Friday, December 28, 2007
Going to Houston
View Larger Map
Hubby had secured a second driver so I wouldn't have to drive on the trip to Houston. With a nursing baby, it would just be a hassle. Baby Z's car seat was placed at the very back seat so I could nurse in full seclusion since we had another brother with us.
Qadar Allah, the brother was afflicted with what might have been some stomach trouble. He stayed in Kentucky, and we proceeded. My husband had lost his second driver, and attained a reluctant moi.
Suffice it to say, the drive to Houston from then grew gradually arduous. It reached its peak worst when we reached Lousiana. I drove us through parts of Alabama and Mississippi, and handed it over to hubby because Baby Z had woken up. It was back breaking nursing him in cramped quarters in the very back seat, and I didn't get enough sleep due to our sudden change of plans. However, alhamdulillah the kids behaved, and Baby Z slept exceedingly well.
The pediatrcician, when he found out we were driving to Houston, said,
"Well, your kids are well behaved, so I'm sure you'll be fine."
As he left us though he said in a conspiratorial whisper,
"Give them some Benadryl,"
and as he walked away,
"I didn't say that. I didn't say that."
Alhamdulillah, we didn't have to give them Benadryl. Allahu Akbar!
It was close to fajr when hubby stopped somewhere in Lafayette, Louisiana to sleep. I woke up to find us at a gas station. Baby Z woke up. S and I went to the restroom to change his diaper. We were honored by two Hispanic moms conversing in Mexican.
We let hubby sleep for a while more and I offered to drive the next leg of the trip.
Bad decision.
My eyelids were super droopy. I slapped my face, asked H to recite to me, talk to me, and even pinch my hand but I kept falling asleep on the wheel. We took the next exit and I almost had a car hit us when I switched lanes without looking. Alhamdulillah hubby is not one of those people who cuss.
Hubby took the wheel, and we proceeded. The plan was not to stop anywhere for the night, hence the idea of the second driver, which of course had fallen apart by then.
The drive from then on seemed so long and torturous. We prayed Fajr at a town called Sulphur. Our spirits were lifted as the sun rose. The dark night sky is truly fit for sleeping, as Allah has intended it to be; that much I can appreciate. With the rays of the sun, our hopes were revived and we looked forward to push on despite lingering sleepiness.
"We're in Texas, where's the welcome sign?" I asked as we approached the border.
"You're not welcome," hubby quipped.
My laughter filled the van. It was probably the first glimmer of normalcy in how many hours of silent worrying.
In Texas the highways seemed wide, unlike Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana's thin, bayou and tree lined highways. It was a welcome change of scenery. Alhamdulillah. Though I have to say I rather enjoyed looking at the misty bayous and swamps inhabited by leafless trees that look like something out of a horror movie.
We set out from Columbus, Ohio on Tuesday at around 9 am, and arrived safely in Houston, Texas on Wednesday 10 am. Alhamdulillah.
The beds in the hotel room were our yusra.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Houston, Here We Come!
Tomorrow, early in the morning inshaallah, we will be setting out on a road trip to Houston, TX, for the annual Texas Dawah Convention.
Baby Z's food? Check
Clothes laid out for tomorrow? Check
Two abayas each in the bag? Check
Three pairs of clothes in the bag? Check
Food? Check
Baby Z's Cetaphil? Check
It has been a grueling preparation, and I have been losing sleep over making lesson plans for this trip. May this be a fruitful journey inshaallah.
Houston, here we come!
EiD MuBaRaK!!!
Baby Z's food? Check
Clothes laid out for tomorrow? Check
Two abayas each in the bag? Check
Three pairs of clothes in the bag? Check
Food? Check
Baby Z's Cetaphil? Check
It has been a grueling preparation, and I have been losing sleep over making lesson plans for this trip. May this be a fruitful journey inshaallah.
Houston, here we come!
EiD MuBaRaK!!!
Saturday, December 08, 2007
The Dissertation
Last Sunday was dissertation day, where bleary-eyed and zombie-like, I sat in front of the computer from after Fajr all the way till midnight editing hubby's dissertation, the long editing session broken temporarily by the study session I attended on campus.
I didn't have much sleep the night before. I had underestimated the length of that paper, which was basically not a 'paper' at all, but a book! Or maybe I was just feeling Sunday-ish.
We changed the tenses, fixed weird prepositions. It took so long that I had to nurse Baby Z in front of the computer. As I sat there rooted in front of the computer, holding a squirming baby in my arms who would smack the keyboard every now and then, and reading strings of sentences out loud in what must have sounded like garbled English (due to 'rushing it), poor baby must have thought his parents had gone cuckoo.
Even H seated himself next to me at one point, and read out loud his father's dissertation, watching me fix technical errors. I ignored him, thinking he would get tired of it at some point, but he remained there, reading, until hubby had to call him away.
That night, even baby Z stayed up, since I was practically stuck there, so I somewhat abandoned his usual routine. I didn't finish editing it that night however. With bloodshot eyes, I went to bed, and as I nursed Baby Z lying down, hubby said to me,
"Tomorrow I'll bring the laptop up here so you can edit it after Fajr."
Great. Thanks!
Suffice it to say, my mind was harangued by this dissertation business for days after, and in fact, days and weeks before that editing day. I felt like I was the one doing the Phd.
But the climax of this dissertation business didn't happen until two days ago. Hubby had just given Baby Z his bath, and no matter how many times he has done it, he couldn't for the life of him remember what to put on Baby Z's eczema-laden body and cheeks. So he'd usually holler to me,
"What do I put on?"
All the way from the kitchen or living room, I would usually holler back,
"Hydrocortisone and then Aquaphor!" or
"Just Cetaphil!" or
"Hydrocortisone on his cheeks, wait a bit and then Cetaphil!" or
"Desitin on his bum!"
That morning, he asked me,
"What do I put on?"
Absentmindedly, I answered, my mind thinking 'Desitin',
"The dissertation."
I didn't have much sleep the night before. I had underestimated the length of that paper, which was basically not a 'paper' at all, but a book! Or maybe I was just feeling Sunday-ish.
We changed the tenses, fixed weird prepositions. It took so long that I had to nurse Baby Z in front of the computer. As I sat there rooted in front of the computer, holding a squirming baby in my arms who would smack the keyboard every now and then, and reading strings of sentences out loud in what must have sounded like garbled English (due to 'rushing it), poor baby must have thought his parents had gone cuckoo.
Even H seated himself next to me at one point, and read out loud his father's dissertation, watching me fix technical errors. I ignored him, thinking he would get tired of it at some point, but he remained there, reading, until hubby had to call him away.
That night, even baby Z stayed up, since I was practically stuck there, so I somewhat abandoned his usual routine. I didn't finish editing it that night however. With bloodshot eyes, I went to bed, and as I nursed Baby Z lying down, hubby said to me,
"Tomorrow I'll bring the laptop up here so you can edit it after Fajr."
Great. Thanks!
Suffice it to say, my mind was harangued by this dissertation business for days after, and in fact, days and weeks before that editing day. I felt like I was the one doing the Phd.
But the climax of this dissertation business didn't happen until two days ago. Hubby had just given Baby Z his bath, and no matter how many times he has done it, he couldn't for the life of him remember what to put on Baby Z's eczema-laden body and cheeks. So he'd usually holler to me,
"What do I put on?"
All the way from the kitchen or living room, I would usually holler back,
"Hydrocortisone and then Aquaphor!" or
"Just Cetaphil!" or
"Hydrocortisone on his cheeks, wait a bit and then Cetaphil!" or
"Desitin on his bum!"
That morning, he asked me,
"What do I put on?"
Absentmindedly, I answered, my mind thinking 'Desitin',
"The dissertation."
Friday, December 07, 2007
Smart Mouth
"H, are you excited that Abi is now a Dr.?"
"No."
"No? but aren't you excited that your father is a Dr.?" Amused, I continued eating my lunch while H indignantly responded with another 'No'.
"But why not?" I asked, hiding a smile.
"He's not a doctor Dr.!"
"But, your father is a Dr.!" I said again, grinning at his indignant expression.
"Then you can ask Kak N, A, W, M how they feel too," he said, which left me gaping in surprise.
Kak N, A, W, and M are definitely children of Drs; Dr. M & N of USM.
It didnt even occur to me that H could make that connection and bring it into the conversation for use as comparison. I was too blown away to keep pestering him about it.
Later on, I asked him,
"H, how'd you get to be so smart?"
"I listen to people when they're talking," he replied.
"You mean you eavesdrop!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah, and I also look at the computer when you're reading or writing your email."
Uh oh!
"No."
"No? but aren't you excited that your father is a Dr.?" Amused, I continued eating my lunch while H indignantly responded with another 'No'.
"But why not?" I asked, hiding a smile.
"He's not a doctor Dr.!"
"But, your father is a Dr.!" I said again, grinning at his indignant expression.
"Then you can ask Kak N, A, W, M how they feel too," he said, which left me gaping in surprise.
Kak N, A, W, and M are definitely children of Drs; Dr. M & N of USM.
It didnt even occur to me that H could make that connection and bring it into the conversation for use as comparison. I was too blown away to keep pestering him about it.
Later on, I asked him,
"H, how'd you get to be so smart?"
"I listen to people when they're talking," he replied.
"You mean you eavesdrop!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah, and I also look at the computer when you're reading or writing your email."
Uh oh!
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
The New Toy
"This is for your kids," she said, and handed me a rectangular golden-colored box.
Completely taken aback, I asked her, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing, just something for your family," she replied with a laugh.
"Aww, jazakillah khair!"
It was an IPOD, containing Tafsir, Quran recitations, Ahadeeth, Asmaa ul Husna and the meaning, plus a feature for recording voices.
Suffice it to say, this became the newest toy in the house. Just before I set out to compose this entry, I had to tell H,
"H, go shower," for the umpteenth time.
He had been sitting in his chair and on the bed, earphones stuck in his ears, spectacled eyes glued to the screen of the IPOD, while Saad Al Ghamidi's recitation of Surah Al Baqarah rang faintly through the earphones.
"Ummi, do you know that Surah AlBaqarah has so many stories?" he asked me, taking one earphone out of his ear.
"Ummi, why is it in Surah Al Baqarah, there was so many ayat that says that the if the Jews don't listen to the Tawrah and Injil, that they would be punished?"
"Did you pass the story of the cow yet?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Ummu, there's a story of Musa and the twelve springs, do you know what number that is?" he asked me back.
"No," I replied.
"Sixty," he said, with a somewhat smug voice.
"And it's in the Quran challenge game too, " he continued.
"I like surah Al Baqarah," he annonced out of the blue, still listening to the recitation.
Yesterday, while I was in the kitchen, making two of my Luscious Trifle pies, I peeked at the kids in the living room. S was sitting with Baby Z, holding him with one hand, while the other held the IPOD playing surah Yusuf, and her eyes was glued to the screen, reading the translation of each ayah as it was recited.
Another snapshot was of H reclining on the couch with Baby Z half lying on his lap, one hand holding the IPOD, while Baby Z fingered the wires of the earphones, cheeks and lips plopping in concentration. He wore what hubby would have dubbed the 'Chinese face'.
May Allah reward the sister and whoever else is involved in the generous gesture of Muslim sisterhood immensely for this wonderful gift. Ameen.
Completely taken aback, I asked her, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing, just something for your family," she replied with a laugh.
"Aww, jazakillah khair!"
It was an IPOD, containing Tafsir, Quran recitations, Ahadeeth, Asmaa ul Husna and the meaning, plus a feature for recording voices.
Suffice it to say, this became the newest toy in the house. Just before I set out to compose this entry, I had to tell H,
"H, go shower," for the umpteenth time.
He had been sitting in his chair and on the bed, earphones stuck in his ears, spectacled eyes glued to the screen of the IPOD, while Saad Al Ghamidi's recitation of Surah Al Baqarah rang faintly through the earphones.
"Ummi, do you know that Surah AlBaqarah has so many stories?" he asked me, taking one earphone out of his ear.
"Ummi, why is it in Surah Al Baqarah, there was so many ayat that says that the if the Jews don't listen to the Tawrah and Injil, that they would be punished?"
"Did you pass the story of the cow yet?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Ummu, there's a story of Musa and the twelve springs, do you know what number that is?" he asked me back.
"No," I replied.
"Sixty," he said, with a somewhat smug voice.
"And it's in the Quran challenge game too, " he continued.
"I like surah Al Baqarah," he annonced out of the blue, still listening to the recitation.
Yesterday, while I was in the kitchen, making two of my Luscious Trifle pies, I peeked at the kids in the living room. S was sitting with Baby Z, holding him with one hand, while the other held the IPOD playing surah Yusuf, and her eyes was glued to the screen, reading the translation of each ayah as it was recited.
Another snapshot was of H reclining on the couch with Baby Z half lying on his lap, one hand holding the IPOD, while Baby Z fingered the wires of the earphones, cheeks and lips plopping in concentration. He wore what hubby would have dubbed the 'Chinese face'.
May Allah reward the sister and whoever else is involved in the generous gesture of Muslim sisterhood immensely for this wonderful gift. Ameen.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Of Porridge and Cougar
Today is turning out to be a relaxing day. Yesterday was dissertation-editing day which extended all the way to this morning.
We didn't have any food for lunch, well not enough for everyone anyway.
"Come on, S. I'm going to teach you how to make porridge!" I called out as I marched down the stairs.
"Uhhh," S responded, continuing to crochet her 'rug' while sitting on the couch.
"I want to!" N chirped, bounding into the kitchen, as I set the stockpot on the stove.
"Okay, come. Oh. we're gonna need carrots. Here, peel the carrots," I handed her two carrots, and she took out pieces of newspaper to peel the carrots over.
"Ok, we're going to saute or sweat the onions," I chanted. Alhamdulillah I had some chopped onions bagged in a ziploc baggie. I hate cutting onions.
"Get the stool, N, and stir this while I grate the carrots."
She stood on our kitchen step ladder and stirred the sauteing chopped onions.
"Add the chicken!" I hollered over the stove fan.
N dumped the whole ziploc bag of cut up broiled chicken I had frozen a few days back into the pot.
As she stirred the contents of the pot, I almost forgot to add the washed rice. Rice, coriander, cumin, salt, a whole anise star, black pepper, and soon a nice spicy fragrant infused the kitchen.
This is one of the things I love about winter. Back in 2004, we had some bouts of heavy snow, and I still recall that particular winter with fondness. I'm not that fond of the cold, but when you turn up the heat with a few cups of steaming hot cocoa, few bowls of hearty red lentil soup, and a bustling kitchen, you can almost forget that it's below freezing outside where the trees stand bare against the unrelenting winter wind.
It's not snowing yet, but since the trees have already shed their leaves, I consider it winter. It troubles me to see trees looking so bare, as it reminds me of everything gloomy and somber. Though I must say, winter is a very inspiring season for writing.
Pretty soon, our stockpot of chicken rice porridge was bubbling with vigor.
"N, come. see how the rice are fattening up?" I spooned up a few rice grains to show her the transformation.
"With porridge, we want the rice to absorb so much water that the break up and make it all porridgy," I continued.
She nodded and smiled. Her usual calm and quiet response.
"Ok, I think I'm gonna make my agar-agar too," I announced.
"Do you think I should make the chagar-chagar or the creamy caramel?"
"The caramel!" they shouted in unison.
"What are we gonna name it?" I asked them.
"Cragar!" piped S.
"Nah...please, not that," I said.
"Ooh, how about Creamy Cougar?" I exclaimed.
"Ugh!" S made one of her blegh face.
"A cougar is kind of golden, right?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Ok, we'll call it Golden Cougar then!"
The name was decided.
I proceeded to make the burnt sugar, added that to the pot of dissolving agar-agar, had S throw in a Pandan leaf, and took out a can of coconut milk.
By the time I was done, we had a pyrex dish of cream colored agar-agar, our Golden Cougar.
As I'm typing this, N suddenly came to me and asked me,
"Ummi, if you were to make a recipe book, the porridge that we made, would you name it Perfect Porridge?"
"Hmm..I don't know. Would you?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said.
So, Perfect Porridge it is then. A relaxing day of Perfect Porridge and Golden Cougar.
We didn't have any food for lunch, well not enough for everyone anyway.
"Come on, S. I'm going to teach you how to make porridge!" I called out as I marched down the stairs.
"Uhhh," S responded, continuing to crochet her 'rug' while sitting on the couch.
"I want to!" N chirped, bounding into the kitchen, as I set the stockpot on the stove.
"Okay, come. Oh. we're gonna need carrots. Here, peel the carrots," I handed her two carrots, and she took out pieces of newspaper to peel the carrots over.
"Ok, we're going to saute or sweat the onions," I chanted. Alhamdulillah I had some chopped onions bagged in a ziploc baggie. I hate cutting onions.
"Get the stool, N, and stir this while I grate the carrots."
She stood on our kitchen step ladder and stirred the sauteing chopped onions.
"Add the chicken!" I hollered over the stove fan.
N dumped the whole ziploc bag of cut up broiled chicken I had frozen a few days back into the pot.
As she stirred the contents of the pot, I almost forgot to add the washed rice. Rice, coriander, cumin, salt, a whole anise star, black pepper, and soon a nice spicy fragrant infused the kitchen.
This is one of the things I love about winter. Back in 2004, we had some bouts of heavy snow, and I still recall that particular winter with fondness. I'm not that fond of the cold, but when you turn up the heat with a few cups of steaming hot cocoa, few bowls of hearty red lentil soup, and a bustling kitchen, you can almost forget that it's below freezing outside where the trees stand bare against the unrelenting winter wind.
It's not snowing yet, but since the trees have already shed their leaves, I consider it winter. It troubles me to see trees looking so bare, as it reminds me of everything gloomy and somber. Though I must say, winter is a very inspiring season for writing.
Pretty soon, our stockpot of chicken rice porridge was bubbling with vigor.
"N, come. see how the rice are fattening up?" I spooned up a few rice grains to show her the transformation.
"With porridge, we want the rice to absorb so much water that the break up and make it all porridgy," I continued.
She nodded and smiled. Her usual calm and quiet response.
"Ok, I think I'm gonna make my agar-agar too," I announced.
"Do you think I should make the chagar-chagar or the creamy caramel?"
"The caramel!" they shouted in unison.
"What are we gonna name it?" I asked them.
"Cragar!" piped S.
"Nah...please, not that," I said.
"Ooh, how about Creamy Cougar?" I exclaimed.
"Ugh!" S made one of her blegh face.
"A cougar is kind of golden, right?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Ok, we'll call it Golden Cougar then!"
The name was decided.
I proceeded to make the burnt sugar, added that to the pot of dissolving agar-agar, had S throw in a Pandan leaf, and took out a can of coconut milk.
By the time I was done, we had a pyrex dish of cream colored agar-agar, our Golden Cougar.
As I'm typing this, N suddenly came to me and asked me,
"Ummi, if you were to make a recipe book, the porridge that we made, would you name it Perfect Porridge?"
"Hmm..I don't know. Would you?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said.
So, Perfect Porridge it is then. A relaxing day of Perfect Porridge and Golden Cougar.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
The Crochet Craze!
"Girls! Look at this!" I squealed, and they came running down the stairs.
"Look, look, see! So cute!!" I exclaimed.
I had squealed in uncontained delight at the sight of these the night before, while hubby ignored me.
"Ooh! the girls would love this!" I said out loud, and I resolved to let the kids see it the next day.
That was the catalyst to our crochet craze, in which I made two kufis, one for hubby and one for H, and a hairband for S and N.
S made purses for her, N and H, to place their recreation center ID cards in.
Right now, S is making a rug (we'll see how that will turn out to be), while I am supposed to make a winter hat for hubby, complete with earflaps.
I am in awe of N's persistance in crocheting, because it was not that easy for her, but she kept at it despite skipping some stitches thus making her growing piece somewhat deformed. She'll inshaallah gain the full mastery in a few years or soon if she keeps at it at this rate!
S has successfully mastered the art of crocheting, at least for her age, and I must say she does it quite beautifully mashaallah!
And now...we are due for another trip to Jo Ann for more balls of yarn.
"Look, look, see! So cute!!" I exclaimed.
I had squealed in uncontained delight at the sight of these the night before, while hubby ignored me.
"Ooh! the girls would love this!" I said out loud, and I resolved to let the kids see it the next day.
That was the catalyst to our crochet craze, in which I made two kufis, one for hubby and one for H, and a hairband for S and N.
S made purses for her, N and H, to place their recreation center ID cards in.
Right now, S is making a rug (we'll see how that will turn out to be), while I am supposed to make a winter hat for hubby, complete with earflaps.
I am in awe of N's persistance in crocheting, because it was not that easy for her, but she kept at it despite skipping some stitches thus making her growing piece somewhat deformed. She'll inshaallah gain the full mastery in a few years or soon if she keeps at it at this rate!
S has successfully mastered the art of crocheting, at least for her age, and I must say she does it quite beautifully mashaallah!
And now...we are due for another trip to Jo Ann for more balls of yarn.
What's Up With NanoWrimo?
Yesterday, NanoWrimo ended.
My 'novel' was only written up to chapter 4.
N's on the other hand, was completed, at over 4,318 words.
Shame on me.
Right now, my writing skill has deteriorated. I need to up my reading.
Check out Motherverse -> Living With Kids -> As We All Know.
Soon...yes...soon.
My 'novel' was only written up to chapter 4.
N's on the other hand, was completed, at over 4,318 words.
Shame on me.
Right now, my writing skill has deteriorated. I need to up my reading.
Check out Motherverse -> Living With Kids -> As We All Know.
Soon...yes...soon.
Elimination Diet
As a result of my elimination diet, I have come up with some weird substitute snacks for myself. I craved chocolate, and seeing the family indulging in chocolate only made me crave it more, but to my dismay, when I looked at he ingredients, all of them have dairy.
I haven't eaten ice cream for over a month either. I crave that too, but I'll be patient.
I have been eyeing the cocoa sitting on my wall shelf in the kitchen for quite some time now. That, and the seaweed plus coconut milk would make a perfect chocolate snack for me. So I made my own cool, creamy, chocolate jello snack, using good ole Asian seaweed.
Results: oh la la! I've never been more proud of myself for inventing my own recipe!
"What do you think I should name taht chocolate agar-agar?' I asked the girls as I was typing this.
"Chagar-Chagar," S responded.
"Because it's chocolate agar-agar," she continued.
So, Chagar-Chagar it is!
Chagar-Chagar
8 cups water
2 cups coconut milk
1 45g packet of seaweed
3 estimated tablespoons cocoa
a dumpload of sugar (I didn't think of measuring it when I dumped it in)
1. Bring 8 cups of water plus a dumpload of sugar to a boil
2. Throw in the whole packet of agar-agar (seaweed)
3. Stir it till the agar-agar completely dissolves
4. In 2 cups of coconut milk, stir in the cocoa until the cocoa is dissolved
5. Pour the creamy chocolatey coconut milk into the pot of sweetend dissolved agar-agar
6. Stir till combined
7. Pour into dish and let cool to set
8. Cut into desired shapes
I had myself a chocolatey snack for a few days.
Today, we had another try at Kuih Sagu. Again, I overestimated the amount of water to the amount of tapioca pearls, so we ended up with a Kuih Sagu that is not that easy to slice, so we spooned it and rolled it in grated coconut. Still oh la la!
I wonder what else I can 'cook' up. I'll probably end up with my own cook book of 'elimination diet' at the end of this journey. All thanks to Baby Z who now has impetigo in his face, poor boy!
I haven't eaten ice cream for over a month either. I crave that too, but I'll be patient.
I have been eyeing the cocoa sitting on my wall shelf in the kitchen for quite some time now. That, and the seaweed plus coconut milk would make a perfect chocolate snack for me. So I made my own cool, creamy, chocolate jello snack, using good ole Asian seaweed.
Results: oh la la! I've never been more proud of myself for inventing my own recipe!
"What do you think I should name taht chocolate agar-agar?' I asked the girls as I was typing this.
"Chagar-Chagar," S responded.
"Because it's chocolate agar-agar," she continued.
So, Chagar-Chagar it is!
Chagar-Chagar
8 cups water
2 cups coconut milk
1 45g packet of seaweed
3 estimated tablespoons cocoa
a dumpload of sugar (I didn't think of measuring it when I dumped it in)
1. Bring 8 cups of water plus a dumpload of sugar to a boil
2. Throw in the whole packet of agar-agar (seaweed)
3. Stir it till the agar-agar completely dissolves
4. In 2 cups of coconut milk, stir in the cocoa until the cocoa is dissolved
5. Pour the creamy chocolatey coconut milk into the pot of sweetend dissolved agar-agar
6. Stir till combined
7. Pour into dish and let cool to set
8. Cut into desired shapes
I had myself a chocolatey snack for a few days.
Today, we had another try at Kuih Sagu. Again, I overestimated the amount of water to the amount of tapioca pearls, so we ended up with a Kuih Sagu that is not that easy to slice, so we spooned it and rolled it in grated coconut. Still oh la la!
I wonder what else I can 'cook' up. I'll probably end up with my own cook book of 'elimination diet' at the end of this journey. All thanks to Baby Z who now has impetigo in his face, poor boy!
Friday, November 30, 2007
NOT made in China
We have been avoiding buying toys for Baby Z since all the toys in the stores are Made in China. Everytime I peeked at the bottom inscription of the toys, I would end up snorting in disgust. Now, I don't even bother peeking. I give up.
This fall, we enrolled the kids in the usual recreation center free classes. Alhamdulillah, they are now taking archery, ceramics, wrestling, and street hockey.
The recreation center closest to us (now that the other one we usually frequent is closed for renovation) has more sports classes than home economics ones, so S is only taking ceramics. She refused to take the other more athletic types of classes. N is taking archery and ceramics, while H is into wrestling and street hockey.
It's no surprise that H is into push ups, since his coach in wrestling told him to do them at home. As for the girls, they came home last week with trays full of ceramics food, shaped, painted and glazed. N actuallly made a very real looking corn on the cob.
One day they brought all their play food to the living room to play with, and after a while, I noticed that they actually had loads of toys in front of them, none of them Made in China!
This fall, we enrolled the kids in the usual recreation center free classes. Alhamdulillah, they are now taking archery, ceramics, wrestling, and street hockey.
The recreation center closest to us (now that the other one we usually frequent is closed for renovation) has more sports classes than home economics ones, so S is only taking ceramics. She refused to take the other more athletic types of classes. N is taking archery and ceramics, while H is into wrestling and street hockey.
It's no surprise that H is into push ups, since his coach in wrestling told him to do them at home. As for the girls, they came home last week with trays full of ceramics food, shaped, painted and glazed. N actuallly made a very real looking corn on the cob.
One day they brought all their play food to the living room to play with, and after a while, I noticed that they actually had loads of toys in front of them, none of them Made in China!
When Kids Are Around
"Ummi, I think they don't like to learn it."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because when you keep telling them to repeat the letter, their face looks like they want to cry, like how I feel when Abi does my surah with me."
I have been teaching some sisters how to read the Arabic alphabet with the tashkeel, using the Malaysian IQRA' series. Of course the pronunciation is the hardest part, and many times I had to ask them to repeat the pronunciation until they get it right. I had asked my kids to help me because since it's just me teaching a bunch of sisters, I couldn't possibly do it with all of them at once since it's easier to work with individuals at a time. The kids eagerly agreed, but in practice, I ended up teaching the sisters by myself.
I was contemplating whether to go to the masjid or not one Saturday, because most of the sisters had said that they were not coming, but a few of them hadn't yet replied to my email about whether she could come or not. So the kids are always aware of this extra curricular activity of mine very weekend.
So I suppose, it's no surprise that H shared his insights with me. His face was serious when he said the above. I couldn't help smiling, and in return I asked him,
"So you don't like doing surah with Abi?"
"Well, I like doing the review, but I don't like when we first start learning it," he explained.
S had also once reported her observations to me, regarding the army of cupcakes I had made for the AlMaghrib promo.
"Ummi, don't make that frosting again. I don't think they like it. I saw one cupcake half eaten behind a door," she said with a giggle, thinking of that poor cupcake sitting by itself, abandoned behind a door.
"Hmm...then they like the sweet kind, you think?" I asked her.
I hated the sweet frosting, so I had made the less sweet but buttery kind of frosting. Well, apparently, the Somali taste buds prefer the sweet kind, as one Somali sister said to me.
"So do you think I should make half and half then, S?"
We were discussing possibilities of cupcakes for the class Code of Scholars, (which has passed us by the way and we ended up not making anything for it).
S nodded, still giggling over the thought of that lone half eaten cupcake.
I'm half ashamaed to say that my kids are experts at eavesdropping. It can be good and it can be bad, but so far it has been rather amusing to say the least.
H or was it N once offered me an analysis of a sister's character based on that sister's pattern of conversations with me. I guess maybe they've been doing too many character analysis in language arts.
And when I told the sisters what my kids had said, they either were amazed or burst into laughter.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because when you keep telling them to repeat the letter, their face looks like they want to cry, like how I feel when Abi does my surah with me."
I have been teaching some sisters how to read the Arabic alphabet with the tashkeel, using the Malaysian IQRA' series. Of course the pronunciation is the hardest part, and many times I had to ask them to repeat the pronunciation until they get it right. I had asked my kids to help me because since it's just me teaching a bunch of sisters, I couldn't possibly do it with all of them at once since it's easier to work with individuals at a time. The kids eagerly agreed, but in practice, I ended up teaching the sisters by myself.
I was contemplating whether to go to the masjid or not one Saturday, because most of the sisters had said that they were not coming, but a few of them hadn't yet replied to my email about whether she could come or not. So the kids are always aware of this extra curricular activity of mine very weekend.
So I suppose, it's no surprise that H shared his insights with me. His face was serious when he said the above. I couldn't help smiling, and in return I asked him,
"So you don't like doing surah with Abi?"
"Well, I like doing the review, but I don't like when we first start learning it," he explained.
S had also once reported her observations to me, regarding the army of cupcakes I had made for the AlMaghrib promo.
"Ummi, don't make that frosting again. I don't think they like it. I saw one cupcake half eaten behind a door," she said with a giggle, thinking of that poor cupcake sitting by itself, abandoned behind a door.
"Hmm...then they like the sweet kind, you think?" I asked her.
I hated the sweet frosting, so I had made the less sweet but buttery kind of frosting. Well, apparently, the Somali taste buds prefer the sweet kind, as one Somali sister said to me.
"So do you think I should make half and half then, S?"
We were discussing possibilities of cupcakes for the class Code of Scholars, (which has passed us by the way and we ended up not making anything for it).
S nodded, still giggling over the thought of that lone half eaten cupcake.
I'm half ashamaed to say that my kids are experts at eavesdropping. It can be good and it can be bad, but so far it has been rather amusing to say the least.
H or was it N once offered me an analysis of a sister's character based on that sister's pattern of conversations with me. I guess maybe they've been doing too many character analysis in language arts.
And when I told the sisters what my kids had said, they either were amazed or burst into laughter.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Handling my 'Best Buddy'
H always calls Baby Z his 'Best Buddy'. Today, H really helped me out by entertaining his 'Best Buddy' in his time of need.
We were out of lunch and dinner food. I had to cook, so I nursed Baby Z. As usual, he fell asleep while nursing, so I brought him upstairs, placed him on the bed and proceeded to leave the room. He opened his eyes, saw me and started to smile. I kissed his forehead, as usual, told him to sleep, and left the room. He cried for a few seconds and then quieted down.
N hadn't yet takend a bath, and needed to take the hair brush from my room.
"Ummi, Z is not crying, can I go to your room to get the brush?"
I nodded.
As soon as she closed the door after her, Baby Z started wailing. He never stopped. Sighing, I picked him up and put him on his blanket in the living room, while I proceeded to have whatever food is left for lunch. By the time I was about to cook, he was cranky again, so I nursed him again till he fell asleep.
Again, I put him on the bed. He woke up and cried. I left the room anyway, hoping he'd fall asleep after a while. He didn't so I picked him up, and told H to entertain Baby Z while I cooked.
Did H really went all out to keep Baby Z entertained.
At first H lamented,
"But he wouldn't laugh!"
"He won't laugh, 'cause he's sleepy, but I need to cook now, and so you need to keep him busy."
H did his soccer stunts while Baby Z sat on the couch watching him. I managed to finish making the Mee kari and Agar-agar, do the dishes, and clean the kitchen and fridge.
In the midst of it all, I called H to the kitchen, gave him a hug and told him how big of a help he was. You don't get moments like these always, and when you do, you really treasure it, and make your appreciation known.
Too bad the age difference is pretty big between H and Baby Z. it'll be sometime before H could play soccer with Baby Z, but it'd be interesting to see how the dynamics of their relationship would be when Baby Z grows a little bigger. I was worried about H's acceptance of Baby Z before Baby Z was born. Alhamdulilah, H has turned out to be quite a Big Brother, mashaallah.
We were out of lunch and dinner food. I had to cook, so I nursed Baby Z. As usual, he fell asleep while nursing, so I brought him upstairs, placed him on the bed and proceeded to leave the room. He opened his eyes, saw me and started to smile. I kissed his forehead, as usual, told him to sleep, and left the room. He cried for a few seconds and then quieted down.
N hadn't yet takend a bath, and needed to take the hair brush from my room.
"Ummi, Z is not crying, can I go to your room to get the brush?"
I nodded.
As soon as she closed the door after her, Baby Z started wailing. He never stopped. Sighing, I picked him up and put him on his blanket in the living room, while I proceeded to have whatever food is left for lunch. By the time I was about to cook, he was cranky again, so I nursed him again till he fell asleep.
Again, I put him on the bed. He woke up and cried. I left the room anyway, hoping he'd fall asleep after a while. He didn't so I picked him up, and told H to entertain Baby Z while I cooked.
Did H really went all out to keep Baby Z entertained.
At first H lamented,
"But he wouldn't laugh!"
"He won't laugh, 'cause he's sleepy, but I need to cook now, and so you need to keep him busy."
H did his soccer stunts while Baby Z sat on the couch watching him. I managed to finish making the Mee kari and Agar-agar, do the dishes, and clean the kitchen and fridge.
In the midst of it all, I called H to the kitchen, gave him a hug and told him how big of a help he was. You don't get moments like these always, and when you do, you really treasure it, and make your appreciation known.
Too bad the age difference is pretty big between H and Baby Z. it'll be sometime before H could play soccer with Baby Z, but it'd be interesting to see how the dynamics of their relationship would be when Baby Z grows a little bigger. I was worried about H's acceptance of Baby Z before Baby Z was born. Alhamdulilah, H has turned out to be quite a Big Brother, mashaallah.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Oh My God! Oh I'm Sorry!
Yesterday, they all had eye appointments, and since we had to play catch up with time for them to make it to their ceramics class, hubby brought them to a space near an emergency exit to pray Asr while H chose a new pair of glasses.
Apparently, while they prayed, two times, someone opened the door, and didn't see the girls behind it, thus banging it on them.
Our resident poet wrote two acrostics (also the latest craze they're into) about the incident.
By N
Apparently, while they prayed, two times, someone opened the door, and didn't see the girls behind it, thus banging it on them.
Our resident poet wrote two acrostics (also the latest craze they're into) about the incident.
Oh my God, it's Oh my God!
How did she not know we were there?
My sister was smashed by the door,
You wouldn't believe it,
Goodness gracious me, she said,
Oh I'm sorry, that's what she said,
Door was banged on us and then we started to giggle!
Oh I'm sorry, Oh I am sorry,
Hit by the door
I was soo mad,
My sister was, too!
Suddenly the woman said, "Oh, I'm very sorry!"
Oh I am very sorry! We both laughed at that remark
Right after we finished praying.
Rolling with laughter, laughing uncontrollably
You just wouldn't believe it!
How did she not know we were there?
My sister was smashed by the door,
You wouldn't believe it,
Goodness gracious me, she said,
Oh I'm sorry, that's what she said,
Door was banged on us and then we started to giggle!
Oh I'm sorry, Oh I am sorry,
Hit by the door
I was soo mad,
My sister was, too!
Suddenly the woman said, "Oh, I'm very sorry!"
Oh I am very sorry! We both laughed at that remark
Right after we finished praying.
Rolling with laughter, laughing uncontrollably
You just wouldn't believe it!
By N
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
...
"Are you grateful you have a cute baby brother like Baby Z?"
"Yeah!"
"And we're grateful that we have a smart mother who can crochet!" exclaimed N.
I stood there open-mouthed, speechless. Baby Z had nothing to do with crocheting!
"She always says things that make me speechless," I finally said.
"Well, that's going on my blog," I continued.
"Ummi, I think my new hobby is crocheting," N confided.
We had recently taken up crocheting after ooh and aah-ing at this.
I had tried to teach them crochet couple of years back, and while hubby played soccer with the other Malaysians, we sat in the shade and crocheted, or tried to at least, with library books propped open on the picnic mat we had laid out on the ground.
They gave up after a few tries, complaining that it was too hard.
This time, S really managed to master it, and whipped up a purse for herself, one for N and one for the little boy named H. I made a kufi for hubby and H. We were in crochet land for a while. Let me just say that the trip to Jo Ann to buy the yarn was the loudest shopping experience I ever had with the three kids. They were all too excited to buy more than one ball of yarn. I limited it to two balls of yarn each after quieting them down.
"Yeah!"
"And we're grateful that we have a smart mother who can crochet!" exclaimed N.
I stood there open-mouthed, speechless. Baby Z had nothing to do with crocheting!
"She always says things that make me speechless," I finally said.
"Well, that's going on my blog," I continued.
"Ummi, I think my new hobby is crocheting," N confided.
We had recently taken up crocheting after ooh and aah-ing at this.
I had tried to teach them crochet couple of years back, and while hubby played soccer with the other Malaysians, we sat in the shade and crocheted, or tried to at least, with library books propped open on the picnic mat we had laid out on the ground.
They gave up after a few tries, complaining that it was too hard.
This time, S really managed to master it, and whipped up a purse for herself, one for N and one for the little boy named H. I made a kufi for hubby and H. We were in crochet land for a while. Let me just say that the trip to Jo Ann to buy the yarn was the loudest shopping experience I ever had with the three kids. They were all too excited to buy more than one ball of yarn. I limited it to two balls of yarn each after quieting them down.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Hello Cheeky!
S is my right hand man. She gives Baby Z a bath. She changes his diapers. She puts him to sleep. In fact, she has been putting Baby Z down for his nap ever since he was a month old. She could do it better than me, because with me, Baby Z will always look for a feeding even when he's more sleepy than hungry. With S, he falls asleep, mostly on her chest.
"He's sleeping?" I would ask disbelievingly, when S would come out of my room after putting him to sleep.
S would nod.
One evening, while waiting for hubby to come home, the girls and I were crocheting on the couch, while H played with Baby Z on the floor. Suddenly, H called out to me,
"Ummi, he's wet over here!" showing me two wet ping pong ball-sized spots on Baby Z's bottom.
Befuddled, I stared at it, trying to figure out if it was urine. It didn't seem to come out from any of the usual leakage point, which would be the sides of his waist. The spots were on his bottom where the diaper would have been covering.
"Do you want me to check it?" asked H.
I gave him the green light and he proceeded to unbutton his brother's onesie.
"Look!" H uttered, and all our eyes laid upon the most unbelievable sight of the day.
My jaw must have hit the couch with a thud.
Cooing and chuckling, Baby Z lay face down on H's lap while his left bottom greet us with a cheeky 'hello'. The diaper had come undone on one side, exposing one cheek, and opening the flood gate at the same time.
The minutes that followed were full of uncontrollable laughter and Baby Z's chuckles.
"S, you didn't put his diaper on properly," I said, still laughing.
"Yes, I did!" she insisted, still laughing too.
"Well, he must have tried to open it as usual, and you buttoned him up without fixing it," I said.
Meanwhile, Baby Z cooed and babbled away.
"Oh! Oh! get the camera!" I exclaimed.
'Oh no, the battery's low," I uttered, as I remembered that I had forgotten to recharge it.
Well, my right hand 'girl' is not without flaws, but I'll take those flaws if the lead to incidents like this. Now, if only she could also nurse him...
"He's sleeping?" I would ask disbelievingly, when S would come out of my room after putting him to sleep.
S would nod.
One evening, while waiting for hubby to come home, the girls and I were crocheting on the couch, while H played with Baby Z on the floor. Suddenly, H called out to me,
"Ummi, he's wet over here!" showing me two wet ping pong ball-sized spots on Baby Z's bottom.
Befuddled, I stared at it, trying to figure out if it was urine. It didn't seem to come out from any of the usual leakage point, which would be the sides of his waist. The spots were on his bottom where the diaper would have been covering.
"Do you want me to check it?" asked H.
I gave him the green light and he proceeded to unbutton his brother's onesie.
"Look!" H uttered, and all our eyes laid upon the most unbelievable sight of the day.
My jaw must have hit the couch with a thud.
Cooing and chuckling, Baby Z lay face down on H's lap while his left bottom greet us with a cheeky 'hello'. The diaper had come undone on one side, exposing one cheek, and opening the flood gate at the same time.
The minutes that followed were full of uncontrollable laughter and Baby Z's chuckles.
"S, you didn't put his diaper on properly," I said, still laughing.
"Yes, I did!" she insisted, still laughing too.
"Well, he must have tried to open it as usual, and you buttoned him up without fixing it," I said.
Meanwhile, Baby Z cooed and babbled away.
"Oh! Oh! get the camera!" I exclaimed.
'Oh no, the battery's low," I uttered, as I remembered that I had forgotten to recharge it.
Well, my right hand 'girl' is not without flaws, but I'll take those flaws if the lead to incidents like this. Now, if only she could also nurse him...
Can't Catch Up!
She's almost as tall as me, though H keeps saying,
"S's taller than you!"
Whenever I read something, she eyes it. I was reading 'How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk' when she caught sight of the comics illustration in it. Before long, I found her sitting on the couch reading the book. As usual, I have more than one books splayed on the couch, my side activity while nursing Baby Z. The two books I had taken out were 'Pushed' and 'A Child in the Jungle'.
It's also a habit of mine to bring the books with me when we go out, even when we go grocery shopping. I never read them, well, sometimes I do, but most of the time, it's just out of habit that I lug the books along. While they were helping me get the diaper bag in the van, they saw 'Pushed', and N asked me,
"What's that book about, Ummi?"
"Oh, it's about people having babies," I said.
Yesterday, S saw me reading 'Soft Spoken Parenting' while nursing Baby Z. I noticed her eyeing it.
Today, while I was crocheting and nursing Baby Z (yes, I have acquired the true skill of multitasking now), she picked up 'Child of the Jungle' and before we knew it, she was lost in the faraway jungle of West Papua, in someone's memoir.
I can't catch up! Children, they grow up too fast. Now, if only I can hold to Baby Z's coos, slobbery fists, toothless grins, and an attempt to say 'Ummi' a little bit longer...
"S's taller than you!"
Whenever I read something, she eyes it. I was reading 'How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk' when she caught sight of the comics illustration in it. Before long, I found her sitting on the couch reading the book. As usual, I have more than one books splayed on the couch, my side activity while nursing Baby Z. The two books I had taken out were 'Pushed' and 'A Child in the Jungle'.
It's also a habit of mine to bring the books with me when we go out, even when we go grocery shopping. I never read them, well, sometimes I do, but most of the time, it's just out of habit that I lug the books along. While they were helping me get the diaper bag in the van, they saw 'Pushed', and N asked me,
"What's that book about, Ummi?"
"Oh, it's about people having babies," I said.
Yesterday, S saw me reading 'Soft Spoken Parenting' while nursing Baby Z. I noticed her eyeing it.
Today, while I was crocheting and nursing Baby Z (yes, I have acquired the true skill of multitasking now), she picked up 'Child of the Jungle' and before we knew it, she was lost in the faraway jungle of West Papua, in someone's memoir.
I can't catch up! Children, they grow up too fast. Now, if only I can hold to Baby Z's coos, slobbery fists, toothless grins, and an attempt to say 'Ummi' a little bit longer...
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
All at Once
Baby Z didn't roll over by his 6 month check up. I was worried.
"Oh, his muscle tone is great, so no need to worry," explained the doctor."
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving, they never stop," he added.
Baby Z started rolling over just recently, while we were praying. Weirdly enough, it seems that he only does it when we were in sujud, so that by the time we got up, he was on his tummy. Everytime after we gave salam, the kids would shout,
"He rolled over! He rolled over!"
Today, he mastered yet another feat; sitting unsupported. For quite some time, he sat quietly, and fingered the book the kids had checked out of the library for him, cheeks drooping, baby drool dangling, and bottom lip jowling.
H had taught himself to climb down the stairs backwards even before he started walking. I wonder what Baby Z will do now that he has apparently begun to embark on the mobility journey.
"Oh, his muscle tone is great, so no need to worry," explained the doctor."
"Enjoy this immobility because once they start moving, they never stop," he added.
Baby Z started rolling over just recently, while we were praying. Weirdly enough, it seems that he only does it when we were in sujud, so that by the time we got up, he was on his tummy. Everytime after we gave salam, the kids would shout,
"He rolled over! He rolled over!"
Today, he mastered yet another feat; sitting unsupported. For quite some time, he sat quietly, and fingered the book the kids had checked out of the library for him, cheeks drooping, baby drool dangling, and bottom lip jowling.
H had taught himself to climb down the stairs backwards even before he started walking. I wonder what Baby Z will do now that he has apparently begun to embark on the mobility journey.
Appeasing Ummi
"Uh oh! It's open," S announced, as she closed the oven door after peeking in at the baking Fatayer.
"Ugh...I knew that would happen," I said.
I hate making Karipap, because for some reason, my fingers are stiff when it comes to anything that requires encasing filling and pinching the seams closed. I've had karipaps that open up while being deep fried, and boiling water turning brown from the leaking palm sugar filling inside poorly seamed onde-onde. However, that didn't prevent me from trying to make this Fatayer, even when I knew there would be filling and seaming involved.
While I was spooning the spinach filling in the circle of dough, H rolled out the other ball of dough for us to cut more circles out of.
Making the Fatayer had become a family affair. All cooking nowadays have become a family affair as there was always someone needed to tend to the crying Baby Z if it happens to be at the time I am in the kitchen. Sometimes, I would just direct S verbally while I sat on the couch nursing Baby Z. And don't you know it, Baby Z is a relaxed nurser; he sure does take his own sweet time.
"Ooh you can see the inside. It's gonna open up in the oven, I just know it!" I muttered, exasperated.
"Oh, I've seen some at the masjid that are open a little bit," said H.
"Really?"
H nodded, assuring me that I was doing just fine. That made me feel slightly better.
If the ones sold at the masjid have that flaw too then mine are not so bad, I thought.
"Oh..I hope they don't burn in the oven," I said, announcing another worry.
"Oh I've seen black ones at the masjid," H said.
"Really?" I asked again, disbelieving, but feeling better by the minute.
"Yeah, some are really black!" he chuckled.
As the oven door banged shut after S's announcement of the opene-up Fatayer in the oven, H again made a remark,
"I've never seen anything like that at the masjid."
"Ugh...I knew that would happen," I said.
I hate making Karipap, because for some reason, my fingers are stiff when it comes to anything that requires encasing filling and pinching the seams closed. I've had karipaps that open up while being deep fried, and boiling water turning brown from the leaking palm sugar filling inside poorly seamed onde-onde. However, that didn't prevent me from trying to make this Fatayer, even when I knew there would be filling and seaming involved.
While I was spooning the spinach filling in the circle of dough, H rolled out the other ball of dough for us to cut more circles out of.
Making the Fatayer had become a family affair. All cooking nowadays have become a family affair as there was always someone needed to tend to the crying Baby Z if it happens to be at the time I am in the kitchen. Sometimes, I would just direct S verbally while I sat on the couch nursing Baby Z. And don't you know it, Baby Z is a relaxed nurser; he sure does take his own sweet time.
"Ooh you can see the inside. It's gonna open up in the oven, I just know it!" I muttered, exasperated.
"Oh, I've seen some at the masjid that are open a little bit," said H.
"Really?"
H nodded, assuring me that I was doing just fine. That made me feel slightly better.
If the ones sold at the masjid have that flaw too then mine are not so bad, I thought.
"Oh..I hope they don't burn in the oven," I said, announcing another worry.
"Oh I've seen black ones at the masjid," H said.
"Really?" I asked again, disbelieving, but feeling better by the minute.
"Yeah, some are really black!" he chuckled.
As the oven door banged shut after S's announcement of the opene-up Fatayer in the oven, H again made a remark,
"I've never seen anything like that at the masjid."
Monday, November 19, 2007
Do It Right
"An American friend told me, if you want to teach your kids something, do it right," she said.
She was talking about training her children to fast. I took that bit if information home with me and mulled over it. If we dissect the above sentence, we can make a perfect analysis of hidden messages or connotations or mentality of a certain culture or human nature.
I've always thought that there's something amiss with this attitude of
'Oh they're still kids, don't tell them everything. Don't tell them they they have to wear the hijab. Let them have fun first, and tell them when they have to start doing it.'
Some parents actually let their kids anything they want and then try to make them observe the ways of the deen when they hit puberty. Personally, I think it's bad move.
"You need to train your daughter to wear the hijab before she reaches puberty, because it will be hard for her to wear it all the time when she hits puberty. And she has to wear it all the time once she hits puberty," was another advice given to me by a sister who at the time had a 10 year old daughter. A sweet girl she is too.
"And if I die, I will be asked why I never taught my children the deen," the sister added.
I nodded, a clearer picture forming in my mind. That was about seven years ago. It had become quite a habit of mine to go 'interviewing' some parents about the way they raise their children, especially parents with older children. It's like a private survey, and I treasure these little bits of wisdom from these parents.
Yesterday's events brought me to another realization. I was chatting with the kids just this morning about how I don't actually like the environment of a gathering where the men and women mix freely. It disturbs me that they don't immediately recognize the 'evil' of the environment. I had to explain it to them. I quickly made a mental note to myself,
"Have to talk to hubby about attending anymore of those invitations that we attend out of courtesy."
In the Malaysian student community, it's unfortunate that there are mixing, and I don't like it one single bit. Whenever we're invited, we feel obligated to attend. Yesterday, my heart was really begging me not to go, to the extent that when we got there, I hesitated getting out of the van. Fortunately, I was nursing Baby Z, so there was an excuse. But, I couldn't sit in there forever. Then when we got inside, I was not in my usual 'banter and chat it up' mood, so I must have seemed quite 'aloof' (hindsight) to the host. I couldn't help it. I have told hubby that if we arrive there on time, it will just be a waste of time because we both know how the Malays are not on time. To add to the fact that I didn't really want to be there, that possibility of us wasting our time waiting for them was really distressing me. We were right. We arrived and no one was there yet, not even the food. We excused ourselves and went ahead to do our grocery shopping. We came back, ate, chatted a bit, and left. They came one hour later. Typical Malaysians. I'm sorry to say but this problem of untimeliness is not just the habit of Malaysians, but the practice of all Muslim cultures. Sad, huh?
So there I was, in silent shock while explaining to the kids the difference between a gathering where there are men and women but no mingling happens, and a gathering where there are men and women mingling freely. I really really hate the latter. May Allah keep my hatred for it permanent, for I would not like to start being desensitized to it such that I will think it 'normal'. When that happens, that's when we start to deteriorate as an Ummah.
"Do it right."
An excellent piece of advice from an 'American friend'.
On the same line of advice, I recall an observation of mine several years ago. I noticed that the Muslims from the so called Muslim countries try to hard to dress like the westerners that to a certain point, it becomes hard to tell if they're Muslim or not. On the other hand, the American Muslims try so hard to look Muslim that you would sometimes think that they come from the 'so called' Muslim countries.
"People think that I come to America, I would get worse," said a sister to me, telling how she came to don the hijab when she came to the United States, to her family's shock.
I understand that expectation and mentality. Most people outside of America probably thinks that once you get there and live there, you're going to turn out a bad Muslim. To a certain extent, from my experiences living here, it's actually easier to practice your deen properly as you are not blinded by the gray line between Islam and culture like back home.
*Considering that we are not supposed to divulge our wrong doings, I have refrained from mentioning anything of my past in this post. I apologize if this seems hypocritical as a result.
She was talking about training her children to fast. I took that bit if information home with me and mulled over it. If we dissect the above sentence, we can make a perfect analysis of hidden messages or connotations or mentality of a certain culture or human nature.
- 'An American friend' - denotes that the opinion of an American friend is highly valued whereas the opinion of a fellow Malaysian might not be so valuable or credible
- Also there is the hidden message that the fact that the person receives advice from an American friend (and from the way it was said, it seems that that American friend is not Muslim) says that the person is in 'enviable' company because the person does not just stick with the Malay community but mingles.
- Also, if the friend giving advice is not Muslim, this is conveying that 'Muslims don't know what they're doing nowadays, so I take advice from a non Muslim'.
I've always thought that there's something amiss with this attitude of
'Oh they're still kids, don't tell them everything. Don't tell them they they have to wear the hijab. Let them have fun first, and tell them when they have to start doing it.'
Some parents actually let their kids anything they want and then try to make them observe the ways of the deen when they hit puberty. Personally, I think it's bad move.
"You need to train your daughter to wear the hijab before she reaches puberty, because it will be hard for her to wear it all the time when she hits puberty. And she has to wear it all the time once she hits puberty," was another advice given to me by a sister who at the time had a 10 year old daughter. A sweet girl she is too.
"And if I die, I will be asked why I never taught my children the deen," the sister added.
I nodded, a clearer picture forming in my mind. That was about seven years ago. It had become quite a habit of mine to go 'interviewing' some parents about the way they raise their children, especially parents with older children. It's like a private survey, and I treasure these little bits of wisdom from these parents.
Yesterday's events brought me to another realization. I was chatting with the kids just this morning about how I don't actually like the environment of a gathering where the men and women mix freely. It disturbs me that they don't immediately recognize the 'evil' of the environment. I had to explain it to them. I quickly made a mental note to myself,
"Have to talk to hubby about attending anymore of those invitations that we attend out of courtesy."
In the Malaysian student community, it's unfortunate that there are mixing, and I don't like it one single bit. Whenever we're invited, we feel obligated to attend. Yesterday, my heart was really begging me not to go, to the extent that when we got there, I hesitated getting out of the van. Fortunately, I was nursing Baby Z, so there was an excuse. But, I couldn't sit in there forever. Then when we got inside, I was not in my usual 'banter and chat it up' mood, so I must have seemed quite 'aloof' (hindsight) to the host. I couldn't help it. I have told hubby that if we arrive there on time, it will just be a waste of time because we both know how the Malays are not on time. To add to the fact that I didn't really want to be there, that possibility of us wasting our time waiting for them was really distressing me. We were right. We arrived and no one was there yet, not even the food. We excused ourselves and went ahead to do our grocery shopping. We came back, ate, chatted a bit, and left. They came one hour later. Typical Malaysians. I'm sorry to say but this problem of untimeliness is not just the habit of Malaysians, but the practice of all Muslim cultures. Sad, huh?
So there I was, in silent shock while explaining to the kids the difference between a gathering where there are men and women but no mingling happens, and a gathering where there are men and women mingling freely. I really really hate the latter. May Allah keep my hatred for it permanent, for I would not like to start being desensitized to it such that I will think it 'normal'. When that happens, that's when we start to deteriorate as an Ummah.
"Do it right."
An excellent piece of advice from an 'American friend'.
On the same line of advice, I recall an observation of mine several years ago. I noticed that the Muslims from the so called Muslim countries try to hard to dress like the westerners that to a certain point, it becomes hard to tell if they're Muslim or not. On the other hand, the American Muslims try so hard to look Muslim that you would sometimes think that they come from the 'so called' Muslim countries.
"People think that I come to America, I would get worse," said a sister to me, telling how she came to don the hijab when she came to the United States, to her family's shock.
I understand that expectation and mentality. Most people outside of America probably thinks that once you get there and live there, you're going to turn out a bad Muslim. To a certain extent, from my experiences living here, it's actually easier to practice your deen properly as you are not blinded by the gray line between Islam and culture like back home.
*Considering that we are not supposed to divulge our wrong doings, I have refrained from mentioning anything of my past in this post. I apologize if this seems hypocritical as a result.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Siblings Dynamics
I woke up yesterday feeling nervous about attending this event. Let's face it, I'm an introvert, and if it were totally up to my whims, I would be cooped up at home or not talking to anyone outside the house at all. But as it is, I do force myself to socialize for the sake of sisterhood, and for normalcy.
Left the baby at home with hubby, and drove to the library with the rest of the kids. It was the first time I drove at night with the new van too. Alhamdulillah the lights turn on automtically, I still remember fumbling for the light switch with the old van. It had been a while since I had driven at night, and I spent a good 15 minutes panicking that I would drive home with no headlights on. I think I did? I don't remember, but oh boy, do I hate going out by myself, especially at night! Last night, I was reassured that I was not alone since the kids were with me. It's funny how I already depend on them, when it should be me they would be depending on.
"Kids! I can't open the door! I can' find it. How do I open it?" I wailed in the dark, after killing the engine. (Ok, I'm really revealing my foolishness here, so please don't laugh)
I fumbled. Panic set in. (Did I tell you that I panic easily?) I fumbled again, all the while thinking,
I'm so dumb. How can I not know how to open the door?! It's so simple! Where's my brain?! Knock knock! Oh god! How am I gonna get out of the van?!
I seriously forgot how to open the door, and I kept pawing at the door handle and thinking,
How could it not be there? How could the thingy (whatever it's called) not be there?!
The kids didn't laugh at me, bless them! As they themselves got themselves out of the van, H scrambled to come and help me. They didn't laugh at their fumbling mother! Oh Jazahum Allah Khair.
I laughed at myself though, after he panic eased off.
"Oh, I found it!" I announced, laughing. (I don't know why I'm publishing this on blog, but I'm just elated I survived last night)
"Lock it, Ummi!" H reminded me.
Like a kid, I obeyed him.
"You know how to lock it, right? Press once," he said.
Mashaallah, the boy is really growing up. He'll be my bodyguard sooner than expected, I think.
I nodded.
On the bright side, all that panicking distracted me from my nervousness of sitting in a room full of other people. (I had done this before, come on! I even read out my heart's content to a group of people I don't know in a writing group, but, still, it just still feels...strange)
The session lasted for about one and a half hours. It was pretty helpful. I talked about the kids, how two of them quarrels, and the other one just wants to be left alone. She offered me suggesteions, but mostly it's about getting the kids to learn how to resolve conflict. Nothing I hadn't read about before, but still, it was refreshing to hear it firsthand, and most importantly, to be able to ask firsthand.
When we were done, I got to talking with a fellow attendee. The group moderator went out of the room, came back in and said to me.
"Are those three well behaved children yours?"
"Yeah, well now they're well behaved," I replied.
"It was so easy to tell. The older one and the younger one are playing with the trains and the middle one is on the computer by herself. So easy to tell which was which. You should go see. It's really funny," she said, nodding emphatically.
Wow, I had really painted the exact picture of my three kids when I described them to her in the session.
She did say in the session,
"The gift that they have, having this conflict is that they get to learn how to resolve it. If only more people are taught conflict resolution since they were young, we probably wouldn't have all these wars today. One less gun in the world is improvement to me."
She had pointed out that one reason why my kids are fighting is because they're together all the time since they're homeschooled. She also said that kids will always fight anyway. Knowing myself, I know I tend to go overboard when I describe the negative. The perfectionist in me filters out the positive and I may paint a slightly worse picture than the reality, and I guess I do realize that, which makes it consoling to know that my kids are not all that bad. It's probably because I'm with them all the time. People are always saying how well behaved they are, and I keep thinking,
Really?
but then I think back, and I say to myself,
Give them some credit. They are good kids. Alhamdulillah.
Recently, we went to Dr Mamdouh's talk on the Quran. A sister came up to me and said,
"You always bring your children to these events!"
"Well, who would I leave them with?" I responded with a chuckle.
"And mashaallah, their good mannerism is really something," she continued.
Alhamdulillah. I guess I do need to give my kids some credit. Don't get me wrong, I do commend them in their face, but of course when problems occur, I go into the 'oh how am I going to correct these kids' mode. But as Mrs. M reminded us last night,
"Nothing lasts forever. This will pass."
She's right. Nothing lasts forever. So I guess I should treasure the good moments and save the bad moments for laughing at in years to come inshaallah. Meanwhile, they will just need to accept the fact that they have a mother who may need their help trying to figure out how to open the van door once in a while.
Left the baby at home with hubby, and drove to the library with the rest of the kids. It was the first time I drove at night with the new van too. Alhamdulillah the lights turn on automtically, I still remember fumbling for the light switch with the old van. It had been a while since I had driven at night, and I spent a good 15 minutes panicking that I would drive home with no headlights on. I think I did? I don't remember, but oh boy, do I hate going out by myself, especially at night! Last night, I was reassured that I was not alone since the kids were with me. It's funny how I already depend on them, when it should be me they would be depending on.
"Kids! I can't open the door! I can' find it. How do I open it?" I wailed in the dark, after killing the engine. (Ok, I'm really revealing my foolishness here, so please don't laugh)
I fumbled. Panic set in. (Did I tell you that I panic easily?) I fumbled again, all the while thinking,
I'm so dumb. How can I not know how to open the door?! It's so simple! Where's my brain?! Knock knock! Oh god! How am I gonna get out of the van?!
I seriously forgot how to open the door, and I kept pawing at the door handle and thinking,
How could it not be there? How could the thingy (whatever it's called) not be there?!
The kids didn't laugh at me, bless them! As they themselves got themselves out of the van, H scrambled to come and help me. They didn't laugh at their fumbling mother! Oh Jazahum Allah Khair.
I laughed at myself though, after he panic eased off.
"Oh, I found it!" I announced, laughing. (I don't know why I'm publishing this on blog, but I'm just elated I survived last night)
"Lock it, Ummi!" H reminded me.
Like a kid, I obeyed him.
"You know how to lock it, right? Press once," he said.
Mashaallah, the boy is really growing up. He'll be my bodyguard sooner than expected, I think.
I nodded.
On the bright side, all that panicking distracted me from my nervousness of sitting in a room full of other people. (I had done this before, come on! I even read out my heart's content to a group of people I don't know in a writing group, but, still, it just still feels...strange)
The session lasted for about one and a half hours. It was pretty helpful. I talked about the kids, how two of them quarrels, and the other one just wants to be left alone. She offered me suggesteions, but mostly it's about getting the kids to learn how to resolve conflict. Nothing I hadn't read about before, but still, it was refreshing to hear it firsthand, and most importantly, to be able to ask firsthand.
When we were done, I got to talking with a fellow attendee. The group moderator went out of the room, came back in and said to me.
"Are those three well behaved children yours?"
"Yeah, well now they're well behaved," I replied.
"It was so easy to tell. The older one and the younger one are playing with the trains and the middle one is on the computer by herself. So easy to tell which was which. You should go see. It's really funny," she said, nodding emphatically.
Wow, I had really painted the exact picture of my three kids when I described them to her in the session.
She did say in the session,
"The gift that they have, having this conflict is that they get to learn how to resolve it. If only more people are taught conflict resolution since they were young, we probably wouldn't have all these wars today. One less gun in the world is improvement to me."
She had pointed out that one reason why my kids are fighting is because they're together all the time since they're homeschooled. She also said that kids will always fight anyway. Knowing myself, I know I tend to go overboard when I describe the negative. The perfectionist in me filters out the positive and I may paint a slightly worse picture than the reality, and I guess I do realize that, which makes it consoling to know that my kids are not all that bad. It's probably because I'm with them all the time. People are always saying how well behaved they are, and I keep thinking,
Really?
but then I think back, and I say to myself,
Give them some credit. They are good kids. Alhamdulillah.
Recently, we went to Dr Mamdouh's talk on the Quran. A sister came up to me and said,
"You always bring your children to these events!"
"Well, who would I leave them with?" I responded with a chuckle.
"And mashaallah, their good mannerism is really something," she continued.
Alhamdulillah. I guess I do need to give my kids some credit. Don't get me wrong, I do commend them in their face, but of course when problems occur, I go into the 'oh how am I going to correct these kids' mode. But as Mrs. M reminded us last night,
"Nothing lasts forever. This will pass."
She's right. Nothing lasts forever. So I guess I should treasure the good moments and save the bad moments for laughing at in years to come inshaallah. Meanwhile, they will just need to accept the fact that they have a mother who may need their help trying to figure out how to open the van door once in a while.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
