Hubby and I have been trying to coax H to resume going to the masjid for the hifdh with AM, but he's been consistently refusing. Today, we went from one store to the next, looking for shoes for S to wear for her horse-riding lesson that will commence on Tuesday, next week inshaallah.
We ended up at Kohl's.
Of course, being me, I fretted about his firm refusal to go.
"So you're going tonight to AM, right H?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Why?"
Let's just say it took quite some prodding to get to the core of the issue.
"You don't like going to the masjid?"
"No, it's so long!"
"You mean from Maghrib to Isha?"
He nodded.
"AM used to have free time, but not anymore."
It dawned on hubby then, what the issue was.
Apparently, before this, when H used to enjoy and look forward to going to the masjid, AM used to give them regular breaks where they could play, but not anymore.
We mulled over it, and I was reminded of the lecture I heard about parenting where you have to have positive association with acts of ibadah for children, so they will always look forward to it. In H's case, the positive association is gone. As a result, he no longer wants to go to the masjid.
Hubby said he will talk to AM about it, and as we went home, he said,
"No wonder there are not that many kids now coming to the masjid."
I had asked H, when he revealed the true reason he didn't want to go anymore,
"If AM gives you breaks like before, would you go?"
He nodded.
"You would do the Quran memorization and play?"
He nodded.
So it's not about memorizing the Quran, it's about 'just apples and no donuts'. Muhammad AlShareef uses this analogy of apples and donuts in dawah techniques, where apples refer to the hard core dawah issues (healthy) and donuts refer to the 'fun' stuff incorporated into any dawah event/activity. When it comes to attracting youths, the balance of apples and donuts is pretty important, especially today's generation.
I was worried that it was about Quran memorization, and felt a huge relief wash over me when I found out it wasn't. I have to say it felt pretty good to find out what the issue is.
Most times, parents don't take enough time to prod into matters pertaining to their children (well at least, in my experience) to find out why their children are acting up/refusing to do something. In Stephen's Covey 7 Habits, he talks about seeking to understand and then be understood. A lot of conflicts happen between parents and children when parents assume things about their children, thus not seeking to sincerely understand them. Subhanallah, we could have just forced him to go despite his adamant refusal. We could have dragged him to the masjid kicking and screaming. For all my unwise parenting moments, I can safely say that for this particular instance, inshaallah, Allah has guided me with some semblance of parental wisdom, Alhamdulillah!
Tonight he did go.
When the time came for them to go, hubby asked him,
"H, do you wanna go with the van, or the bike?"
H was playing downstairs at the time, not even ready to go to the masjid. I was trying to read as much as I could of a library book, and so I didn't look at him, but I sensed some hesitation. Alhamdulillah, he finally answered,
"Bicycle!"
When they came back, I asked him,
"So did you have fun at the masjid?"
He shook his head, but at least he wasn't sullen or physically rebelling about having to go.
That was one issue we had to deal with, alhamdulillah.
Another one came up while H and hubby were at the masjid. The kids are in the summer reading program, and today, they went to redeem their prizes, and it involved a dice. I suddenly felt uneasy about it as I was making wudhu' for Maghrib and I told the girls.
"I don't feel good about the dice today. Did you remember about the dice?"
"Yeah, I remember, but how are we going to get the bugs?"
Then, came the comment or remark that shook up my parenting world,
"It's difficult being a Muslim. You can't have tattoos, and dice."
Let me just say that I was speechless after that remark S made. Only Allah knows how much my heart felt like it was wrung out. Immediately I thought,
"Ya Allah! This is it! I'm going through what most Muslim parents go through!"
Earlier today even, as we drove through town, I was thinking to myself,
"The years ahead are probably going to be rough. The kids are growing, entering new stages, different and unfamiliar stages in their lives. I'm in for a bumpy ride."
H's issue with the masjid had triggered that train of thought in me, and S's remark just put an exclamation mark at the back of that caboose.
I gave a short response, consisting of
"That's because we're living in a kuffar country."
"Then when are we going to move to a better place?" asked N.
"I don't know. Make dua."
"I know it's difficult. It's difficult for adults too."
"No, it's more difficult for kids."
"Well, yes, but adults have a hard time too, you know. Abi could have gotten a job easily all this time and we could have been rich. There are banks and insurance companies telling him to come, but he refused because they're deep in riba'. If he had worked for them, we probably would have been rich and won't have the problem of staying here, but then, our dua might not be accepted because our source of money is haram, and whatever we eat is haram, nauzubillah. So it's difficult for adults too."
My dismay was beginning to make me angry, so I held my tongue, and stopped talking. My thoughts unraveled, and I thought of the best way to respond. I thought,
"I need to talk to them."
I didn't know what I was going to say, but I knew I had to talk to them about it, soon. I made dua that Allah give me wisdom to handle it, and for Allah to give them wisdom to bear this.
While S took her shower, I called N to my room while I nursed Baby Z.
"N, what S said just now, about how difficult it is to be a Muslim. Do you..."
I was lost for words. I had no plan, I didn't know what or how I was going to go about discussing it. I was jumping in blind.
"Agree?" she finished my sentence.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
"How is it difficult to be a Muslim?"
She prattled about some negative stuff, and it was as if a lightbulb lit up in my head,
Instead of asking her what's making it difficult, why not ask her what's fun about being a Muslim?
(Being proactive instead of reactive)
So I did. I turned the question to,
"Okay, what can you do and have you done that's fun, as a Muslim?"
It got the wheels turning, and before long, she was churning out our travels to Texas, Pennsylvania, Eid, cats, Baby Z, etc.
By the time she was done, I added to her list, and we concluded that
Hey, there are a lot of things that Muslims can do.
When we were done, I shooed her out, and hailed S.
"S, N and I were talking about the difficult being a Muslim, and we came up with...with what N?"
"A lot of cool stuff," replied N as she left the room.
So I did another 'session' with S. She listed Pennsylvania, cats, frogs, Baby Z, kissing him, hugging him, playing outside, reading, Muslim parties, eating, getting a flat tire, museums, petting animals, etc.
I did note that both mentioned our travels to Pennsylvania. Subhanallah, they seem to really cherish those trips to children's museums on our trip that happened only because of hubby's conference.
We also concluded that Muslims can do a lot of things, but with her, I added something extra.
"Even for adults, it's difficult. Some adults would say why is it that the kuffar have a good life, they live in mansions, and look at their country, so clean and modern, while Muslim countries are dirty and the people are rude, and poor. I had a friend who said that.."
"What did you tell her?" S interjected.
"I don't remember..." (I really don't remember!)
"But..basically, Allah has said in the Quran, if one asks for something good here on earth, he will get it, and if he doesn't ask for any good in the hereafter, he won't get anything. And which is more lasting? Here or the hereafter?"
I continued with moer analogies...
"You know, if you're thirsty, and you drink water because you're thirsty, and then let's say you're not thirsty, and you drink anyway. Which one feels better?"
"The first one," she said.
"So it's like that, if we live an enjoyable life here on earth, when we go to jannah, it might not....feel..."
"Worth it?"
"Yeah, kind of. But you know what I mean, right?"
"Because of that suffering, Allah will compensate us."
And I told her about the pricking of the thorn, of how our sins are erased for any pain we feel.
"I'm so scared of the punishment in the grave, that I think, oh, let me have a lot of pain now so I won't have any sins to be punished for in the grave."
"And here on earth, let's say you drink Cincau, for example, you drink it again, and it tastes the same, right? But in jannah, let's say you eat a fruit, the first time you eat it, it's SOOO good, and the second time you eat it, ahhh...the third time you eat it, it's even better! The fourth time you eat it, awesome! The fifth time you eat it, WHOA!"
S was giggling from all the expressions I manufactured with each bite of that fruit, and I joined her.
We really covered a lot during that talk, alhamdulillah.
I am reminded of what Sheikh Yaser Birjas said in the class Code of Scholars: Usul Al Fiqh last August. That we Muslims just have to be more creative and not feel restricted in not being able to do this and that. Instead we should focus on the halal things we are allowed to do. This is where we parents come in and provide these halal alternatives - part of our job description.
After we prayed Isha, N said,
"Ummi, let's hurt ourselves."
"Huh?"
"So we'll get rewarded and won't have any sins."
Aaahhh...this girl has been eavesdropping.
Showing posts with label Kid Talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kid Talk. Show all posts
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Life is an Open Secret
Hubby brought home Life is an Open Secret home a few days ago, from the OSU library, because I was asking for it. Kak Bina, my high school senior, is the author, and when I saw the book lying on the side table in the living room, I picked it up and read it immediately.
It is a very interesting and enjoyable read, and, mashaallah, Kak Bina really provoked some personal reflections in me, alhamdulillah. What is enjoyable about her book are the stories included in each chapter. I couldn't help but chuckle at some of them, jokes she had shared, and some of them I actually read out loud to the family.
I finished reading it the second day, after which I said to the kids,
"Now you can read it if you want."
They were already intrigued and curious as to the contents of the book, after I shared some of the jokes and stories with them out loud. It wasn't long before I found S reading it, pretty intently too.
"Do you like the book?" I asked her.
"I like the stories."
"Do you understand them?"
"Yeah."
Mashaallah. I had told hubby that we need to buy those Islamic fiction even if they seem to adultish for the kids, because S seems to be reading years ahead of her age. Everytime I see her read, and ask her comprehension, I think to myself,
"That Glenn Doman bit I did on her really makes a difference."
A few posts ago, I have come to the realization that maybe teaching kids to read an an earlier age is not that significant, but every time I see S reading, I am moved to think otherwise. I do think it does make a difference. Maybe it is not significant in terms of the ability to read, but maybe the significance is in the experience of reading itself, and where it can take that person. I think it even affects her Quran reading, compared to N and H. Allaahu Aalim.
Today, H picked up the book and started to read it, though he interrupted my reading numerous times with,
"What's labor?"
"Is this first person or third person?"
"The person writing this, is it a girl or a boy?"
"Are the stories true?"
To be honest, I was rather annoyed by the incessant questions, as I was feeling rather on the egde with regards to finding time for my writing today, especially. However, I am just thankful he is showing interest in reading it, just because it's not exactly a children's book.
I sure hope we get to purchasing that list of Islamic books, fiction and non fiction I had emailed hubby months ago, inshaallah.
It is a very interesting and enjoyable read, and, mashaallah, Kak Bina really provoked some personal reflections in me, alhamdulillah. What is enjoyable about her book are the stories included in each chapter. I couldn't help but chuckle at some of them, jokes she had shared, and some of them I actually read out loud to the family.
I finished reading it the second day, after which I said to the kids,
"Now you can read it if you want."
They were already intrigued and curious as to the contents of the book, after I shared some of the jokes and stories with them out loud. It wasn't long before I found S reading it, pretty intently too.
"Do you like the book?" I asked her.
"I like the stories."
"Do you understand them?"
"Yeah."
Mashaallah. I had told hubby that we need to buy those Islamic fiction even if they seem to adultish for the kids, because S seems to be reading years ahead of her age. Everytime I see her read, and ask her comprehension, I think to myself,
"That Glenn Doman bit I did on her really makes a difference."
A few posts ago, I have come to the realization that maybe teaching kids to read an an earlier age is not that significant, but every time I see S reading, I am moved to think otherwise. I do think it does make a difference. Maybe it is not significant in terms of the ability to read, but maybe the significance is in the experience of reading itself, and where it can take that person. I think it even affects her Quran reading, compared to N and H. Allaahu Aalim.
Today, H picked up the book and started to read it, though he interrupted my reading numerous times with,
"What's labor?"
"Is this first person or third person?"
"The person writing this, is it a girl or a boy?"
"Are the stories true?"
To be honest, I was rather annoyed by the incessant questions, as I was feeling rather on the egde with regards to finding time for my writing today, especially. However, I am just thankful he is showing interest in reading it, just because it's not exactly a children's book.
I sure hope we get to purchasing that list of Islamic books, fiction and non fiction I had emailed hubby months ago, inshaallah.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Will we get to keep the crutches?
Saturday, May 17, around 6 p.m., I was lounging in the living room, reading, when I noticed a burly man with shaggy blond hair parking his car right in front of our apartment. I peeked in through the lacy curtains, and heard him say,
"F," and my ears perked up. He was mentioning hubby's name.
Few seconds later, hubby appeared from the passenger seat, one leg bent, and limping.
I thought to myself, "Oh no! What happened?! It must be bad because hubby is not one to need help such as that with simple sprains. This must be bad!"
Well, I urged him to go to the ER, against his soccer buddies' advice.
"Just go on Monday. You'll be waiting for hours if you go today," they said.
My motherly instinct was appalled at the advice, and hubby, being a man, of course agreed with his buddies. I insisted on at least calling a doctor or the ER to ask if he needs to go or what to do and how to take care of his leg.
"Yes, sir, yes!" was the reply of the ER nurse, when he called and asked if he should go.
It turned out he has a stretched ligament. We were actually thinking it must be a torn ligament. We were expecting the worst, with surgery, so alhamdulillah, it was a stretched ligament, though they skipped the X-ray because a trauma just came in, so hubby's case became low priority.
Hubby came back with a knee brace, and silver metal crutches, which I didn't see until much later, because it was maghrib when he came home and we were busy getting ready to pray.
So, our tennis Sundays are no more. We stayed home the whole day yesterday.
The kids were pretty awed I suppose by all that happened. When hubby was at he ER, Sh called me to update me on hubby's condition, since T had driven hubby to the ER. It was then that I found outhe had a stretched ligament. I told the kids. Naturally, we went a-googling.
ACL, PCL, LCL, MCL, we got it down to a pat, at least H did, and when hubby came home with home care instructions that also included an explanation of the injuries, the terms referring to the four ligaments above were already familiar to H, as I heard him state with utmost confidence,
"Oh yeah, I saw that!"
Before hubby came home, we talked about hubby's future with soccer.
"Abi can't ride the bike? Then I can't go to the masjid with the bike anymore."
"Are you sad if Abi can't play soccer anymore?" I asked H.
"Yes, because then he can't practice with me anymore."
I also expressed my disdain at hubby's involvement in soccer, that after a certain point becomes a burden to me. H said to me,
"You say that because you never played soccer. It's fun."
He's right. Maybe I've never been able to put myself in hubby's shoes. They're too big.
H, as is typical of any boy his age, bombards hubby with his questions.
"Will we get to keep it after you're done with it?" referring to the crutches.
"Will we get to play with knee brace too?"
H probably thinks all this is 'cool'.
The only thing I feel sorry for the kids for is that we most probably have to forgo our planned trip to Southern Illinois University for the Malaysian Midwest games since hubby is in no shape to drive a 7-hour journey with his crutches, and I'm not going to drive, no thank you! We had already bought blank papers for them to use on the trip, and they had already created their own handmade 'notebooks' using those papers.
I told them last night,
"Maybe if we go, something bad will happen to us, and so that is why this happened. Allah is saving us from a worse thing."
To which hubby added,
"Your mom doesn't want me to play soccer next week. Allah loves her so much that..."
and I burst out laughing. I did tell him not to play soccer next week if he could help it because I had two articles to submit by this weekend, and I was also studying for an exam that alhamdulillah I took last weekend. Hubby had been sneaking out to play soccer day after day, which I personally think is going overboard, and let's just say, it felt like Iowa all over again to me.
Well, it seems like, now, he's not going anywhere, for a while, and in the meantime, I'm going to have to bear a lot more manual labor which hubby used to take care of. Alhamdulillah ala kulli hal. Maybe I'll lose more weight this way.
"F," and my ears perked up. He was mentioning hubby's name.
Few seconds later, hubby appeared from the passenger seat, one leg bent, and limping.
I thought to myself, "Oh no! What happened?! It must be bad because hubby is not one to need help such as that with simple sprains. This must be bad!"
Well, I urged him to go to the ER, against his soccer buddies' advice.
"Just go on Monday. You'll be waiting for hours if you go today," they said.
My motherly instinct was appalled at the advice, and hubby, being a man, of course agreed with his buddies. I insisted on at least calling a doctor or the ER to ask if he needs to go or what to do and how to take care of his leg.
"Yes, sir, yes!" was the reply of the ER nurse, when he called and asked if he should go.
It turned out he has a stretched ligament. We were actually thinking it must be a torn ligament. We were expecting the worst, with surgery, so alhamdulillah, it was a stretched ligament, though they skipped the X-ray because a trauma just came in, so hubby's case became low priority.
Hubby came back with a knee brace, and silver metal crutches, which I didn't see until much later, because it was maghrib when he came home and we were busy getting ready to pray.
So, our tennis Sundays are no more. We stayed home the whole day yesterday.
The kids were pretty awed I suppose by all that happened. When hubby was at he ER, Sh called me to update me on hubby's condition, since T had driven hubby to the ER. It was then that I found outhe had a stretched ligament. I told the kids. Naturally, we went a-googling.
ACL, PCL, LCL, MCL, we got it down to a pat, at least H did, and when hubby came home with home care instructions that also included an explanation of the injuries, the terms referring to the four ligaments above were already familiar to H, as I heard him state with utmost confidence,
"Oh yeah, I saw that!"
Before hubby came home, we talked about hubby's future with soccer.
"Abi can't ride the bike? Then I can't go to the masjid with the bike anymore."
"Are you sad if Abi can't play soccer anymore?" I asked H.
"Yes, because then he can't practice with me anymore."
I also expressed my disdain at hubby's involvement in soccer, that after a certain point becomes a burden to me. H said to me,
"You say that because you never played soccer. It's fun."
He's right. Maybe I've never been able to put myself in hubby's shoes. They're too big.
H, as is typical of any boy his age, bombards hubby with his questions.
"Will we get to keep it after you're done with it?" referring to the crutches.
"Will we get to play with knee brace too?"
H probably thinks all this is 'cool'.
The only thing I feel sorry for the kids for is that we most probably have to forgo our planned trip to Southern Illinois University for the Malaysian Midwest games since hubby is in no shape to drive a 7-hour journey with his crutches, and I'm not going to drive, no thank you! We had already bought blank papers for them to use on the trip, and they had already created their own handmade 'notebooks' using those papers.
I told them last night,
"Maybe if we go, something bad will happen to us, and so that is why this happened. Allah is saving us from a worse thing."
To which hubby added,
"Your mom doesn't want me to play soccer next week. Allah loves her so much that..."
and I burst out laughing. I did tell him not to play soccer next week if he could help it because I had two articles to submit by this weekend, and I was also studying for an exam that alhamdulillah I took last weekend. Hubby had been sneaking out to play soccer day after day, which I personally think is going overboard, and let's just say, it felt like Iowa all over again to me.
Well, it seems like, now, he's not going anywhere, for a while, and in the meantime, I'm going to have to bear a lot more manual labor which hubby used to take care of. Alhamdulillah ala kulli hal. Maybe I'll lose more weight this way.
Monday, May 12, 2008
We'll Die Muslims
May 11, 2008, yesterday, Mother's Day. It was a rainy Sunday, and I was quite disappointed not being able to have our usual Tennis Sunday. Hubby went back to sleep, and I bustled in the kitchen.
As hubby was doing the dishes after lunch, the tornado siren went off. I turned to look at the kids, and S's expression was that of bewilderment.
"But it's not Wednesday..." she said, referring to the weekly drill usually on Wednesday noons.
"Turn on the TV! Turn on the TV!"
We turned it on. Thinking back, it's pretty funny how we seem to have gotten out of touch with the television. I found myself fumbling with the remote, not remembering which button was for what.
We saw an area of dark red surrounded by yellow and then green. It was to the north of us though.
The kids huddled around the TV, and H exclaimed,
"Let's take cover!"
"No, we have to pray Zuhr first," I said, seeing that the storm was moving northeast, and we were safely to the southeast of it, alhamdulillah, though of course, a funnel cloud can easily form elsewhere with no warning.
"Make du'a," I said, as they chattered rather excitedly about the prospect of a tornado coming our way.
"We should take our wallets...you know, in case everything else is destroyed," H offered a slice of wisdom. As he said that, he looked around the living room.
"Where should we go?"
"In the office, under the stairs, since we don't have a basement," I said.
"You can go and nap under the stairs," suggested hubby, as after Zuhr is their naptime. We have taken to having them take naps because they wake up for Fajr and stay up till Isha, which are respectively becoming earlier and later as we approach summer.
N readily took her pillow, with an assortment of her cuddly toy cats, and headed for the storage room under the stairs we call the 'office', or what used to be my office.
Alhamdulillah though, even though they kept the siren on for a good while, the storm had moved northeast and away from us, and we napped the afternoon away, biiznillah. I remember saying the du'a for rain earlier in the morning as I nursed baby Z for his morning nap. Subhanallah, the kids had forgotten the du'a for when there is thunderstorm. That should be something we should work on next inshaallah.
Later on in the day, H said to me,
"S had a good dream about tornado. Maybe that means we're gonna die Muslims!"
I couldn't help smiling yet rendered speechless by this analysis of H's. He seemed to at ease with the issue of death, and his pleasure to die as a Muslim was rather refreshing. I'm not sure if he truly understood, but, well, maybe he does, in his own way. Maybe he does, mashaallah.
At night, S said, as she lay in bed, while I tidied up the computer table,
"Today was Mother's Day. Maybe the tornado was because Allah was angry at them."
"For what?" I asked, rummaging in the semi darkness for scattered pens and markers strewn across the table.
"For celebrating Mother's Day," she continued.
Again, I was speechless.
"Erm...I don't know about that," I replied.
This morning, I read this on the news. Allahu Akbar, Alhamdulillah for protecting us from such destruction. I remember the days in Iowa when we would be visited by potential funnel clouds, especially in the summer. I have witnessed hail, which completely left my small flower garden in a beautiful yet destructed state, and alhamdulillah not more.
As hubby was doing the dishes after lunch, the tornado siren went off. I turned to look at the kids, and S's expression was that of bewilderment.
"But it's not Wednesday..." she said, referring to the weekly drill usually on Wednesday noons.
"Turn on the TV! Turn on the TV!"
We turned it on. Thinking back, it's pretty funny how we seem to have gotten out of touch with the television. I found myself fumbling with the remote, not remembering which button was for what.
We saw an area of dark red surrounded by yellow and then green. It was to the north of us though.
The kids huddled around the TV, and H exclaimed,
"Let's take cover!"
"No, we have to pray Zuhr first," I said, seeing that the storm was moving northeast, and we were safely to the southeast of it, alhamdulillah, though of course, a funnel cloud can easily form elsewhere with no warning.
"Make du'a," I said, as they chattered rather excitedly about the prospect of a tornado coming our way.
"We should take our wallets...you know, in case everything else is destroyed," H offered a slice of wisdom. As he said that, he looked around the living room.
"Where should we go?"
"In the office, under the stairs, since we don't have a basement," I said.
"You can go and nap under the stairs," suggested hubby, as after Zuhr is their naptime. We have taken to having them take naps because they wake up for Fajr and stay up till Isha, which are respectively becoming earlier and later as we approach summer.
N readily took her pillow, with an assortment of her cuddly toy cats, and headed for the storage room under the stairs we call the 'office', or what used to be my office.
Alhamdulillah though, even though they kept the siren on for a good while, the storm had moved northeast and away from us, and we napped the afternoon away, biiznillah. I remember saying the du'a for rain earlier in the morning as I nursed baby Z for his morning nap. Subhanallah, the kids had forgotten the du'a for when there is thunderstorm. That should be something we should work on next inshaallah.
Later on in the day, H said to me,
"S had a good dream about tornado. Maybe that means we're gonna die Muslims!"
I couldn't help smiling yet rendered speechless by this analysis of H's. He seemed to at ease with the issue of death, and his pleasure to die as a Muslim was rather refreshing. I'm not sure if he truly understood, but, well, maybe he does, in his own way. Maybe he does, mashaallah.
At night, S said, as she lay in bed, while I tidied up the computer table,
"Today was Mother's Day. Maybe the tornado was because Allah was angry at them."
"For what?" I asked, rummaging in the semi darkness for scattered pens and markers strewn across the table.
"For celebrating Mother's Day," she continued.
Again, I was speechless.
"Erm...I don't know about that," I replied.
This morning, I read this on the news. Allahu Akbar, Alhamdulillah for protecting us from such destruction. I remember the days in Iowa when we would be visited by potential funnel clouds, especially in the summer. I have witnessed hail, which completely left my small flower garden in a beautiful yet destructed state, and alhamdulillah not more.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping? S & H, S & H...
H often talks in his sleep. S does too. I do too. I've even cried and laughed in my sleep, freaking hubby out, who thought I was possessed by jinn, nauzubillah.
One night, H had already fallen asleep on the top bunk, while S and N were still awake on the bottom bunk. I was gathering my stuff from the computer table to bring downstairs. Suddenly, H uttered something. Reactively, I asked,
"Huh?"
He moved and peeked at at S below, and said,
"Just think of someone."
Then he lay back down on his pillow and slept, or as I realized it then, continued sleeping.
I chuckled, and S's puzzled expression turned to one of amusement and then mirth. As I walked out the door, I was still chuckling. I wondered what he was dreaming about.
There was once when he was busy memorizing Surah Mutafifeen, and was stuck at this one ayah. Exhausted, he fell asleep on the couch while the rest of us bustled around the kitchen and living room for dinner. Suddenly, eyes still closed, he recited that 'problem' ayah out loud. A pity I can't recall the exact ayah.
The other night, the kids were all sleeping except for Baby Z, who was wailing at his diaper being changed. His diaper changing table is in the kids' room, so every night, around 11 p.m. hubby would wash his bottom under the running tap water in the tub, and head to the kids room. I happened to be there that night, with hubby and Baby Z when suddenly, S reached out both hands in Baby Z's direction, just as she always did whenever she wanted to pick him up. Her eyes were still closed though. I stood there agape, and turned to hubby, who had also witnessed it.
I stifled a bubbling giggle as I realized what had happened. Hubby, as usual, expert at making a joke out of almost everything, grabbed Lucy/Lucky (the big fluffy cream-colored teddy bear) and handed it to sleeping S. She took it and continued sleeping, unaware that her parents were laughing at her.
Talking in your sleep is pretty normal to me. Crying in your sleep is normal for me. I don't do it all the time, but I have done it, of course not on purpose. Laughing in your sleep is pretty bizarre, and I've only done it once so far. Nevertheless, loving your baby brother so much that even in your sleep, you respond to his cries by reaching out your arms to embrace him is ... amazing? (for lack of a better word, which seems to be eluding me this late at night).
One night, H had already fallen asleep on the top bunk, while S and N were still awake on the bottom bunk. I was gathering my stuff from the computer table to bring downstairs. Suddenly, H uttered something. Reactively, I asked,
"Huh?"
He moved and peeked at at S below, and said,
"Just think of someone."
Then he lay back down on his pillow and slept, or as I realized it then, continued sleeping.
I chuckled, and S's puzzled expression turned to one of amusement and then mirth. As I walked out the door, I was still chuckling. I wondered what he was dreaming about.
There was once when he was busy memorizing Surah Mutafifeen, and was stuck at this one ayah. Exhausted, he fell asleep on the couch while the rest of us bustled around the kitchen and living room for dinner. Suddenly, eyes still closed, he recited that 'problem' ayah out loud. A pity I can't recall the exact ayah.
The other night, the kids were all sleeping except for Baby Z, who was wailing at his diaper being changed. His diaper changing table is in the kids' room, so every night, around 11 p.m. hubby would wash his bottom under the running tap water in the tub, and head to the kids room. I happened to be there that night, with hubby and Baby Z when suddenly, S reached out both hands in Baby Z's direction, just as she always did whenever she wanted to pick him up. Her eyes were still closed though. I stood there agape, and turned to hubby, who had also witnessed it.
I stifled a bubbling giggle as I realized what had happened. Hubby, as usual, expert at making a joke out of almost everything, grabbed Lucy/Lucky (the big fluffy cream-colored teddy bear) and handed it to sleeping S. She took it and continued sleeping, unaware that her parents were laughing at her.
Talking in your sleep is pretty normal to me. Crying in your sleep is normal for me. I don't do it all the time, but I have done it, of course not on purpose. Laughing in your sleep is pretty bizarre, and I've only done it once so far. Nevertheless, loving your baby brother so much that even in your sleep, you respond to his cries by reaching out your arms to embrace him is ... amazing? (for lack of a better word, which seems to be eluding me this late at night).
Thursday, April 03, 2008
New Word on the Block
"Whoa!"
"Z hadhlahed!"
"Go get kitchen tissue, N. H get me baking soda from the bathroom," I ordered, while assessing the extent of damage done by Baby Z's projectile vomiting.
He is running a fever again, with very labored breathing, that I fear another onset of pneumonia. Last night, he was screaming, pushing, flinging himself in frusration of not being able to sleep peacefully without breathing problems. Once, while hubby was holding him on his chest, Baby Z flung himself so hard that his head hit the wall behind hubby's head. Suffice it to say, neither of us (hubby, myself and Baby Z) had much sleep last night.
This morning, while I made up some of lost sleep after Fajr, the kids watched Baby Z. I only woke up to call hubby and ask if he had made an appointment for Baby Z to see the pediatrician today. I nursed Baby Z on one side, and he fell asleep, but when I put him down, he woke up and cried because he couldn't breathe that well.
I handed him to S, who was sitting on her bed doing her schoolwork. She sat him in her lap while I proceeded to measure 1.25mL of Ibuprofen for his fever. His tummy had looked inconspicuously huge to me since last night, but what occurred next was still astounding.
It was as if the Maarib dam broke again, only this time, a gushing flow of white milk escaped.
It is not the vomit that is the subject of this post here, but it was what I uttered in spontaneous reaction as I took stock of the situation.
"He hadhlahed," I said, without thinking.
"His hadhlah ..."
Apparently I couldn't stop using the word.
"Ummi said hadhlah!" H shouted in amusement as he bounded to the bathroom to get the baking soda.
S grinned, apparently amused too.
I didn't think twice about it, but I guess this new vocabulary they had created a while back has made its way into my pantry of 'in-the-house-word'.
"Z hadhlahed!"
"Go get kitchen tissue, N. H get me baking soda from the bathroom," I ordered, while assessing the extent of damage done by Baby Z's projectile vomiting.
He is running a fever again, with very labored breathing, that I fear another onset of pneumonia. Last night, he was screaming, pushing, flinging himself in frusration of not being able to sleep peacefully without breathing problems. Once, while hubby was holding him on his chest, Baby Z flung himself so hard that his head hit the wall behind hubby's head. Suffice it to say, neither of us (hubby, myself and Baby Z) had much sleep last night.
This morning, while I made up some of lost sleep after Fajr, the kids watched Baby Z. I only woke up to call hubby and ask if he had made an appointment for Baby Z to see the pediatrician today. I nursed Baby Z on one side, and he fell asleep, but when I put him down, he woke up and cried because he couldn't breathe that well.
I handed him to S, who was sitting on her bed doing her schoolwork. She sat him in her lap while I proceeded to measure 1.25mL of Ibuprofen for his fever. His tummy had looked inconspicuously huge to me since last night, but what occurred next was still astounding.
It was as if the Maarib dam broke again, only this time, a gushing flow of white milk escaped.
It is not the vomit that is the subject of this post here, but it was what I uttered in spontaneous reaction as I took stock of the situation.
"He hadhlahed," I said, without thinking.
"His hadhlah ..."
Apparently I couldn't stop using the word.
"Ummi said hadhlah!" H shouted in amusement as he bounded to the bathroom to get the baking soda.
S grinned, apparently amused too.
I didn't think twice about it, but I guess this new vocabulary they had created a while back has made its way into my pantry of 'in-the-house-word'.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Baby Z's preference
Baby Z was diagnosed with pneumonia yesterday. On Sunday evening his fever started. His temperature reached 104 F, and at that point he was very red in the face, burning hot, fussy, and unable to sleep.
Yesterday, we spent about 2 hours at the doctor's office, as Baby Z had to be xrayed, and injected with the fist dose of antibiotic for the pneumonia. We went to the doctor's office before 9 am and came home around 11:30 am. I told the kids to do as much school as they could on their own, since I didn't have much sleep myself the night before. Alhamdulillah they did, though it was probably more of a 'fun' day for them.
While I napped with Baby Z, they played outside, constructed their igloo, went sledding on a nearby pseudo hill which we had realized was existent. For Baby Z though, it was far from fun. His fever spiked up again and again. He didn't want to eat, and he developed random temporary affinities for certain people.
Last night, while we were praying, baby Z was sitting in front of us but behind hubby. He kept tugging at hubby's leg, and would cry when we took him. When we were done, he hedl out his arms towards hubby, indicating that he wanted Abi to take him. Obviously he expressed his preference, refusing the rest of us.
At another time, when I was holding him, he fidgeted and looked for S. When he saw her, he reached out both hands towards her, indicating that he wanted her to hold him. She took him, and he immediately laid his head against her chest and wrapped his arms about her shoulders and neck. Subhanallah! The babe only needs me for milk!
S once said to me,
"I think it's going to be a problem if he's too attached to me."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because then when he grows up, he's gonna want me all the time, and I won't be able to do anything."
"Well, that's good for me then, huh?" I grinned.
Both my girls are fond of babies, just like I was when I was a child. I worried that H might not be too fond of them, since he was always complaining about toddlers bothering him while he was praying at the masjid, but alhamdulillah he now dotes over his 'best buddy'. I wanted more babies, even though I knew the hardship that comes with it. I worried about how I was going to homeschool with a new baby, but the fact that Allah gave me one indicates that I do have the strength to bear all these hardships, for Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear. So, even though homeschooling is a little 'crazy' sometimes, with a baby who has extensive eczema, multiple allergies which affect his sleep schedule and such, I do see the ups of it.
The kids simply adore their little brother, mashaallah! The moment they hear even a peep out of him from my room, signifying that he's up from his nap, they would stop their school work, look up at me and ask eagerly,
"Can we take Z?"
If I give a nod, all of them would race to my room, and Baby Z would be greeted with three eager, smiling faces, each fighting to hold him.
All of them feed Baby Z his non breastmilk meals, each taking a turn for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though they do try to get out of it sometimes, claiming that s/he had already done it for breakfast and that it was his/her turn next, they do still feed him. It's no surprise then that Baby Z is attached to S, because she also changes his diaper whenever I ask her to, and she basically does everything except nurse him.
So even though I am facing these daily hardships with Baby Z while homeschooling, Allah does make easy other things, subhanallah.
Now, may Allah heal and cure his pneumonia, for only He can cure. Ameen.
Yesterday, we spent about 2 hours at the doctor's office, as Baby Z had to be xrayed, and injected with the fist dose of antibiotic for the pneumonia. We went to the doctor's office before 9 am and came home around 11:30 am. I told the kids to do as much school as they could on their own, since I didn't have much sleep myself the night before. Alhamdulillah they did, though it was probably more of a 'fun' day for them.
While I napped with Baby Z, they played outside, constructed their igloo, went sledding on a nearby pseudo hill which we had realized was existent. For Baby Z though, it was far from fun. His fever spiked up again and again. He didn't want to eat, and he developed random temporary affinities for certain people.
Last night, while we were praying, baby Z was sitting in front of us but behind hubby. He kept tugging at hubby's leg, and would cry when we took him. When we were done, he hedl out his arms towards hubby, indicating that he wanted Abi to take him. Obviously he expressed his preference, refusing the rest of us.
At another time, when I was holding him, he fidgeted and looked for S. When he saw her, he reached out both hands towards her, indicating that he wanted her to hold him. She took him, and he immediately laid his head against her chest and wrapped his arms about her shoulders and neck. Subhanallah! The babe only needs me for milk!
S once said to me,
"I think it's going to be a problem if he's too attached to me."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because then when he grows up, he's gonna want me all the time, and I won't be able to do anything."
"Well, that's good for me then, huh?" I grinned.
Both my girls are fond of babies, just like I was when I was a child. I worried that H might not be too fond of them, since he was always complaining about toddlers bothering him while he was praying at the masjid, but alhamdulillah he now dotes over his 'best buddy'. I wanted more babies, even though I knew the hardship that comes with it. I worried about how I was going to homeschool with a new baby, but the fact that Allah gave me one indicates that I do have the strength to bear all these hardships, for Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear. So, even though homeschooling is a little 'crazy' sometimes, with a baby who has extensive eczema, multiple allergies which affect his sleep schedule and such, I do see the ups of it.
The kids simply adore their little brother, mashaallah! The moment they hear even a peep out of him from my room, signifying that he's up from his nap, they would stop their school work, look up at me and ask eagerly,
"Can we take Z?"
If I give a nod, all of them would race to my room, and Baby Z would be greeted with three eager, smiling faces, each fighting to hold him.
All of them feed Baby Z his non breastmilk meals, each taking a turn for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though they do try to get out of it sometimes, claiming that s/he had already done it for breakfast and that it was his/her turn next, they do still feed him. It's no surprise then that Baby Z is attached to S, because she also changes his diaper whenever I ask her to, and she basically does everything except nurse him.
So even though I am facing these daily hardships with Baby Z while homeschooling, Allah does make easy other things, subhanallah.
Now, may Allah heal and cure his pneumonia, for only He can cure. Ameen.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Me = Miss Declutta?
Toys by H
Toys are the best,
better than a nest,
I sometimes go to toys R us
but parents don't let us
S, N and I
will just die,
because the fun is lost,
just of the cost
so now all is gone,
'cause miss declutta is here!
I giggled when I read this, and I was a bit indignant too! Fancy my son calling me Miss Declutta (declutter, hubby-style). In exasperation, I have been decluttering their room as of late, several times, whenever they fail to listen to me to clean their room. In dismay they have watched me throw some of their 'creations' away, and I told them that they can't buy new toys, even with their own money, until they learn to keep their room clean, thus the poem above. Our apartment is really being overloaded. The three kids are growing and their clothes are getting bigger, such that the little towel closet cannot neatly contain their clothes anymore. Such a contrast from the times when they were younger; one small shelf was sufficient to harbor each child's clothes.
"I don't like it when my closet's messy, but there's no space to put them," N complained.
OHVA books and materials are not helping either. They send us the kids' books, and if two kids are ding the same thing they one for each child, which just decreases space in our tiny abode. I was assessing their shelf space last night and it did occur to me that were I to get rid of the OHVA books, the room and the whole apartment would get more space, but alas, we have to keep these books until K12 announces it is time to return them, which usually is sometimes in June. How I can't wait to be done!
Then there's my baking paraphernalia. When they were younger, I used to bake, and decorate cakes, so over the years, I have accumulated various cake decorating tools, flower making tools, and many-shaped pans. Ever since Baby Z was diagnosed with multiple allergies, I have stopped baking. Just cooking alone is a feat for me now as I have to be careful of what I put in the food. So all the baking paraphernalia is also taking up space. I had asked S,
"Do you want to bake ? Because if you don't I want to put all the baking stuff away in boxes until we move."
She shook her head. I was surprised and disappointed, because she is able to bake on her own, and I somewhat expected her to do the baking now that I can't even eat anything with eggs.
Then there is my sewing paraphernalia. When they were younger, I used to try my hand at sewing and quilting, and now crocheting. Suffice it to say, we have lots of unused fabric which I have accumulated over the years. I was too scared to cut them for fear of ruining them, but I have also managed to make some clothes for the girls, rag dolls, curtains for the apartment, and other home decor stuff. So it's still an ongoing thing - sewing.
Then there are the books. These are things I cannot part with. Our living room probably looks like a library! And now that all the kids are avid readers, we always have library books filling up the two boxes we have allocated on one shelf in the living room and the two boxes upstairs in their room. And I've even thrown out some of my old Enid Blyton books that had sentimental values.
It's actually a cross between these two factors: we're outgrowing the apartment & we have too much stuff.
That's what happens when you like to stay home all the time and develop more than one hobby. So...here comes Miss Declutta!
Toys are the best,
better than a nest,
I sometimes go to toys R us
but parents don't let us
S, N and I
will just die,
because the fun is lost,
just of the cost
so now all is gone,
'cause miss declutta is here!
I giggled when I read this, and I was a bit indignant too! Fancy my son calling me Miss Declutta (declutter, hubby-style). In exasperation, I have been decluttering their room as of late, several times, whenever they fail to listen to me to clean their room. In dismay they have watched me throw some of their 'creations' away, and I told them that they can't buy new toys, even with their own money, until they learn to keep their room clean, thus the poem above. Our apartment is really being overloaded. The three kids are growing and their clothes are getting bigger, such that the little towel closet cannot neatly contain their clothes anymore. Such a contrast from the times when they were younger; one small shelf was sufficient to harbor each child's clothes.
"I don't like it when my closet's messy, but there's no space to put them," N complained.
OHVA books and materials are not helping either. They send us the kids' books, and if two kids are ding the same thing they one for each child, which just decreases space in our tiny abode. I was assessing their shelf space last night and it did occur to me that were I to get rid of the OHVA books, the room and the whole apartment would get more space, but alas, we have to keep these books until K12 announces it is time to return them, which usually is sometimes in June. How I can't wait to be done!
Then there's my baking paraphernalia. When they were younger, I used to bake, and decorate cakes, so over the years, I have accumulated various cake decorating tools, flower making tools, and many-shaped pans. Ever since Baby Z was diagnosed with multiple allergies, I have stopped baking. Just cooking alone is a feat for me now as I have to be careful of what I put in the food. So all the baking paraphernalia is also taking up space. I had asked S,
"Do you want to bake ? Because if you don't I want to put all the baking stuff away in boxes until we move."
She shook her head. I was surprised and disappointed, because she is able to bake on her own, and I somewhat expected her to do the baking now that I can't even eat anything with eggs.
Then there is my sewing paraphernalia. When they were younger, I used to try my hand at sewing and quilting, and now crocheting. Suffice it to say, we have lots of unused fabric which I have accumulated over the years. I was too scared to cut them for fear of ruining them, but I have also managed to make some clothes for the girls, rag dolls, curtains for the apartment, and other home decor stuff. So it's still an ongoing thing - sewing.
Then there are the books. These are things I cannot part with. Our living room probably looks like a library! And now that all the kids are avid readers, we always have library books filling up the two boxes we have allocated on one shelf in the living room and the two boxes upstairs in their room. And I've even thrown out some of my old Enid Blyton books that had sentimental values.
It's actually a cross between these two factors: we're outgrowing the apartment & we have too much stuff.
That's what happens when you like to stay home all the time and develop more than one hobby. So...here comes Miss Declutta!
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!
Friday, November 30, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
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 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!
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.
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!!!
Sunday, October 14, 2007
"It didn't feel like Eid."
"It didn't feel like Eid," they complained.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
We had spent the day going to Chuck E. Cheeses, where they got to play the games minus the crowd, and redeem their receipts for prizes, visited T and S, and entertained the brothers the whole afternoon, plus they got to goof around with Ammu B from afternoon till evening.
"There were no women," they replied.
I sighed. I had decided, for this year, that we were not going to invite both brothers and sisters because of Baby Z's bad case of eczema. His eczema is so bad that it's all over his body, unlike S's (and I had considered S's eczema to be the worst of all three of them), and it seems that it flares up, complete with hives due to unknown causes, which I have yet to discover. If I were to invite the sisters, it would just be too hectic with me having to nurse him in between entertaining people, and I wouldn't be able to just put him down anywhere (for dust mites or any other foreign particles might be the cause of his hives). It's simply easier for my husband to just invite the brothers. Plus, we already have too much ants upstairs in the kids' room (where we never had them before) that I didn't want us to eat upstairs (which would be the case were we to invite both the brothers and the sisters). The logistics just weren't working out with Baby Z's eczema.
This year's eid however was the most relaxing for me. While hubby entertained the brothers downstairs, and the kids played with Ammu B, I slept with Baby Z in our room. Sure, I had to bustle in the kitchen before, but once the pulut kuning and rice were done, I was home free.
All these years, Eids have been somewhat of a source of stress for me as I have had to prepare food for our guests the night before, most times even cooking after Fajr on the Eid day, rushing to the Eid prayers and rushing back home to receive the guests. Then, we would also be rushing to Chuck E. Cheeses with the kids so they could have their fill of Eid, which is exclusively for them. So it rather surprised me to hear them complaining that this year's Eid didn't feel like Eid.
"Our house last year was brighter, this year it's darker. There were not a lot of people."
Well, I guess, we have gotten the kids used to having a LOT of people over on Eid day, such that when we had people over so that they all have enough room to sit, the kids considered it 'not Eid enough'.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
We had spent the day going to Chuck E. Cheeses, where they got to play the games minus the crowd, and redeem their receipts for prizes, visited T and S, and entertained the brothers the whole afternoon, plus they got to goof around with Ammu B from afternoon till evening.
"There were no women," they replied.
I sighed. I had decided, for this year, that we were not going to invite both brothers and sisters because of Baby Z's bad case of eczema. His eczema is so bad that it's all over his body, unlike S's (and I had considered S's eczema to be the worst of all three of them), and it seems that it flares up, complete with hives due to unknown causes, which I have yet to discover. If I were to invite the sisters, it would just be too hectic with me having to nurse him in between entertaining people, and I wouldn't be able to just put him down anywhere (for dust mites or any other foreign particles might be the cause of his hives). It's simply easier for my husband to just invite the brothers. Plus, we already have too much ants upstairs in the kids' room (where we never had them before) that I didn't want us to eat upstairs (which would be the case were we to invite both the brothers and the sisters). The logistics just weren't working out with Baby Z's eczema.
This year's eid however was the most relaxing for me. While hubby entertained the brothers downstairs, and the kids played with Ammu B, I slept with Baby Z in our room. Sure, I had to bustle in the kitchen before, but once the pulut kuning and rice were done, I was home free.
All these years, Eids have been somewhat of a source of stress for me as I have had to prepare food for our guests the night before, most times even cooking after Fajr on the Eid day, rushing to the Eid prayers and rushing back home to receive the guests. Then, we would also be rushing to Chuck E. Cheeses with the kids so they could have their fill of Eid, which is exclusively for them. So it rather surprised me to hear them complaining that this year's Eid didn't feel like Eid.
"Our house last year was brighter, this year it's darker. There were not a lot of people."
Well, I guess, we have gotten the kids used to having a LOT of people over on Eid day, such that when we had people over so that they all have enough room to sit, the kids considered it 'not Eid enough'.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
N's charms
"Ummi, when I see you folding my clothes, I feel bad," N suddenly said while I was folding her clothes.
I was taken aback by her confession, but I was too exhausted to respond. I just smiled.
S though, piped in,
"So why don't you fold them then?"
N paused,
"Umm..."
tilted her head, looked at Baby Z whom S was holding, and said,
"Because I'm doing something else."
She was looking at Baby Z, and playing with him.
I had to laugh. S laughed.
I will never forget that 'sweetness' of N.
My mother did say she is diplomatic and sweet. Yes... N and her charms...I wonder what I did while I was pregnant with her, and I wonder where she got the charms from - probably from my MIL.
I was taken aback by her confession, but I was too exhausted to respond. I just smiled.
S though, piped in,
"So why don't you fold them then?"
N paused,
"Umm..."
tilted her head, looked at Baby Z whom S was holding, and said,
"Because I'm doing something else."
She was looking at Baby Z, and playing with him.
I had to laugh. S laughed.
I will never forget that 'sweetness' of N.
My mother did say she is diplomatic and sweet. Yes... N and her charms...I wonder what I did while I was pregnant with her, and I wonder where she got the charms from - probably from my MIL.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
"She's not a cow, okay."
It rather surprised me to see Baby Z's reactions when we read to him. I don't remember ever reading to my other kids when they were about 4 months old or younger, so I was pleasantly surprised when Baby Z gurgled, cooed, and babbled with wide eyes at the pictures.
The first time I read to him, his eyes widened and he smiled at the pictures in the book. As I turned the pages, he called out, as if speaking to the pictures.
So now, I have the kids read to him when I'm busy doing something else, or just need a break.
Yesterday, I put Baby Z on H's lap and gave H one of the books we always read to Baby Z. H, with his usual chatter, read to Baby Z, inserting his running commentary as entertainment.
At one point, the text said,
"Allah made creamy milk that come from cows.."
H followed it with his running commentary,
"But your milk is from here okay?"
He pointed to me.
"But she's not a cow, okay?"
Baby Z at the time was intently looking at the pages, cheeks plopping south, lower lip thrusting out in concentration.
I chuckled. Cow indeed. He didn't know that I actually felt like a cow on the day my milk came in, when I was squeezing out as much milk as I could to alleviate the pain.
The first time I read to him, his eyes widened and he smiled at the pictures in the book. As I turned the pages, he called out, as if speaking to the pictures.
So now, I have the kids read to him when I'm busy doing something else, or just need a break.
Yesterday, I put Baby Z on H's lap and gave H one of the books we always read to Baby Z. H, with his usual chatter, read to Baby Z, inserting his running commentary as entertainment.
At one point, the text said,
"Allah made creamy milk that come from cows.."
H followed it with his running commentary,
"But your milk is from here okay?"
He pointed to me.
"But she's not a cow, okay?"
Baby Z at the time was intently looking at the pages, cheeks plopping south, lower lip thrusting out in concentration.
I chuckled. Cow indeed. He didn't know that I actually felt like a cow on the day my milk came in, when I was squeezing out as much milk as I could to alleviate the pain.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Precious H Moments!
"So can you do it by yourself?"
"Yeah!" H replied.
As I sat upstairs in front of the computer, he did his science experiment in the kitchen, dealing with an unmarked thermometer, ice, salt, and his armpit.
I went downstairs to check on him, and he showed me a broken thermometer (not a mercury one alhamdulillah).
"Ahh! Why did you break it?" What happened?"
"It said to break it in half," he replied.
"What?" I was half laughing, half shocked, and shaking my head in disbelief.
"No! Ya Allah, H!"
"Here, see," he showed me the instructions on the screen.
"Divide the halves in half and now you have three marks on your unmarked thermometer."
That's what it said.
I burst out laughing. He took it literally.
No surprise there. He also sniffs my foot because I said,
"Paradise is under the feet of your mother."
"Yeah!" H replied.
As I sat upstairs in front of the computer, he did his science experiment in the kitchen, dealing with an unmarked thermometer, ice, salt, and his armpit.
I went downstairs to check on him, and he showed me a broken thermometer (not a mercury one alhamdulillah).
"Ahh! Why did you break it?" What happened?"
"It said to break it in half," he replied.
"What?" I was half laughing, half shocked, and shaking my head in disbelief.
"No! Ya Allah, H!"
"Here, see," he showed me the instructions on the screen.
"Divide the halves in half and now you have three marks on your unmarked thermometer."
That's what it said.
I burst out laughing. He took it literally.
No surprise there. He also sniffs my foot because I said,
"Paradise is under the feet of your mother."
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