Malaysian Food

Ayam Masak Merah: I'm never able to reproduce this dish in perfect replica each time. This is the best I've made so far, the one I made for MSA. I hate frying, because the smell lingers for a long time in apartments in the United States. Strangely, it doesn't seem to be a problem in Malaysia, where we have wet kitchens outside. So what I do whenever chickens need to be fried prior to making the dish is to bake/broil them in the oven. It's healthier and keeps the apartment from smelling like you've been cooking for weeks non stop.



My favorite seafood: shrimp. Actually my favorite seafood is crab but they're expensive here. I remember the crab soup my stepmother used to make everytime I came back from boarding school. The fragrance of it just drives my salivary glands nuts.



Vegetables: I have to have green in my food. My grandmother was always nagging me on eating my greens, and the incentive she kept feeding me was: "You want to look young, eat your greens." I didn't really care about looking young back then, but somehow it was ingrained in my family and I grew up needing greens in my food.

I really am pregnant. Can't think about food without feeling sick, yet can't stop thinking about them either. I don't care much for desserts except when I'm in the mood, but I have to say I'm more of a savory person. Unfortunately, my son takes after me, and I really pity his future wife. I have to make sure I apologize to her for producing a son who likes savory food, even for breakfast.

Pee Wee Bee

He thinks it's ridiculous, waiting for a group of kids to spell words. Just sitting there and waiting for the whole thing to be over appears to him as a waste of time. That's what my husband's opinion on spelling bee is.

As for me, it's not about the spelling bee per se, it's about the experience and exposure to different kind of socialization for home-schooled kids. We had good humoredly argued about the importance of knowing how to spell when I told him I was going to enter our daughter in an upcoming spelling bee. Me and my 'you can't rely on the spell checker because you can totally spell a word correctly but it wouldn't make cents in your sentence at all' and him with his 'so what is you know how to spell, and oh yeah, there's the spell checker, why not use it?'.

Nevertheless, I completely ignored his 'protests' over the spelling bee and enrolled S and N anyway. He was not 100% serious anyway, though he might be, but it doesn't really matter since I'm the one in charge anyway.

So Feb 27, 2006, Tuesday, yesterday, we all (Hubby, Jidda, Ummi, S, N , H) drove to Linworth Baptist Church for the Spelling Bee. Unfortunately it was in a church, and I have to say it's my first time. I told the kids when we were going in.

The pews were very well padded and underneath every pew were bibles, to which the kids kept asking,

"What's that?"

"The bible," I said.

"If it were the Quran, we won't be putting it way down there near our feet. What does that show?" I asked.

"That it's special," said S.

Critical thinking there.

"N, don't just keep quiet okay. Just spell the word," I told them before the bee started.

My children are naturally diffident, since I am not that outgoing either by nature. Neither is my husband, at least relatively. People were always commenting on how shy our children are, and they're right. It's the one thing that bothers me, especially since I'm homeschooling, but whenever I rehashed my priorities and the reason why I homeschool, their shyness always takes a back seat. There was someone who gave me unsolicited advice pertaining to their shyness, which hackled me for quite a while, due to the implication that extrovertism is the only 'in thing' right now. I guess if we're all extroverts, there would be no listeners. Harrrumph!

The bee started for the 1-3rd graders and they all stood in line on the stage. Only Allah knows how my heart beat with anxiety as my two girls ascended the stage. S was extremely shy, even when I sent her to preschool. The school even held a meeting to which I was hailed, because they wanted to determine if she has a speech problem. However, she seems to have gotten over the shyness. I can still remember the sessions we had, just the two of us, talking about how she can battle her shyness. She was reduced to crying even in trying to figure out a way to overcome it. Again, only Allah knows how it worried me to no end. I don't want my girl to grow up to be a wanton, no-shame kind of woman, but I don't want her to be such a hermit either.

As for N, she is not naturally shy, but I think she's going through that stage where the shyness kicks in more times than I want to see. That's why it's so important for me to keep exposing them to different kinds of settings so as to give them the experiences that would eventually train them to overcome their diffidence.

I didn't really expect them to be bold and speak in the mic like the other kids, so when the practice round started, I left it all to Allah. Worst case would be me bringing them back home without ever participating in the bee at all. Though I hoped I wouldn't have to.

To my ULTIMATE surprise, S and N both performed rather amazingly in the pee wee spelling bee. Alhamdulillah, before they started, a kid cried out,

"Nervous!"

"You're nervous?" said the the teacher in charge, and laughter erupted from the audience.

"Who's nervous, raise your hand," she said, and I saw S's hand shoot up, and followed by a hesitant N.

"Okay, let's loosen up then."

I'm so glad that brilliant kid mentioned nerves, because I saw S loosen up a bit with a smile.

Well, I never thought the outcome would be what did happen. S remained among the last three, then the last two and finally, the only one. She was the CHAMPION! N, remained in the last 6 before she spelled 'calf' instead of 'cough'.

While the bee was going on I had asked H, who was sitting beside me, watching his sisters,

"H, do you think S and N can win this?"

He nodded, but then added,

"But I think N will get out."

After it was all over, he said to me,

"See, I told you N would get out."

I made sure N didn't hear that. She on the other hand, was elated, and whispered to me,

"I did it."

I knew what it about. I had told her to abandon her shyness and just speak lest she attracts more attention by making people wait for her to speak. By overcoming that hurdle, and I must say she did more than overcome it, she flew over it with brilliant blinding colors!

Yes, N. You did it. You're a champion too. Masyaallah.

Insyaallah, up numerous rungs of the ladder of self esteem. Alhamdulillah.

The Builder

I was haranguing the kids about organizing their room this morning.

There's a place for everything. Everything has its own place. I always go by that saying. This is one area where I'm at a total loss with the kids. Despite having Flylady as a guide, I chose the temporary easy way out and ditched the program. If only I had stuck to it. Well, we'll see.

With the pregnancy, I'm bound to be pressed to clean the house real good before I'm reduced to a retching, waddling preggo. So we should be cleaning out bit by bit insyaallah. The only time our bathroom harbored mold to the point where they turn from orange to black, was when I was pregnant with J. Obviously, no one took care of the bathroom. Usually, it wouldn't even get to the orange point. What with me laid out in bed snacking and trying to rid myself of the morning sickness(such a misnomer, who's the genius who thought of this anyway?), everything in the house fell apart. Who said there is ever a vacation for a mother? You take a vacation, the house falls apart, and when you come back, you have to pick up the fallen pieces. What a come back huh? And by the way, WHAT vacation? Dream on.

Well, there I was sitting on the floor while the kids roam about trying to sort out their stuff which I had threaten to throw away if not taken care of. Suddenly I saw this framework of what seemed to be a mini building, complete with a roof and pillars sitting on the shelf, at my eye level. Next to it was another structure. It looked like a windmill but the desgin was very unique.

I asked S, "Who made that?"

"H," she replied.

Oh, and H at the time was exercising his lung capacity in my room, since I told him to not let me hear his cries lest all our ear drums explode.

"Really? What did he make them with?" I asked again. it looked like he made them with plain paper, and there I was trying to figure out how in the world did he create those with paper??

"With the thing we got from Meijer yesterday," S said.

"Oh..." I said, and was taken back to an image of H holding on to whole bunch of twist ties at Meijer last night. I didn't even ask him what he was up to, but apparently, that boy had something on his mind when he grabbed a whole bunch from the store.

"Call him," I said to S.

Obviously he was done with his workout, and he came into the room with a fake sullen look.

"H, did you make these?" I asked him. He nodded.

"Do you like making stuff with legos or just anything?" I asked again.

"Anything," he replied.

I was really awed, well, still am. I guess we have a future architect, engineer in the house? Well, I won't tell him, yet. He can do that after he secures knowledge from Madinah University insyaallah. As Ummi said, "Selamat sepuluh keturunan." What a way to word that.

I had noticed his fascination with buildings I suppose. I will never forget the Twin Tower he built using corn cobs when we were in Malaysia in 2002. He was only two then. We obviously had corn and were sitting at the table, when suddenly, he picked up two corn cobs devoid of kernels, and stood them so that they were side by side, tapered end pointing up, and said, "Twin tower!"

It really looked like the Twin Towers, the dekerneled holes looking like windows.

Thurber Writing Program

Last summer I applied for the scholarship for S, but she wasn't accepted. This year, I made sure to keep my eyes peeled for any upcoming writing programs for youth. Alhamdulillah, one came tumbling down my path way back in January. Of course, we couldn't afford it, so the only option would be to apply for scholarship for the kids. So i set to work and applied for the scholarship for all of them.

The result was to be announced Feb 10. I looked at the website, but saw nothing. I was pretty sad, and mulled over the 24 dollar non refundable fees we had sent when applying for the scholarships. I even cancelled out the six week program in my calendar.

suddenly, someone got the mail, and in between the stacked mail were three envelopes addressed to S and H from Thurber. I was overjoyed, as if the scholarship was for me. Turned out, all three of them were accepted. I put back the event in my calendar.

However, feb 18 was the first day of the program, and I had registered for the leadership conference. Alhamdulillah my MIL is here and she accompanied Nura in the class. S was in a separate class for 2nd and 3rd graders. N and H are in a class for K and 1st graders, but they have each to be accompanied by an adult. That Saturday, I went to campus by 10 am and got back home at close to 1 am because Syeikh Kamal el-Makki gave us his Dawah workshop, which was by the way, REALLY FUN!

By the time I got home, everybody was asleep except for hubby, and only on the next day did I get to ask them about the class. S didn't enjoy it much because she claimed it's 'too hard' and 'the teacher didn't give us enough time to write', while N and H glowed and said that they actually love the class.

Well, at least, they have this exposure now. While MIL is encouraging S to take up engineering when she grows up, I made sure to counter her by telling S that it doesn't really matter what she becomes as long as she's fully equipped with Islamic knowledge to sustain her through whatever life is going to give her. Because it's not life in this world that will matter, it's life in there hereafter that will truly matter. however, I just learned that teaching and medicine are the most noble vocation, so should I encourage them to pursue medicine? Especially the girls, so as to solve the problem of women seeing male doctors? Maybe, whatever Allah wills.

Reorganization

Reorganize and renewal. That's what needs to be done, at least in my home. I follow the K12 curriculum. However, since I'm under OHVA, I can't choose which to take and which to leave, though I still do that anyway. I asked for exemption from music, which we did get alhamdulillah. I didn't do their art, for lack of time. I esepcially don't like their history because it's terribly biased towards the hebrews and nasraniyeen. Nevertheless, at this moment in time, I find sticking with this system is my best choice, due to many other reasons.

I tried doing seerah using Iqra' but since we're trying to save on photocopying, what I used to do was do the worksheets myself on Microsoft Word. Of course after a while, I gave up because it took too much of my time. We still have a lot of those worksheets we photocopied in Malaysian anyway, and i need to finish those first before my house becomes a paper mill. We already have too much paper as it is.

So after trying out what I can think of and seeing what works and what doesn't, I figured I'd better focus a lot on the Quran. In the conference I attended last weekend, Dr. Mamdouh Muhammad said that the sahabah used to spend as much time on seerah as they did on the Quran. I suppose, if you think about it, that covers the Quran and the ahadeeth. Perfect. The islamic studies, I can do daily as we do stuff. At least for now, that makes it more doable in my line of work and loads I have heaped upon my ever filling platter.

So, since S is already praying fajr regularly, after fajr, we betook to reciting the Quran, one by one. I still have problems with this because as i read with one, I tell the others to eat breakfast and then shower. So far, we've been spending an hour to recite the Quran for all three of them. It's still a hassle getting them to eat breakfast on time, shower and get ready for school. This seems to be my ongoing problem, which drives me crazy every day, no money return guarantee.

Usually I start with S, and I let her recite one full page of the Quran, and then we talk about it, pick up what words seems familiar to her so she would gain arabic/Quran vocabulary that way. For H, we work on his Iqra book 6, and just this morning, he cried because he couldn't prevent his tongue from touching the roof of his mouth in reading tanween or noon saakinah meeting the ikhfa' letters.

"I can't make my tongue not touch my roof! it keeps going up there!" he wailed, tears streaming down his face.

Apparently his wails reached all the corners of our tiny apartment and pretty soon, his sisters peeked in the room to see what had made him wail.

For N, she is the one thay insists on me reading the translation to her when she recites a surah or part of a surah from Juz Amma. The first few times, she went downstairs, climbed on a chair to get the Quran from the shelf, and came back upstairs to my room, handed me the Quran with a smiling face. Then she sat herself down and prepared to recite. As she finished one ayat, she turned to me and waited fo r me to read the meaning. I guess sometimes, we should take cues from our children.

Amidst all this, I'm also striving to learn more of the deen. Just last weekend i attended a leadership conference. At the same time, I'm also studying like crazy for the Almaghrib exam coming up this Sunday. I also have to prepare S for her march tests. On top of that, I just might be positively pregnant. I still need to have the doctor tell me before I truly believe it.

i think, attending Islamic lectures for me, is a positive experience, because after last weekend, I found a new surge of motivation to pursue what I'm doing. As one speaker said,

"If you want to clean someone laying in the mud, you spray him with water, while he is still in the mud, it's not going to make him clean. He'll just be even dirtier."

So it makes sense to take someone out of a bad environment first as part of tarbiyyah. That in turn says to me that pulling your child out of public school is like pulling someone out of the mud he is laying in.

It made me think of my approach with the kids on protecting their hearts. Insyaallah, I have told them (so far) all they need to know regarding protecting themselves from bad influences. I think as they grow bigger, the issues of friends will crop up and even though I've gone over it with them, it will need revisiting when the time comes insyaallah.

O Allah, You are the One Who Guides, please put us in the company of those who can guide us to the straight path.

Scab

"Ummi, this seems to be saying that it needs to be peeled."

Tiny hands picked at a small scab in the folds of his foot, and I looked on with amusement. Talk about power of persuasion.

H truly is something, a boy of words, and I call his father, the man of few words. Yeah right! Well, in a way, he is a man of a lot of words, and now his son is following suit.

Even Jidda is all agape at his 'smart-mouthing'. Just last night, hubby was saying to the kids,

"Ummi's rich."

"No, my dad's rich. I'm not," I retorted.

"You're rich??? Then why don't you go to Hajj?" H immediately piped up.

Which left us all open-mouthed and laughing.

"She did actually," said hubby.

You can never tell the route his mind takes, this boy. Rich-hajj? Bunny-Bani Israel?? Palace-Palestine?? Subhanallah!

This morning i asked him what exactly it is he said so i could write it down. He attested to it and said, "Write it down." Just like that.

As for N, we were doing Quran and Tafseer, surah An-Naziat, on the story of Musa and Firaun. At the point where Firaun was not that impressed with Musa's miracles, she asked,

"Why didn't Firaun think "that's cool,"?"

I want a voice recorder. Don't have one. Need one. Before they all grow up and leave me bereft of smart mouths.

Burned Out

I am so tired. So many things to do, so little energy and time. My february calendar is full. Each square is filled with something. This is one of those days where i feel i can't take it anymore. This is one of those days when I think I must be crazy to take on such a horrendously big responsibility.

To add all the things that I do to what I already am supposed to do seems to me like I'm asking for trouble. However, just this morningi was reading in the Quran, "..wealth and children are adornments in this life..." and Ibn Kathir's tafseer went on to say that we shouldn't be too busy with them, or too obsessed with gainin material wealth just for them that we neglect out duties. It's weird. I can't think, off the top of my head where someone would actually abandon their duties in excessive love of their kids, but I guess it does happen, and maybe happens a lot, depending on how you interpret that.

Ever since H started Kindergarten and S went up to third grade, things have been very hectic for me. I actually love the hustle and bustle because i feel that it keeps me on my feet, but of course there are times when I just feel like throwing in the towel. Ok. Maybe several times in a month. Or more.

From teaching a second grader and a kindergartener, I am now teaching a kindergartener, a first grader, and a third grader about to sit for a reading and math test in March! The test preparations are what is driving me up the wall. i don't really care truth be told if she aces it or not, as long as I know she knows what she needs to know. Tests no longer accurately predict a child's abilities. They probably never do for that matter.

There's the exam coming up for moi. There're the study sessions I have to attend twice a week every week till the exam. Then there's the conference coming up. Then there's the new effort to do da'wah in our community. There's the things i signed S up for. Spelling bee, writing workshop and engineering day. And to top it off, ear hubby is sitting for his candidacy. Suddenly, everything's just going through a bottleneck. (yeah, haven't heard that term since I took Pascal 100 back in 94/95)

And then, there's the possibility that I might be with child. Yup. I was wrong that one month, which really shook me up, and I hope I'm wrong again this month, though i think I might not be. Whatever it is, I don't want to get all worked up. I'll give it about a week or more before I accept reality. However, the thought of a baby does give me floating bubbles and sweet smelling flowers. Oh well, whatever Allah gives us is fine. Alhamdulillah. if it is true, i can't recolor my hair again. that box will just have to wait for another three years before i touch it. Might have to give it to someone.

Ok. Enough 'venting'. Back to my 'loooooong' day. Alhamdulillah ala kulli hal. Won't be telling MIL though. She'll just worry after seeing my almost pulling my hair out handling the kids every day.

Palace-tine

"What's the setting for the story?" I asked H, after reading about the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

"In a palace," he answered.

"Palace-tine," he added.

Another time, he went inside my friend's car. She had a soft bunny toy in it. H had said to her,

"Bunny Israel."

This kid is just ... La haw la wa laa quwwata illaa billaah.

All this should be copyrighted. I have a tongue twister in the works.

Kids Say the Darnest Things!

H was doing his math additions, and having some problems. I told him,

"You can use the counting chips or the cubes if you want."

"Can I just use my head?" he replied.


The Dragon Tales song was playing on TV and I reminded them,

"Your heart, your heart." I had told them to protect their heart from being corrupted by muting the TV if there are songs and not watching haram stuff. At first it was a dilemma for me when I let them go to other people's houses. Do I tell the people to control the TV channels when my kids are atheir house or do I just train my kids. After some deep mulling, I came to the conclusion that I should just train my kids and at the same time disseminate dakwah through them. Dakwah coming from kids is easier to digest. So i sat the kids down and told them about the vulnerability of the heart, how it can become corrupt and covered in black when we let little 'insignificant' things cloud it. I couldn't just tell them that it's forbidden or anything like that so I opted for the 'heart' approach, since it will probably make them more aware of the effort they have to put forth rather than feel restricted.

N replied,

"When I couldn't find the remote to mute it, I just covered my heart like this," and she put her palm on her chest.


Another time, still on the matter of hearts, hubby pretended not to see N sitting on the couch and proceeded to sit on her,to which she immediately shrieked,

"Abi, you're breaking my heart!"


And S, upon a loud popping of a balloon, yelled,

"You scared my heart!"

It's Alive!

Our humble shack is basically a collection of run down furniture that's just about ready to go in the dumpsters. For school chairs we have the 5 year old metal chairs with unscrewed backs, leaving them just bare skeletons. The sponge backing of the seats had long been devoured by itchy little hands with nothing else to do but tear apart the furniture.

The fate of the dining table downstairs is such that it has to share its chairs with the school table upstairs. Since we all eat on the floor anyway, we only left two chairs at the dining table and brought the other three upstairs. However, a problem presented itself whenever dear ummi cooked a dish that requires eating on the table, such as spaghetti or a bowl of noodle with soup. Three little people need three chairs to sit on. So dear father had to bring down one chair to the dining table.

it is such a hassle to keep on transporting this sole chair up and down the stairs each time, so we left the chair in the kitchen. When time for school came, one little person is without a chair. So what to do?

"Get my chair from my room," ordered Dear Ummi.

So in rolled the big red computer swivel chair on wheels complete with armrests. As was mentioned, our house is basically a collection of run down furniture ready to be housed in the dumpster. This red chair is not different. While it may look grand and magnificent, its back is devoid of the light wooden backing, thus exposing a light brown surface bordered by crudely stapled red fabric extending from the front. Suffice it to say, those staples have snagged many a limb and sleeve of anyone unlucky to tumble into its sphere of existence.

Poor Little H became the victim of this chair in question, as we shall see.

"Ummi! the chair scratched me!!" H yelled one day, showing his mother s long whitish scratch on his arm.

"No, the chair didn't scratch you. You ran into the chair," she replied, oh ever so wisely.

H went back, proabbly grumbling silently about the damned chair, yet forced to use it . Otherwise he would be sitting on the floor. Now that wouldn't be acceptable at all, now would it?

The day after that, while Dear Ummi went out of the room to check on something downstairs, things were brewing up in the schoolroom upstairs. When she same into the room, H was wailing on the bed, clutching his head. S was sitting on her chair mumbling something about H's mishap, while N minded her own business, oblivious to the happenings around her.

Dear Ummi looked upon the scene rather patiently, which is rather strange, as she is wont to bursts of impatience at such scenes. She went to H and sat down on the bed, asking him what had happened.

"I told you the chair was alive!!" H yelled in between his wails, still clutching his head.

Nothing sounded more ridiculous yet tickling than what he had just blurted out. Dear Ummi laughed her heart out and gathered H in her arms.

"Are you strong?" she asked H. He nodded.

"Who's stronger, you or the chair?" she continued.

"The chair," H replied sullenly.

"But how? It doesn't drink milk, or eat protein," she said. A reluctant smile tugged at H's mouth.

"Well, it eats my bomp*," H said, relenting to the smile.

"And my blood," he continued.

Dear Ummi thought, this boy really has a powerful imagination. Hence, a character is born in the house.

It's alive!! It's alive!! And all the run-down furniture yawned from their long slumber and stretched their worn limbs rather grotesquely in all unimaginable directions.

Jidda's Here!

The last time they saw their grandmother was in 2002 when we went back to Malaysia for a visit. It's almost four years now and it seems that it's high time Jidda comes here to see them.

So, after a much awaited wait, Jidda arrived yesterday with much celebration.

"Does Jidda still look the same?" I asked them.

S shook her head. From an excited bunch of kids, they had suddenly turned into diffident, head-hanging, downcast-eyes, coy-smiles wearing kids. Gathered into the embrace of their grandmother, all their excitement were subdued by the excitement of their grandmother.

While Jidda prattled on old memories of catching the bus with toddler S and baby N, they listened quietly, probably trying to remember any of the stuff. Jidda also did a little quick quiz on Malay on them. Of course, all of them understood the word 'tido' which means sleep, in Malay. That's the infamous word I use to tell them to shut their eyes and give me some peace of mind every night, so I can recover some of my sanity, if any is left at all.

The time when Jidda brought them to the mall in Ames. The time when they rushed to catch the bus. The time when they actually missed the bus or got on the wrong bus. The time when Jidda gave S and N a taste of fast food. All of those I don't remember because I was laden with a baby H, still in post partum condition.

"Oh, N! You're so beautiful now! So slim!" Jidda exclaimed.

Well, she said that to me too, except, she left the beautiful part out. ((LOL))

Which struck me into realization. N , when she was smaller, was chubby with dark skin and very little hair. Jidda had actually favored fair skinned S, much to our dismay. So from then on, hubby had always paid more attention to N to compensate for the lack of attention from her Jidda. In her own time, N had flourished as if a light has emanated from the inside out and with it, her skin had lightened in tone, and with all her uniqueness, she had grown into a 'beautiful girl' as her Jidda said. S on the other hand, had entered the ugly duckling stage when her new teeth emerged.

So it was the realization that years had passed such that the little grandchildren she had tended to with great difficulty the two times she was here, that we drove back home, where the kids finally found their voices and lung capacity.

I had been having some difficulty figuring out a way to get S to start wearing hijab, when Jidda indirectly solved the problem. Unpacking her bags, she heaped upon us hijabs, of many kinds and colors, one after the other, much to S's, N's and my delight. S practically has a different hijab for each day. No more excuses, and i just hope I remember to remind her the reason why she has to wear it when she reaches puberty. For now, she just has to get used to having it on and getting comfortable with it. Insyaallah.

The Middle Child...Syndrome?

Ever since she was born, she was different. Thinking back, my behavior during my pregnancy with her was also different. I was relaxed (so you can tell I'm not normally relaxed :)), happy(so I guess you can tell I'm a normally miserable person :)),lazily laid back and I really ate a lot (which is not in itself a deviation from the normal me ). So when she came out, she did so with at first scaring me half to death with a gush of blood that sent us rushing to the hospital.

Then, during 'confinement' I was bedridden with the flu, which made it even more difficult to go to classes. I was in my senior year and had loads of projects. Breastfeeding her was not easy peasy at all. There were times when both mother and baby cried because neither one was able to form a symbiotic bond. She would squirm tirelessly and wail while I tried to feed her. Since hubby and me took classes alternately so that we won't have to send our children to the babysitter(for lack of finances, not lack of trust), I took afternoon classes and he took morning ones. We were fortunate to be in our final semesters to be able to do that.

By the time he came home, both N and me were wailing. Me, because I wasn't able to feed my child, and her, because she was I guess, hungry! Alhamdulillah the problem was resolved not long after. I never knew what bothered her. It was robably either her lack of swallowing reflex combined with my gushing milk or a personality trait in her that contributed to her reaction (because my other kids weren't like that).

I would describe her as a typical seven year old girl of lilting personality, infused with creativity, art, singing, feminity and everything sweet and girly. That would make her roughly about the same as any seven year old girl. However, in our family, she's the different one. Dreamy, and unmindful of others' opinions, she would live in her own artistic world, drawing away to oblivion. Athletically, she's like me. Not very athletic. Big sister and lil bro would always leave her behind if they suddenly decide to race.

Recently, a neighbor said to me, "She looks fragile and I can't help but hug her." That's my N. She's always been the charmer, the one everyone immediately falls in love with. it's ironic because when she was little, one of her grandmother favored her fairer older sister to her, which caused a shift in hubby's and my attention fro big sis to her. Ever since then, hubby always treated N a little bit differently. I recently noticed that people do tend to treat N differently because of her personality.

Where big sis S is more independent and tough, N is dependent and 'fragile'. Suffice it to say, I honestly admit I'm exasperated by it. I think I made S independent ever since I found out I was pregnant with N. N, when we got H, was I think, not that happy. With N, I always try to balance things out by expecting her to be as independent as S, but it always just ends up driving me crazy.

N's always the latest one to come out of the house whenever we got ready to go somewhere, still fiddling with her shoes, and looking for her socks. N's always the last one to come down for dinner, too engrossed in her drawing to hear us calling. N's always the last one to take a bath, too obsessed with her image in the mirror, comically at times, dressed so scantily. N's always the one who spills things because she doesn't look where she's going due to being stuck in her world of daydreaming and sing song sway of the hips. N's always the one stumbles because (i don't know why, even asked the doctor, but he said not to worry).

However, she's also the one who's the most generous, giving her most treasured possession in response to receiving a gift. She's also the most compassionate, lending a shoulder to cry on.

Does it really exist? The middle Child Syndrome..or is it just a fabricated concept created to explain the coincidental personality traits apparent in middle children. Whatever it is, I'm having a REALLY hard time handling this middle child. I guess in a way she makes me slow down and smell the flowers and just for that, there's the wisdome lurking behind everything. On the other hand, I don't want to be slowd down to smell the flowers because there's so many things to do!

Gems and Jewels

After a conversation with a dear frien who attended the Conference in Houston, which I badly wanted to go to, but wasn't able to, I was driven to actually do something about our situation.

Needless to say, I'm so hung up on S's third grade's curiculum that I'm providing less time for Islamic lessons. What with teaching three children I'm about ready to throw in the towel. However, every time I think of the influence I dread so much for my children, I resist throwing in the towel.

Today was a pretty relatively good day alhamdulilah. We did Arabic and i finally came up with labelling nouns in the room as a way for them to absorb vocabulary. Next, adjectives. I did that with the power of charades, which sent them toppling over in laughter. Nicely, that led to Surah al Qariah. Then when all was over, I said,

"Time for school."

A collective sigh could be heard.

After Zuhr, I did part of Surah AlFurqan with them, and the end of all that, I said,

"Ok so what did you learn?"

They practically came out with gems! So I told them,

"Let's make a gem board and write down your gems."

A collective yay could be heard.

I guess I have a mini almaghrib going on here now.

Where do I begin?

So much has happened since...January 4. There was the ten days of Zulhijjah. Now that's a story.

Last year, I remember having the kids fast for Yaum Al-Arafah and how enthusiastic they were about it. This year, I scrambled to remind them of it, yet I wasn't making good time catching up with time itself.

True to my resolution post graduation, which was to pursue Islamic knowledge, I had registered for a class with Almaghrib, which took place in Ann Arbor the weekend of January 6. That meant I was going to leave hubby and kids for the whole weekend and attend a full weekend lecture, my fourth one with Almaghrib.

Yaumu Al-Arafah was to fall on the Monday following that weekend. It goes without saying that a lot of things happened and I was wrought with things to do that weekend. To top it off, I learned the hard way that there are still people out there who don't observe punctuality. It's not a good feeling to have, especially when you go out of your way to be on time, only to have other people mess things up by being late. We work so hard to be on time that the kids would end up wearing different socks on each foot, and to have single, childless people dawdle so much so that it leaves you open-mouthed in disbelief was just...well, it riled me up, but now I guess I should be over it. (yeah right, well I SHOULD be over it..I guess I am. Now.)

I got back home that Sunday night at 12 am. That Monday S had a workshop at 9 am I had to bring her to and the workshop lasted till 1 pm. I knew I'd be sleepy after the full weekend, but I didn't realize i would be that sleepy, that my eyes simply refused to stay open while I was waiting for S to be done with her workshop. To make matters worse, I had to resume teaching that very morniing, and I did so with forced energy. Suffice it to say I didn't feel too friendly with the other parents what with trying to stay awake and remain patient while teching N and H. I was also fasting without waking up for suhoor. Nevertheless, the kids fasted and so did I.

However, Dear Hubby had forgotten to tell them the reason for fasting and of course, as in so many other momentous occasions, I had to pick up the pieces and glue them back together.

"Do you know why you're fasting?" I asked them.

"No."

"Didn't Abi tell you?"

"No."

With a sigh, I told them. Only S fasted throughout, while N broke hers and H didn't even wake up for suhoor.

The next day, was of course Eid. Dear Hubby had gone through all the trouble of preparing for it. He bought meat and everything so I could cook. Well, I still wasn't over feeling sleepy. I got back from the workshop a zombie, tried to get a fulfilling nap afterwards, which turned out far from fulfilling due to constant interruptions from children and husband, and went to do grocery shopping later on in the afternoon. I suppose I feigned some enthusiasm for cooking for Eid, just because dear hubby had taken the initiative in the first place.

however, as the night progressed and I realized I would be stuck in the kitchen cooking the whole night, I grew agitated and went to bed. I slept like a log from 8 pm till the next morning. Dear hubby ended up cooking everything himself.

That was our Eid, having people over and I didn't even do anything! What bliss! Of course we still had problems with people not observing the time and our plan to bring the kids to Chuck E Cheeses was pushed to later in the day. I hated that. If only people would respect the time mentioned: "before 1 p and after 4 pm". Yet there were still people trickling in at 2 pm and we couldn't very well just shoo them out, could we?

Nevertheless, the kids got their deserved time at Chuck E Cheeses and that was all I wanted. After that I was happy.

The second weekend loomed up and I still haven't recovered my lost sleep.

Long story cut short, my plan to drag hubby and kids to Ann Arbor the second weekend ended up a 'no plan' and again, I went to Ann Arbor with my travelling companions.

Now I'm back, and needless to say, work is piling up on me. What else is new?

Roughhousing

I'm worried about H. It seems like he's getting to be more agressive. I notice him playing roughly with his sisters and even other people. When confronted, his response seemed to be on the defense and back on the attack.

I resolved to use a gentler approach. We went to the masjid for halaqa yesterday. While we listened to the lesson, the kids romped about in the adjoining area in mute mode. I had told them to keep it down and alhamdulillah they remembered.

However, every now and again, S came to me,

"H punched my tummy,"

"H slapped Kak N and N,"

"H hit me and N,"

Every time, I gestured for him to come to me, but he simply glanced at me and remained in the room. I was unable to get up and go to him myself because I couldn't access the room they were in due to womanly circumstances.

After the halaqa was over, he came and I took him aside,

"H, do you know that you're strong?" I asked him. Apparently, he was unprepared for the question. He answered in the negative. I continued,

"Yes, H. You're strong. For a boy, you're pretty strong. Even Auntie A. said so. When you play with girls, you have to be gentle. Because you're strong, you might hurt them. Do you understand?"

He nodded, evidently still reeling from the new found knowledge that he's strong. ANd I wasn't kidding him. He is strong. Hubby often engaged him in a wrestling tousle and as a result, he has grown pretty strong. This I noticed in his attempts to free himself from people's grasp, and adult's grasp at that.

When we got back home, I told hubby to use the gentle approach with H, because the confrontational one would only get him on his cheeky side, which would be a disaster. We already told him to curb his cheekiness because it seems to be getting overboard. Everytime, I told him,

"You want to be like the prophet SAW?"

He nodded. And that usually so far alhamdulillah, did it.

However, his cheekiness is not all bad. One time, we had some guests over and I was chatting with a friend. I happened to exclaim out loud,

"Laa ilaa ha illallah!"

Out of the blue, a five year old boy walked past us and chimed,

"Muhammadurasulullah....Sallallahu alaihi wasallam."

Another time, Hubby was saying something which then included our beloved prophet's name and he didn't say sallallahu alaihi wasallam. Before we knew it, H had interjected,

"Abi, Abi, you...you...you're supposed to say Sallallahu alaihi wasallam."

In his excitement, he stutters, and when he does, it just adds more to the humor of it all, not because of his stuttering, but because of his uncontained excitement to voice his cheekiness and opinions.

I can't believe I used to worry he would grow up a sissy because he was surrounded by two sisters who play with dolls. I guess as he grew, his boyishness took over and here we are in a predicament. I now have one active boy to handle, and he's not even six yet.

It's Out

These kids are getting really good at keeping secrets. It worries me. I hope those teenage years are not going to pounce upon us soon.

I went for my dental appointment, picked hubby up and spent my evening open-mouthed and probed and poked at.

When I was done, I called hubby. He came to pick me up.

"The kids asleep?" I asked, thinking back to my deal with the kids about not letting the cat out of the bag. S had said,

"But if you come back late, Abi might say something about your hair and we won't be able to hear it."

"No," he replied. He appeared to have just woken up. He was fasting. The ten days of Zulhijjah. Plus, he was real stressed out. Who wouldn't? PHd-pursuers out there. I'm sure there is not one Phd-pursuers who is not stressed out.

"We're home!!" he said as we took off our shoes at the door.

He went upstairs while I took off my hijab and abaya and hung them downstairs. I couldn't help smiling, expecting the kids to barge downstairs anytime soon, for the anticipated 'surprise'.

While I was smiling to myself downstairs, I heard them talking about a 'red surprise' upstairs. I guess someone had let the cat out of the bag. As expected, the thunderous sound of not so little feet broke out above me.

"Ummi, Abi knew!!" S said to me.

"How did he know? Did he read my blog?" I asked her.

"No," she said.

"How do you know he didn't?" I asked.

"He said so."

"Somebody told him?" I asked.

"No."

Apparently hubby had more than a clue of what was happening, so I went on upstairs, head bared.

H enclosed me in a hug, N fought her way to me and S got all excited. All over my red-tinged hair! H got out his worksheets and showed how he had completed all of them. Hmm...maybe I should leave them alone more often. They seemed to be brimming with excitement over me being home, but probably it's just because of the 'red surprise' waiting to be revealed.

The mystery begging to be solved was how hubby got wind of what happened when no one told him anything and he didn't sneak a peek at my blog today.

"Did someone tell Abi?"

"No," they chorused.

"Then how did he know?" I asked, quite curious as to how Hubby knew.

"Well, Abi asked us what the surprise was. And N said red, because Abi said it begins with R," said S.

"Now Ummi is like S," said hubby.

"But my hair's not red! It's brown," said S.

Well, I asked hubby how he knew what I was up to and he said the small blue towel I used to dab my red forehead gave it away. Apparently, he had remembered that I wanted to color my hair anytime soon.

This implied that the kids kept the secret pretty well and that hubby listens to me. He however deemed that my hair is red enough, and that to have it even redder would not be necessary. The kids even exclaimed when I got back home,

"Hey! it looks even redder now!!"

Well, I guess, I won't need that red food coloring H so generously offered now, do I?

You're a Movie Star!

I finally decided to color my hair after years of deliberating and struggling to put some color in my hair with henna. To this day, my hair is still black.

True Red was the color written on the box. I proceeded cautiously, careful to not end up blind of incapacitated in any way. Suffice it to say, it's not easy as I thought it was. How in the world am I supposed to color the back of my head?

Too busy applying the applicator tip on the roots of my hair, I failed to saturate the rest of my hair with it and deemed it enough when there was still some more mixture in the bottle. As I remembered, (after reading the instructions countless times), it said to work the color into the hair and I didn't remember anything about using it all up. Apparently, I was wrong. Sheesh! I hate doing things for the first time, especially following instuctions.

"Kids!! Is my hair red?" I hollered as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom.

I already knew the answer, but I thought I'd feel better if there were more spectators.

There I was standing in front of the mirror trying to see if I had any hint of red in my hair while the kids stared at my head trying to do the same.

"Oh yes! Yes! I see it! On the top of your head!"

"You do?" I asked. Sure I see a little tinge of red on the top of my head, but everywhere else was black as usual.

"Ummi, you're a movie star!!!!" H exclaimed, while I broke into a guffaw.

Movie star indeed! I don't know what his deifnition of a movie star is, but I guess it has something to do with a tinge of red at the top of one's head.

"You're not happy with your hair?" asked S, as I climbed the stairs repeatedly every now and then to look at my hair in the mirror.

"No."

I burdened my children with the question of the day,

"Is my hair red?"

They giggled and answered, trying to look for the red so they could answer me in the affirmative. I felt like a pathetic desperate black headed woman trying to make her hair red.

H said,

"There's red food coloring. You can use that. Adam put red coloring on his hair."

Of course he was referring to Adam's World's Adam. If I wasn't so disappointed with the lack of burgundy on my locks, I would have entertained his suggestions a bit more.

I even resorted to comparing my hair color and S's since she naturally has a little bit of red in her hair. We didn't know exactly where the red came from, but concluded that it must have been the 'natural' shampoo my husband used on her when she was a baby. Wary about all the chemicals in shampoo, and since she was our first child, weresorted to cleaning her hair with honeydew seeds and pulp, watermelon leftovers, cucumber pulp, orange peels and cantaloupe seeds. S's hair is black but with a very slight reddish tint.

I guess I'll just have to redo my hair, or just let the red at the roots grow out.

I wonder if hubby will notice the red. I had told the kids,

"Don't say anything to Abi okay. Let him say soething if he notices anything. If he doesn't say anything, that means it's not red enough."

I hope H won't be the spoiler, or am I going to spoil it myself, like I did the cake?

Google

"Ummi, there's a tarantula on Abi's pants on the red chair in your room," said S.

Inwardly I began to think of how obsessed she is with tarantulas. The kids have been saying they had seen tarantulas in my room for days now. At first I had taken it seriously but one day I found a rubber spider lying at the bottom of the stairs, and immediately concluded that that was what the kids had probably seen. So I asked her,

"Ok, now tell me how big it is," my face took on a biased disbelieving look.

"This big," she said, putting her index finger and thumb together.

Ok so maybe it's not the big rubber spider, I thought. My face probably changed from taunting disbelief to confused and worried.

"It's red and black," she added.

"Is it a black widow?" I asked, alarmed, while H started to chant and chatter about how poisonous it is.

"Well, it's hairy. Black with red smudges," S said.

My brows knitted in a confused frown. I don't know what to make of it. I'm opposed to eradicating spiders because they help eradicate other bugs in the house. I keep thinking about the spider in the cave that helped deceive the mushrikoon.

There I was standing with a confused and worried expression, thinking how can I go to bed knowing there's a hairy black and red spider lurking around. Thoughts of rotting limbs flashed in my head. Suddenly a chirpy voice cleaved my swirling thoughts,

"Go to Google!" H said, in as cheerful a manner as possible, dimple flashing and a proud expression pasted on his face. Apparently he had come up with a solution for his poor confused mother!

Greetings and Kissing

Namaste, bowing at a 90 degree angle, bowing at 45 degree angle or prostrating all the way to the ground. Every culture has its own way of greeting each other. In the Malay culture, the way of greeting is an extension of both hands which gently and gracefully turns into a respectful handshake followed by kissing of the older person's hands.

My children simply refuses to perform this act of greeting and it bothers me to no end. Of course now that I think back, I had never consciously or directly taught them to do this since they were small because we were living here in the United States where malay culture is not the main stream culture. Sure, I could have surrounded myself with Malays and trained my children to behave accordingly. Unfortunately, I'm not that faithful to the Malay culture myself, thinking that I need to disassociate myself from it because I could plainly see the bad parts of it. I began to see where culture stubbornly overlaps Islam and obscures it. I began to see the ignorance hovering in front of my eyes all these years and I fought to erase it. I began to delve into the international community and drop most of the cultural practices I was raised with.

Shaking hands and kissing them no longer appeared preferable to me. Instead I familiarized myself with the handshake that dissolved into hugs and kisses on the cheeks. In fact it occured to me that hand kissing is dangerously close to an act of worship, though the fact that it actually does or does not lies not in my hands. I can see it as being cultural though.

Recently, we have been mingling more with our malay counterparts and a problem situated itself in our midst. We realized that our children are lacking manners in the cultural sense, the malay culture. I began to check the balance and saw that I had been quite unjust in judging my own culture. Everytime I'm faced with a conflict I tell myself to go back to ground zero, which is the Quran and Sunnah. So I did. It was then that I realized that it's categorised under manners and respecting the elders. So frantically I taught my children to shake hands the way we do in the malay culture, though we didn't press them so much in the hand kissing part. In fact, S outrightly insisted that she didn't want to do it because it's like bowing to somebody. Inside, I actually felt relieved she didn't feel the need to conform to something just because it's the accepted norm. I also felt glad that she actually has a reason to back up her whys.

Still, we have problems getting the children to go and greet people in the first place. They didn't appear to like company in big groups. It takes time for them to warm up to people and they really disliked people looking at them and proclaiming their cuteness and what nots. It is at these times that I kicked myself for not having instilled these malay cultural practices in my children since they were small. The objective behind the cultural practice is good because it teaches the young to respect the old, though I personally think there's too much reverence involved. However, since it's so ingrained in the culture, when I do go back home, I will be obliged to do it their way so as not to offend, but then again, I only do it to my parents and parent in laws and of course my grandmothers.

H adamantly refused to shake hands and when I asked him why, he said,

"Their hands might be dirty."

The first thing that came to my mind when he said this was OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't think he has it, but I think he was simply making up excuses. Then he gave another excuse,

"They were laughing at me," he said, eyes threatening to spill out tears.

I restrained the exasperation and anger coursing through me and proceeded to tell him about emulating the prophet Muhammad SAW. Manners are an important part of Islam that most Muslims today do not possess. We are too consumed with the barriers between us such as nationality, wahabism, cultural backgrounds and what nots to see that our ummah is actually a beautiful piece of woven cloth of many colored threads.

N said yesterday,

"Some people don't look like Muslims."

I asked her,

"How is a Muslim supposed to look like?"

"White and wears hijab," she replied.

I wanted to laugh but I didn't. So i told them how Islam is beautiful and special in that anyone can be a Muslim regardless of color, race and nationality.

In the end, I somehow managed to have H agree to at least try and greet people with a handshake. His nods comforted me even though I know they might not amount to anything at all. S and N are already on a roll shaking hands with people though they omitted the kiss. I cringe inside when I see some Malays shoving their hands up to my girls' head in preparation to be kissed. The girls never responded with the kisses and I just stood there not knowing what to do. My mother in law does that too, to her sons and to me. My stepfather on the other hand, always quickly takes his hand away before I could kiss it. My own mother never requires me to even shake her hand and kiss them. She envelops me in a hug instead. I suppose if we were Japanese, we would be required to bow down. Imagine the dilemma I'd be faced with then.

My Girls' Writings

Sand monster

Once there was a boy & girl named Larry & Marry.
One sunny day they were SO hot!
They had to eat popsicles or ice-cream!
While Larry & Marry ate they went in the sandbox & they saw an ugly shape of a monster! AAH! cried Larry, the younger one. Don't be silly! said Marry gently, it's just a picture of a monster. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? RUN! cried Marry, the older one. But do know that MY brother cried:AAH! like Larry?
The End

By N

THE WATER MONSTER!
There were two boys, one was 7 and the other one was 10. They had 1 sister, the boys name were Harry & Tom, Tom was the oldest. They were going to go to the beach today and the were so excited. Their sister, Torry, was 9 and liked to scare Harry. She had a plan for the trick she was going to do to Harry. But, Harry didn't know it. When they got to the ocean, Torry dove into the water without the boys knowing it. She was the best swimmer among them all. When Harry finaly looked at the water she burst up, but when she did it was like a wave coming up, so Harry thought she was a real monster! She went back down as quickly as she came up. AHHHHH! screamed Harry. Tom asked : "What is the matter? Harry said :"I saw a monster! Tom said :"oh really? after that he asked mom where Torry was. Mom said : "She went in the water. Tom called :"Torry did you trick Harry again! Silence. Torry finaly came out and said:"You caught me again, Tom! They grinned at each other and both said:"Silly Harry!
The End!

By S

My kids have their own blogs, but I really hesitate to link them here just because the internet is such a dangerous place. So I'll have to be content with simply putting up some of their work on this blog. These two recent pieces of writings really surprised me. S claimed she didn't like to write, but I think she actually does. She just doesn't want to do it under pressure. N on the other hand likes to write AND draw, especialy draw. What surprised me about these two pieces is the improvement apparent from their sentence structure and story line. S had been reading a lot lately and I can see her writing improving a lot from before. N has her own 'voice' as she does in everything else. S is more of a 'follow-the-rules' kind of person, which at times inhibits her creativity in coming up with an idea and going through with it. In this regard she is very much like me. I remember being stumped after art class, not knowing what to draw because the teacher had told us to draw anything we want. The only time I remember getting an A in art class was when we had to do a stamping activity with cut potatoes. I had chosen black paint and carved the potato myself. To me, my work looked horrendous but surprisingly I received an A. I can see S's difficulty in coming up with an idea of her own and everytime it brings back memories of my own struggle. It's like, I can't be told exactly what to do, because that would inhibit my so called creativity, yet if given the freedom of creating my own artwork, I would just sit there dumbfounded, grappling at empty air.

F had said to S last night, while she sat in the swivel chair in front of the computer,

"Just write. You can always fix it later, but just write."

She did and that was she came up with, which is pretty good for a first draft. I'll let her off this time, without actually making her do a second or final draft. She's currently working on writing a report on penguins and I don't want to put a damper on her effort. I'll let her free write just so she could get a release from the restraining inhibitions I had passed down to her, and then maybe after she's used to it, we'll work on finessing her work.