my story.
"When are you going to write Chapter 4?" they kept asking.
"So what happens next? Is her mother really dead?" they ask.
"I don't know. I'm making it up as I go along," I say.
As for N's story, it's going along pretty gorgeously.
S has also started writing her own story for fun. I think she thinks that NanoWrimo is yet another 'homework' and that that was why she refused to take part in it.
On another note, H attended his first street Hockey and wrestling class today. And I'm picking up where I left off, inshaallah.
I'm at 3468 words, crawling pathetically towards 50 000.
Hey, at least the kids like my story.
"When are you going to write Chapter 4?" they kept asking.
"So what happens next? Is her mother really dead?" they ask.
"I don't know. I'm making it up as I go along," I say.
As for N's story, it's going along pretty gorgeously.
S has also started writing her own story for fun. I think she thinks that NanoWrimo is yet another 'homework' and that that was why she refused to take part in it.
On another note, H attended his first street Hockey and wrestling class today. And I'm picking up where I left off, inshaallah.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Reading Aloud
Today, we finished reading The Journey to the Blue Moon, by Rebecca Rupp. It took about two weeks to finish reading it, and I didn't read it everyday. I had started our read-aloud session, and chose that book. After a while, they seem to enjoy listening to me reading it aloud. I never actually fully utilized his technique when they were younger, unfortunately. I should have. Their comprehension, vocabulary and writing skills might have been better had I done so back then. Well, better late than never, eh?
In my experimental venture into the Unit Study method, I used this read aloud session to assess their comprehension. It probably didn't feel like they were being schooled, which is the point. Language Arts activities usually include getting the students to produce a play, retelling the story they had just read, to see how far they comprehend the reading.
Today I told them to make a character map. Each kid had to choose one character, and make a character map. S had to write a paragraph providing evidence for the traits she extracted for her character. She wasn't very happy when I told her to write that paragraph though.
I also had them complete their travel brochure for the Solar System Unit. I had told them to choose one planet, and make a travel brochure for it. They chose Uranus. They finished one today. It was pretty creative too. Together they had brainstormed made-up attractions they would have on Uranus. They came up with Windy World (an amusement park), Collapse Cavern, and several other attractions. They did the brochure for Windy World today. They also listed hotels, motels, inns, grocery stores. It was amusing to see that they had thought up UFC, which stands for Uranus Fried Chicken as an eaterie close to Windy World.
S wrote out descriptions and catchy paragraphs for the cover. N did the illustrations and descriptions of the rides inside Windy World. H drew maps of Windy World, and a map showing Windy World, and nearby motels and grocery stores. He also made a chart for the hotel's amenities. All in all, they produced a pretty amazing travel brochure, which unfortunately I am not able to upload since it's on paper, and I'd have to scan it.
Yesterday, we read from Stories of the Prophets by Ibn Kathir about Prophet Idris alaihis salam. Next, inshaallah we're going to use the Seerah timeline we had bought them from the Islamicbookstore, and from there I intend to spark off an in depth study of a certain period from the timeline inshaallah.
Nowadays, after fajr, they do their OHVA school work, and then we begin our 'fun' homeschooling. So far so good, alhamdulillah.
In my experimental venture into the Unit Study method, I used this read aloud session to assess their comprehension. It probably didn't feel like they were being schooled, which is the point. Language Arts activities usually include getting the students to produce a play, retelling the story they had just read, to see how far they comprehend the reading.
Today I told them to make a character map. Each kid had to choose one character, and make a character map. S had to write a paragraph providing evidence for the traits she extracted for her character. She wasn't very happy when I told her to write that paragraph though.
I also had them complete their travel brochure for the Solar System Unit. I had told them to choose one planet, and make a travel brochure for it. They chose Uranus. They finished one today. It was pretty creative too. Together they had brainstormed made-up attractions they would have on Uranus. They came up with Windy World (an amusement park), Collapse Cavern, and several other attractions. They did the brochure for Windy World today. They also listed hotels, motels, inns, grocery stores. It was amusing to see that they had thought up UFC, which stands for Uranus Fried Chicken as an eaterie close to Windy World.
S wrote out descriptions and catchy paragraphs for the cover. N did the illustrations and descriptions of the rides inside Windy World. H drew maps of Windy World, and a map showing Windy World, and nearby motels and grocery stores. He also made a chart for the hotel's amenities. All in all, they produced a pretty amazing travel brochure, which unfortunately I am not able to upload since it's on paper, and I'd have to scan it.
Yesterday, we read from Stories of the Prophets by Ibn Kathir about Prophet Idris alaihis salam. Next, inshaallah we're going to use the Seerah timeline we had bought them from the Islamicbookstore, and from there I intend to spark off an in depth study of a certain period from the timeline inshaallah.
Nowadays, after fajr, they do their OHVA school work, and then we begin our 'fun' homeschooling. So far so good, alhamdulillah.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Out of Love
"Why don't you just go in the morning?" said hubby, waking me up from my much needed sleep.
Well, I ended up going to class in the morning. My initial plan was go go after lunch break, so as to give Baby Z the chance to have his nap at home, as the main reason I wasn't attending the class physically was so as not to subject Baby Z to napping in the car seat or stroller for two full weekends. The class was not just for a few measly hours, but from morning to evening on Saturday and Sundays and 3 hours from 6-10pm on Fridays. I was worried it would exacerbate his eczema due to me nursing him at every break time (his skin rubbing against my hijab and sleeves), allergens in the hall (chalkdust), and various people touching his cheeks, and picking him up. We ended up spending the whole day on campus last Sunday.
Every break time I nursed him. Alhamdulillah Allah made it easy, for he slept in the first session, thereby not requiring the kids to actively care for him. He also slept towards the end of the day (which was actually his bedtime), and yes, many people picked him up and cooed at him, but I guess it's part and parcel of bringing a baby to a seminar attended by adults. They needed the 'break' from a very long day of lecture.
We came home immediately after class was over. Before we left the hall, N gave me a Ferrero Rocher.
"Ummi, this is for you," she said.
"The Sheikh told Ammu B to give it to her," explained H.
"Why did you give it to me, N?" I asked her today.
"Because you like it," she replied.
Subhanallah, she had attained that chocolate and reserved it for me, even giving it up herself. The kids knew how much I love it, and how Sheikh Yaser's class is well known for it.
I couldn't eat it however, with my temporary dairy and peanut sanction due to Baby Z's eczema and hives.
So there it sits on the shelf in our living room,
a tangible proof if N's big heart.
Well, I ended up going to class in the morning. My initial plan was go go after lunch break, so as to give Baby Z the chance to have his nap at home, as the main reason I wasn't attending the class physically was so as not to subject Baby Z to napping in the car seat or stroller for two full weekends. The class was not just for a few measly hours, but from morning to evening on Saturday and Sundays and 3 hours from 6-10pm on Fridays. I was worried it would exacerbate his eczema due to me nursing him at every break time (his skin rubbing against my hijab and sleeves), allergens in the hall (chalkdust), and various people touching his cheeks, and picking him up. We ended up spending the whole day on campus last Sunday.
Every break time I nursed him. Alhamdulillah Allah made it easy, for he slept in the first session, thereby not requiring the kids to actively care for him. He also slept towards the end of the day (which was actually his bedtime), and yes, many people picked him up and cooed at him, but I guess it's part and parcel of bringing a baby to a seminar attended by adults. They needed the 'break' from a very long day of lecture.
We came home immediately after class was over. Before we left the hall, N gave me a Ferrero Rocher.
"Ummi, this is for you," she said.
"The Sheikh told Ammu B to give it to her," explained H.
"Why did you give it to me, N?" I asked her today.
"Because you like it," she replied.
Subhanallah, she had attained that chocolate and reserved it for me, even giving it up herself. The kids knew how much I love it, and how Sheikh Yaser's class is well known for it.
I couldn't eat it however, with my temporary dairy and peanut sanction due to Baby Z's eczema and hives.
So there it sits on the shelf in our living room,
a tangible proof if N's big heart.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Big Sister Babysitter
Second weekend of Code of Scholars. Again, I struggle with the feat of attending the class via webcam. Yesterday we decided very last minute that I will attend it physically. I made a compromise with S.
They can run during the breaks while I take care of Baby Z. N and H are to help her. It was only 3 hours anyway, so we went for it.
I fed Baby Z before class started. Then I handed him to S. I went in the class.
At break time, I dashed out to check on them.
"A man gave Z pop tarts," they reported to me.
My heart made a double leap.
"Man, what man? Muslim man?"
"Did Z eat it?"
"What happened?"
Turned out that a 'teenage boy' offered them Pop Tarts, and one by one they refused, and then the boy proceeded to feed it to Baby Z. Twice S had pushed it away from Baby Z's mouth. The second time, Baby Z cried, apparently because he was about to lick it I guess.
All this while I am trying so hard to watch what Baby Z eats to see if he is allergic to anything. I was incredulous and furious. The issue of Pop Tarts being questionable in terms of its halalness also popped up.
I stood there in silence, contemplating ditching the class and sitting out there with them. However, I had come, and I should optimize it to attend the class physically. I commended S for being brave enough to push the Pop Tart away from Baby Z.
A while later, she showed me the boy who had offered Baby Z the Pop Tart. I debated whether to reprimand him or not. I chose not to, hoping that he won't do it again. He was holding a binder, so hopefully he would go to class after the break. I did follow him to the babysitting room, though, and when I asked who was in charge, they showed me a teenage girl. I went out of the room.
I told S to come to me in class if they have trouble with anymore people shoving food in Baby Z's mouth. Before I went in, I also told her not to let anyone pick Baby Z up. I still don't know what triggers his hives and eczema flare ups. It might be incense or perfume, and I know the sisters have those on.
"Only K, the Shs, R, Rq, and Fd. No one else," I told them. I had restricted it to only a few people who are allowed to pick up Baby Z.
"Just tell them your mom doesn't allow it," I added.
S has some trouble being assertive. She nodded.
When I came out of class she told me that a woman wanted to pick Baby Z up.
"I told her that my mom doesn't allow anyone to pick him up," she said.
Hubby said that we should buy her something, for babysitting Baby Z. We stopped at 7 Eleven.
"Mashaallah S, you protected your lil brother today," I commended her at home. She smiled her shy smile.
I really hate it when people try to feed your baby without even asking you. When I told hubby, he was shocked. Well, alhamdulillah Baby Z didn't get any Pop Tart in him. I've stopped even with the rice porridge, to see if his hives would come back. So far, his eczema is still the same, (worse) but he's free of hives.
They can run during the breaks while I take care of Baby Z. N and H are to help her. It was only 3 hours anyway, so we went for it.
I fed Baby Z before class started. Then I handed him to S. I went in the class.
At break time, I dashed out to check on them.
"A man gave Z pop tarts," they reported to me.
My heart made a double leap.
"Man, what man? Muslim man?"
"Did Z eat it?"
"What happened?"
Turned out that a 'teenage boy' offered them Pop Tarts, and one by one they refused, and then the boy proceeded to feed it to Baby Z. Twice S had pushed it away from Baby Z's mouth. The second time, Baby Z cried, apparently because he was about to lick it I guess.
All this while I am trying so hard to watch what Baby Z eats to see if he is allergic to anything. I was incredulous and furious. The issue of Pop Tarts being questionable in terms of its halalness also popped up.
I stood there in silence, contemplating ditching the class and sitting out there with them. However, I had come, and I should optimize it to attend the class physically. I commended S for being brave enough to push the Pop Tart away from Baby Z.
A while later, she showed me the boy who had offered Baby Z the Pop Tart. I debated whether to reprimand him or not. I chose not to, hoping that he won't do it again. He was holding a binder, so hopefully he would go to class after the break. I did follow him to the babysitting room, though, and when I asked who was in charge, they showed me a teenage girl. I went out of the room.
I told S to come to me in class if they have trouble with anymore people shoving food in Baby Z's mouth. Before I went in, I also told her not to let anyone pick Baby Z up. I still don't know what triggers his hives and eczema flare ups. It might be incense or perfume, and I know the sisters have those on.
"Only K, the Shs, R, Rq, and Fd. No one else," I told them. I had restricted it to only a few people who are allowed to pick up Baby Z.
"Just tell them your mom doesn't allow it," I added.
S has some trouble being assertive. She nodded.
When I came out of class she told me that a woman wanted to pick Baby Z up.
"I told her that my mom doesn't allow anyone to pick him up," she said.
Hubby said that we should buy her something, for babysitting Baby Z. We stopped at 7 Eleven.
"Mashaallah S, you protected your lil brother today," I commended her at home. She smiled her shy smile.
I really hate it when people try to feed your baby without even asking you. When I told hubby, he was shocked. Well, alhamdulillah Baby Z didn't get any Pop Tart in him. I've stopped even with the rice porridge, to see if his hives would come back. So far, his eczema is still the same, (worse) but he's free of hives.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Personality Unlocked
I finally managed to update our word count on the NanoWrimo website today. N's now at 1,188 and I'm at 1,365.
"What's your title, Ummi?"
"I don't have one yet," I replied.
To be honest, i don't even know what I'm writing about. N, on the other hand seems to know where she's going. Her 'novel' is called Travel to the Planets. I'm really amazed at her word choices. You don't have to teach this girl to use strong verbs! She's an expert at them, and her voice, mashaallah, she does have a voice, even if she is verbally quiet.
Recently, my mother told me that she had received the cards the kids had made for everyone in her household. The kids had made cards for their many grandmothers, uncles and aunt. I had told them to pack them in the big envelopes to send to my mother, mother in law, and my father. I didn't look at the cards as I was busy in those last few days of Ramadan, so I trusted them to appropriately fill the envelopes. I didn't even check to make sure the right cards went in the right envelopes.
I received an email from my mother saying that in her envelope were cards for my brothers on my father's side, my mother in law and one of my brothers didn't get any!
I immediately told them that they had left out Uncle Nk. N immediately made card for her Uncle Nk. So did H, who claimed that he was too lazy to make them in the first place. I suppose they felt bad for the big mix up.
I realized that N's strength really truly lie in interpersonal communication. Sure, you might have a hard time getting a peep out of her verbally, but try doing it on paper, and you'll be surprised. When my mother came recently, she told me that N has gift for writing. I agree. She does. Mashaallah. I guess if I can't get her to respond verbally, I can always get it in writing. She's always glued to her chair in the room either doodling or writing away anyway. Many times, hubby told her to go outside and play, but she always refused, and when she did, it is only for a little while.
So maybe I'm unlocking N's world through this NanoWrimo venture.
"What's your title, Ummi?"
"I don't have one yet," I replied.
To be honest, i don't even know what I'm writing about. N, on the other hand seems to know where she's going. Her 'novel' is called Travel to the Planets. I'm really amazed at her word choices. You don't have to teach this girl to use strong verbs! She's an expert at them, and her voice, mashaallah, she does have a voice, even if she is verbally quiet.
Recently, my mother told me that she had received the cards the kids had made for everyone in her household. The kids had made cards for their many grandmothers, uncles and aunt. I had told them to pack them in the big envelopes to send to my mother, mother in law, and my father. I didn't look at the cards as I was busy in those last few days of Ramadan, so I trusted them to appropriately fill the envelopes. I didn't even check to make sure the right cards went in the right envelopes.
I received an email from my mother saying that in her envelope were cards for my brothers on my father's side, my mother in law and one of my brothers didn't get any!
I immediately told them that they had left out Uncle Nk. N immediately made card for her Uncle Nk. So did H, who claimed that he was too lazy to make them in the first place. I suppose they felt bad for the big mix up.
I realized that N's strength really truly lie in interpersonal communication. Sure, you might have a hard time getting a peep out of her verbally, but try doing it on paper, and you'll be surprised. When my mother came recently, she told me that N has gift for writing. I agree. She does. Mashaallah. I guess if I can't get her to respond verbally, I can always get it in writing. She's always glued to her chair in the room either doodling or writing away anyway. Many times, hubby told her to go outside and play, but she always refused, and when she did, it is only for a little while.
So maybe I'm unlocking N's world through this NanoWrimo venture.
The Destroyer of Pleasure
I woke up to some somber news this morning - the destroyer of pleasure and the reality of it. My senior's husband passed away yesterday. Inna lillaahi wa inna ilaihi raa'jioon.
I read her blog, from the very inception of it. The joyful moments, the funny and amusing moments, and then the bad news, the struggle, and finally, the return to the Creator. I feel for her. I can easily put myself in her shoes. I can feel her acceptance. I can feel her grief. I even wept. May Allah bestow on her strength and patience. She's already shown so much, mashaallah.
That's one thing you do not want happening to you, but our lives are already written by Allah. That exact thing has always been my fear, either to me, my husband or our children. I believe I am a hypochondriac, and as a result of people taking my complaints of ailments as exagerration, I have learned to suppress my worries and fear, or at least keep them to myself. The latest scare for me was the blood in the urine. Alhamdulillah though, it was 'nothing'.
When I told my mother, she said,
"As long as what you have is curable, it's ok."
Having gone through chemotherapy herself, she knows what she's talking about. She also said,
"I don't want my children to go through what I have had to go through."
My eyes welled up with tears at that.
When you think about it, it's scary. While I was rading through Mrs. D's blog, I keep thinking,
"Normal life, then BAM, and a downward spiral. It could easily happen to any of us."
That was always my secret worry. Several times, I brought it up to hubby,
"If we die, who'd get the kids?"
If I die, I worry about him coping with the kids himself. When I thought more about it, I thought,
"I might as well worry more about how I'd fare in the grave than worry about them on earth,"
and that is a reality I think we all should really worry about.
If he dies, I worry about how I'd fare without him. It's a thought every wife fears.
Death is the destroyer of pleasure. We can plan all we want. It can happen just like that.
When J happened, I thought to myself,
"This is it. It's happening. This is the beginning."
At least then, I shared the grief with hubby. I thought to myself that after this, it would probably be greater in strength - the might of the next test. It scares me, but Allah does not burden one beyond what one can bear. Subhanallah.
Then I check into one of the groups I belong to, and lo and behold, they're talking about wills. I immediately remember than today is Friday.
Like a passing train, thoughts after thoughts gush through my mind:
death
grief
move on
end of the world
meet again
jannah
The ending soothes me. We will meet again, inshaallah. It's not the end.
For the time being, it's the preparation that worries me. May we all end up in a good place. Ameen.
If it happens to me, may Allah give me strength and patience to bear it, either way. There's something very beautiful about being Muslim - death is not the end, it's a beginning to the eternal.
However, as I remember J, I do realize this:
No matter how much I try to prepare myself for the worst, it will still hit me like I never expected it, as it did with J. So, what I'm trying to do here, will all be like carded wool, and Allah's test will be as He wants it to be.
Inna lillaahi wa inna ilaihi raaji'oon.
I read her blog, from the very inception of it. The joyful moments, the funny and amusing moments, and then the bad news, the struggle, and finally, the return to the Creator. I feel for her. I can easily put myself in her shoes. I can feel her acceptance. I can feel her grief. I even wept. May Allah bestow on her strength and patience. She's already shown so much, mashaallah.
That's one thing you do not want happening to you, but our lives are already written by Allah. That exact thing has always been my fear, either to me, my husband or our children. I believe I am a hypochondriac, and as a result of people taking my complaints of ailments as exagerration, I have learned to suppress my worries and fear, or at least keep them to myself. The latest scare for me was the blood in the urine. Alhamdulillah though, it was 'nothing'.
When I told my mother, she said,
"As long as what you have is curable, it's ok."
Having gone through chemotherapy herself, she knows what she's talking about. She also said,
"I don't want my children to go through what I have had to go through."
My eyes welled up with tears at that.
When you think about it, it's scary. While I was rading through Mrs. D's blog, I keep thinking,
"Normal life, then BAM, and a downward spiral. It could easily happen to any of us."
That was always my secret worry. Several times, I brought it up to hubby,
"If we die, who'd get the kids?"
If I die, I worry about him coping with the kids himself. When I thought more about it, I thought,
"I might as well worry more about how I'd fare in the grave than worry about them on earth,"
and that is a reality I think we all should really worry about.
If he dies, I worry about how I'd fare without him. It's a thought every wife fears.
Death is the destroyer of pleasure. We can plan all we want. It can happen just like that.
When J happened, I thought to myself,
"This is it. It's happening. This is the beginning."
At least then, I shared the grief with hubby. I thought to myself that after this, it would probably be greater in strength - the might of the next test. It scares me, but Allah does not burden one beyond what one can bear. Subhanallah.
Then I check into one of the groups I belong to, and lo and behold, they're talking about wills. I immediately remember than today is Friday.
Like a passing train, thoughts after thoughts gush through my mind:
death
grief
move on
end of the world
meet again
jannah
The ending soothes me. We will meet again, inshaallah. It's not the end.
For the time being, it's the preparation that worries me. May we all end up in a good place. Ameen.
If it happens to me, may Allah give me strength and patience to bear it, either way. There's something very beautiful about being Muslim - death is not the end, it's a beginning to the eternal.
However, as I remember J, I do realize this:
No matter how much I try to prepare myself for the worst, it will still hit me like I never expected it, as it did with J. So, what I'm trying to do here, will all be like carded wool, and Allah's test will be as He wants it to be.
Inna lillaahi wa inna ilaihi raaji'oon.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
First Day of NanoWrimo
Since the NanoWrimo website takes so long to load, (understandably), I'll just post our word counts here:
For today, N's word count is: 820
Mine is : 724
She beat me.
N's word count goal is 6000.
Mine is ...10 000. Yes, I'm a wimp. We'll see if I reach my own measly goal.
EDITED: I just realized that adults aren't granted word count goals *grinning sheepishly*, so I guess I'll still have to strive for 50 000.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
NanoWrimo & Making it Possible
Here we go again, my writing craze is sparked, and I still can't believe I did it, but I signed myself up for NanoWrimo. In addition, I also signed out in-house author up for the Young Writers NanoWrimo. She was more calm and sure about it than I was. I don't know how I'm going to pull it off, but I guess sometimes you have to go for the plunge and try to swim back to the surface.
Meanwhile, I'm realizing that I can actually eliminate stress in this homeschooling business, inshaallah.
Yesterday, I noticed something about us.
The kids were already doing their OHVA schoolwork in the morning. Noses to the grindstone kind of concentration too, mashaallah! So they were done pretty early, such that they were able to work on their Solar System Unit Study individual project in the afternoon, and we were able to fit in a read-aloud session. I noticed that I wasn't harried or distressed yesterday alhamdulillah. Bonus: I just realized that N had a Solar System Unit in her OHVA Science curriculum. Since they had been devouring books on the Solar System since after Eid, I decided to give her the lesson assessment so she we could mark those as 'done' in her Online School. She passed with flying colors! This is something amazing, compared to the drudgery of me having to repeat parts of lessons sometimes, just to make sure she attains the objectives of the lesson. With N, individual pace and readiness are really the key, I think, which is why a set curriculum would not work for her, and would only induce insanity in me.
I have to admit, I didn't do much read-alouds to the kids, and this I believe has contributed somewhat to the lack of language skills (relatively) in them. I will do this with Baby Z inshaallah.
As for NanoWrimo, S and H refused to participate. So the adventure this year is for me and N. We'll see how it goes. I have a feeling that N will be more successful at the writing than I would.
Meanwhile, I'm realizing that I can actually eliminate stress in this homeschooling business, inshaallah.
Yesterday, I noticed something about us.
The kids were already doing their OHVA schoolwork in the morning. Noses to the grindstone kind of concentration too, mashaallah! So they were done pretty early, such that they were able to work on their Solar System Unit Study individual project in the afternoon, and we were able to fit in a read-aloud session. I noticed that I wasn't harried or distressed yesterday alhamdulillah. Bonus: I just realized that N had a Solar System Unit in her OHVA Science curriculum. Since they had been devouring books on the Solar System since after Eid, I decided to give her the lesson assessment so she we could mark those as 'done' in her Online School. She passed with flying colors! This is something amazing, compared to the drudgery of me having to repeat parts of lessons sometimes, just to make sure she attains the objectives of the lesson. With N, individual pace and readiness are really the key, I think, which is why a set curriculum would not work for her, and would only induce insanity in me.
I have to admit, I didn't do much read-alouds to the kids, and this I believe has contributed somewhat to the lack of language skills (relatively) in them. I will do this with Baby Z inshaallah.
As for NanoWrimo, S and H refused to participate. So the adventure this year is for me and N. We'll see how it goes. I have a feeling that N will be more successful at the writing than I would.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
To test or not to test?
"Let's face it, if it were not for the exam, who here would remember what we learned?"
I was listening to the Ameer of Hayl telling the students to take the exam after the class Code of Scholars, as usual, but something else struck me this time. I've heard him saying it so many times before, but this time, I just felt different about it.
And then a personal realization dawned on me.
I've been reading about the other side of 'education', the side that most or some homeschoolers are on, the side that abhors testing, perfectly structured schooling at home, and pre determined curriculum. I've kept an open mind about things. It's not like I never knew about all this unschooling business before. I've read about it, but at the time, its appeal to me was like a dead rat. However, now, I'm becoming more curious about what they do have to say, and I have to admit that they are making sense.
Maybe 90% of us are the product of schooling, and being one of those, I find it very difficult to imagine unstructured learning. We have gotten so used to the concept of a group of kids gathered together in a classroom (an artificial setting if you look at it from another perspective), and taught subjects, that it's hard to accept the concept of children learning the same lessons and maybe even more in a more natural setting like the home, post office, grocery store, garage, etc.
Because of this system we have set up to 'educate' our future generation, we have had to devise strategies to make learning fun and appealing, and most importantly, we have had to devise a method by which we can make sure they are indeed 'learning'. So we come up with tests, to see if they have retained what have been taught. Since then, in my opinion, the focus of the education system has trodden a path of a downward spiral, for kids who ace their exams, are indeed good exam takers, but are not necessarily academic appliers.
People who graduate out of college, when looking for jobs, are permitted entry level jobs. Why? Because they don't yet have the experience. Four years or more (for some) in college, and no experience? Then we spend a year or more, gaining those experience, and for some areas, not even utilizing fully what was learned in the course of the four year study. To make it clearer, let me just state that one who is naturally interested in computer and technology and pursues the field on his own, even without attending a four year course of study in college, can be an excellent computer scientist, or actually, an even better one than one who majors in Computer Science in college and comes out as fresh as a young seedling.
Why do we now need tests, to help us retain knowledge? I have in my school days, crammed for tests, only to forget the facts again and again. On the other hand, I have also, on my non school days, researched topics I am naturally curious about on my own free will, and retained the facts without any need for tests.
When N took the Ohio Achievement Reading Test in early October, I asked her,
"Were you nervous?"
"No. Why would I be?" she replied non-chalantly.
I was taken aback at the casual manner in which she questioned my question, for to a product of schooling like myself, it's the norm that you would be nervous during a test, or before it at least. It made me think. I've never pressured them to ace any tests. In fact, I never paid much heed to the results they sent in, as long as they don't affect grade promotion. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even have them take the tests. However, I also feel that I have, without realizing, passed on the 'culture' of taking tests. I don't know if it had much effects on my kids though. I hope not. I have to admit, that the pressure of having your kids measure up to the kids in public school is really something to contend with. I think it's something every homeschooling parent has to contend with. Some deal with it better.
I personally hate competition, and I had quite a hard time dealing with it in the AlMaghrib culture where they spurred people by way of competing with each other. I'm not saying competition is bad, but I don't need competition to produce my best effort. I don't need to compete with 10 other people to be pushed to make dawah. It's just an unneeded pressure. My idea of a competition is a competition with myself. I hope I have conveyed it to my children. Have I?
However, these things, such as tests, friendly competition, are sometimes in dire need. Why? Because of the effects of schooling to the massive public. We have meddled with natural curiosities in human beings, and subjected ourselves to being dependent on other to tell us what we need to know at this age and so forth. We have subjected ourselves to be passive recipients and wait for orders in order to learn. We wait for others to tell us to learn, and what to learn, and how much to learn. We have lost autonomy over our own learning, and thus have to be cajoled into this simple natural process by methods like tests and competitions.
I may be completely off my rockers here, but I will let my mind take its natural course in figuring things out as I tread down this path of discovery. Right now, I'm leaning more towards au naturel.
I was listening to the Ameer of Hayl telling the students to take the exam after the class Code of Scholars, as usual, but something else struck me this time. I've heard him saying it so many times before, but this time, I just felt different about it.
And then a personal realization dawned on me.
I've been reading about the other side of 'education', the side that most or some homeschoolers are on, the side that abhors testing, perfectly structured schooling at home, and pre determined curriculum. I've kept an open mind about things. It's not like I never knew about all this unschooling business before. I've read about it, but at the time, its appeal to me was like a dead rat. However, now, I'm becoming more curious about what they do have to say, and I have to admit that they are making sense.
Maybe 90% of us are the product of schooling, and being one of those, I find it very difficult to imagine unstructured learning. We have gotten so used to the concept of a group of kids gathered together in a classroom (an artificial setting if you look at it from another perspective), and taught subjects, that it's hard to accept the concept of children learning the same lessons and maybe even more in a more natural setting like the home, post office, grocery store, garage, etc.
Because of this system we have set up to 'educate' our future generation, we have had to devise strategies to make learning fun and appealing, and most importantly, we have had to devise a method by which we can make sure they are indeed 'learning'. So we come up with tests, to see if they have retained what have been taught. Since then, in my opinion, the focus of the education system has trodden a path of a downward spiral, for kids who ace their exams, are indeed good exam takers, but are not necessarily academic appliers.
People who graduate out of college, when looking for jobs, are permitted entry level jobs. Why? Because they don't yet have the experience. Four years or more (for some) in college, and no experience? Then we spend a year or more, gaining those experience, and for some areas, not even utilizing fully what was learned in the course of the four year study. To make it clearer, let me just state that one who is naturally interested in computer and technology and pursues the field on his own, even without attending a four year course of study in college, can be an excellent computer scientist, or actually, an even better one than one who majors in Computer Science in college and comes out as fresh as a young seedling.
Why do we now need tests, to help us retain knowledge? I have in my school days, crammed for tests, only to forget the facts again and again. On the other hand, I have also, on my non school days, researched topics I am naturally curious about on my own free will, and retained the facts without any need for tests.
When N took the Ohio Achievement Reading Test in early October, I asked her,
"Were you nervous?"
"No. Why would I be?" she replied non-chalantly.
I was taken aback at the casual manner in which she questioned my question, for to a product of schooling like myself, it's the norm that you would be nervous during a test, or before it at least. It made me think. I've never pressured them to ace any tests. In fact, I never paid much heed to the results they sent in, as long as they don't affect grade promotion. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even have them take the tests. However, I also feel that I have, without realizing, passed on the 'culture' of taking tests. I don't know if it had much effects on my kids though. I hope not. I have to admit, that the pressure of having your kids measure up to the kids in public school is really something to contend with. I think it's something every homeschooling parent has to contend with. Some deal with it better.
I personally hate competition, and I had quite a hard time dealing with it in the AlMaghrib culture where they spurred people by way of competing with each other. I'm not saying competition is bad, but I don't need competition to produce my best effort. I don't need to compete with 10 other people to be pushed to make dawah. It's just an unneeded pressure. My idea of a competition is a competition with myself. I hope I have conveyed it to my children. Have I?
However, these things, such as tests, friendly competition, are sometimes in dire need. Why? Because of the effects of schooling to the massive public. We have meddled with natural curiosities in human beings, and subjected ourselves to being dependent on other to tell us what we need to know at this age and so forth. We have subjected ourselves to be passive recipients and wait for orders in order to learn. We wait for others to tell us to learn, and what to learn, and how much to learn. We have lost autonomy over our own learning, and thus have to be cajoled into this simple natural process by methods like tests and competitions.
I may be completely off my rockers here, but I will let my mind take its natural course in figuring things out as I tread down this path of discovery. Right now, I'm leaning more towards au naturel.
Cosimo de Medici Song by H
Cosimo Song
My name is Cosimo Cosimo Cosimo
Me come from Medici family family family
Me love Reeba Reeba Reeba
Me have a wool shop wool shop wool shop
Me have big family family family
Today's history lesson was about the Medici family in Florence, Italy. Since they started banking in Florence, we talked about Riba'. Hubby had already mentioned it to the kids sometime ago, and when I mentioned it again, H piped up,
"Oh yeah!"
As a closure to the lesson, both N and H did something to put in their lapbook, and H came up with what he calls the Cosimo Song.
He took the paper he had written it on, and started his performance. Taking small steps, he hunched his back and started 'singing' the Cosimo Song. I burst into laughter. It was a very well done performance! You can count on H to give a funny twist to a 'normal' lesson.
My name is Cosimo Cosimo Cosimo
Me come from Medici family family family
Me love Reeba Reeba Reeba
Me have a wool shop wool shop wool shop
Me have big family family family
Today's history lesson was about the Medici family in Florence, Italy. Since they started banking in Florence, we talked about Riba'. Hubby had already mentioned it to the kids sometime ago, and when I mentioned it again, H piped up,
"Oh yeah!"
As a closure to the lesson, both N and H did something to put in their lapbook, and H came up with what he calls the Cosimo Song.
He took the paper he had written it on, and started his performance. Taking small steps, he hunched his back and started 'singing' the Cosimo Song. I burst into laughter. It was a very well done performance! You can count on H to give a funny twist to a 'normal' lesson.
Monday, October 29, 2007
The Ummi & Abi Poems
The Ummi Poem
Ummi smells good
Just as she should
Z does too,
Ummi, I like you
The Abi Poem
Abi drives
*Z has hives
Ummi eats
S cheats
N creeps...
while H sleeps
By N
"What do you wanna be when you grow up, N?"
"An author," she replies.
I'll have to start seriously looking for places to publish her.
*Shows how Z rules our lives now with his hives and eczema flare ups.
Ummi smells good
Just as she should
Z does too,
Ummi, I like you
The Abi Poem
Abi drives
*Z has hives
Ummi eats
S cheats
N creeps...
while H sleeps
By N
"What do you wanna be when you grow up, N?"
"An author," she replies.
I'll have to start seriously looking for places to publish her.
*Shows how Z rules our lives now with his hives and eczema flare ups.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
The Big Sheikh
"How did the Sheikh sound?"
"Was he good?"
"I tried listening to him at the door when you were in class."
"He went to Madinah?"
H is constantly asking about Sheikh Yaser. Usually, whenever an AlMaghrib class is in town, I would attend, and they would all come to campus too with hubby. This time however, I'm staying home because of Baby Z's bad case of eczema. I'm not going to subject Baby Z to two long weekends of sitting on campus waiting for me, and having his skin aggravated by nursing in stressed conditions. Hubby is taking the class so he could give me the live video feed, but that means that the kids don't get to go since no one would be looking after them out in the hall.
Since H was asking so much about Sheikh Yaser, I told hubby, and now, both father and son are out at the restaurant with the Sheikh and the brothers. I hope H gets his much 'needed' listening of the sheikh.
We had talked about sending him to Saudi Arabia to school, and he had nodded yes. I had not thought more about it, (well other than making a note to myself that I would have either have hubby check it out or I check it out myself) when H asked me, out of the blue,
"I'm not going to get to see Z when he's seven."
I probably sat open-mouthed for a few minutes, before I asked him why, and he replied, in a manner stating the obvious,
"Because I'll be in Madinah!"
Well, I didn't know what to answer to that, and I just nervously chuckled.
The first feeling that struck me when he said that, was sadness. Then amusement, and then awe.
And I'm still in awe. I guess now I'll really have to check out that Madinah business.
"Was he good?"
"I tried listening to him at the door when you were in class."
"He went to Madinah?"
H is constantly asking about Sheikh Yaser. Usually, whenever an AlMaghrib class is in town, I would attend, and they would all come to campus too with hubby. This time however, I'm staying home because of Baby Z's bad case of eczema. I'm not going to subject Baby Z to two long weekends of sitting on campus waiting for me, and having his skin aggravated by nursing in stressed conditions. Hubby is taking the class so he could give me the live video feed, but that means that the kids don't get to go since no one would be looking after them out in the hall.
Since H was asking so much about Sheikh Yaser, I told hubby, and now, both father and son are out at the restaurant with the Sheikh and the brothers. I hope H gets his much 'needed' listening of the sheikh.
We had talked about sending him to Saudi Arabia to school, and he had nodded yes. I had not thought more about it, (well other than making a note to myself that I would have either have hubby check it out or I check it out myself) when H asked me, out of the blue,
"I'm not going to get to see Z when he's seven."
I probably sat open-mouthed for a few minutes, before I asked him why, and he replied, in a manner stating the obvious,
"Because I'll be in Madinah!"
Well, I didn't know what to answer to that, and I just nervously chuckled.
The first feeling that struck me when he said that, was sadness. Then amusement, and then awe.
And I'm still in awe. I guess now I'll really have to check out that Madinah business.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Counting on them
I ran downstairs, but slowed down when I heard H reciting surah Al Qiyaamah. As I peered through the diagonal chicken-wire-like metal screen of our built-in bookshelf, I saw H in his brown thawb standing in front while S and N stood in saff behind him. They were praying Maghrib. I tiptoed back upstairs.
Mashaallah, they had prayed maghrib on time, on their own, no prompting from me, and most surprisingly, while I was tending to Baby Z in the most (supposedly) hectic day this weekend.
Tonight of all nights, I am totally dependent on the kids. And alhamdulillah they didn't disappoint me.
As I struggled to hear Sheikh Yaser on the YM phone and see him on the webcam, the kids tended to Baby Z.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the first weekend of Code of Scholars in Columbus. I strained to pay attention to Sheikh Yaser at home, distracted by a growling stomach. Baby Z's pediatrician had put me on a new diet - no dairy, peanuts and soy. It's becoming a hardship for me, because as I have come to realize, soy is EVERYWHERE!
We did grocery shopping on Friday, and I walked the aisles in Kroger somberly. I wish I hadn't. The packets of bread, and four tubs of Breyers ice cream in the freezer seemed to taunt me, screaming,
"Ha! you can't eat me! You can't eat me!"
I decided to make my own bread. I had bought orange marmalade for myself, since I won't be able to eat butter, but there were no bread to eat it on! So today, I proceeded without delay to have S assist me in making my bread. She ended up doing the whole thing with verbal instructions from me as I parked myself on the couch nursing Baby Z. I browsed through my Joy of Cooking for recipes that contained no milk. I also decided to avoid egg whites, so we substituted egg yolks for the whole eggs. As I ordered S to do that, I thought to myself,
"In the course of trying to figure out if Baby Z has food allergy, I might be sending myself on a 'high cholesterol' ride."
I'm not kidding when I said it's becoming a hardship.
Oh Allah! please not make it a food allergy and cure Baby Z of this affliction, for only You have the power to cure and take away any afflictions.
While waiting for the bread dough to rise, I went ahead and made cekodok. I couldn't stand it. I had to eat something else! I had gobbled up the cantaloupe, bananas, grapes, and I had been scouring my kitchen pantry for things I could eat, but as I read the ingredient labels, soy seemed to crop up on all of them.
When I realized the extent to which I would have to change the way I eat, with the elimination of soy, I was crest fallen. It's like telling an Asian that she can no longer eat rice.
It was only when I scrutinized the ingredients in the vegetable spray when making chicken that I realized that it was soybean oil. So I told the kids,
"You guys get to eat this bread. I can't eat it."
It had grown twice its size. I love making bread. It's so rewarding. My mother calls her breads "My babies."
So when they ate the bread tonight, I repeatedly told S,
"Tomorrow you make another one for me, okay?"
Alhamdulillah, mashaallah, that girl is really my right hand girl. Though she does complain that she does a lot around the house, and I do feel sorry for her, but with a family of multiple children, it's almost impossible to not overwork the older children. She now gives Baby Z his baths too along with changing his diaper, and feeding him rice porridge (which she really wants to do anyway).
Today, I decided to physically attend Code of Scholars, because listening from home is just not the same thing. So while hubby and I sat in class, the kids watched Baby Z. I totally counted on S's wisdom and maturity. Alhamdulillah it worked out well, except for S saying,
"I want to play too."
Am I robbing her of her childhood? I hope not, especially when N is one kind of 'bundle of joy' to handle. At least H has his serious contemplative moments. Well, N has her compassionate moments. Ahh...ten years, and I'm still figuring out my children's personalities and individualities. How clueless can you be?
But yeah, tomorrow inshaallah, S is making me another Challah.
Mashaallah, they had prayed maghrib on time, on their own, no prompting from me, and most surprisingly, while I was tending to Baby Z in the most (supposedly) hectic day this weekend.
Tonight of all nights, I am totally dependent on the kids. And alhamdulillah they didn't disappoint me.
As I struggled to hear Sheikh Yaser on the YM phone and see him on the webcam, the kids tended to Baby Z.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the first weekend of Code of Scholars in Columbus. I strained to pay attention to Sheikh Yaser at home, distracted by a growling stomach. Baby Z's pediatrician had put me on a new diet - no dairy, peanuts and soy. It's becoming a hardship for me, because as I have come to realize, soy is EVERYWHERE!
We did grocery shopping on Friday, and I walked the aisles in Kroger somberly. I wish I hadn't. The packets of bread, and four tubs of Breyers ice cream in the freezer seemed to taunt me, screaming,
"Ha! you can't eat me! You can't eat me!"
I decided to make my own bread. I had bought orange marmalade for myself, since I won't be able to eat butter, but there were no bread to eat it on! So today, I proceeded without delay to have S assist me in making my bread. She ended up doing the whole thing with verbal instructions from me as I parked myself on the couch nursing Baby Z. I browsed through my Joy of Cooking for recipes that contained no milk. I also decided to avoid egg whites, so we substituted egg yolks for the whole eggs. As I ordered S to do that, I thought to myself,
"In the course of trying to figure out if Baby Z has food allergy, I might be sending myself on a 'high cholesterol' ride."
I'm not kidding when I said it's becoming a hardship.
Oh Allah! please not make it a food allergy and cure Baby Z of this affliction, for only You have the power to cure and take away any afflictions.
While waiting for the bread dough to rise, I went ahead and made cekodok. I couldn't stand it. I had to eat something else! I had gobbled up the cantaloupe, bananas, grapes, and I had been scouring my kitchen pantry for things I could eat, but as I read the ingredient labels, soy seemed to crop up on all of them.
When I realized the extent to which I would have to change the way I eat, with the elimination of soy, I was crest fallen. It's like telling an Asian that she can no longer eat rice.
It was only when I scrutinized the ingredients in the vegetable spray when making chicken that I realized that it was soybean oil. So I told the kids,
"You guys get to eat this bread. I can't eat it."
It had grown twice its size. I love making bread. It's so rewarding. My mother calls her breads "My babies."
So when they ate the bread tonight, I repeatedly told S,
"Tomorrow you make another one for me, okay?"
Alhamdulillah, mashaallah, that girl is really my right hand girl. Though she does complain that she does a lot around the house, and I do feel sorry for her, but with a family of multiple children, it's almost impossible to not overwork the older children. She now gives Baby Z his baths too along with changing his diaper, and feeding him rice porridge (which she really wants to do anyway).
Today, I decided to physically attend Code of Scholars, because listening from home is just not the same thing. So while hubby and I sat in class, the kids watched Baby Z. I totally counted on S's wisdom and maturity. Alhamdulillah it worked out well, except for S saying,
"I want to play too."
Am I robbing her of her childhood? I hope not, especially when N is one kind of 'bundle of joy' to handle. At least H has his serious contemplative moments. Well, N has her compassionate moments. Ahh...ten years, and I'm still figuring out my children's personalities and individualities. How clueless can you be?
But yeah, tomorrow inshaallah, S is making me another Challah.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Dua for Ummi
"Ummi, I made dua that you'll be better," said N.
'Oh, you did? Mashaallah!" I exclaimed.
This is N, she blows you away at times. She may be very soft spoken such taht it's hard to hear her even when she's sitting next to you, and she may dawdle every now and then, and resist instructions in the most annoying way, but she is definitely big hearted.
"I made that dua yesterday too, but today you're still hurt," she continued.
I had hurt my back on Sunday, due to my crazy position of nursing Baby Z in bed. Since he's pretty long, he kicks me, forcing me to arch my back so I could still accomodate him while he's nursing. I woke up Sunday morning with the most terrible pain in my left side. It got worse Monday, and today.
It was so bad that I would wince at any small movements, so the kids have had to pull me up off the couch, pick up Baby Z for me, put him in my lap for nursing, put him on the bed post nursing, take off my prayer skirt, get a chair for me to sit on when we pray. I feel like I'm pregnant again!
In the van today, after seeing the doctor, I told them,
"I had blood in my urine, and the doctor said it might be kidney stones, and it might be because I don't drink enough water. See, that's what can happen if you don't drink enough water."
Let's just say I have a big problem getting them to drink enough water, that I had to use that opportunity to give them some real life examples. However, instead of the silent-realization-I-learned-a-lesson response I anticipated, they all exclaimed from the back of the van.
"Here's some water, Ummi!"
"Do you already have water?"
"Here's a bottle!"
A perfect example of 'backfire'.
'Oh, you did? Mashaallah!" I exclaimed.
This is N, she blows you away at times. She may be very soft spoken such taht it's hard to hear her even when she's sitting next to you, and she may dawdle every now and then, and resist instructions in the most annoying way, but she is definitely big hearted.
"I made that dua yesterday too, but today you're still hurt," she continued.
I had hurt my back on Sunday, due to my crazy position of nursing Baby Z in bed. Since he's pretty long, he kicks me, forcing me to arch my back so I could still accomodate him while he's nursing. I woke up Sunday morning with the most terrible pain in my left side. It got worse Monday, and today.
It was so bad that I would wince at any small movements, so the kids have had to pull me up off the couch, pick up Baby Z for me, put him in my lap for nursing, put him on the bed post nursing, take off my prayer skirt, get a chair for me to sit on when we pray. I feel like I'm pregnant again!
In the van today, after seeing the doctor, I told them,
"I had blood in my urine, and the doctor said it might be kidney stones, and it might be because I don't drink enough water. See, that's what can happen if you don't drink enough water."
Let's just say I have a big problem getting them to drink enough water, that I had to use that opportunity to give them some real life examples. However, instead of the silent-realization-I-learned-a-lesson response I anticipated, they all exclaimed from the back of the van.
"Here's some water, Ummi!"
"Do you already have water?"
"Here's a bottle!"
A perfect example of 'backfire'.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Mystery Box
The mystery box arrived about a week before Eid. It was addressed to S, N and H!
"It's from the Islamicbookstore!" they exclaimed, after scrutinizing the box top, sides, and bottom, even rattling it to figure out what was inside.
"Hmm who sent you that package?" hubby and I asked.
I spied S whispering something to N's ears as N continued to verbalize her guesses out loud. Suddenly they both giggled. Knowing smiles lit up their faces.
"I'll open it tonight, " I said.
"Will you tell us what's inside?" they asked.
I nodded absent-mindedly. I'm no good at keeping surprises.
That night, I opened the box with the excitement of a child who had just received the most sought after gift. Let's admit it, I'm sucker for giving people gifts. The process of preparing them for giving is what gives me the thrill; the wrapping, the arrangements, and of course, the joy you see on the recipient's face. With the kids, I have started to write short notes to them in their books that we gave as Eid gifts. The notes are individualized thus making them special. They love them!
We had ordered a bunch of books from Islamicbookstore for them, but as I looked through the items in the opened box, I realized that some of the books I thought would be good for N were too 'grown-up'. So we ordered a new batch of books just for N.
We gave S a set of three series of the Story of Yusuf alahissalam, since she finished memorizing surah Yusuf by the end of Ramadan. H, we gave a book about Muslim heroes in the Crusades, and Umar Ibn Al Khattab from the Golden Series. For N we ordered Salman Al Farsi, Saad Ibn Abi Waqqas, and Saad Ibn Muadh. For all of them we bought the Quran Challenge game by S. Khan.
Hubby, in his cruelty, put in his Economics and Public Policy textbooks in the empty box and taped it up, to give the kids the impression that we never opened it. You will see why I say 'cruel' later on.
I made notes to them in their books, and we waited for the new package to arrive. This time hubby made Baby Z as the recipient.
"Ooh! It's for Z!" they exclaimed.
Again, they rattled the box to figure out what was inside.
"I think it's a toy for Z," H said, convinced with his hunch.
On Thursday, as we got news that Eid was on Friday AND Saturday, I prepared the gifts, including the newer ones for the kids. The 'mystery box' we had left sitting in its original place in the living room.
S, seasoned to hubby's tricks, said,
"Well you could have taped it up again," when I told her how could we have opened it if it's still taped shut.
"Why would we do that?" I asked her, and she gave me a grunt.
I set the gift bags on the little table in the living room downstairs, ready to surprise the kids when they come down in the morning.
Hubby went to the masjid for Fajr, and before he did, he brought the 'mystery box' upstairs and told the kids they could open it. I was still sleeping but I managed to catch him in the act out of the corner of my eyes. I remember thinking to myself,
"How cruel!" but I slept on, too exhausted from the night before to wake up immediately.
I heard the girls talking between themselves in their room as they cut the box open with scissors. Despite my exhaustion, I opened my eyes, and strained to hear their conversation.
"It's just Abi's books," I heard S say to N.
I felt like my heart was wrenched and squeezed away from me. It was a bad joke. I called N to my room and asked her,
"So what did you find in the box?"
"Oh, just Abi's boring books with highlights in them," she replied. I fought down a bubbling chuckle. She left and headed downstairs.
H was still asleep. By then, I was sorely curious, so I got up and squatted at the top of the stairs, trying to make out the girls' conversation. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear much because Baby Z was too busy making lip vibrations in the room, drowning out the sounds of his sisters' soft voices. Just great! I have girls who have soft voices and boys who are loud. I guess if H were awake I would have at least been able to hear what was being said. That boy is loud.
I decided to jump on them, so I came down the stairs quickly, giving them no time to run and hide. S and N were sitting on the couch, already reading their books. When they realized I was coming down, they tried to run and hide but it was too late.
"What are you guys doing?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
They grinned and giggled.
When hubby came back, I told him what happened.
Oh, that was a very cruel joke. I would never have done it, though it did provide some early morning entertainment on Eid day. As for Baby Z, I could have done without his loud sputtering and continuous saliva bubbles, hindering my eavesdropping mission.
And, S, N, H! I know you're reading this!!!
Ready for a Celebration!
This is what our staircase looks like (yes, present tense) by the time Eid came. It still looks like this now, as I didn't bother taking everything down. I have a feeling they're going to stay up there until we have to move and I have to start packing.
It's a gallery of sorts, and I rather love the feeling of festivity. I have always loved putting up framed art in the home, but due to frugalness, I only put one piece up. As we homeschooled, I have taken to putting up the kids' masterpieces as wall decor.
Yesterday we attended one of the local masjid's Eid celebration for kids, big bouncy castles, slides, pony rides and carnival games. They used to have it at Masjid Omar, but this year's Masjid Al Noor hosted it. We went kind of late because we had gone out earlier in the morning for H's last soccer game for the season followed by grocery shopping, and library visits.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Reflecting and pondering
It's simply amazing how interest can drive pursuit of learning in an individual We have decided to begin our experimental unit study on the Solar System. They recently boutgh a set of planets whcih they hung on the ceiling in planetary order. I'm amazed at how they know the order without me teaching them, and to think how laboriously I had struggled and toiled to teach them some lessons in Science and History only ending up with blank stares.
From my readings, I concluded "We're here not to teach, but to guide."
This is because children have a natural inclination to explore the world around them. In a Montessori home or classroom, (from what I understand) the environment is filled with materials that encourage and help learning.
Testing destroys a child's pleasure in learning. In the Glenn Doman method, testing is simply prohibited, and if done, should be done in a way that is not crushing to the child's self worth. In the mainstream educational system, grades are the epitome of education. How often do you hear people asking,
"So what's your CGPA?"
"Oh, you graduated with honors?"
"How many A's did you get" (in Malaysia particularly)
As for socialization, I've read some mothers' responses to it as,
"Yes, we do care about socialization. That's why we homeschool!"
Put in this way, it can be seen that cordoning children in an enclosed building every day of the weekdays, grouped with kids the same age, is actually a barrier to normal socialization. Socializing then needs a definition.
Basically when kids 'make friends' they are socializing, but it's not necessarily socialization. Socialization is learning the skills of interacting with people with manners. Enclosed in a building with other kids the same age, I do agree that kids end up being very cliquish, disrespect their teachers, and pick up 'socialization don'ts' from their peers.
When people say,
"They need to be around kids their own age,"
what do they really want for their kids?
The prophet SAW used to tag along with his grandfather to grown up meetings.
The scholars would learn from their shuyukh by spending time with them and observing their manners. Learning is more than mastering academics. A child may know his multiplication tables but may not have compassion for others. Which brings me to another issue: other people testing my kids.
I guess I've never had anyone actually explicitly trying to test my kids, after knowing they're homeschooled. However, I always worry that they would because that would destroy the whole concept of homeschooling.
I've had people berate me in public for homeschooling my kids (in a grocery store), and I've had disapproving looks thrown at me. Sometimes I even avoid mentioning anything about homeschooling, and I've even adapted answers to questions. Some people would ask
"Why do you homeschool?"
sincerely wanting to know the answer, and to these people I would be sincere in my answer.
But some people only ask so they can attack my answer with their own rebuttals, and to these people, I give them what I feel they want to hear (for there are many reasons why I homeschool) thus I'm not lying, technically. I also don't waste my time with these people, so I don't even bother explaining. Mostly though, I don't say much when asked because as it is, I myself am still finding out for myself the many aspects of homeschooling. I'm glad I stuck with it despite many a 'bad days'.
Having been dubbed with the label 'stubborn' growing up, I guess children really do behave the way parents expect them to, and if this trait of mine is extracted out of my 'stubbornness', then stubborn it is.
By the way, don't ever label your children (and that is more of a reminder to myself first and foremost!) because they really do live up to expectations around you, even if they behave otherwise when you're not around. I'm probably a living proof of that.
From my readings, I concluded "We're here not to teach, but to guide."
This is because children have a natural inclination to explore the world around them. In a Montessori home or classroom, (from what I understand) the environment is filled with materials that encourage and help learning.
Testing destroys a child's pleasure in learning. In the Glenn Doman method, testing is simply prohibited, and if done, should be done in a way that is not crushing to the child's self worth. In the mainstream educational system, grades are the epitome of education. How often do you hear people asking,
"So what's your CGPA?"
"Oh, you graduated with honors?"
"How many A's did you get" (in Malaysia particularly)
As for socialization, I've read some mothers' responses to it as,
"Yes, we do care about socialization. That's why we homeschool!"
Put in this way, it can be seen that cordoning children in an enclosed building every day of the weekdays, grouped with kids the same age, is actually a barrier to normal socialization. Socializing then needs a definition.
Basically when kids 'make friends' they are socializing, but it's not necessarily socialization. Socialization is learning the skills of interacting with people with manners. Enclosed in a building with other kids the same age, I do agree that kids end up being very cliquish, disrespect their teachers, and pick up 'socialization don'ts' from their peers.
When people say,
"They need to be around kids their own age,"
what do they really want for their kids?
The prophet SAW used to tag along with his grandfather to grown up meetings.
The scholars would learn from their shuyukh by spending time with them and observing their manners. Learning is more than mastering academics. A child may know his multiplication tables but may not have compassion for others. Which brings me to another issue: other people testing my kids.
I guess I've never had anyone actually explicitly trying to test my kids, after knowing they're homeschooled. However, I always worry that they would because that would destroy the whole concept of homeschooling.
I've had people berate me in public for homeschooling my kids (in a grocery store), and I've had disapproving looks thrown at me. Sometimes I even avoid mentioning anything about homeschooling, and I've even adapted answers to questions. Some people would ask
"Why do you homeschool?"
sincerely wanting to know the answer, and to these people I would be sincere in my answer.
But some people only ask so they can attack my answer with their own rebuttals, and to these people, I give them what I feel they want to hear (for there are many reasons why I homeschool) thus I'm not lying, technically. I also don't waste my time with these people, so I don't even bother explaining. Mostly though, I don't say much when asked because as it is, I myself am still finding out for myself the many aspects of homeschooling. I'm glad I stuck with it despite many a 'bad days'.
Having been dubbed with the label 'stubborn' growing up, I guess children really do behave the way parents expect them to, and if this trait of mine is extracted out of my 'stubbornness', then stubborn it is.
By the way, don't ever label your children (and that is more of a reminder to myself first and foremost!) because they really do live up to expectations around you, even if they behave otherwise when you're not around. I'm probably a living proof of that.
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