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."

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.)

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.

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.

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.

Mid-terms, Classics, and Falling Concrete

Where do I begin?

I have been intermittent at best with posting since the new year began.  I've been incredibly busy.  My two youngest are in the middle of mid-year exams at school and it's been a nightmare for me running one up in the morning to school and hanging out for an hour and a half for him to get out and then running him home, grabbing the girl and running her up to the same school (it's a junior high for girls in the afternoons and an elementary for both sexes in the mornings.) At any rate, our house is a half hour walk from the school and who the hell wants to walk all the way home and have to turn around and walk all the way back just a few minutes later.

So, yeah, waiting really blows. It's exhausting. Probably more exhausting than housecleaning, rug-scrubbing, or jogging (HA! Like I even remember how to do that thanks to the embarrassment that is post-pregnancies incontinence.) I'm making the best of it by sitting in the outdoor cafe catching up on my reading though. I'm nearly done with Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.  I started reading it a couple of chapters before bed last week and in the last two days I've devoured more than twenty chapters waiting for the kids. I truly love to read the classics.

So, we had a pretty freaky scary incident today. About ten minutes after Samiya and I had passed by the front of our building and come inside, we heard a thunderous boom and I asked, "What the hell was that?"
We heard people on the street making a commotion and ran out to the balcony where we saw that the
vertical wall that edges the roof of our building had crashed down to the street below where we had just been and where our doorman's granddaughters and our neighbor's daughter had been playing. It came fairly close and the neighbor's daughter, age 8, came tearing into the doorman's apartment with her hair covered in dust.  The doorman's sons raced upstairs to the fourth floor to warn the man in that apartment to stay off of his balconies as the  wall hit his balcony ledge on its way down and may have weakened the cement. Thankfully, no one was hurt.

The doorman sent his sons back up to the roof with sledgehammers to knock the rest of the damaged wall down before it fell on its own while the youngest of them stayed downstairs to prevent cars and foot traffic from entering our street.

We only have a few more days of exams left and then Thursday night, God willing, we will attend an engagement party for my husband's niece. Maybe I'll remember to buy batteries for my camera and I can post some photos.  More when I can stop to catch my breath.

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. 

Gainful Employment *OR* 1 Down 4 to Go

Yesterday afternoon, while I was sweating my ass off in the kitchen making dinner and washing up the dishes that the kids had stacked up to just under the spigot so that I had to lift it up in order to unwedge the large pot from between it and every dish I own under it, my mobile phone rang. (Okay, it didn't actually ring. It played some bizarre ass Portuguese song called 'O Sol' that I don't understand because, even though I speak  5 languages, Portuguese is not one of them.) I squeezed the excess water (2/3 of which was probably just sweat) from my t-shirt and answered the phone. It was my husband's cousin.

She called to offer my son, Ismail, a job. She's working at a bakery now and in need of someone to work with her selling bread, breadsticks, cookies, muffins, zweiback toast and this awesome, flaky Egyptian pastry thing called FATEER. Anyway, she had heard me talking about how he was on my last nerve and in need of a job to keep him busy and to help him to learn responsibility. I could hear Ismail and his older brother starting to argue, so I told her I'd stop over at her  place after I fed them.

Fast forward through the next 3 hours of my typical, only-boring-because-of -the-repetition-and-not-because-my-kids-don't-try-to-kill-each-other kind of day and I sent Samiya (nearly 13) to her French lesson at the lecture center, Randa (16) was taking a nap, Mohamed (17) was at the cyber-cafe and Ismail (14) and Aiman (11) were just chilling out watching television. I quickly got dressed and ran over to Abir's house. She looked completely knackered. Poor thing.

She'd been at work from 7am until 2pm. She stopped to buy food on her way home and ran home to cook, fed the boys (ages 5, 6, 9 and 10) and then hustled the three oldest out the door to the lecture center (where my daughter goes.) The water had been shut off in their building all day long and she couldn't do the dishes or wash the mountain of clothes that 4 young boys will go through playing soccer in the dirt all day while she was at work. I could totally feel her pain.

So, she started talking to me about the job and explained that because he is strong, he would help her to lift the trays in and out of the ovens. Also, she knows that he is trustworthy. She knows he's ornery as hell but that he doesn't steal and that he has a good work ethic. I was honored that she offered him the position before her own siblings. Anyway, I texted his father and let him know what was going on. He said, COOL. So the boy began work this morning at 7 a.m.

He was up and dressed by 6:45 and out the door to meet Abir just seconds after I insisted he wait until I unlock the door. (We can't have an Ismail-shaped  hole in the door, now can we?) I went back to bed. HE got the job not me.

I called him around 12:30 to see how he was doing. He really liked it. He asked if he could stay until 3 if they needed him and I said yes. He came through the door at 2:30pm, happy as a clam with his daily pay in his pocket.

He had his dinner and we started his English lesson. About 30 minutes into it, I could see his eyelids fighting to stay open. I told him to take a shower and hit the sack. In all the excitement about starting work, he couldn't fall asleep until nearly 3 in the morning. He was out like a light by 6pm.

I am so happy. That old phrase "busy hands are happy hands" could not be more appropriate. When he doesn't have something to occupy his time, he gets creative...usually in a very ornery sort of way. I just can't wait until Saturday. Samiya and Aiman will be heading back to school then and I may have peace in my household again by October. WOOHOO. Can't wait.

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."


   

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. 

Lazy, Hot Summer

It's about 4,000,000 degrees F outside (that's 2,222,204.44 degrees C, in case you were wondering.)  I melted four days ago.  But then I guess someone scooped up my big, ole puddle of body fat into a Nikki-shaped mold and stuck me back in the freezer.  Because here I am again....all corporeal and able to type.  Maybe there's something to this whole cryogenics thing, after all. Who knew?

So along with all the heat and humidity of Summer, comes the weird sleeping hours and laziness to a degree you would be flabbergasted over in the Winter.  It's just too hot to sleep or eat or cook or clean or hell, breathe, even.  The energy required to towel off after a cold shower just makes you get all sweaty again. So I'm thinking of waterproofing my computer somehow and just sort of staying in the bathroom until September.  Fortunately for my kids, who are concerned about privacy issues with me turning the bathroom into an office and it's the only bathroom in the house, I haven't figured the whole CPU waterproofing thing.  But let me tell you....as soon as I do, they're peeing across the street at the neighbors' house.

For about 9 months out of the year, I'm a "get 'er done" kinda gal, to borrow from Larry, the Cable Guy.  I get up early and get some laundry hung while I pound back coffee after waking kids up one at a time to utilize the aforementioned one bathroom in a sort of assembly line fashion, get 'em off to school, buy produce and carry it all the 2-mile walk back home.  I have more coffee while I write on this blog or work on my novel or just screw around and catch up on email or Facebook. I always have laundry going and manage to get something started for lunch and the wash hung again before running out the door to pick the kids up from school.  I carry the dish-washing throughout the school year but during the Summer I delegate to the kids. This year, they've been pretty substandard (read: SUCKY) at completing their tasks.  Anyway, I am one well-oiled machine running this household until about mid-June. And then you can hear my gears grinding to a halt.

I don't sleep at night anymore. I wish I could.  It's just too damn hot. I sleep around dawn when the mosquitoes have backed off enough that I can open the windows so that the ceiling fans aren't just blowing hot air around. And I have so many things that I want to get done before noon...but unless I literally pull an all-nighter/morning-er I will never get them done. Sleeping from 6-12:30 isn't conducive to my errand list.

And that  perpetual lie I tell myself daily, "I'll just take a quick nap and get up at 9" isn't even fooling me anymore. Apparently, my subconscious has checked out with a quick "yeah, right!" retort and somehow the alarm never goes off.

So, what do I do? I may get off of here now and take a quick nap so that I can get up at dawn and "get 'er done" but that's not bloody likely. My youngest has sort of pushed my hand at making him an apple  pie by peeling and cutting 2 lbs of apples and if I don't do it now then they'll go bad and I'll feel guilty for wasting food.  And then Ismail has the clippers all set up for me to give him the mohawk I've been promising to give him since Summer started. *sigh*

I wonder if  Pinterest has any computer waterproofing pins.

Summer Schedules

It's hot. (Yeah, Africa hot because it's only June. I expect it'll be Dallas-hot by August.) So I'm not a big fan of the heat because it's so doggone humid here and we don't have air conditioning. I can live with just ceiling fans and open windows. Probably, it's healthier this way. (And if it's not, just can it! I don't want to hear how I'm doing it wrong mainly because I can't afford an air conditioner right now nor the additional 100 Pounds per month on the electric bill.)

Every summer I have these huge plans involving how much I'm going to get accomplished. I usually plan to complete my novel, teach my kids how to type without hunting and pecking, teach them to swim and we'll spend every other day at the beach, and I'll make awesome desserts that I saved from the internet and maybe I'll go back to freelance translation of articles online to make some extra money. And every year I'm lucky enough to get my butt out of bed before noon because it's too hot to sleep at night and too hot to do anything during the day.

However, this year is different. Today I got up at 11 o'clock. (That's EARLY in Egypt.) I managed to wash and hang a load of laundry, shower, have a cup of coffee, and complete five more pages on Chapter 7 of my novel! YEAH! I then got up and went to pay the internet bill (only three days late) and managed to keep my service from being interrupted. YEAH! And I brought Randa with me...she NEVER wants to go anywhere anymore. And we went to the vegetable market and bought fresh green and red grapes and apples and okra (YUM) and meat and rice and most importantly, a new remote control for the satellite receiver. Our old one bit the dust when it fell on the floor during a fight about which ridiculous cartoon we were going to watch. (I'm seriously considering grounding them from watching any cartoons with the exception of Warner Brothers cartoons. At least then they'd learn about classical music and how to cross dress in order to prevent hunters with speech impediments from blowing their brains out.

I got home and made a light lunch of fava beans with cumin and peppers and cheese and tomatoes with Arabic bread. And then I attempted to "catch my husband" on Skype. No joy. Oh well. He's  probably doing laundry or fixing his car...it IS the weekend.

It's been an incredibly weird week for me. I finally looked at myself in the mirror and decided that blonde is NOT a good look for me.  So last night I went back to red. I feel like I've got my own skin on again. It's still in the beginning days so any water on my hair drips off red and my t-shirt that I'm wearing now has red stains around the collar because it's so EFFIN' hot that I was sweating and my sweat dripped red onto my shirt. Oh well. And it's still pretty bright. (LOVE the Koleston Intense Cherry Red by WELLA.) I kind of look like I'm wearing a Fasching wig . Except that after bleaching the crap out of my hair a month ago and then dying it blonde and now red....all of my natural curl is just gone. I've never had such limp straight hair in my life. I don't know what to do with it. Perhaps it will curl back up again in a few weeks. I sure hope so. I love my curls.

Also, my kids have decided to get into classic rock recently. I went through my son's favorites  playlist on YouTube and he's got nothing but AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Metallica and Queen saved on it with a couple of Bob Schneider songs thrown in for good measure. Also, Randa was walking around singing "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin yesterday. That was weird. This is my autistic kid who still soothes herself by listening to Barney songs. Aiman has always had a thing for anything he can play air guitar to. But Samiya prefers only Michael Jackson and Ismail, my rhythm-less wanna-be rapper, is still a sucker for anything remotely gangsta.  (I'm trying to gently push the old hip hop because I don't want him walking around calling women bitches and hoes all the time. I think "The Message" by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five can provide him with more intelligent lyrics and still give him that funky bass line that he admires so much.)

Anyway, I'm hoping to continue with some semblance of a schedule this summer that starts with me writing each morning. If I can just get a few pages or even paragraphs written daily, I may make this novel a reality instead of just a dream.

Next dream to make a reality:  Killing this blankety-blank-blank mosquitoes that have taken up residence under this desk!

Today is Pretty Quiet for Anxiety Thursday

I am having one of those weird days where I actually have all the quiet that I need because all five of my kids are sleeping in today and I have managed to bring in the laundry and get a cup of coffee and turn on the white noise fan (which is kind of cold on my back right now, come to think of it) and I don't have stacks and stacks of dishes from late night refrigerator raids by teenagers and I sat down at the computer and managed to NOT
open Facebook or that evil, evil Pinterest (I'm sorry, Pinterest. I love you!) and I managed to pound out the rest of chapter 6 of my (seemingly perpetual attempt at writing a) novel and I made the mental connection that the HORRIBLE and ROTTEN person who is SPAMMING on Pinterest is ALSO stealing photographs from the Nouveau Raw website and the photographs are copyrighted and belong to Amie Sue Oldfather (who you can find HERE on Facebook) and YES! I certainly am tattle-telling about it right here and right now because I don't dig copyright infringement and while I do post photos that don't belong to me on this blog site from time to time, they are always from free sites that encourage sharing such as the above photograph that I got from Photobucket  or else I use my own photographs because YEAH, I own a digital camera and I figured out how to upload photos so there!  (hold on....need to catch my breath.)

So anyway, I was pinning yesterday and found this really cool-looking photo with the promise of a recipe for "raw peanut butter and chocolate cupcakes" and of course I had to comment by tagging it with my friend's name, because Bonnie and I love to torture one another with really delicious dessert pins.  Only when I tried to follow the links back to where the recipe is I was hoodwinked!  It was a fake "scavenger hunt" pin that leads you to believe that Pinterest itself is giving away these huge prizes to 5 pinners daily that range anywhere from $50 to $1000 give-aways from companies such as Amazon.com, Starbucks, Victoria's Secret, and Apple, etc.

Now I have NO IDEA whether or not these companies are actually sponsoring these giveaways or not....but if I were a betting person (and I'm not because I believe gambling is wrong), I'd put my money on NOT....because when you attempt to "collect your prize" you are then linked to these applications that you need to fill out in order to collect. And there's a whole lot of "required information" such as your home address, telephone numbers, email address, birth date, etc and an agreement to share this information with some giant list of companies such as Fingerhut and cheap airline ticketing agents, etc and basically, you're just providing your own information for telemarketers and spambots.  At any rate there never was a recipe listed or a link back to the Nouveau Raw website, which I'm pretty sure is where the fake pinner got the photo from.  I just happened to notice the copyright tag in the bottom right corner of the photograph and I am already a newsletter recipient from Amie Sue Oldfather because I went through a vegetarian stage last year (that only lasted 45 days but still....don't judge me!) and I still use some of the recipes from that site.

Wow. Did I ever go off on a tangent. Let me get back on the rails...if I can remember where they were. Yeah, I got nothing.....

So the next topic I wanted to discuss in my ADD-forum of thinking, was hair.  Yeah, I'm usually a big time ponytail-but-only-comb-it-while-it's-wet kinda girl....but I got this wise idea that when my husband left to work overseas again that I should hack it all off and attempt to go platinum blonde....only at my age, twenty-twenty-three, it just REALLY  looks stupid.......(or 'fucktacular' as my friend, Buffy, described it) and so I decided to darken it up a bit to an ash blonde....which is okay but still kinda looks weird on me. Maybe I'm still not used to seeing anything other than a deep red on me. I've been dying my hair red for more than 20 years and it does look much better.  If it were just a matter of color (and apparently texture because after bleaching the crap out of my hair four times and then dying it to a darker blonde version my hair is the same texture as those rectangular hard bristle brush brooms that they sweep public streets with) I could deal with it.  But NOOOOOOO!  I also had to have it cut. And since my trusted hair dresser (20 miles away from here) quit doing hair because she had a baby three years ago and is now a SAHM, I had to trust a stranger to cut my hair. OH! The humanity. I look ridiculous. You know that "in-between-stage" that you have to go through a few weeks after you get your hair cut?  Well, this woman managed to cut my hair into an "in-between-stage" cut.......so I got to skip the whole "ohmigosh how cute" cut in the beginning. I hate her.  I'm grateful that my husband isn't here to criticize it. (Although he did see if over Skype and laughed while he was saying how it looks good.  Nope. They still don't offer that Skype-app of chisel-punch to the kidneys. I looked for it.)

So, I am waiting patiently for my hair follicles to rest and repair with lots of conditioning treatments until next month when I go back to red. While I wait, I'm going to try to catch up on my mending that's about to break the sewing table it's stacked so high and then perhaps I'll try out at least 10 of those hundreds of DIY crafts and sewing projects and recipes I've madly pinned to my Pinterest boards. (Oh, Pinterest you ARE the devil.)

I think I need to have more coffee....my feet are beginning to touch the floor again.

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.