Caring for the sick

Ever since they were small, they've been taught to care for each other when they're sick. I remember when S would sit by N's head and hold the bowl for her to throw up in. I would also tell them to bring water for the sick sibling. Alhamdulillah, throughout the years, I do believe they know how to care for each other when one of them is sick.

This really paid off last night when I was the one who was sick. We had gone out after Asr. I was feeling fine, but after a while I started feeling dizzy and my body started to ache. I had chills too. By the time we got home, I was feverish, and I spent the night under two blankets on the couch, still clad in my abaya and socks, while the family reveled in the unusually pleasant warm weather we've been having in early winter.

When I woke up, hubby and H had gone to the masjid, and S and N were sitting on the floor, reading, while Baby Z sat in his chair blabbering while sucking his hand. I motioned for S to give Baby Z to me, as I knew that he wanted to nurse. It was his bedtime. As I sat up and nursed Baby Z, S and N began to peel the clementines we had bought, one after another. S asked me if I wanted any, I weakly nodded.

Before long, both N and S were feeding me sections of clementines while I nursed Baby Z, who, in the beginning even pulled away from the nipple with each section of clementines popped in my mouth. After a while, he continued nursing, which lasted for maybe an hour.

Even while I was pregnant, the kids showed a lot of mercy to me by helping me with my socks, my shoe laces and getting me stuff I couldn't get up to get myself. Alhamdulillah.

I couldn't help but think of the story of Ibn Umar and the man who had carried his mother on back from Persia all the way to Makkah for hajj while S and N were feeding me clementines.

The man asked Ibn Umar,

"Have I repaid my mother?"

Ibn Umar replied,

"Not even by one contraction, for she did things for you out of pure love while you do this out of debt and you are just waiting for her to die."

May Allah make my girls into righteous wives and mothers and grant them a special place in Jannah.

As for my boy, he asked me,

"Ummi, are you tired?"

He may need a little more training in nurturing, but so far, he's been very well trained in doing housework from hubby's modeling, alhamdulillah.

May Allah make my boys into righteous husbands and fathers and preserve the Quran in their hearts.

Ameen.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

The Blue Van

I used to transport people to and fro. It was pretty dull. One day, a family of five visited me. They test-drove me, and immediately took me. I was elated. Now life was finally going to get interesting. They have kids!

I was immediately packed with multitudes of belongings. So packed that I thought I was going to throw up. The 'Ummi' said,

"It looks like a can of sardine."

I felt like one.

They drove me all the way south, through the Appalachian mountain range, all the way to Georgia. The three kids gave me an interesting life. two of them played scratching games all the way to Georgia that the boy developed a dimple on one cheek. There we lived for about a year. 'Ummi' drove me a lot, mostly we went to the library and Jo Ann.

On the way to the mall one Sunday, my right tire blew with a very loud pop. We veered off the highway. I fought hard to stay upright so they won't get hurt.

Then, they packed me up again, but this time, the boy didn't ride in me. Instead, he rode with 'Abi' in the U Haul truck while the girls and 'Ummi' rode in me. We went back north, through the Appalachian mountain range again. 'Ummi' wasn't too happy driving all the way up the mountain. I could sense her nervousness in the way she stepped on the accelerator.

I could hear S saying,

"Falling rock, Ummi?" as she saw the signs along the way up the mountain.

"Yes," said 'Ummi' , and I could sense her shuddering.

We reached Ohio and here we stayed for quite a while. They used me relentlessly. One winter, they brought me to the east coast. I was really tired, that one of my tire blew while they were on their way to a friend's house at night. Poor them, they didn't have a cell phone and while 'Abi' changed the tire in the dark and sleet, the rest of them stood outside and got drenched. On the way back to Ohio, I tried my hardest to keep from falling apart. My parts were clanking. I'm sure they were scared I would break down on the way home. I didn't disappoint them. They arrived home safely.

Sadly, I have grown too old for them. I keep hearing the kids saying,

"We need a new van!"

The back door was broken, and could only be opened from the outside, and only 'Abi, S and H could open it. My body parts grew worse in the clanking department, and I was even emitting a burning smell. I often heard 'Abi' and 'Ummi' discussing my condition. Worry was the utmost in their voices.

One day, they drove me to the northen part of town to see another van. They liked it, and 'Ummi' drove us home. 'Abi' drove the other van home. Ahh....it's only a matter of time then, before my fate was sealed.

"The junk yard was willing to pay 300," said 'Abi'.

I heard them discussing selling me. 'Abi' took pictures of me. I stood as proudly as I could. I had served this family well, except for the two incidents of the blown tires.

Then a man came to look me over, and he made up his mind right then and there. He wanted me. I felt sorrow seeping inside my body parts, clank and all. This was it. I was going home with this burly man. He looked nice, but I rather preferred the family.

Today, I had the chance to visit my family again. As I sat there parked in front of their apartment, with a long ladder on my back, I looked up and spied four faces looking out the window. If only they knew how happy I was to see them again, and if only I could wave and let them know how much I miss them. I could hear H's loud excited chatter. I heard something like,

"ah! he changed it! the windshield! and there's a curtain in the back window!"

I could feel love in his voice. They still love me!

As my new owner drove me away, I took one last look at the family I have been serving for 6 years, and tried to stifle back my tears. I will miss Baby Z's wails, N's non-chalant manner, S and H's quarrel. I will miss them all.

Souvenir for Big Brother

"Eww!" they screamed in unison.

They gathered around it, and recoiled at the sight. On the floor of their room lay the item of attention: Baby Z's belly stump. It had fallen right on their bedroom floor.

"Pick it up," I said.

"Eww!" they chorused again.

I emitted a chuckle and left them with the item of disgust.

A while later I came back, it was gone.

Big Bro H had put it in a huge ziploc bag and placed the ziploc bag in his three ring binder.

"See!" he exclaimed, proud of his own little souvenir from his baby brother, whom he has been waiting for to play soccer with.

I wonder how long that stump will survive in his binder. Of all of them, I never thought he would be the one to claim possession of the 'Eww' inducing item of disgust out of love for his new brother. Well, baby brothers can do wonders, I guess.

New?

"It doesn't feel like he's new," she said.

"Huh?"

I didn't understand the statement.

"It doesn't feel like Z is new," she repeated.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"There's not a lot of new stuff that we have to get," she replied.

"You mean you feel like we've had him all along?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"Because we used to get stuff for you when you were pregnant."

That coming from my eldest, the biggest help in the house. I had thought she meant that it felt like we have had Baby Z all along, even when he was in my belly, which was sweet. I had wanted a Z if it was a boy and for some time we even started to call the baby Z. On the other hand, we had trouble finding a girl name if it was a girl. The kids didn't like the name Rayyanah, which hubby wanted to spell Raeyyana, or something of that variation, to make it unique. I loved the name, and was about to embark on another girl name search towards the end of the pregnancy. I picked Rumaysa, but we didn't really agree as a family.

Alhamdulillah, Allah made it easy. Out came a boy. Z it was then.

I asked N and H if they felt like Z was new. H said yes and N said. "A little bit new."

In a way, I suppose we have had Z all along, though I keep calling him H and sometimes J.

Watching the baby

Baby Z and I went home on Sunday. I was excited for the kids. They had been waiting for this baby for quite some time. They were even skeptical over whether there was going to be a baby, after what happened with Julaybib. So the homecoming was pretty special, alhamdulillah a contrast from my homecoming with Julaybib, which was also around noon.

Hubby, my mother, S and H went to the organic store, so it was just N, me and Baby Z at home. I was exhausted, as I didn't have enough sleep the night before as Baby Z cried and only let me sleep for about one hour total.

N was sitting on our bed, looking at Baby Z. She seemed fascinated by him. As I drifted off to sleep, I told her,

"Just watch him, ok."

A few hours later, hubby came back.

"N, what're you doing? Let Ummi rest. Come," hubby whispered to her.

"But ummi said to look at the baby," she replied.

Apparently, she had spent the hours just sitting there and literally watching him sleep, never taking her eyes off him.

That was April 22. After a few weeks, everytime I wake up in the morning, it was her big eyes, long hair that hovers over me. She made it her routine to pop in my room first thing in the morning to look at Baby Z.

Safe to say, they are all in love with Baby Z.

All Puffed Up

All three of them now help me with my socks and shoes.

S helped me with my shoes at the shoe rack in the masjid foyer without me asking her to.

"Is this your daughter?" asked the lady behind me.

"Yes," I replied.

"Maa shaa Allah! Jazakillah khair! You help your mother!" she exclaimed at S.

"Need any help?"

That's the question I always hear from S nowadays.

I lay in bed yesterday because my feet and hands were swollen, and I had N and H massaging my feet.

Lunch time came. S boiled some eggs as we had nothing no meat dishes. Last weekend was a very eventful weekend as we hosted our first AlMaghrib class as a reinstated Qabeelat! Allahu Akbar! So hubby didn't have time to cook between all the running around registering people, handling financial aid money, getting tea, restraining late people from entering the auditorium, cleaning up after the event.

I stayed in bed when N and H left me to go downstairs and eat lunch. H came up with a plate of rice and a nicely peeled boiled egg for me. I didn't even ask for it, thinking I would go downstairs when I am able to.

So I had lunch in bed yesterday.

Today me feet and hands swelled again, of course and N and S massaged my feet for me. I fell asleep and they cleaned the house and did what I told them to do.

Masha Allah. Alhamdulillah. I can ask for nothing more.

Switching Roles

"Aww that's so nice!" exclaimed the nurse as she opened the door and saw hubby and N helping me with my shoes.

Few weeks ago, we were getting ready to go out. My usual trouble: putting on my socks. Help!

S helped me. I didn't really feel it then.

Today, I had to clip my toenails, but I was having trouble.

"Need any help?" asked S. She was in the midst of cleaning her room. I relented. I never imagined what happened next would happen, at least not now.

S clipped my toenails. She's 9. I'm 30. My 9 year-old daughter clipped my toenails. I remember clipping her nails while she was sleeping when she was an infant.

Socks are next. Both of my daughters, aged 9 and 8, sat at my feet and slipped on my socks with a lot of difficulty.

As they were huffing and puffing with my socks, it took me a few minutes to be taken back to the time when I was the one huffing and puffing at their little feet!

A guffaw escaped me. They both looked at me, puzzled.

"When you were small, this was what I had to do every time I had to put on your socks or shoes. Now you're doing it for me. Mashaallah!" I explained.

May Allah preserve their innocence and purity and make them among the saaliheen. Ameen.

Blessed

I feel blessed. I feel loved. This time on my back, on my knees, over the toilet bowl, staring at the ceiling in the dark while trying to quell the rising digested food up my throat has left me with more than enough time to ponder on what I have before me.

It has been ten years since I stepped into the world of the twenties. My eldest is almost 10 years old. My mother is constantly reminding me that I'm still young and energetic even though I feel worn and tatttered. Maybe that's why she keeps reminding me.

I still cannot believe my eyes when I look at the three growing beings in my house, squabbling, chatting, laughing, screaming and sleeping. I look at myself in the mirror and I see someone who has been transformed, in so many ways. I have had many personal issues with myself, and I have come to realize that Allah has bestowed on me a number of tests that have indirectly or maybe directly forced me to deal with those issues.

As I browsed through hubby's blog, I came across a post where he had listed all of our birthdates according to the Islamic calendar. I didn't even remember that I was born in Ramadan even though my mother did tell me once. I immediately thought of the blessings of that month, and I wondered if my coming into the world was blessed as well. I could have turned out very different and I still could, but nauzubillah.

Having children at a young age, I was forced to change my lifestyle, and it was a very harried life experience, though if given the choice, I would have done it all over again with some minor changes. I was forced to 'grow up' and find my inner strength within, which I never knew existed. It is true that when Allah tests you, it is within your capacity to handle it, because Allah will never burden a soul beyond what it can bear. Those tests bring out the strength in you, strength you never know you had. Subhanallah.

I have to say I missed the typical 'youth' especially here in the US, but I gained a different life experience which I now realize play a lot into my decisions and outlook. For about 7-8 years I battled with my identity, stuck in that "what do I want to be when I grow up' journey. I finally found myself alhamdulillah. I have matured but I have to say I had a delayed growth.

I have entered a new stage in my life as my children matures. They define my life ever since they were born. Not to say I don't have my own identity, but a mother I will always be. I can be soemthing else, but I will never cease being a mother. The more reason to pitch most of my energy into it as it is my investment for the hereafter.

I realize that as we move on to a new stage in our lives especially as we move into a new circle of people, I will be facing new challenges. I'm not that eager to move on, but I don't want to be complacent either. I do want to move on, but on the right track.

I feel blessed and I feel loved. Alhamdulillah. I don't know if I have earned Allah's blessings but Allah is so full or mercy that when we don't deserve it we get it anyway. I need to make a will. Both hubby and I need to make our wills. This earth should be our prison, not our paradise. Life is a toil, humans were created in toil. I can't wait to go 'home', but I don't know if I've prepared enough. I don't think I have and it scares me to death (no pun intended).

May Allah always keep us focused on what's truly important in our lives (plural for double meaning). Ameen.

I'm so afraid of being beguiled by the temptations of this world. It's not easy.

May Allah give us friends who will always remind and guide us to the right path. Ameen.

I love all my sisters and brothers for the sake of Allah, some more than others, depending on what truly matters to Allah.

May Allah purify our hearts and keep us from bickering about petty things.

May Allah give us sincerity and sisterly love to sustain the ummah and bring it to new heights.

May Allah forgive our sins and help our suffering brethens everywhere.

May we all meet in Jannah.

"When you worship Allah, you have to have this three things: hope, love and fear. When you do something, you fear Allah's punishment, but we also hope for His forgiveness and reward. But you don't do something just because you fear Allah, you do it because you want to please Allah because you love Him. These are the three pillars of Ibadah. You have to have all of them, not just one or two. There are people who just hope, and they keep on doing bad things while hoping Allah to forgive them and grant them Jannah. There are people who just fear and they end up saying no to everything. There are people who just love and they say it's all about love. So it's all three together that we need to worship Allah," I explained to H and N, an impromptu tauheed lesson, yesterday.

They nodded.

May we always be showered with His guidance. Ameen.

My Eldest Daughter

S was born a howler. When she cried, she wailed. It was the kind of baby wail that would drive you mad and extricate curious stares and unsolicited advice. I abhorred those unsolicited advices and stares. It took all I could muster to calm myself and her.

When she was three, she would sulk and determinedly disobey me. "No," was one of her favorite words back then, leaving me speechless, at a loss and angry at her stubbornness. Her sulking face was and still is intolerable to me. I repeatedly told her not to let me see 'that face' for it would just drive me mad. I told her if she wanted to act all sulky and difficult, go do it where people can't see her or hear her. The frequency of that had significantly diminished throughout the years, though when it was still in a fair amount of frequency, I couldn't contain the anger I felt. It drove the rift between us bigger. I felt that she was too like me and I hated myself for it. I decidedly thought that I couldn't get along with her.

Now she's eight, and already reaching the lobe of my ears in height. She's much more matured now and much much more wise. In fact, her growth has been so significant that she keeps on surprising me almost everyday.

There was the time when she offered to give us her Eid money to pay us for taking them out despite our weariness.

Then there was her "Jazakallah Khair," to her father when he bought her something so small it was merely a trinket from the store.

Yesterday, I had let her spend her money, where with she bought My Litte Pony. At night, after I had put them to bed, I lingered in front of their bookshelf, flipping through their books, looking for ideas to write my own. Suddenly she leapt off the bed and hugged me, saying,

"Jazakillah khair."

Then there were her countless thoughtful notes and cards saying,

"Thank you for taking care of us, Ummi. I love you."

Just this morning she asked me, while I'm sitting on the bed facing this laptop, typing the previous entry,

"Ummi, do you want me to bring you some pancakes?"

I nodded, saying Jazakillah khair. She popped back, asking me,

"With syrup?"

I shook my head.

And here I am now, with an empty plate next to me, two pancakes being digested in my stomach, writing about my eldest daughter. Just last night I was thinking about her name, which meant tranquility. I thought if the names we give our children help in shaping their nature and personaliy. S surely wasn't tranquil when she was a baby, what with her wails and howls, but she seemed to now possess a thoughtful nature that never ceases to surprise and please me every day. My eldest daughter, my best friend, my helper, my first born, how could I have thought I couldn't get along with her?