What a SLUG!

*photo courtesy of en.wikipedia.org

This is me as it relates to my keeping up with my blog since I've been back in the U.S.  And I don't mean to be all "Oh, I'm so, so terribly busy with all my busyness and stuff," as though other SAHM's aren't just as busy or possibly busier than I am.  I'm not that self-absorbed.

But honestly, this has been the roughest adjustment period after a move....EVER. Randa is still not out of her mandatory "we moved again"depression and it's been 2 months. 

Remember the expression, "It's Africa hot?" Well, damn if Texas isn't Africa-hotter. I haven't the energy to get out of bed in the morning...which, less face it, is forced energy anyway having 5 teenagers all at the same time.  But good grief, you can just feel your sweat glands breathing heavily and telling your brain in the morning, "Aw, come on! We're exhausted already! Leave us be."

We're also fasting from dawn until sunset for the month of Ramadan right now. Yes, it is earlier than last year.  It's actually about 10 days earlier EVERY year as the Islamic calendar (Hijri calendar) is lunar-based as opposed to the Gregorian calendar (you know, the "regular one.") And while not eating really isn't that big a deal for us, and after the first day or two, neither is the getting started without that morning caffeine boost.  But going without water until 8:30 at night in 104 degree F heat is definitely a challenge. And it really does take a lot out of you.  So there's that....

AND trying to figure out how to enroll kids into what schools and with no documentation because the Egyptian Ministry of Education refused to release their transcripts to me because I'm not their father has been frustrating to say the least.  I may actually have this figured out now that I've made 9,006 telephone calls, sent 439 emails, and put 417 additional miles on my husband's Honda driving around scouting out schools in our area that aren't classified as "bad."

I am excited about our new house and would really like to get started fixing things that need fixing and gardening and decorating and putting a big chunk of those awesome "For the Home" and "DIY projects" items that I've squirreled away on Pinterest to good use.  But damn....it's Africa Hotter and who in the hell has the time? Once these kids get back in school (God willing, I'm able to enroll them,) I'm going to do at least one hour of gardening per day, one Pinterest project per week, and one chapter per day on my novel that is currently collecting dust in the back burners of this laptop. 

Rest assured. You, my whopping 3 fans, have not been forgotten.

Lumpy Brownish Milk Ain't Half-Bad in Coffee

Shuffling into the kitchen at 6:30 in the morning, I tend to do things in a rather rote way:  Grab coffee mug, pour coffee (that is ONLY made because I set it up to go off by itself the night before...GOD bless the inventor of THAT TRULY MOST AWESOME INVENTION EVER!) and then grab the gallon of milk out of the fridge and pour it into the mug, then drink delicious, caffeinated goodness that is my ante meridiem nectar.

Yesterday, I noted to myself that this jug is already at the halfway point and that maybe I need to pick up another gallon before the end of my day. And as I thought this, I began pour the milk into my coffee and it fell into my mug like white stew. "What, WHA????"

me:  "Oh, crap!"

Ismail:  "What?"

me:  "I can't believe this! I just bought this milk yesterday and now I have to return it to the grocery store because it's bad."

Ismail:  "It's not bad."

me:  "Son, it's pouring out in chunks . My coffee looks like it has quark floating in it. OH, THE HUMANITY!"

Ismail (audibly annoyed - remember I hadn't had coffee yet and could barely see past the mug) : "MOMMY! The milk is NOT bad."

me:  "THEN PLEASE EXPLAIN WHY IT IS BROWNISH AND LUMPY????"

Ismail:  "Because Randa squeezed an entire bottle of chocolate syrup into it and then  poked marshmallows through the opening and shook it up."

me:  "Cool. Rocky Road coffee."

Just A Question

Is there something genetically linked in male  DNA that rears its head in puberty that causes boys to drip water all over the bathroom with no ability to dry it up?

Does someone pull them aside in middle school and whisper to them, "While you will still use every clean towel in the closet after your shower and leave them wadded up throughout the house, from now on you will also be required to step onto the bare floor NEXT to the bathmat and  shake violently like a wet dog to ensure that there is more water on the walls, floor, mirror, counter, and ceiling than ever hit the bath tub during your 98 minute shower while the rest of the family was  hopping outside the door in dire need of a  pee."

Thankfully I noticed it BEFORE I slipped and broke my neck. That is all.

T Minus 2 Days and Counting...

So, it's 8:30 in the morning here in Alexandria, Egypt (we're at my brother-in-law's house) and I'm up alone drinking coffee since 7 and wondering "What in the hell is it with getting older that you start waking up earlier and earlier and going to sleep earlier and earlier?" And all of a sudden it hit me:  Preparation for early-bird dinner specials for seniors in Boca Raton when we are in our 60's and 70's.

Who knew?

Okay, I'm out of my apartment in the beach community of Hanovil, El-Agamy, Egypt. The kids, 10 suitcases, 5 carry on bags and 2 loads of dirty laundry arrived at my in-law's house yesterday around noon. Good thing we're only staying for 3 days, huh? (What's that expression?  House guests and fish...? Yeah, that.)

I am realizing daily how extremely blessed I have been. I have made so many wonderful friends over the years here. Experiences, knowledge, friendships, love and laughter that I never would have encountered had it not been for that decision 12 years ago to just quit my job and move to Egypt and be a SAHM. I guess, if I look back further, it was 18 years and 7 months ago...when I married the love of my life:  Mohamed. I became part of his family here (and of course, he mine in the U.S.) and the laughter and love and  tears and joy and pain and fun that we have experienced together, on both sides of the globe, are things that neither of us would trade for the world.

One of my friends commented on Facebook how leaving Egypt would be so bittersweet for me.  She was right. I've become "bint al-balad" ("daughter of the country" = an Egyptian woman) and now I have two homes. I am going to miss this place and it's sights and sounds (really, LOUD sounds....this is by far the LOUDEST country in the entire Middle East) and well, SOME of the smells. hahahhahahah.

Sights:  Buses, trucks, cars, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, donkey-driven carts and Vespa's carrying families of 5, date-palm trees, the colorful fruit and vegetable markets, people praying together in the streets, the generosity and hospitality of people helping others, no matter what.

Sounds:  The azan (call to prayer), the street vendors yelling out what they're selling from their rolling push carts in the street, bird-chirping doorbells, bus drivers yelling out the name of their destination while trying to collect enough passengers to fill the vehicle before departure "Mahata, Mahata, Mahata!" (station, station, station!,) and the cow bell ringing that announces the foul mudammas (fava beans) vendor at  night during Ramadan (and I mistook him for the ice cream man my first year here.)

Smells:  Mangoes, tomatoes, felafel cooking, string pastry made in front of your eyes, the cotton candy vendor who made his cotton candy in a rented store under our apartment, and the sea breeze coming in off of the Mediterranean, the bread from the bread factory next door to our house and the pastry shop we used to walk past on our way home from the bus stop (mostly because it reminds me of my days in Greece with Mohamed when we we were first engaged - he's a pastry chef.)

All these things I'll miss. But I'm ready. I'm ready to move forward and experience all the wonderful things that Texas will have to offer us. And maybe it doesn't sound as exciting as "Egypt," but you know what? It will be. Because I will be with my entire family and that will make it HOME.

Now I'm off to finish my last few errands in Egypt. We leave the day after tomorrow, insha Allah (God willing.)

PANIC

I was having coffee this morning and checking the notifications on my Facebook, when I noticed a status update from a girlfriend who is also moving to Texas soon. She posted that she has only 11 days and a wake-up before she hits the road.  At first I thought, "How exciting for them! They're about to start the next chapter of their lives in a week and a half and we're not too far behind."

Then all of a sudden, about the time that first caffeine boost kicks in, I realized that her timetable is only 4 days ahead of mine.  HOLY ANXIETY ATTACKS, BATMAN! I couldn't think. I got that "someone-just-hit-me-in-the-stomach-with-a-metropolitan-yellow-pages" feeling and my breathing got quick and shallow and my palms got clammy. My chest tightened and I ran to the bathroom.

I have so much to do. My two youngest start final exams this Saturday and Sunday and won't complete them until next Thursday.  I have 2 suitcases and a ton of shopping to do. I still have paintings on the wall and books on the shelves to go through. I have a master bedroom set, a queen-sized mattress, a set of bunk beds, and a wardrobe to sell and 15 days ain't a lot of time to get rid of big-ticket items. I have to meet the landlord next Friday to get back my deposit and I have to have the gas and light bills paid up before then. Still need to cancel the phone and internet service and arrange for the people who bought all of the furniture and appliances to pick up their crap before the 28th of the month. THEN I get to move all these (still not packed up) suitcases and kids over to my brother-in-law's house where we can get on their nerves for a final 3 days before riding down to the airport in Cairo to start our trip home.

Crap. I need to confirm the ride to the airport one final time, too.  I'll get right on that after I dig out my English to Arabic dictionary and find out how to say Xanax in Arabic.

Guess What I Got For Mother's Day

NO! I didn't get a razor as a Mother's Day gift.

I did, however, manage to get a shower in semi-hot water with enough time to actually mow BOTH of my legs. HOW did I do this, you may inquire?  It was simple.

I showered before all four of the kids got up. I made sure that the 2 younger ones, who were up before I was had used the toilet before I went in. THEN I made a mad dash for the bathroom and locked the door.

I also made it perfectly clear that I would NOT answer questions through the door about why so-and-so got to play outside before studying yesterday or about where such-and-such is located.

It was pure tepid heaven.

Of course, I had to retire this razor since it had been about 8 or 9 months since I'd shaved.  Oh, well. Also, I no longer have flies trailing me because I washed my hair AND conditioned it. It's going to be a good day.

Happy (U.S. and Australia) Mother's Day to all the Moms, Stepmoms, Grandmoms, Aunts, others who provide for kids.

Apples and Their Distance From Trees

"I want my turn on the computer! I want my turn on the computer!"

     "What? Are you 6? Obviously I'M taking a turn on the computer. Just wait."

"I can't wait. It's my turn. It's my turn. Come on! It's my day off!!!!"

     "So when exactly is MY day off? Hmmmm?"

"You have 5 days off a week while we're all at school."

     "You seriously think that?"

"Well, yeah. You get to use the computer all day, every day while we're at school."

     "Who the hell do you think takes you there, takes you home, buys the food, cooks the food, cleans the house, etc?"

"Well, you do. But come on, Mom. It's my weekend. Now let me have my turn before one of the boys steals it from me."

     "I swore I'd never wish this on you like my mother wished it on me. But:  I HOPE YOU HAVE FIVE KIDS JUST LIKE YOU!"

Emotional Leg Warmers

When my husband travels overseas for months at a time for work, I go through a roller-coaster of emotions. I usually start out numb for a few days and then I'm fine. But after a few weeks, I start to get depressed. And I usually feel it coming on ahead of time. It will manifest itself at first in anxiety attacks, complete with tightened chest muscles, short breath, and red, itchy blotches across my chest and up my neck. Then, as I force myself to maintain composure and control, for the sake of my kids, I start to internalize the stress and I begin to cry over stupid things like So You Think You Can Dance choreography and realizing we're out of milk when I've already poured myself coffee. I oversleep a lot during this phase and my kids end up missing a few days of school. Also, I will sometimes realize that it has been a few days since I've showered. Usually, my oldest daughter will walk up and sniff my hair and say, "Eww. Hair stinks. Gonna  puke."

Way to all of a sudden get verbal there, Kid.

Anyway, so yesterday I recognized where I was in my cyclical depression and as I tried to pull off my leg warmers, I realized something else. It's not 1984 and I don't own leg warmers! So I decided, "That's enough of that!" and grabbed a razor and hit the shower.

It's amazing how much better I feel. I got up in time to take my kids to school today. (They didn't actually attend though because the power is out and won't be back until next week.) And I have lamb chops marinating in the fridge and just sent one of the boys out to buy me a head of lettuce. I took my younger daughter to buy the yarn she needs for home economics. I'm only two loads away from catching up the laundry. So, things are looking up. And if it would just rain, I'd be a smiling, happy person again. (I love the rain.) 

And maybe, just maybe, I'll make fresh buttermilk biscuits with cheese and fried eggs for the kids for supper tonight before they go to bed. And we'll read aloud on my bed like we used to do when they were younger and I won't miss my husband and my son so much and I'll be able to sleep without waking up all groggy and blue again....for a while. But it's a cycle that I go through every couple of months while he's gone and I recognize that it's just a part of me. 

Today Is 123-Friday!

In honor of my 123rd post on Squarer Pegs, Rounder Holes, I thought I'd mix it up a little bit and just write about all of the little blurb-y type things as they pop into my head. How is that different from my usual postings? Well, ordinarily I would have to scrunch up my eyebrows a bit and squint my eyes and focus really hard to stay relative-ish to the one subject. And what is the relevance of the 123rd posting? I like simplicity, counting, and while the number 123 is NOT a prime number, it does consist of the first 3 prime digits and so I like that. I like math. And I do hate round numbers so much, unless it's a string of zeros on the left of a decimal point as it relates to a check made payable to me.

Justin Bieber-  Really?! I mean, yeah, I come from the generation that brought us the likes of Milli Vanilli, Nu Shooz, and Tiffany.....but they didn't walk into glass walls and doors and then threaten to walk off of an interview set. Dude! Your following will ALWAYS be 12 year old girls. Game over.

American Football- I don't follow it anymore. Living in Egypt has sort of ruined sports for me since I don't give a crap about Al-Ahly soccer team OR Zumalek soccer team. I've heard people talking about NFL teams that weren't even in existence when I left the US back in 2001. So if your refs are on strike or suck now....I'd like to be concerned, but just can't be bothered. My apologies.

I attended high school (first 3 years) in Stuttgart, Germany and right now as I type this there is an all-year alumni/faculty reunion going on IN STUTTGART in conjunction with the Stuttgarter/Canstaadt festival and some of my friends are there now, reliving memories in our old school, football field, and stomping grounds and I am SOOO jealous that I couldn't be there with them. Hope you guys all have a great time. Go Stallions! Class of 1986 RULES!

Mosquitoes- I frickin' hate them. Especially those little tiny beige almost invisible ones that you can't ever kill until after they've drained at least 2 pints of blood from your fingertips, ears, toes, and legs! And then when you finally do, they explode with YOUR blood splattering all over the walls, curtains, and your skin where you've smacked 'em.

Why do we always run out of garbage bags when there is old food in the back of the fridge that needs to be thrown out? And then you leave it in the fridge because this inevitably happens at night and if you leave it on the counter as a reminder to throw it out, your whole kitchen stinks. But then you forget that it's in the fridge and needs to be thrown out and you don't find it again until you're ...that's right!....out of garbage bags again. Oh. And as long as I'm on the refrigerator  path, could you please...someone, anyone?....tell me what is the friggin' direct correlation between every member of my family and the top shelf of the refrigerator??? I use the top shelf for tall or "careful this is spillable" things or large things that won't fit on any other shelves. My kids (and sometimes my husband) will place the following things on the top shelf:  1 egg, a tiny dessert dish with 1/2 Tablespoon of fava beans, anything that requires use of the crisper drawer (because the crisper drawer is where they apparently hide things that they don't want to share with each other,) and the empty milk container. *sigh*

Word of Advice:  Never accidentally drop the f-bomb in front of your autistic teenager, because while MOST of her verbal skills are learned from movies and tv and books, the shit you DON'T want her to say in front of her grandmother to reinforce your shitty parenting skills, is EXACTLY what will enter (full time) into her vocabulary. *Score one more on my parental WIN card.*

Pinterest is AWESOME/DEVIL- I've now managed to complete 10 items from all the thousands of pinned items on my boards. Hey. That's not so bad considering we don't have craft stores or American conveniences here like chocolate chips, instant-ANYTHING (except coffee) or cool stuff like double-sided sticky tape or stencils. The entire DIY-concept is new to Egypt.

In a conversation on Facebook with my sister, MJ, last week, I decided that my list of favorite words included:  diphthong, bracket, penultimate, frivolous, superfluous, and sublime. My list, of course, is not limited to these. She prefers crapulence, kerfuffle, hornswaggle and canoodle.

I love my family...I want to build a garden-butterfly sanctuary in my backyard one day. Can someone tell me why leg hair after 40 is less frequently in need of shaving but some single damn chin WIRE because it's too coarse to be hair continues to pop out ever week or so no matter how often you pull the f***er out?! Will health insurance cover operations that shave bunions off your feet using lasers so it can be done outpatient? And why can't Rush Limbaugh just frickin' overdose already or spontaneously explode into little tiny piles of Rush-lets that only spew minute bits of bullshit at a time and are all polarized so that they can never be in the same place at the same time like tiny magnets? I think the movie "Idiocracy" should be run as a public service announcement to get intelligent people to do their civic duty and repopulate the planet with more intelligent life and stop waiting so damn long to have kids. You're NEVER going to be better "financially prepared" for kids. They will just suck MORE money out of you if you have more of it. Poor people know this. Just have them.

And I'll leave you with one last irrelevant thought:  Kids who are wearing their very last pair of hole-free jeans three weeks before payday will ALWAYS be able to find a tree to climb and "slide out" of it hooking the ass of their pants on that single spot of tree trunk that ISN'T smooth and rip a hole in the back. Murphy's Law? Yes. Me and Murph go way back.

The Flip Side to the Bully Problem

I read a blog about bullying today.

I cried.

I felt the pain and frustration and anguish and nausea of the bullied 

kid's mom.

I felt what she felt because I've been there before with my kids.

But I also felt it from a different perspective.

See, I'm the mother of a "bully."

When I use the quotation marks I'm not at all attempting to say that the word 

bully is a misnomer;

not even in my son's case.

However, it is a label that I don't like attached to him. 

He's so much more than that. 

He's bright.

He's funny...and not only at your kid's expense.

He's also frustrated.

And he's embarrassed.

And he's ashamed.

He has a learning disability that we've only recently been able to figure out.

Does this excuse him punching his sister in the shoulder

because he didn't like how she told him "What's it to you?"

NO!

Does it excuse him constantly aggravating his younger brother by 

farting on his head and stepping on his pillow or throwing his used

tissues at him?

OF COURSE NOT!

Does it make him any less responsible for his actions when he 

chooses to beat up his older brother or challenge his

"manhood" by calling him hateful names?

CERTAINLY, IT DOESN'T.

See, I'm well aware that this kid is my test in patience....one I fear I may be failing

MISERABLY.

I have tried talking to him,

yelling at him,

taking away his privileges when he bullies,

rewarding him when he doesn't.

It's not working.

I ask him why he hits and pushes and teases and hurts  others.

His answer is always the same:

"I don't know."

I am frustrated, too. I want to puke, too. I cry, too.

But not because my kid is being bullied...

because my kid is bullying yours.

And I get the nasty glares,

and the hateful retorts, 

and the threats from angry siblings, cousins, neighbors, teachers and parents.

I'm not ignoring it.

You're right it IS unacceptable behavior.

However, I do live in a country where psychological counseling is 

questionable at best.

So seeing a shrink is not an option.

I'm doing my best to try to find exactly what 

is making him behave this way 

so that we can work together

to fix it.

And it's hard...REALLY, hard.

And I can only apologize to those parents of bullied kids

on behalf of those of us who have kids who bully

and are aware of the behavior 

and are trying to change it.

I'm sorry.

But I'd like to ask a favor of you.

For just one moment, please step back from the emotion

of your situation and it won't be easy...

but before immediately asking that hateful 

and hurtful question:

HOW DO THESE PARENTS ALLOW THEIR KIDS TO BULLY OTHERS?

Think...

We don't "allow it."

I know MY kid has never come up and said to me,

"Mom, if so-and-so gets on my nerves today, is it okay if I throw his

backpack out of the 3rd floor window?"

Most of the time, we're not aware of the bullying. 

Once I was notified, I began immediately to work with my son

in an attempt to identify the reasons behind the behavior AND to put an 

end to it.

It's not going to happen overnight.

Let's be realistic. 

All of our kids are works in progress.

I'm not saying at all that I'm sitting back and hoping that he'll outgrow 

this stage like he did the nail-biting thing.

But I'm also groping around in 

the dark.

All of these cool websites who offer "help to stop bullying" are

seemingly coming at it from a "how not to be a victim of bullying."

This is not helpful to those of us who are on the 

other side of the bullying spectrum.

I have found a couple of sites that at least touch upon it

without the immediate 

"Go seek mental professional help" option.

You can find assistance here:

http://www.stopbullying.gov/respond/support-kids-involved/index.html

or here:

http://suite101.com/article/bullying-how-to-make-it-stop-a139442

Anyway, I just wanted to say that 

the bullying problem is just as frustrating from the other

side of it only in a very different

perhaps more guilt-ridden way. 

If we, as parents, work together to teach our kids

to work through their frustrations in a healthy way and how to 

stand up to bullies by talking to parents or teachers or

some other adult who can help,

then maybe we can succeed at stopping 

bullying.

Feel free to place helpful suggestions in the comments section. 

I really am tired of banging my head against a wall

to come up with new ways of

trying to work through this with him.

Thanks. 

Forcing the Hand

I've been busy this past week. I completely blew off my blog with the exception of the post about my step-brother's car accident last week because it was the only way I could deal with my emotions about the whole thing. I was busy editing Nuala Reilly's latest book release, Spring Daisies.  Well, I finally finished that last night. And since I've been focusing primarily on that and NOT playing around on Facebook or too terribly much on Pinterest or here, I decided that I should get on here and get in some goof-off time. I deserve it.
Also, since Mohamed and Ismail are both finishing their 3 day sentence of no t.v. and no computer privileges due to their last 3:30a.m. fight and disrespect Mom session.....I figured, Samiya and Aiman had been online for far too long anyway and took my place at the keyboard. Here's how it went about 15 minutes later, with Aiman:

"Mom, I want to go play at the cyber-cafe."

    "No."

"Awwwwwwwww! Why not?"

    "Because it's dark outside and your sister is at her French lessons and your brothers are both grounded and you're not allowed to go by yourself."

"You NEVER let me do anything!"

He stomped off and then came back 3 minutes later, plopping down on the foot stool that has become a permanent fixture next to the computer desk.

"How come you won't let me buy membership to Monkey Quest? You HAVE a credit card in your purse. I saw it!"

    "It's not a credit card. It's a debit card."

"So why can't I use it? HUH?"

    "Because it's expired and it's a debit card for a bank I don't have an account with anymore."

"Well, why can't I get a credit card so that I can buy Monkey Quest membership and get access to all the cool levels, HUH?"

    "Because you are 11 and you owe me $37,628.34 for everything I've spent on you so far. Now beat it. And if I hear the words "credit card" or "Monkey Quest membership" in the same sentence from you again I will block the Monkey Quest site from our computer and you won't be allowed to play it again until you're 19."

"You are ALWAYS telling me NO!"

He stomped off again and I was able to write a comment on my friend's photo. It consisted of LOL. Then he came back and started pounding on the arm of my chair.

    "What do you want, Aiman?"

"Can I go up on the roof of the bread factory tomorrow?"

    "NO."

"WHY not? Ismail gets to."

   "First of all, Ismail doesn't "get to." He is going to talk to the woman who owns it and get permission from her to go on the roof of the bread factory so that he can collect up all of the trash and crap that our lovely neighbors have chucked out of their windows and off of their balconies and we can possibly cut down on the mosquito population and keep the bread factory roof from leaking once it starts raining next month. Until he has permission he doesn't "get to" do anything."

"So? Why can't I help him?"

     "Because you're 11. And you trip over air while walking through the living room sometimes. I don't want you clowning around up there and end up falling off and breaking your neck. I really can't afford spinal surgeries right now. I really want to buy a house."

"He's ONLY 2 years older than me!"

    "He's 2 and a half years older than you. And I don't want you up there."

"WHY are you such a jerk to me?"

     "Just remember I'm the "jerk" who can take away your computer privileges for a week due to your sassy mouth."

"I NEVER get to hear YES from you!"

He stomped off again and I got to read a one-liner status update on Facebook before he stomped back over and started slapping his sister's yo-yo around the legs of my chair.

     "Stop it."

"I don't want to. I'm trying to make it wrap around the leg and then unwrap on its own."

     "If you break it, then you will replace it with your own money."

"I don't have any  money."

    "Then I'll let your sister pound 3.50 EP out of your hide to pay the debt. I'm sure she won't mind."

"You are really mean to me."

    "I must not like you very much. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No!  Can I go outside to play?"

    "No."

"WHY NOT?!"

     "It's dark outside and you have to be in the house by sunset, per your father's rules. Don't like it? Raise your kids however you like when you grow up and get married."

"I will! And I won't always tell them NO like you do to me, either."

     "We'll see, won't we?"

(Now crying real tears.) "Why do you always tell me NO for EVERYTHING??!"

      "Why do you always ask me for permission to do things you already know you're not allowed to do?"

"What do you mean?"

      "Well, had you asked me, 'Mom, may  I wash the dishes for you?' or 'May I watch t.v.?' or 'Is it okay if I grow a fu manchu mustache?' I would have said 'YES! YES! and YES!"

"I can't wait until I'm 18."


   

Coffee IS My Xanax

As I've mentioned, I'm fasting. Today is the 10th day of Ramadan. And so far, it's been fairly easy. We thought that it was going to be a bear with it beginning in the middle of July this year. But all in all, it's been fine. I guess that with the heatwave hitting in June, we've grown accustomed to not sleeping until around 4 or 5 in the morning because it's too hot. And then we get up around noon. I had someone remark to me that we aren't "really fasting" if we sleep all day...but we aren't "sleeping all day."  We're actually sleeping less. And
we aren't "eating all night." We eat at sunset (around 7 pm) and then again around 2:30 am so that we have something in our bellies before we sleep. The really hard part for the kids is water. And so as soon as the call to prayer at sunset goes off, they start walking around the house with a 1.5 liter water bottle in their hands and drink and refill and drink refill.

For me, the hard part as usual is the coffee. I am admittedly a coffee addict. And before anyone starts with the whole "you could start drinking decaf and eliminate caffeine completely" ideas or offering of 12-step programs (is there one for caffeine addiction?) I LIKE MY DRUG OF CHOICE. You have no  idea what it's like. I'm raising five kids in a foreign country with my husband working overseas and I am doing this stone-cold sober and without the assistance of SSRI's. Look. When I got pregnant with the first one 17+ years ago, I stopped smoking. I stopped drinking. (This made becoming a Muslim easy later.)  I cut back on coffee to only 2 cups a day while pregnant and 3 cups a day while nursing. (Damn. That kind of explains the ADD issues, doesn't it? Oh well.)
So, here's the truth that I tell my kids:  I drink coffee for YOUR protection! I do. It's true. I don't think that they ever believed that until today. I usually serve several types of juice at breakfast before I hand out plates. They get their choice of carob juice, tamarind juice, mango juice or Tang. Then they can switch it up and have another type. Whatever. The important thing is that they get that blood sugar up after fasting all day and juice is the quickest way to do that. Then we eat. While I'm serving plates, I'm usually making a cup of coffee at the same time. I drink coffee WITH my breakfast. Only tonight, the milk was disgustingly chunky.....so I dumped the cup down the sink after a swig. And then....OMG, is it possible?.....I forgot to make another cup.
I finished eating and then a little while later announced that I was going to nap for about an hour. I awoke three hours later with a throbbing headache from hell and feeling panicky and sick. I didn't even get off the bed. I handed my purse to the youngest and told him to go buy me a liter of milk ASAP. The oldest came in to check on me and I told him to go make me a cup of coffee. I'm on my third cup now and no longer resemble the pulsating swollen bruise on Tom's head after Jerry smacks him with a hammer.
So, you may ask, am I ready to give up my last addiction? NEVER!
But I am ready to make sure that we have fresh milk in the house before sunset!
(By the way, all of the above images are courtesy of user uploads to Photobucket.com and are not my own personal property.)

Respect for Elders

So, yesterday was another scorcher and I opted to send two of my kids down to the corner store to pick up a bunch of stuff we were missing. They spent about 35 Pounds buying me groceries and complained that the owner was really crabby.  I blew it off and went about making breakfast (it's Ramadan and we're fasting until sunset) when I realized that I forgot to have the kids buy salt. I sent Ismail back down to the corner store to get me a bag of salt. He came home really angry but not raging (which is good for a 13 yr old boy who is learning to control his emotions.) He said that the dude gave him a bag of salt and he paid and then asked for a plastic sack to put it in. The owner of the store yelled at him, "It comes in a bag!" Ismail thought he was just clowning with him and said, "No, really. I want a bag."  The owner yelled at him again and got in his face this time, "I TOLD YOU IT COMES IN A BAG!"  So Ismail handed the salt back to him and said, "Then I don't want anything from you. I would like my money back." So the guy jerks the salt out of his hand and stuffs the money into it and says, "That's even better. Now get out!" (And here's where I got pissed.) He shoved him toward the door.

Ismail went to his biggest competitor across the street and bought the salt there. When he came home he told me that he was so mad and he wanted to hit him but he didn't. And he insisted that I go downstairs immediately and tell him what's what. I told him I'd do it later but that I needed to make fitar (breakfast) first and that I would handle it later that night or the next day. Ismail wanted to come along and I told him I didn't think it was a good idea. He was livid. He swore he'd never buy anything from that big jerk ever again. I told him that we're not going to call names because it's haram (forbidden) and this is a guy who is in his late 50's or early 60's. We need to calm down. I got him busy making juice and talking about other things and so it went. I didn't go talk to the man last night. I waited until today.

I decided to take Ismail with me. As we were walking, we passed the masjid on our street where many people were praying the Taraweeh prayers (extra prayers said each night during Ramadan) and we noticed that the store owner was praying from a seated position near the door. He usually stands and bows and kneels with the younger men in the masjid. We kept walking and I told Ismail that maybe it would be best if we just go to the store and talk to the owner's brother who also works there. That way he can act as an intermediary and present the issue to his brother with our concerns voiced but without the older man feeling as though he is being attacked. But his brother was not there. His son was. I spoke calmly and explained to the young man what had happened and he apologized for his father. I explained that I understand that the weather is so very hot and that the temperature inside the store is hotter than in the street. This combined with fasting can make for short tempers. However, as sassy and rotten as my kids are to me and each other at home, I know without a doubt that they do not get sassy and rude with elders. I have been complimented on this fact many times, even by the store owner. And if my son was out of line in any way, I will address the issue with him. But under no circumstances was the owner right in shoving him or touching him in any way.

The young man kissed Ismail on his forehead and apologized for his father's behavior. "Tont (Aunt), I am so sorry. But my father is under great stress right now. You see, he took my uncle and niece and grandmother to a cousin's wedding on the first of this month. I stayed here and ran the store overnight. They were in an accident on the way home and my father rolled the car 3 times. I left straight from here to the hospital and he didn't even know that my grandmother, Allah bestow her His mercy, didn't make it. I had to tell him when I arrived. My father has permanent damage to his spine and has broken ribs. My uncle broke his shoulder and my niece was cut across her lip and chin. My father went straight back to work and refuses to take any time off and if I suggest it, he yells at me or slaps me. But what can I do? He is my father. But if you would just forgive him. He is very angry and hurt and his nerves are not the same. And all that I can do is ask that Allah forgive him and give me patience to wait until my father is able to deal with this grief. You know that I love Ismail like my little brother and all of your children are always very respectful in this store. I'm so sorry."

I told him that I understand and said "May Allah bless him with patience" and then bought a few cookies and things that we really didn't need but as a gesture that we understand and are not taking our business elsewhere.  When we left the store, I asked Ismail if he understood what all was happening in the store owner's world.  He said, "Wow. He has had a lot to deal with in just a few weeks. I wonder if he has cried yet." I told him probably not or he wouldn't be so angry and grouchy. We talked about PTSD and grief and rage and how sometimes people blame themselves for things that were destined to happen. I asked Ismail if he was upset that I didn't go in yelling and screaming and that I bought from them. He said no. And that he understood that the best way to handle the situation was as I had done because it showed respect for everyone involved.

Thank God. I am doing something right. 

To-Do Lists Are Not Getting To-Done

SAHMs are constant list-writers, for the most part. We have lists of things to do, things to buy, whose turn it is to do the dishes and who is grounded from computer and for how long.  Sometimes my life is so jam-packed with activity, responsibility, items we've run out of, that I have to include things that ordinary people never forget, like eating or pooping. Yes. My to-do list will actually have -go poop written on it most days.
I've given up adding the more decadent activities to my to-do list.  I now write "shave legs" and "wax mustache" to my bucket list with the hopes of experiencing these things at least once more in my life time before I kick that damn bucket which seems to be further out of sight daily.  If I could remember to refill and actually take my cholesterol medicine, I may never have to put " -go poop" on my to-do list ever again. That job will be "to-done" before I finish my first cup of coffee.

So, today I've added the following to my B.B.T.D.L. (that's Big Bad To-Do List): three official emails to write, copies of one child's entire medical history to be made, pick up oldest kid's school records and copy, and find a cyber-cafe with a working printer so that I can print off my absentee ballot and get that thing in the mail. All of these in addition to the usual grocery shop, cook, clean, break up fights, hang clothes, break up more fights, pull hairball out of bathroom  pipe, break up fights, pay whatever unexpected bill collector that shows up at the door, break up fights, make dinner, pry the remote control out of teasing 11 yr old's hand and break up fights.

Oh. Emergency to-do list interruption, "Mom, I need to go to the dentist. I have a big, huge cavity and it hurts to breathe." *sigh* 

NO I Don't Know Where the Promenade Deck Is

It's 5 million humid degrees outside and it's 1 a.m. and my kids are "bored" and begging me to entertain them and I would LOVE to play "TAG with a Cattle Prod" and I'll be "IT" but I don't have a cattle prod and I already made the rule that we can't run in the house.  And for the record, my name tag, if I were required to wear one for this SAHM-gig, would read MOMMY and not "Julie McCoy - Cruise Director" so it's not my responsibility to entertain you people.  This is a really small apartment packed to the gills with hot and sweaty people and no air conditioning. It's not the Love Boat.

Have I mentioned it's hot?  I HATE the summer.  Winter is cool because, even if we don't have heat, we can put down area rugs, pile on the blankets, wear two  pairs of socks and snuggle.  But summer? YUK. You can only BE naked. I mean, what's after that? I don't even plug in the water heater in the summer. And you'd think that that would provide us with cold showers all around, right? Wrong. Egypt is so damn hot that the cold water comes out of the pipes hot. Yup. Like solar powered water heater without the inconvenience of putting all those little solar panels up on top of the building.

So I've got the box fan blowing on me on high and hoping that my computer doesn't overheat because you know, NO AIR-CONDITIONING. I'm going to go take my fourth shower for the day and hit the sack. But I'll be dreaming of the Yukon, baby. And snow and polar bears drinking icy bottles of coke. And maybe I won't wake up so sweaty tomorrow.

It Might Be About That Time

I was standing in the kitchen making my awesome
Chicken and Vegetable Pasta with Bashamel Sauce
today when a rare breeze blew through the windows.
I felt something touching the back of my leg just 
above my ankles. Fearing it was a red ant (our kitchen
is FULL of them this summer), I immediately dropped
my spoon and started smacking the back of my legs.
Nothing there. "That's odd," I thought. I wasn't 
sweating. So it wasn't a drop of sweat rolling down
where you aren't sure if it's sweat or a bug. So I went
back to finishing dinner.
Another breeze blew through the windows and I 
felt it again...only this time it was more like a tickling
sensation. I checked behind me to see if Ismail or Hamo
were playing tricks on me with a dry paintbrush. Nope.
I was all alone in the kitchen. That's when I noticed. 
HOLY RAZOR BLADES, BATMAN! How long had it 
been since I mowed those things? I mean, shaving my 
legs is always one of the last things on my list of stuff
to do, ESPECIALLY when my husband is working 
overseas. But DAMN! I could probably french braid 
these puppies. 
So, my list of stuff to do has one more job on it. Oh yay.
Now I need to make sure I've got at least 2 new razors, 
just in case one breaks during the pending hackfest. I
don't think we own a machete. We live in the city, for
crying outloud. I may have to wait until the kids go to 
sleep tonight. This looks like a 2-hour job. I know, I know.
TMI. But what's a girl to do? I'm really busy and I don't
have my man around right now to ask me why I'm wearing
legwarmers to bed in August to remind me to shave my
legs. I got the kids fed. What more do ya want from me?
So, I look a little "Sasquatch-y". It could be worse. At
least I remember to bathe!


((*I originally wrote this back in August 2009. But I suddenly developed 
writer's block when I sat down to write and figured I'd just share one from
the archives.  But honestly, I chose it because my daughter rubbed her 
hand against my leg and said, "Ouch!" So, of course I laughed and thought
of this post.))

You know how much you hate it when your sinuses are all clogged up due to allergies and even when you cook a really awesome meal like baked chicken in lemon juice with potatoes, you can't enjoy the smell or taste of it because your stupid nose is not working?!

Mine cleared up. About 14.6 seconds before my son decided to have a fart-fest in the living room and attempt to kill us all. My sinuses cleared out about the time the green cloud wafted across the room and bitch-slapped me. Of course, this left four of us pinching our noses closed and yelling and the responsible party in a fit of giggles. (Thankfully, Randa was asleep in another room and didn't have to suffer like the rest of us.) Could that have been the end of the night?

Of course, not. This is MY life.

The reeking odor nauseated Samiya, who was already feeling under the weather. She complained to me holding her stomach that Ismail farted and that she literally felt like puking. I directed her to the bathroom. She didn't make it past the door and left an even smellier trail of chicken that hadn't been chewed very well. I got her cleaned up and changed and off to bed.  I cleaned up the big mess and then remembered that she may get ill again during the night and that perhaps I should put a bucket next to her bed. Only the bucket had a really dirty towel in it that I'd decided to wash by hand. It's a bathmat type towel and I use it to mop up spills on the kitchen floor because the 'genius' who built this apartment put very smooth wall tiles on the floor and I slip a lot.

I had put laundry detergent in the bucket filled it with water and threw the towel in around 9 this morning. Well, it's nearly 4 a.m. (Yeah, I don't sleep much.) So, I figured that I'd just rinse the towel very well and then wash it again in the washing machine tomorrow to get it really clean now that all of the sand and salt and stuff that had been all over it had now been soaked out of it. So I tossed the towel into the sink and then spilled the soapy water all over the floor and pushed it down the open drain with my giant squeegee thingy. And then I rinsed it and squeegeed again. Then I yelled at Ismail, "DID YOU FART AGAIN?"

He swore he hadn't.  I did what I NEVER should have done. In fact, as I did it my brain began screaming at me, "NO! You idiot! DON'T DO IT! STOPPPPPPPPPPPP!" But of course, my body was like, "You're not the boss of me! I'll do what I want to!" And it didn't listen. And that's about the time my hand  holding that nasty ass towel reached my nose and I inhaled so deeply to see if that was the source of stink I was smelling that my lungs filled to capacity.

My body immediately apologized to my brain.  My brain gave my body the finger.

So in the last 20 minutes that my nasal passages have decided to drop their strike, I've managed to smell giant teenager farts, barfed up chicken and rotten backwater towel!  Why in the hell couldn't they have started working when I was baking that chicken earlier today???!!!!

I KNOW That It's Wrong, But...

I love my kids. I would do anything for them...and have. No reason to go through all of the sacrifices that I, like millions of other moms across the planet, have made for them. I'm not any better or worse than the rest of them.  Or am I?
Yes, I spend an exorbitant amount of time on the computer. I know this. And I try to rationalize that it's because my husband is working overseas and I try to catch up on email and Facebook and my writing this blog or on my novel while keeping Skype open in case he is trying to call.....(Yes, I had to minimize my browser just now to open Skype. Point of fact, I try to keep my blog posts as close to truth as I possibly can.) But the truth is this:

I have no adult friends to talk to in this country. None that I honestly like to spend time with anymore. So all of my friends are at my disposal via Facebook or email. They are MOSTLY people that I actually know in real life and probably 100-150 of them are related to me by blood. I have friends from childhood, high school in Germany, high school in Maryland, former workmates, former partymates, former cellmates acquaintances from all over the world.  There are also about 30  additional friends that I know only from association through military BRAT pages. However, most of the 440+ people on my friends list are people that I actually know. So, yeah....I'm on the computer for about 10-15 minute increments MANY times over the course of any average day.

And these little obnoxious creatures that I gave birth to are criticizing me for "cutting in line," "taking too long," or "stealing my turn" in the 30-minute turn rotation list that is SUPPOSED to keep me from murdering my own offspring.  So tonight during dinner, they were watching the lamest film that Brendan Fraser ever did on television ("Furry Vengeance") and I felt my IQ points dropping. So I finished and sat at the PC to start catching up on some overdue reading. My son, who hadn't even finished eating yet, marched over to me and demanded that I get off the computer because he had been "waiting all day" for his turn to come around again and I always sat here for HOURS and HOURS at a time.  I reminded him that I just shelled out another 15 Pounds yesterday to replace the fan in the power supply unit without asking anyone to contribute and that I was entitled as QUEEN of the household to sit at the computer without interruption. He continued as to how it is so unfair of me to bump him out of line just so I could "look at FACEBOOK."

I know it's wrong....but sometimes I just wanna tell him to STFU.  But then he'd use the expression freely with his siblings and I would be the one who taught it to him. So I don't tell him. Let him learn his use of the f-bombs in the street like other teenagers. 

What Gets Rid of That 'Dead Animal' Smell?

Something not everyone knows about me is that I do not believe in giving children weekly allowances. Perhaps it has something to do with my upbringing.  My dad didn't believe in paying us to do household chores either. It doesn't make sense to get paid to clean up your own mess. Don't get me wrong. I totally disagreed with his opinion while I was growing up...until I turned 14 and wanted my own money and got a JOB that paid far more than my friends $5 a week allowance.  I bagged groceries every Saturday at the commissary (military grocery store) for tips and usually cleared anywhere from $20-50 a week. So, my dad instilled a good work ethic in me from a young age. And my mom made sure we kept the house tidy with her and even insisted that we do our own laundry. (You know, once we were in high school and began to complain at 10pm Sunday night that we "needed" our jeans for school Monday...though they weren't in the hamper all weekend and instead wadded on the floor in our room.)

Anyway, since I buy my kids snack foods and clothes and toys and shoes and pretty much anything that they need, I don't find it necessary to pay them an allowance. They go to school for less than 4 hours a day, so they don't take a lunch. I give them breakfast in the morning, buy them a pkg of cookies each on the way to school and they eat as soon as they get home.  With classrooms holding more than 70 students, I do not want them eating after touching the desks, walls, etc.  I'm grossing myself out over the germ factor as I type this.

So when my kids want money, I make them earn it by giving them jobs that aren't on their regular list of chores to do. (And when I say regular, I mean outside the scope of stuff that I tell them what to do daily but don't run around inspecting with a check-list.)  I had three of them last week whining about wanting money and "a job" to earn it.  I HATE scrubbing the top of the stove so I told Ismail to wash up all the dishes and the counters and the stove top for 3 E.P.  The bathroom needed cleaning, so I told Samiya to clean the bathroom thoroughly, including the tiles for 3 E.P. (Honestly, she did such an awesome job that I gave her 5!)  Then it was Aiman's turn. He begged me for a job. I really didn't have much else for him. So I told him to clean out the fridge with vinegar and water.  He was pissed. I don't know why. It was fairly empty except for the usual mayo, mustard and the usual jars in the door and one crisper drawer that has dried dates and coconut in it for whenever I have a baking itch to scratch. Every other shelf was pretty much empty. All he had to do was wipe down the shelves and voila! Three pounds would be his.

No. He wanted to do the bathroom or the dishes....that his siblings were already doing. Whatever. He went to bed sad and with no money. Honestly, I'd already swept the house out and mopped earlier that day and Randa had dusted for me when she was pretending to paint all the furniture with a dry paint brush. (I LOVE that game.)

Ismail stayed up until midnight cleaning out the fridge, too. He gladly took Aiman's 3 E.P. and I could go shopping and put away new produce and cheese without feeling like a terrible mom for not washing out the fridge first.

So, tell me WHAT on Earth could put that 'dead animal smell' back in my fridge a week later?? Ismail searched and found it. Rotten cheese from the day after the last fridge cleaning 7 days ago.  Guess I forgot it was in there. I wonder if Aiman will want to earn 5 E.P. today. 

Pick Up Games in the Living Room

So I finally sat down inspired to complete the next chapter of my novel, when Aiman came up to me and showed me a round black lid to an empty vitamin bottle. You know, one of those 500 horse-tablet containers.  He had a shit-eating grin and the tile scrubber with the stick thrown over his shoulder. "Can I play with this lid?" he asked.

"Sure," I answered absently and went back to my chapter. I heard the noise levels rising from the living room.
I shut it down with a "QUIET" shouted over my shoulder.

Five minutes and a lot of laughing later, Samiya walked up and asked me, "Mom, do they get in trouble for hitting with the hockey sticks while playing?"  I told her that I suppose it depends on where they're hitting and how.  "I'm sure hooking someone in the face with a stick and the puck is at the other end of the ice would probably end up with at least a penalty box or a good pounding for the offender. Now hand me that dictionary on the table because I can't remember if 'imminent' has two i's in it." I got my dictionary and then the light bulb came on.

"ARE YOU GUYS PLAYING HOCKEY IN THE LIVING ROOM?"

"Yes, ma'am," was sung back by 4 of the 5 kids in a chorus.

I shook my head, realizing that if I broke up the game now, the whining about whose turn it is to use the computer would start and I wasn't done with my chapter still.

"NO BODY CHECKS ABOVE THE KNEES BECAUSE YOU MAY MISS AND BREAK THE T.V."

Who says I'm not up for MOTY award?