And Now What You've All Been Waiting For.....

I know I promised full disclosure as to the details of our trip from Egypt to the U.S.   And yeah, it's been three weeks since we got back so I can't blame jet-lag any longer.  The truth is, nothing really happened.  I know, right?  Who the hell's life am I living and when will the chaos begin again?!

Okay, so back in late April or early May, I contacted my travel agent and tried to book us on Lufthansa to Dallas because there would only be one layover and the Germans are usually extremely efficient and keep to schedules. Also, because I avoid New York like the friggin' plague because I think it's stupid that all international flights are IN to JFK and then we have to claim all our luggage and go through customs and all that noise just to find a cab (yeah, right!) who can haul all five of us and our 10 suitcases 5 carry-on bags and whatever crap we purchased at Duty-Free all the way over to LaGuardia in Queens and then have to check in again and wait for a flight (that isn't free, by the way) to Dallas. NO THANKS. It's hard enough to travel with kids internationally. I don't want to have to do the whole intracontinental thing, too.

So my travel agent told me that she could book me on Lufthansa for 30, 800 EGP but that Emirates Air had a better price. So I rolled my eyes and asked how many layovers that one had. She said just one but it's in
Dubai. I asked what the price was and she said, "20,000 EGP."

Say WHAT?! "What's the catch?" I asked.

"Well, the transit is in Dubai. So you would have to fly 5 hours from Cairo to Dubai and then you have a 3 hour layover and fly directly from Dubai to DFW. The flight time would be 15 hours from Dubai instead of only 9 hours from Frankfurt to Dallas."

"Girl, we've GOT time. It's money that we seem to always be short on.  Book the Emirates flight."

So that is how we got to fly over Iraq and Russia and the North Pole and Canada and Minneapolis and all the way over Oklahoma and land in Dallas. Yeah, really. I've flown over the North Pole.

I have flown my entire life....and NO, I'm not embellishing.  My dad was military and we traveled back and forth from Europe my entire life. I flew a lot in the US to visit family and then started traveling overseas for my job. I am just as comfortable in the air as I am on a road trip. Maybe more so. I've never endorsed an
airline before.  But I will right now.

EMIRATES AIR RULES!

From the time that we checked in at the desk in Cairo, we were whisked away on a bus by ourselves just as soon as I notified the attendant that we had a special needs child and explained that Autism can sometimes cause my daughter to become overwhelmed and freak out a little but that I can get her to calm down again provided the flight attendants do not try to restrain her. (That happened on the Lufthansa flight last time we traveled to the US and I was nearly at the point of knocking out the woman who was attempting to force Randa into her seat while yelling in her face to keep  calm.) They boarded us in the back of the plane at the same time the first and business class passengers were boarding int he front.

This is a great spot as far as I'm concerned. We're close to the back where the drink carts are stored. We're close to the restrooms. AND most importantly, we're located close to the jet engines where argumentative teenagers and their noise gets drowned out. YES.  The flight attendants were SO very nice to us.  Honestly, they were nice to everyone.

When we arrived in Dubai, the kids were a little hungry and Mohamed had asked me to buy cigarettes at the duty-free store. So, we bought the cigarettes and then wandered to a food court and I decided that it was just too damn expensive. But I did buy them each a coke and got myself a Snapple and we wandered back over to our gate and sat and snarfed down all the cookies and chips and snacks that their uncles had purchased for their backpacks before we left Egypt.

We still had another hour before we were supposed to leave which meant another half hour before boarding started and Randa started to have a meltdown. She was bored and tired and hadn't had her internet fix in more than a day. A gate attendant called Ismail over and asked if we would be able to control her on the flight and Ismail said yes and tried to explain what autism is to him. Finally, he decided that the guy was kind of a rock and called me over to explain. I could barely understand his broken English so I spoke to him in Arabic and explained that my daughter is just extremely tired and bored and that once we were on the plane I could settle her down.  He recognized my dialect as Egyptian. Turns out, HE was Egyptian.

So, what does one Egyptian do for another Egyptian? They "hook a sister up"and he called some Scottish dude who was in charge of security and told him to board us early. He didn't want to but the Egyptian dude told him, "Special needs child" and the Scottish dude asked me what was up and I explained that Randa is Autistic and gets overwhelmed when she is overstimulated and can freak out a bit. He said, "My niece is autistic. I know how that goes."

The Scottish dude said, "Follow me." So we did. And he introduced us to Faris who was the head porter on our flight. Faris introduced us to Mario aka Mex (which apparently was short for Mexican) and they shook hands with Randa and were very polite and asked if she would like anything.

Randa said, "Chocolate." And then she laughed. So they laughed.

Damn if they didn't bring her a mini-Toblerone and a Mars bar just for her from first class. And they sent a color book and a fake Etch-A-Sketch thing. She was just stoked that they had Toy Story 3 on the in-flight movie and they're all high-tech so you can even rewind over and over again like she enjoys doing on the touch screen that was on the back of the head rest in front of her seat.

The only "incident"so to speak, was about 9 hours into the flight when Randa started shouting, "Butt hurts! Back hurts! Go faster. FLY FASTER!" The whole time she was pretending to row (yeah like in a boat) as if air- rowing was going to get us there quicker. They were handing out drinks at the time and the flight attendant sort of giggled but then told Randa, "I will tell the pilot to fly faster, dear."

Once we were over Oklahoma, we hit every air pocket that we DIDN'T hit flying all over the rest of the globe. All I could think of was TORNADOES. But thankfully, we weren't in any tornadoes. But the air pockets DEFINITELY did a number on my stomach, as well as Randa's. Because then she decided that she didn't want him to fly faster any more. And she started to stomp on her imaginary air brakes and shouted, "Slow down. Fly slower." This of course, delighted the two men sitting on the other side of her and they tried to hide their amusement but failed miserably.

Good thing she doesn't give a shit what other people think.

Anyway, a few hours later we landed and even though it took us about 2 hours to get through immigration and customs, we did it fairly quickly and uneventfully. It was awesome. Boring and uneventful almost NEVER happens to us. So this was amazing to me and my family.

I cannot emphasize enough how awesome Emirates Air was on both legs of the trip and at all three airports and if you ever have a need to fly anywhere in the world that they service, TAKE THEM. It is an awesome experience.

Also....it was amazing to see my husband, my son, my mom and my sisters and their kids waiting for us at the  airport. These are my favorite people in the world. (My brother, too, of course but he had to work that day and he lives in Austin.) And here's a photo of Randa hugging her grandmother at the airport upon our arrival while her father looks on:

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.)

Parental Win #987

*All names of the innocent ridiculed in this blog post have been left up to your imagination so as not to humiliate anyone by my exploiting their situations for my comedic pleasure.*

Child walks up next to me about an hour ago and grabs his t-shirt and pulls away from his belly and let's go and then all of a sudden begins to cry.

I look over and find he's lifted his t-shirt up exposing a skinny red welt on his belly. I ask, "What happened?"
And he points down to a skinny piece of elastic hanging out of the waistband of his training pants. He had apparently inadvertently grabbed the elastic while pulling his shirt and it snapped back into his skin when he let it go.

"Are you okaaya-HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

"You always laugh when I get hurt!"

"That's not true! I only laugh when you get hurt doing something very weird."

MOTY 2013.....not a snowball's chance in Hell.

Happy Mothers Day

It's Mothers Day here in the Middle East. And my kids were asking to borrow money from me all week so that they could get me gifts. Instead, I told them that all I wanted was a clean house - not by my hand - and no fighting. This was said while I clutched my purse to my chest with both hands in a G.I. Joe Kung Fu death grip.

I woke up to find Ismail scrubbing the stove top (a job I abhor) and all the dishes washed. I took Samiya to school and delivered a couple of gifts to Aiman's teachers and walked home. When I walked in the door, Ismail had swept the living room, foyer, halls; cleaned the boys' bedroom; scrubbed the stove, counters, and kitchen floor and was in the middle of scrubbing the bathroom. I cried tears of joy.

One of my kids listened to me. This is a sort of new thing now that they're teenagers.

I got started making a giant salad and pie crusts for the spinach leek quiche that I had a hankering for. Then I watched a little television and had a cup of cinnamon coffee before dashing off to pick up Samiya from school. We got home and she went off to change clothes and study for a test she had tonight with her tutor and I listened while Ismail attempted to guilt Aiman into cleaning out the girls' bedroom. It took about three hours, but he finally did it.

We had dinner together and then Ismail, perhaps more exhausted from convincing his brother to help out than cleaning, climbed into my bed and went to sleep. Needless to say, Ismail is now my favorite child. I made sure to tell him that.

And now as I'm typing this....I'm once again out of the running for MOTY award. Aiman's best friend came over to collect his homework for the past week as he was out of town for a funeral.....and I forgot they were in the living room studying and I farted. LOUDLY.

I'm not overly concerned about it though. As my sister once pointed out, "If you don't embarrass them at least once a week, then you're neglecting your duties as parent of a teenager."

Happy Mothers Day.

You Think Junk Yards Are Cool, But I'M Embarrassing?

Mornings are tough some days at our house.  They are much tougher when I do stupid things like stay up all night long watching old movies that I really liked back in the 80's and 90's. (Why DO they put all the good stuff on after my bedtime?) So last night I stayed awake watching re-broadcasts of a Turkish soap opera and an Egyptian soap opera that I had missed earlier in the evening. Then one of my favorite movies came on (Something to Talk About with Julia Roberts, Robert Duvall, Dennis Quaid and Kyra Sedgewick) and I watched it from beginning to end.

So chances are I'm not going to get the required rest when the movie ends at 5:30 a.m. and my alarm is set for 5:50 a.m. to get the boy to school on time. I just pulled a blanket over me and took a power nap on the couch. We actually got him to school on time. And I bought potatoes and got home by 7:15. Woohoo. Yay, me. I celebrated in the form of a nap until 10:30.

My daughter goes to school from 12:30 until 4:30 p.m. So we arrive half an hour late to pick up her brother and she's about forty-five minutes early for her classes. Whatever. Beats making 6 trips up and back each day, doesn't it? So she turned the television on while I was getting dressed and slugging coffee and some movie I've never seen before was on. Samiya called me out to the living room.

"Mom, what is that place they're climbing the fence to get into?"

     "That's a junk yard, Honey."

"Wow. That is so cool. It's really clean for a garbage dump."

     "Child, it's not a garbage dump. It's a junk yard. It's where they tow wrecked and broken down cars."

"They're very organized.  Are all of them like that?"

      "Like what?"

"Like stacked in that whole OCD way?"

     "Some of them are just haphazardly tossed about but the best ones are organized.  I never took you to a
junk yard when we lived in the states?"

"How would I know?  We left when I was two."

     "Oh, yeah."

"So why would you go to a junk yard?"

     "Well, you know when stuff breaks on your car or you get in a  wreck or you just need a really expensive part, instead of going to pay for a new one at a  parts store  you can call around to the junk yards near you and ask if they have the alternator or engine or door or fender or bumper to the same kind of car that you have and how much it is. And chances are you'll  end up paying a good deal less."

"Oh. That is just the coolest thing I've ever seen."

     "Your granddad and Uncle Tracy would be so proud to see those Southern roots exposed.  I like junk yards because they're sort of the silver lining of a totaled car."

"What do you mean?"

     "Well, once a car is wrecked so badly that the owner can't drive it anymore, it's towed off to the junk yard and the owner gets a new one after his insurance pays out, etc. But junk yards are sort of like a recycling center for vehicles and they help cut down on costs for people who need to repair their cars and it's a lucrative business for those who own the lot. I've always appreciated a good junk yard. It's nice to see another girl who does, as well."

"Mom, can we go now? I'm going to be late for school and I'm kind of over this whole emotional tie you seem to have with a dump for broken cars. I really only brought it up because I liked how they stacked them up. You're so embarrassing!"


Teenagers.

Consideration of Others IS Consideration of Self

RESPECT - an act of giving particular attention: Consideration

Respect is a vital ingredient to any relationship. It is needed for a healthy relationship with self, partner, parent, spouse, child, neighbor, competitor, stranger, boss, employee and even enemy. (Yes. There are enemies who hate one another but still respect one another.)

I have encountered more disrespect in the past twenty hours than I think I am able to handle. I've had a lit cigarette flicked at me while the cigarette-flicker looked right at me, been lied to by a woman who "desperately needed to buy this stuff" so she could get back to her baby that she had locked in the house by himself....only to find that 2 boxes of green tea, some toy soldiers and a  punch balloon were her emergency AND she had her 4 yr old boy in tow (I told her, "May God forgive you for lying to get ahead in life and setting a bad example for your son) and then when I went to buy a new coffee mug at a different store, the two employees there were more interested in  playing Romeo to teenage girl Juliets that they volleyed back and forth as to who was going to help me and neither did. I complained LOUDLY to the owner and reminded him that if it weren't for the customers that his employees refused to help they wouldn't be needed to work there and that I would never shop there again.

My son "borrowed" my mp3  player without permission and took it into the bathroom to listen to it while he did his business...only somehow my mp3 player fell into his "business" before he flushed and now it and more than 140 songs I'd purchased are covered in poo and the circuits inside are fried because he "rinsed it off."

I've been called upon to lift furniture and clean up a nasty dirty apartment by a woman who claims that she is my friend without warning and treated with disdain when I apologized and stated that I was not at home but in fact visiting a friend on the other side of town. I suppose she expected us to get up from the dinner table and run to her aid even though her own sisters, brother, mother and children refused to help her and she didn't say a word to them.

People! Respect is key. The base of my marriage is respect. The reason that my husband and I have been happily married for 18+ years is because we respect each other and TREAT each other with respect. We do not call names in arguments and have never raised a hand one to another. EVER. My friends can attest to the fact that I treat them with respect 100% and that even if we are arguing, I respect secrets told to me and still don't repeat them, even if the friendship ends. If I am wrong, I respect myself and friends enough to ADMIT IT and apologize.

Today, I feel that respect is something that I give to everyone right out of the gate and that I get very little to none in return. I am not a happy camper and due to the disrespect of my wishes and property by my son, I can't even plug in my headphones and sing away my blues. Instead I'm hoping to "blog it out." *sigh*

Go out of your way to treat others with respect today (and everyday.) It is a reflection of the respect you have for yourself as well as for others who share your planet.

Why Don't They Like Me?

My heart just broke into pieces last night.

My little girl, who is now thirteen, came to me and asked why her cousin doesn't write to her anymore.  I asked if she was writing.  "Yes, but I don't write as much anymore because she never answers." I started to say something and she interrupted me, "Don't say it's because she doesn't get on the computer much, because I know that she's writing to my brother. I just don't understand why she doesn't like me anymore."

I hugged her and told her not to worry about it and assured her that her cousin does still like her but that maybe she's having one of those typical young girl crushes on him.  It happens.  Of course, my son overheard this and rolled his eyes and said, "Ewww."  And my daughter wouldn't talk again until he left the room.

I told her that I have friends all around the world and that if she would like, I could ask one of them who has a daughter who is a little closer to her age (her cousin is 14 months younger) if she would like a "pen pal." Her lip started to quiver and she shook her head no. I asked her why not? And the tears fell as she whispered, "What if they don't like me either?"

OH GOD!  My heart hurts for her. She said that out of the 40 girls in her class at school not one of them is her friend. She said that people are always friendly to her until they find out she's a foreigner, and then either snub her, or want to borrow money. The only time they want to be her friend is on exam days because she is very smart; on English exam days, she has more "best friends" than she could ever imagine. She knows they're using her. And I just want to hold her and kiss her and tell her it will be okay....that none of those girls deserves her friendship and then we'd braid each other's hair and bake cookies.

But I'm just her mom. And while she finds consolation in my hugs and words right now...I know that it won't be for that much longer. And I know that I'm never going to be the "girlfriend" that all of us think back on when we remember our middle school years. But I'll keep trying to carve out another chunk of time for just her and keep trying to hug and console and comfort her while poking all those girls with imaginary sticks in my mind for hurting my baby. 

What Gives People?

Okay, while I'm elated that President Obama won a second term in Office, clearly there are a whole bunch of people who have hurt feelings over the whole thing.  But rather than handle their disappointment at how the election turned out like politically responsible adults, they're tantrumming and acting out the way a small child does when Mom says, "No, you cannot have candy bars and strawberry soda for breakfast."

I am pretty sure that when George W. Bush won the election back in 2000, a lot of Democrats were really upset.  But mostly, it was due to the whole Florida/Jeb Bush/voting scandal thing.  But after about a week and a recount that didn't come out the way that Al Gore wanted it to, they all swallowed hard and accepted that they would just have to come up with a better strategy and/or candidate for 2004.

And they didn't. And George W. Bush won again. But you know what, that's okay. Because while he and Congress were busy deregulating banks and making corporations people and continuing to fight two wars that we didn't really have the money to fight, the Democrats got their stuff together and came up with a few really good candidates and eventually, Senator Barack Obama won that candidacy.  And then he won the election.

He was voted into office in 2008 because the majority of Americans (voting Americans) believed him to be
the better candidate.  Because see?  We Democrats managed to survive eight years of George W. Bush. And while he left a big ole economic, financial, mess behind, we were still here.  Ready to stand up, put on the gloves and pick up shovels and dig ourselves out of the crap.  And in 2012, having made good on a lot of, but not yet all of, his promises, Barack Obama won a second term in office.  He won it. FAIR AND SQUARE.

And maybe it wasn't because President Obama is the best man for the job. However, the majority of voting Americans decided that he WAS the best man out of the candidates they had to choose from.

Here is where people need to start taking a little responsibility.  I believe that Al Gore was NOT the right candidate for President in 2000. In fact, I voted for George W. Bush in that election.  I didn't know that much about him then.  I did know enough about Al Gore to believe that he was the wrong man for the job.
Since former President Bush had planes scrambled to bomb the shit out of Afghanistan less than 15 minutes after the bombing of the World Trade Center, far too short a time to determine who was actually responsible for the horrific act, I decided to get to know the candidates a little better before the next election time. You know pay attention to the who's who of Washington, because Dude! People were DYING....and a lot of them.

I researched who all was running in the primaries...well, most of them. The only one who was worth half a tinker's damn on the Republican side was Alan Keyes and frankly his tax code ideas started out as a cool new approach....until he started the talk of one or two generations of reparations via tax exemption for African-American of slave heritage.  Also, he began using big words like "socialist experiment" to refer to income taxes. I have issues with elected officials referring to issues with which they don't agree as "socialist."
Most of the time, they're not capable of defining the word socialism. The rest of the Republican candidates looked more like contestants for a possible reality game show that could be called "REAL EGOMANIACS of NARCISSIST CITY."  Come on!  Rudolph Giuliani?  He was on Saturday Night Live at least four times, not to mention five or six other television shows and several movies.

Romney, Gingrich, McCain, Paul, and Huckabee all fighting each other for the spot light and none making much sense on any issues, in my opinion.  I have no idea what Fred Thompson had upstairs to offer in politics. Frankly, Ronald Reagan should remain our one and only Actor-turned-President.  Besides, I don't think anyone could watch a State-of-the-Union Address given by Fred Thompson without looking around for Jerry Orbach to read someone his rights. So what was my point again?

Oh, yeah.  The Republican party didn't have any GOOD candidates groomed for the win in 2008.  Pretty much 2012 was a re-run of the 2008 primaries.  But once that whole Tea-Party thing got a little momentum (and an assload of money from the Koch Bros,) things took a weird turn and I re-registered as a Democrat.

Here is what I'm trying to say:  If you don't like the outcome, then do something POSITIVE about it.  Like get involved in politics yourself.  You don't have to run for President if you don't want to.  But get involved. Find out who the movers and the shakers are within the party you affiliate yourself with.  Stop swallowing headlines spewed out by ANY mainstream news. Find papers from all extremes and from the middle of the road. You want balanced reporting? You're NEVER going to find it unless you balance it yourself.

Fact check what is said in the Huffington Post (very biased- liberal), on FOX News (ultra-biased Republican), Christian Science Monitor (slightly biased Republican), the New York Times (fair/even most times), the Baltimore Sun (fairly even), Chicago-Sun Times (slightly  biased Republican), Milwaukee Journal (slightly biased Democrat)...or whatever source you get your news from.  You can read the same news items in the Washington Times and in the Washington Post and get two entirely different slants from newspapers located within 5 miles of each other. Check the facts in everything.

But don't start acting like you cannot  possibly survive a mere four  years until the next election, crying foul and racist remarks or threatening to secede from the nation or trying to run your husband over with a Jeep because he didn't vote (as though his vote would have mattered since this happened in Arizona which went to Romney ANYWAY! DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN KNOW HOW TO READ???)

Grow up, America. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. Get over it. Get up. Come up with a worthwhile candidate who doesn't hide money or change his stance on issues multiple times in the course of a year and get him elected FAIR AND SQUARE. That's what responsible adults do.

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. 

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. 

Just Thanking God Today

My step-brother and his wife, two sons and three other kids from the boys' baseball team were in a rollover accident in this SUV yesterday...and SURVIVED. I am so grateful to God for watching over them all. One of my nephews was thrown from the door of the vehicle and walked away. My other nephew had to have his ear stitched back into place. Thankfully, most of the damage was vehicular and minor injuries.

I was one hot mess last night waiting for updates from my family. Thankfully, everyone is okay and back home recovering from their injuries and thanking God that they are all okay and have each other.

I hugged my kids a few times each today to let them know I love them. We never know what will come our way on any given day. Make sure your loved ones know how much you love them. And let God know how grateful you are for each day you have with them. Because life is short...and sometimes scary. 

Self-Confident or Narcissist?

I LIKE ME! Actually, I LOVE ME! No, really. I do. I can honestly look at myself in the mirror and say, "Hey, you good-lookin' specimen. If I could have an out-of-body-experience, I'd totally do you....TWICE!" And then I accidentally drop the towel and think about how long it's been since I've done crunches. But you know, that doesn't take away from my love affair with me.

It took me an extremely long time to like me. I grew up in a military family, where my dad had issues with weight vs. height standards according to the Army charts in the orderly room. I don't think he realized that the standards are different for women than they are for men. My mom was always concerned about her weight and size. I think she's always had an unhealthy view of herself...even when she only wore a size 5 jeans at 5'5". I haven't seen a size 5 jeans since I was in the 8th grade. And my mom had had 4 kids by then.
I think at her heaviest she was 135 lbs......without being pregnant. And probably only 155 lbs while 9 mos pregnant with my baby brother...who was 10 lbs 11ozs at birth. My mom always had a rock star figure. Even the guys in my high school thought so. But she continued to diet and jog and workout all the time. And never for the thrill of the workout or because it made her feel better. Seemingly, it was to lose weight so that she could make my dad like her better. What she never knew was that he liked her fine as she was.

I remember once when I was a senior in high school and a member of the track team and dance squad and running between 2 and 5 miles on the weekends because I liked how it made me feel, my dad asked me how much I weighed. I told him the truth. I weighed 120 lbs. He said that at 5'3" I shouldn't be more than 105. I told him that I'd inherited his mom's body type and short of lopping off a boob, there was little chance of me losing weight. I wore a size 9 which is incredibly thin for my fairly muscular frame. (And when I say muscular frame, I'm talking about back when I was 17. I still have that same muscular frame now at thirty-thirteen but it's very well insulated.) I always blew off the height/weight standards to how I felt in my clothes. I don't think my sisters or my mom felt the way that I did, though.

I managed to get out of my parents home with more self-confidence than my siblings, I think. (I may be wrong about that. They can correct me in the comments section if they like.) And although I thought that since I moved out at 17 years old, that I didn't get any of the low self-esteem issues or lack of self-confidence problems that I had seen in my mom, I was so wrong. I dated guys who were losers. I treated myself very badly. I carried myself in a manner that I WANTED to be but underneath, really wasn't. I wanted to be a mover and a shaker. I was instead, a shover and a faker. It's true. But about the time that I finally decided that I deserved better than the shitty relationship that I was in, I decided to take my faking to a whole new level.

I applied for a temporary assignment overseas....via backdoor means....and then pulled the, "REALLY? I didn't know that was how I was supposed to do it" excuse when I got lectured by my boss about protocol and blah blah blah......Boy, was he PISSED when they called me and offered me the assignment. I took it. And I swore it was all this self-confidence that I had that led me to doing it. But in retrospect, I think it was just a way for me to get away from my ex without having to actually deal with him. And little bits of self-confidence were beginning to grow roots within me. But I don't think they had actually taken root to me yet.

I think it took me about four years or more from that point to feel those roots of confidence start to wrap themselves around my core and then an opportunity to move overseas for a long term assignment. I took that assignment and ran like the wind. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Three months after I got there, I got my final documents giving me back my freedom and partied hard for another three months. I dialed back the partying after that but still had a great time with wonderful friends that I still keep in touch with today. And then I met my husband.

I continued to fake a lot of my self-confidence. I don't think he knew it even....until we talked about it one night last year. It was so weird. I was so certain that I loved him 100% and that he probably loved me 50% or maybe up to about 60% but just wanted a wife because his younger brother married before he did and he felt obligated to marry and I was handy....and kind of cute. But I still felt this way, six or seven years into the marriage. I have no idea why. I had already left my job and we'd moved overseas to Egypt when it finally dawned on me, "Hey, this guy REALLY does love me and REALLY would give me the moon if he thought it would make me happy."

I started to work on making me happy after that. I continued to read more and learn how to do things that I never thought I could. And you know what? It worked. I really, really, really started to like me. I also improved my Arabic skills, learned to sew, learned to make homemade ketchup and brown sugar, homemade pizza dough and to cook awesome Egyptian foods. I taught myself how to make a perfect pie crust, make my own fitted sheets, how to haggle with vendors in the open markets and souvenir shops. I learned how to rewire a lamp, change a valve in a faucet and to snake a floor drain in the bathroom. I discovered that I really suck at making my own clothes but I'm really good at making curtains, valances, sheets, pillows, and mending. I'm also one lesson ahead of my son in learning how to speak French.

I managed to lose 28 kilos through hard work and diet and kept it off for two years. Then it slowly crept back on and I haven't been able to finally decide that I want to focus the attention I need to lose it again. But I will. Soon. And even though I'm way overweight again and unhappy with how I look, I STILL like me. I still love me. And I can see myself through my husband's eyes. I am an incredible, sexy, intelligent, confident woman who does whatever she sets her mind to do. And I no longer need to fake the self-confidence. In the words of Abed from Community, "I've got self-esteem falling out of my butt."

differences

we were the same at one time.  shared ideas.  shared dreams.  shared music.  and even some bad experiences.  but you had more because you were older than i was.  and then you got married and moved away.  and i felt left out and unappreciated.  you didn't even invite me to the wedding.  but i never held it against you.  and we kept in touch.  and i visited you in your home far away in a foreign land and i recognized that you were hurting and distant and not at all yourself.  and i tried to help you bring the music back into your life.  you seemed happy with my attempts but still not happy.  and then later when you returned and things got bad and you decided to leave him, i was there and held your hand.  and when i moved we lost touch until i moved back.  and when i found out we were working in the same building i was so happy and tried to block out a weekly lunch with you.  and then you quit.  and got married again.  and moved again to a foreign land.  but we managed to at least exchange letters every year or so.  and i again came to visit you although only for a layover through the city you were in.  and when you were having a bad time and you called me out of the blue after not hearing from you in nearly three years and we talked for hours and ran up your phone bill to some ungodly amount, i felt as though you appreciated me as the friend i've always tried to be. but we had never shared with each other some of our opinions of the world and now after all of the years and shared moments and experiences you are clamming up and defensive when i ask why you've cut ties again except to publicly challenge my world views.  i am saddened that you seem to view a difference in opinion as a character flaw; as something that cannot be embraced as a part of me but only as a distinct black mark on what you think our friendship should be.

Endogenous Morphine....I Dig It

I've been a scale yo-yo most of my adult life. I've never been able to wear "skinny jeans" or super short skirts that require you to shave to your belly button. I was always very active and fit because I was a jockette all through school and continued playing in softball leagues and bowling and biking and running. I have always enjoyed working out. And anyone can tell you that muscle weighs more than fat, so when I was 140 pounds on the scale at 5'3 and a 1/2" (because that 1/2" means something to ME) and wearing a size 9/10, I was extremely thin. I have curves. I like them.

Enter married life and having 5 children in 6 years, with each child weighing within 4 ounces of my bowling ball that I'm now far too busy to use. About 6 years after my youngest son was born, I was watching The Biggest Loser with my husband, that guy whose waist is only 2 inches bigger than the day I met him. Anyway, we were talking about weight and getting back into shape and I asked him if I were to lose all this weight I've packed on over the years and managed to keep it off for a year, would he be willing to pay for plastic surgery to get rid of any excess skin and maybe put the girls back up where they belong since I'm wanting to stop tucking them in my pants. He said he would. I challenged him. I bet him that I could lose my 40 lbs quicker than he could put on 20 lbs. He took that bet.................and lost. I lost 44 lbs in 3 mos and kept it off for over two years. And then it started to creep back on.

Then I lost 10 and then I'd gain 20 and back and forth and back and forth until my heaviest (that I am aware of) was 231 lbs. OMG.  So, when I came back to Egypt with the kids, we lived so far in the boonies that I had to walk at least 1.5 miles just to buy milk and 2 to catch a bus. I started walking the 3.5 miles home from dropping the kids off at school and the weight started to come off. Then we moved to a 5th floor apartment where the elevator had not yet been installed (which is fine by me because I'm so claustrophobic and they're smaller than one of those public toilet stalls) and I managed to get down into a 12! It was soooo fantastic.

Then my husband came back from working overseas and I stopped walking as much because he didn't want me running all over Hell's half-acre all the time. And then we moved into a 2nd floor apartment that was much closer to all the amenities and schools. I appreciated the cut in time that moving provided me. The only down side was that it cut into my forced exercise program. So over the last year, I've ballooned up again. I don't know how much I weigh exactly, but my size 16s are getting a little tight. I ripped the thigh out of my pants stepping up to get on a bus. (Thank God I wear a long dress over my regular clothes so know one knew.)

I am trying to get back into shape. After the whole heart work up last year because I thought I was having angina attacks and it turned out to be stress and gas (not surprising at all) I have decided to make better food choices and start to exercise again.  Last year, I tried to go vegetarian and ended up gaining 10 lbs. And I really like meat. So that lasted only 45 days.

But now I'm trying to cut most of the non-produce carbohydrates from my diet entirely. I've stopped putting sugar in my coffee and tea. I will sometimes add a tiny bit of cinnamon for flavor. I'm trying to up my water intake and I've been taking Mohamed to his exams all week (approximately 5 kilometers away) and walking all the way back at a very fast pace (to 8-count 80's music, in fact.) I'm sweating like a whore in church by the time I get to the vegetable market and I usually complete it in 25 minutes! Of course, today was his last day of exams and I have no idea how I'm going to do this now....perhaps I'll change course and walk down to the beach and up to the vegetable market and back. That ought to be at least as long a course, if not longer. Whatever.

The main reason I started to blather on here was to say that I don't feel depressed today. I've been sad and angry and miserable most of this week. Fighting my angst-y teenagers is usually the straw that breaks my camel's back and after I scream at them and separate them I end up in the fetal position on my bed crying my eyes out. BUT today, after my shin splints stopped hurting me, I felt my face smiling without meaning to and I noticed  how nice the breeze was and how beautiful a view it was (provided I didn't look down at the garbage on the street.) And I felt better overall. Endorphins are nature's Prozac. I LIKE this feeling. I think I'm gonna keep it up.

Possible New Careers for Me

I'm looking for a new job. Something less stressful than being a Stay-at-home-Mom (SAHM.)  See, being a SAHM requires me to work between 18 and 23 hours a day, eat cold meals, and drink so much coffee that I am not only jittery but usually constipated for days at a time, unless I accidentally take my cholesterol medicine twice in the same day and then....LAWD!  Don't block the path to the bathroom.

I want a new job with benefits.  Health insurance, you ask?  Pish-posh.  I want  the benefits like the right to a daily shower with hot water, whether I need one or not.  I want to be able to sleep a full 6 hours at night without being awakened 20 minutes before the alarm clock goes off to be asked, "What time is it?"  I want to be able to have a "lunch break" where I can actually get more than one forkful of food into my mouth before someone else asks me to serve them seconds.  I want it all.

I'm thinking that a career in firefighting might be a good choice for me.  I got tons of training in how to get people someplace safely in record speeds by being told 12 minutes before soccer practice starts that I was unknowingly volunteered to drive the carpool.  I'm also pretty good with bandaids and antiseptic, so maybe I could train to be an EMT.  I break up fist fights between teenage boys at least three times a day.  Perhaps an official on a nuclear disarmament team?  Peace talks?  Referee for a football club in Liverpool?  Or maybe rodeo clown...but clowns creep me out.

Leave a suggestion in the comments section.
Oh, and check out my friend, Nuala Reilly's webpage for great reading material at this LINK.  She's awesome.

Finding Ismail

Finding Ismail

Everyone goes through that pre-teen/teenager 
search time in his or her life. Some earlier than 
others. My third child, Ismail, is ten years old. And
I'm a little confused as to why HE is hanging out 
in the "personality fitting room" of life instead of 
his 14 year old brother. I mean, I expect my teenager
to be trying on "the gangster" or "the emo" person-
alities right now. When I was his age, I wore "the 
jock-ette" and "the sharp witted clown" suits quite
comfortably. In fact, I never took them off. But Hamo
seems to be content still in his "artist pajamas" from
way back in kindergarten. Ismail, on the other hand,
has a rotisserie style of personalities (from the sales
racks, I might add) that include ensembles from 
"thug," "wannabe rap artist (hold the rhythm)," "bossy
McBosspants," "sweet, helper boy," "mean bully guy."
I don't understand the attraction to most of his favorite
designs. I REALLY like "sweet, helper boy." This is
the guy who does the dishes for me without being 
asked, volunteers to take out the trash or pick up what
I need from the market. He defends his sisters, brothers,
neighbors and cousins and even picks up trash off of the 
stairs when his slovenly cousins toss it from upper 
floors. 
"Bossy McBosspants" seems to be setting up coup
attempts daily in an effort to overthrow Hamo from his
current position as Oldest Brother. This guy jumps up and
yells out orders to the younger siblings and gets everyone
motivated to clean up their rooms and get dressed quickly
on days we're scheduled to go out on family field trips.
"Thug" gets on my LAST nerve. He has a fascination with
knives and swearing and fighting. He is not a welcome 
personality in this house at all. In fact, he and "mean, bully
guy" have been the reason Ismail has lost computer 
privileges so many times this summer alone.
"Wannabe rap artist" would be tolerable if only he could
keep a beat. Ever see that Steve Martin movie "The Jerk"?
You know, where they were dancing around on the front 
porch and everyone was on time but him? Yeah...that's my
boy. He knows it, too. He's asked his eight year old brother,
Aiman, several times to teach him how to dance and Aiman
just looks at him and says, "I've tried. You just like to shake
your crotch. And that's NOT krumping." (Just a sidenote, I'd
like to thank stupid Nickelodeon and the show "Just Jordan"
for even adding KRUMPING to my little boy's dance moves
repetoire. As though "booty popping" wasn't enough.) Ismail
listens in awe anytime I'm going through my "oh I remember
THAT song" moments and has begged me to teach him the
lyrics to "The Rapper's Delight", "Parents Just Don't Understand"
and songs like "Freakazoid." (Yeah, I know I'm showing my age.)
I guess all I can really do is encourage him to tear off just 
the positive pieces of each of these personality-suits and stitch
them into his own unique pattern to fit Ismail. All the rest of us 
did it. And now it's my turn to just stand back like the changing
room attendants at Macy's and hope he opts for the classics
rather than the passing fads.

My Little Sister

She is the third child of four, the youngest girl. She has bright red hair and if you ask her where her daddy is she will wiggle her pinkie and tell you, "wrapped around this finger." And if she's laughing, you're going to laugh, too. She was the tattle-tellingest, teasingest kid I ever knew growing up. She was Dad's favorite. We all knew it. But I think she was our favorite, too...at least out of us girls. I mean, come on. Look at this face:

Who could not love this kid? Monika was born when I was five years old. Denise and I were so close in age that we just referred to her as the little one. When Lloyd was born two years later, they were "the little ones." Sometimes they still are.

Monika flew up to Baltimore to visit me when she was in high school. I took her to Lollipalooza '92. We had a blast. We went to the show in Reston, Virginia with a friend of mine from work. Tony brought some friend of his from his barracks named "Roach." I never did know Roach's real name. It had rained four days straight before the concert and the whole field was covered in mud. Monika lost her shoes in it and partied on barefoot. We bailed when the headline band came on. They were drunk. We decided that they should be called "The Luke Warm Silly Peckers" vice "The Red Hot Chili Peppers." They sucked that night and got outplayed by Pearl Jam and Soundgarden.

Monika flew out and spent a month with me after I had my second baby and I had orders to move to Georgia AND my husband flew to Greece to visit family there. She had been working in Alaska for the Summer, stopped for a week or so in Texas to be in our step-brother's wedding and then flew out to Baltimore to stay with me during my hectic, postpartum pack out. (Say THAT 5 times really fast.) We had such a great visit and she bonded quickly with my kids. And the month flew by so fast, even with a 16  hour road trip to Georgia. She was gone before I knew it. And I missed her terribly.

While in Texas last year, I got to go out to her house a few times and hang with her kids. They are super awesome and she is a fantastic mom. I love how laid back she is with them. Probably not as laid back as I am with mine...but you know, she's only got two. I have five and by now, I just don't give a shit to get involved in every tattling detail. I figure by the time hers are teens her policy may change.

Monika has introduced me to some of the coolest music ever made and funniest writers ever born. She is an over-achieving, volunteer addict and recovering lawyer. She is a creative, hilarious, spiritual, sensitive, caring
member of MENSA, who will still dress as a super hero in order to attend a friend's costume party and somehow convince her husband to take the kids to Paris on holiday. She loves me with all my flaws and embraces my crazy with hers. She and I have grown so much closer over the last two years. I am truly inspired by her and I look to her as one of my heroes.

I love you, Monika!

A Sad Day

Death is part of life. It is inevitable. We take our first step toward it with our first breath immediately after we're born. Nobody looks forward to it. Nobody escapes it. Some fear it. Some welcome it. Some just don't think about it. Some wait for it.

One of my best friends from high school just lost her big brother to cancer this morning. He was 45 years old. He had flu-like symptoms a year ago and then about 6 months ago was diagnosed with cancer. He had several treatments and operations. But eventually, it was just his time to go. I never knew him well. What I did know of him, I always liked. He was smart and handsome and extremely funny. He and his sister were close; the kind of siblings who could look at one another and say, "Do you remember when I went to the..." and the other would say, "and then you pulled on the...." and crack up laughing at a mutual memory without ever actually saying what it was they were remembering. They had a lot of these moments.

When my father retired from the Army and moved the rest of our family from Maryland to Texas, my sister and I stayed behind. We had an apartment in Laurel about a mile from my friend's house. My sister and I worked several jobs to pay bills while going to school part-time. We rarely saw each other. And when the apartment got too quiet and I missed the hullabaloo that only life in a large family can bring, I would go to visit them and listen as I ate spaghetti at the kitchen table while they joked and laughed and their mom raised hell about the youngest turning off the kitchen faucet and how the pipes would burst since it was snowing outside and my friend and I would crack up while her older brother was mimicking her behind her back. He always made us laugh.

And as close as my brother and I are, I think that she and her brother were closer. I rarely get to see my brother or talk to him. She spoke to her brother nearly every day. I am certain that she and her siblings and mother and his daughter are all devastated that he is gone. I am so grateful that they got to spend his last days together laughing and loving one another and saying their goodbyes. We, the friends, stand on the outer circle looking in to them; waiting patiently for them to need us for support. We await their need of hugs and tears and help in any form. Because that's what we must do. We are there for them as an extension of their family. And now that their time of being strong for him and supporting him is done, they will definitely need us to be strong for them and support them.

God please bless this family with patience and strength during their time of mourning.

Spaghetti and Eggplant Night

My husband's cousin is having an engagement ceremony tonight. It's pouring down rain outside and as much as I like his cousin and his aunt, the kids and I aren't going. We weren't really invited anyway. The bride had a death in her family recently so it's bad manners to have a big celebration when there are family members still in mourning. I like the respect aspect of this. So no hurt feelings here. My husband went to stand by his cousin while they recite the Fatiha (the first verse of the Holy Quran) and discuss the wedding contract, etc and when the wedding will take place.

For me and for the kids, this is culinary specialty night: We get to eat SPAGHETTI and EGGPLANT! Woo hoo. See my husband loathes spaghetti and eggplant. We NEVER get to eat it when he's home. Sure, we have pasta and occasionally I'll make a small tray of mousaka when I want to eat it....but I always make pastitsio for him because of his chronic case of nausea brought on by the mention of the word eggplant. I love him. So I'm okay with it. But on night's when he eats at a relative's house (like tonight), I hand the boys a 10-pound note and send them off to the nearest grocer for 2 packages of spaghetti noodles and a jar of tomato paste!

And tonight, we'll be slurping up big ole long noodles of spaghetti heaven and chowing on pickled eggplant stuffed with cilantro, garlic and hot peppers. YUMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

And when he comes home late tonight, I'll have a nice supper of fava beans, felafel and boiled eggs and cheese waiting for him. And he won't be grossed out and we'll have scratched our spaghetti itch. Win, win!

Chocolate Rice Cereals VERBODEN

THIS is a picture of rat poop that I found on Photobucket.com.


THIS is a picture of Kellogg's Cocoa Krispies (R).

My kids tend to walk around while they eat and sometimes they spill. Do you want to know the meaning of the word PANIC ATTACK?? That would be ME seeing spilled Cocoa Krispies on the floor of my kitchen and thinking it's a bunch of rat turds.

And because of this similarity.....my kids have been forbidden to eat Cocoa Krispies or even bring them into my house. EVER.