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.)

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. 

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 Baby Brother

Whenever I think of my sweet face baby brother, I see him as the little blonde-haired, blue-eyed cherub that he was when he was two. He was so ornery growing up but had a soft spot in his heart for his three "guhlies" (girlies) that were me and my two sisters. Mom once told me that when we had gone to spend the night at a friend's house that Lloyd wandered the house crying for his "guhlies" to come home. We dressed him up like a girl and painted his toenails and all sorts of other torturous big sister games that only a little brother would tolerate until his dad came home one day and threatened to beat all three of his daughters if they put one more dress, application of lipstick or hair barrette on HIS boy! Good thing we still have photos, huh?

My brother was always a charming, funny, and ass-kicking machine like I was. He was only eleven when I moved out and I always felt a little guilty leaving him behind. Not because the rest of my family was totally psycho or anything. (Maybe a smidgen of psycho.) But I missed all of his middle school and high school years because I was living and working on the East Coast and he was all the way out in El Paso. (Yeah, the tee-shirt is pretty accurate. El Paso actually IS 10 miles from water and 3 feet from HELL.) And while I got to see him when I went home to visit for holidays every year or two, I missed out on all of his shenanigans and first dates and swim meets and prom and graduation. I wish I could have been there for that....sort of. I wish I could have sheltered him from some of the crazy he had to endure during the years that led to my parents eventual divorce.
By that time, I was working in Greece.

Just before I shipped out to Athens, I drove out to El Paso to drop off a bunch of stuff that I didn't want to take with me for fear it would get lost or destroyed. So I drove for three days with my suitcase of dirty laundry (to keep my sisters from hijacking all my clothes because they CERTAINLY wouldn't wash them before swiping them), a box filled with my high school diploma, awards from work, yearbooks and my mom all packed into my car. (Yeah, Mom only has one leg and I had a 5-speed Ford Escort so she was sort of along for the ride....and to tell me to slow down a lot.) I spent about a week with them and then my brother offered to drive back to Baltimore with me. COOL.

It was a great trip. Except when he got a speeding ticket about 4 miles outside of El Paso city limits. And except for when we stopped to eat cat fish at a truck stop outside of Nashville and they towed my friggin' car basically because it had out of state tags and it cost me about $150.00 to get it back and delayed our arrival to Baltimore by about 6 hours. I still hate Nashville because of that. But my brother and I had the laughing-est, singing-est, fun time during those three days on the road. I haven't seen him but about 5 or 6 times since then. Damn. That was back in 1992.

I'm thankful that we both have Facebook and Skype and email. If it weren't for that, we'd never hear from each other. But thanks to the internets we have an awesome relationship. And the last time I saw him back in May 2010 at a mini-family reunion outside of Austin, I spent several hours just talking to him and it was like we hadn't been apart at all. I love my brother so much. I'm very proud of him. He's a Navy veteran. He's a fantastic chef and butcher and has a plethora of knowledge about cheese. In fact, during the Whole Foods market 2008 "Crack Heard Round the World" attempt to break the Guinness Record for cutting the most wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese open simultaneously, MY brother "cut his cheese" in 1 minute and 36 seconds....which is TOTALLY AWESOME! (Click here to watch Lloyd kick cheesy ass!) (He's the cute guy on the right!)

Lloyd is one of the coolest, smartest, and funniest people I ever had the pleasure to meet. I think he and I would be friends even if we weren't siblings. He's just that great a guy. And I miss him.

The Honeymoon's Over

After seventeen years of marriage and the development of a social conscience, I've stopped running the faucet when I'm pooping to cover up any loud and bombastic gastric releases he might hear on the other side of the bathroom door. He KNOWS I fart.

And we DON'T have a noisy ceiling fan here like we did in our house in Dallas.

So now after leaving the bathroom, I curtsy or bow and he applauds. I've yet to achieve a standing ovation, but I'm working on it.

My Life's Work

Raising children has got to be the most rewarding, difficult job that doesn't involve hazard pay. It's loud and screamy and a little head-achy and sometimes poopy and vomity. But a lot of the time it isn't. A lot of the time it's funny and laughing and giggly and loving. Today is one of those really good days where I feel like I've succeeded at the "mom gig."

While I'm nowhere near finished with my "job," I know that I'm on the right track. There are some members of my extended family who have criticized my kids and the way I raise them. Do I care about those opinions? Not enough to change what I'm doing. Did those opinions hurt? Hell yes. But here's the thing. I. know. that. I. have. great. kids. Not good. GREAT!

Yes, they fight. There are FIVE of them and they are all extremely close in age and in a less than 1000 square foot 3-bedroom apartment. They have 5 extremely different personalities and interests and tolerance levels. They are all pretty vocal and equal on the teasing playing field. They all have great senses of humor complete with sarcastic rapier wit. They fight over the t.v., the computer and whose turn it is to do dishes. What kids don't? Do they fist fight? Yes. Do I allow it? No. Do they do it anyway? Yes. But I break it up and hand out punishments by taking away privileges.

For whatever fighting, teasing or tattling that they do, they are also extraordinarily helpful. My kids are the ones that see a woman struggling with bags of groceries and walk up and take the bags from her hands so that she can get out her keys to open the front door. They won't carry the groceries upstairs to her apartment because they aren't allowed to. But they will set them inside the door of the building. Unless it's someone that we know or unless they yell up to our balcony and let me know what they're doing first. My kids help with dishes...some of them without being told. Others help on the threat of no computer time. One actually gets bored and cleans out closets. Another will clean the stove top (a job that I abhor.) And one got sick of the handprints in the hallway and actually scrubbed down the walls for me 2 nights ago.

I still have to yell to get anyone to get the dirty laundry INTO the hamper as opposed to under the beds, but I never said they were perfect. My youngest buys me little things that he thinks I might like. If he gets 5 pounds spending money from his father, he immediately asks one of his older brothers to take him to the corner shop to "buy stuff." He almost always comes back with a can of diet soda or a  piece of gum or a package of ramen noodles for me. I don't have the heart to tell him that I cannot stand the thought of ramen noodles after living on them for nearly two semesters of college. I get love notes from them. My 13-yr old leaves me "I'm sorry" and "I love you" notes when I'm having a bad day. My oldest likes to text his love notes to me...usually after we have one of those "teenage angst" days together. My younger daughter will just go make my bed or wash a load of dishes if she's attempting to apologize. And my youngest is just a big hugger. My older daughter will tell me "Sorry, Mommy. Give me a hug." For an autistic kid, she's starting to learn empathy.

I know that I have put a lot on here about the OMG they're running me nuts times....but I guess that's because I use this blog as a sort of creative outlet to my own stress to keep from having an aneurysm or ripping out all of my eyebrows which are both inconvenient and terribly unattractive....especially when I get that nervous twitch in my face. But all in all, I have great kids who are learning to deal with other personality types in small spaces on a daily basis. And if they fight well, they make up better. And that's something that a lot of adults STILL need to learn how to do. Clearly, I'm doing something right.

Be Careful What You Wish For...

Last night I was in a really shitty mood. I know. Language, language. But I don't know that there is a better adjective to use than 'shitty.' So I'm not editing.

So you know how when everything in your life as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) becomes rote and goes on in a sort of "autopilot" mode and you wake up the same everyday and brush your teeth the same everyday and buy bread the same everyday and take the kids to school the same everyday and yell about watching cartoons before homework the same everyday and you're late with dinner the same everyday and you consider jumping from the balcony the same everyday only to argue yourself out of it the same everyday because let's face it a dive off the first floor balcony is only gonna get you into a cast and not into a dirt nap and then life would be the same everyday only in a friggin' cast which would just complicate shit and not really solve anything or give the same selfish result that ultimately you want anyway and that would be that the people in your life THINK ABOUT YOU more than just to locate some lost random item like a backpack, cigarette lighter, or adapter to charge a mobile phone. And it would be really itchy and hard to walk.

So you just suck it up day after day thinking "it's going to get better...it has to....I chose the SAHM life and I love my kids and my family and I wouldn't trade it for the world." And you know that deep down you never would trade your husband or children for one of those hot firemen calendar poster guys on a big red fire engine with his ropes and hoses....oh my! Although there would probably be a big long 'pros' and 'cons' list, if only mentally. But in the end, the SAHM-gig would still win out. Because after all, you ARE making a difference in the world by repopulating the planet with intelligent, kind and productive people. And you love them and they love you. And that husband, even after all these years, is still really hot. And he's seen you in the throws of childbirth and helped you during a really messy miscarriage and helped change the poopy diapers and made you dark-chocolate covered baklava for your birthday and he's seen you in bad flourescent lighting with all your stretchmarks and 'still planning on losing this' pregnancy fat and hasn't run screaming down the street in search of a younger, hotter version of you....AND STILL WANTS YOU.

But from time to time that overwhelming, 'oh dear God help me not to puke from boredom' feeling  hits you. And this is how I felt last night. And I told my husband that I was bored. And his answer was, "Go to bed."
NOT what I was hoping for. But men aren't intuitive like women. We have to lay it on the line with them. No hints-dropping because they're not designed to pick up on that sort of stuff. If we want flowers, then we have to say: "Hey, Honey. My birthday is Saturday and I want red roses with daisies mixed in and I want a gold bracelet and if you get me another kitchen gadget that plugs in, you can also hire me a divorce lawyer."
That's how you get what you want from men. Telling them stuff like, "I am bored with my life and I need a change," is NOT going to get you a hired babysitter and a night out on the town. I know this. But I hoped for a fleeting moment. And instead of living up to my weird female expectations, he lived up to the reality that is male. So I went to bed.


This morning I decided to wash the curtains in the foyer for a change of pace. So, I climbed up on the four foot wooden painter's ladder and took the curtains down. Randa was complaining because her brother farted next to her and it stunk. (The computer is in the foyer and she was playing on the computer.) So I told her to turn on the ceiling fan judging that I was at least a foot or more out of reach of the blades. She told me, "Be careful, Mommy." I thought, "How sweet. My little girl has overcome the autism speech issues enough to worry about my concern." And then I noticed that the curtain was stuck to the wooden splinters on the ladder so I lifted my arm out to pull the fabric away and stuck my damn hand right in the path of the metal ceiling fan that was on high.

I don't know about you, but five stitches in my index finger before noon definitely counts as a change in my regular routine. Think I'll keep my mouth shut from now on and just count my blessings.

Wet Inspiration

Walking home from dropping off the kids at school, the sky opened up on my head. A welcome change in weather, this rain. Hasn't rained since the last week of March. It's the end of September now. Just yesterday we were changing shirts every three hours because of the heat and humidity. Today the humidity is 100% and I'm liking it.

The coffee shop owner sweeping in front of his store ran under an awning to keep from getting wet and laughed at me as I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk staring up at the sky with a big, dopey grin on my face, water running down my glasses, cheeks and lips. He said I'd get drenched. I told him "Praise God. It's the first rain of the season and I got to witness it." He laughed and waved goodbye as I walked on. "Losing My Religion" by REM is a great song to listen to while walking in the rain. Although I tend to embrace the glory of God when seeing the beauty of His creation around me, so I guess their lyrics are lost on me. But the quirky and happy tune seem to fit.

I arrived home soaked, happy, inspired. The rain refreshes your mind. Cleanses your palate. Inspires your creativity. Awakens your inner monster.

Rain is erotic and sensual. Ever make love on the living room floor with the balcony doors wide open in the middle of a rainstorm? Try it. It takes things to a whole new level. 

I Love...

I love...
  my husband. He's the tall, dark and handsome guy who would give me the moon
  if I wanted it. I love his dark eyes and hearty laugh and shyness and even his axe-
  murderer deep voice. He is the one who taught me how to love me; that I deserve
  to be loved. He is the salt in my food...that slice of fresh lemon on the side of my
  tea glass. He is my second wind. He isn't a necessity for me to live....but he sure
  does make my life nice. When he reaches for my hand on the couch while we sit
  in the dark watching old movies on t.v., I feel his love just pulsing from my palm
  up to my heart. And I feel it flutter like it did when we first kissed at that souvlaki
  stand back in Athens so many years ago. When he brings me a Diet Pepsi home
  with the bag of sweets for the children, I know that he thought of me while he was
  out and that he knows it's my favorite. When he installs that extra wall socket in
  the kitchen to make my life more convenient even though I never asked him to do
  it, I know that it's because these acts of kindness are his way of showing me how
  much he loves me. And when he is far away from home at work in a foreign land
  and he texts me on my mobile phone just that one word "Habibty" (Arabic for my
  beloved), I know that he misses me and wishes that he were home. I love him.
  And he loves me.

Apologies and Announcements

Apologies first, to all my dedicated readers (both of you) for the delay in getting back on here.
We moved into this apartment 6 weeks ago and while I did get the computer set up within the
first week, we had issues with the internet provider and then mid-term exams and then, as I'm
sure NO ONE on the planet is unaware, 18 days of protesting and demonstrating until finally
HOSNI MUBARAK LEFT THE OFFICE!!! Do you wanna discuss the meaning of JOY???
I've not seen this much happiness at weddings. Not a dry eye or lack of smile anywhere....well,
with the exception of maybe that dude, Omar Suleiman who was his head of Intelligence for over
20 years that he'd appointed as Vice-President and then hung out to dry 10 days later when he
turned the country over to the military until elections are set up. HA! In your face, Omar.
So........God willing, I'll be back to blogging about all our usual shenanigans after of course, my
take and further information that I've learned about the stuff going on here that may or may not
have been relayed by my esteemed colleagues (hahahahah) at CNN, Al-Jazeera and the BBC.
Thanks to all for your prayers and concern during our time of unrest. Love to you all. -Nikki

Bright Spots in My Day Today 5 of 5

This handsome guy is my first born, Mohamed. He is 15 years old and talented beyond his years in art. Mohamed has a passion for drawing and painting and animating his own comics. He can sit in front of the laptop for hours creating comic book characters using the paint program or in front of a sketch pad with a pencil for even longer. Of course, this can sometimes get in the way of studies. But to his way of thinking, studies usually get in the way of his artwork. Mohamed carries a lot of responsibility. He is the oldest of five kids, one of whom is autistic. He is usually the one who stays home and keeps an eye on whichever of the younger ones I've decided

to NOT take with me on whatever errand I'm running. He seems to take it with a grain of salt that he rarely goes with me anywhere one on one. I do try to make a concerted effort to take just him with me sometimes...which usually means we have to literally RUN the errand because Ismail plus his siblings with no adult supervision usually means FIST FIGHT before I get halfway back home. But Mohamed is a good sport about it and we usually get our one-on-one time together at night after the pesky younger kids are asleep.

Hamo is extremely polite and well-mannered and is always being complimented by neighbors and family and friends about how well-behaved he is. I'm always left proud by these remarks...and scratching my head wondering, "WHY do you use it all up on them? Why do I deserve all the 'buttheads' and 'shut ups' and 'I'm going to  pound you into dusts'?" He's a good kid for the most part.......that's saying a lot about a teenager!

He has his moments and he carries that infamous "put upon" attitude exactly as described in THE CATCHER IN THE RYE. But I think that that is something that is synonomous with teenage boys and is not unique to him. He inherited his inability to let someone else have the last word in an argument from his grandmother. (Well, you CERTAINLY didn't think I'd admit it was from ME, did you?)

Hamo is a sweet and loving and caring boy who comes across to many as awkward and shy. He's both of those things but he's soooo much more. He's sensitive and deep and devout in his deen (Islam) and he wants to learn how to cook and help his father with work and volunteered 2 or 3 years ago that if (God forbid) something were to happen to my husband and me, that he would be the one who would take care of Randa. His reasoning was because she "likes him best" out of all the siblings and she listens to him more than the others. I love how selfless he is sometimes. I think we're doing something right with him. And he is one of the brightest spots in my life. I tell him all the time how I waited 26 years for him to come into my life and how my life will never be the same since he entered it.

Bright Spots in My Day Today 4

So, here's my other beautiful daughter, Samiya! She's 11 years old and sharp as a tack. She makes straight A's and loves to read and write and play word games with me. She's definitely in the genius range on the I.Q. chart and I do not say this only because she's my kid. She's got the makings of a rocket scientist or a neuro-surgeon. Of course, she also loves people and wants to be a mom when she grows up but as to any career choices, she remains undecided. I'm just saying she's smart enough to write her own ticket.

Could be she's going to be a guitarist...she has a deep love for music. She's also quite athletic and definitely owns the goal when playing soccer with her brothers and some of the younger boys on our street. When the big boys come, though, she sits out. "They always aim at my face, the jerks," she complains. Samiya is for the most part, a pretty good girl. But not unlike her siblings, she's got quite a streak of ornery in her. The difference between her and Ismail or Aiman is that she is also a bit sly. I remember walking in on her when she was 4 coaching Aiman to stand on the dining room table and dance. When I cleared my throat she looked right at me and said, "Mommy, look what Aiman is doing! Are you going to spank him?"

"Yup. Right after I spank you!" She yelled YIKES and took off to the bedroom to hide under her bed.

Samiya is our resident "news anchor" and we have a running joke about her becoming the youngest correspondent for Al-Jazeera or CNN. Does she tattle? You betcha. We're working on that, though. And she's trying hard to quit. Samiya is also sweet and helpful. She sometimes will go clean out one of her brothers' closet or make everyone's bed just because she felt like it. Talk about your random acts of kindness! She helps me to clean house every Friday while the boys are at the mosque for Juma'a (Friday)
prayers. She knows how difficult it is for me to keep up with the housework alone during the week while
all of the kids are buried under homework and studies. So we sweep out the house, change the bed linens,
hang clothes, dust and scrub out the bathrooms while the boys are out from under our feet. She's quite a
helper.

Samiya and Aiman have the same voice pitch and sometimes she will fake like she is Aiman and start making noises or singing loudly in order to get him into trouble with me. The minute I yell, "AIMAN! BE QUIET!" I can hear her crack up laughing while I hear him do that, "UNNNHHHHHHH! IT'S NOT ME!" whine.
Rotten girl. Samiya is tough as nails and has actually laid me out with a right cross during a kick-box lesson from me. I was trying to teach her the right positioning to land a right cross and got just a little too much "in her grill" and she got me right across the jaw and knocked me to the ground. Then she turned all girl on me and started that high pitched squealy nervous laugh combined with "I'm sorry, Mommy! I didn't think it would work."
OH it worked baby. She rocked my molars. I love this kid beyond belief. She's definitely a light in my life.

Bright Spots in My Day Today 3

Aiman is my baby. He is the fifth born and third son. He's nine. That big cheesy grin can take any day from hell, no matter HOW miserable, and turn it around 180 degrees! We've determined that he is made up of three parts, though we're not sure how: 4 parts me, 4 parts Mohamed and 2 parts Warner Bros. cartoon.
He makes faces that will crack you up and is quite sly about the way he can insult you. (Afterall, he IS his
mother's son.) We saw the trailer to that movie "Dinner for Schmucks" and Aiman figured out a way to call someone a schmuck without actually using the word. So if he ever walks up to you and asks with a grin, "You like cheese with the holes, don't you?" feel insulted!

Aiman is super smart, super cute, super cool and talented in art, music, and school. He and I were singing together the other day (can't remember what song) but I noticed that he picked up on the tenor harmony and belted it out while I was singing the melody. And with no musical training...hmmmmm. Aiman is the one who will stop watching t.v. and walk into the kitchen and hug me for no reason at all and just as suddenly turn around and walk back out. He is tall with legs up to his neck and wears the same size shoe as I do. Aiman is extremely funny and loud and brave with such a sensitive side that if his older brother calls him stupid he will run into his room and cry. His feelings are very easily hurt and he usually tries to think how others would feel before he says something incredibly mean. (You know and then there are times when he is a typical kid and just doesn't care HOW you feel if he calls you BUTTFACE.)

Aiman loves animals and desperately wants a pet. He and his huge begging smile are what finally won me over to allow a stray Siamese cat into the house about 2 months ago. Of course it was also his ornery antics that cost her that stay (combined with Randa's severe allergies.) Jelly, the cat, turned out to be pregnant and started to lose her patience with Aiman flipping her around in his lap and trying to pick her up under her "arms" and hold her like a baby. Then one day she came tearing into the kitchen with Samiya running after her yelling, "DON'T YOU DARE, AIMAN!" and Aiman running after them both with his mouth wide open and a piercing battle cry emitting from it. He had scratches all over his cheeks and neck and swore he was going to kill her. Samiya grabbed the cat up off the floor in an effort to protect her and Jelly scratched up her hands and arms and darted under the couch. I grabbed her by the tail and threw her into a cardboard box and started for the nearest pet shop to sell her. It was then that Samiya tearfully offered that it wasn't the cat's fault. Apparently Aiman was clowning around and picked her up and announced it was dinner time and pretended to shove the cat's head into his huge open mouth. I'd have freaked out, too. The cat was just afraid for her life. This bought her a little time until I could find a good home. (I finally did last week. Yay!)
Now he's taken to picking up stray cats off the street (there are a ton of them here in Egypt) and shoving them in the face of a 13 year old boy named Moody who lives down the street and is an Ailurophobe . It generates quite a laugh....provided he can continue to outrun Moody once he puts the cat down. That's as close as he's getting to another pet anytime soon. I've re-established my "NO ANIMALS" policy.

Aiman is amazing to me. He understands and catches things that other children his age don't. For instance, he jumped up and grabbed his shoes about 3 weeks ago and insisted it was his turn to go with me on an errand. So I brought him with me, begrudgingly....he's one of those "buy me this--I want that" kind of  kids. About 400 yards from the house he asked, "Where are you going anyway?"  I gave him my late Granny Jean's standard response to this nosy question:

"Up a hog's butt to get a ham sandwich.Wanna come along?"
He didn't even blink before saying, "We're Muslim. We don't eat ham."
Then there are things he doesn't get, like exactly how many "JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE"s he should hear prior to hauling ass from Hamo before he gets pounded or why he will never be able to grow the "disco hair" that he wants since his hair is straight. He still thinks there should be a way to "will it" curly.

Aside from growing an afro, there's probably nothing this kid can't do.

Bright Spots in My Day Today 2

Isn't she pretty? This is Randa. She's my first daughter, second-born. And she is extremely bright. She was diagnosed with Autism when she was 3 years old and all the professionals, doctors, experts, special-ed teachers discouraged me from teaching her Arabic and insisted I only teach her English so as not to confuse her. Idiots. Fortunately, I not only make it a habit to question authority, I usually defy it. You know, provided I'm not going to do any jail time as a result. We spoke to her in both English and Arabic just as we did her brothers and sister. I mean, how was she supposed to communicate with her father, for crying out loud?! He didn't speak much English at the time she was born, although NOW he's pretty proficient. At any rate, we figured she's got developmental delays in speech anyway. What difference will it make? We didn't know if she'd ever become verbal. Well, guess what! Randa is now 14 years old and she speaks, reads and writes in both Arabic and English. She is by no means at a 14-year-old proficiency level in either language. But she definitely knows how to get her point across. To be honest, she watches a lot of t.v. and uses the internet frequently. About three years ago, some guy across the street from us built this monstrosity of an apartment building that totally blocked out access to the satellite dish signal. So we went for a whole summer with no t.v. While the fighting levels went down, I noticed Randa spent a lot of time in my room laughing her head off. After a couple of days, I figured out why but chose not to share her secret. Everytime she would laugh loudly and attract the attention of her siblings to the point they'd open the door and go in, Randa would slap off the monitor and say, "Get out!"
Well, the child had seen me google a couple of times on-line and, being the genius that she is,
she started doing searches for YouTube uploads of Tom and Jerry cartoons. She knew that if the other kids knew what she was up to, they'd have me enforce the "everybody gets a 15-minute turn" rule and her cartoon time would be cut by four-fifths.
Randa's speech is primarily picked up by repetetion in films, cartoons, remarks that her family members make, songs and books. She even surprises us by the appropriate insertion of some bizarre one-liners. Remarkably they're also delivered with just the right amount of inherited "smart ass" from my side of the family. Here are some of her "sitcom moments:"
1. In Dallas, while visiting my sister's home, Randa walked into the kitchen while my brother-in-law, David was busy at the stove. He said hello to her and she responded with, "Hey, Baby! Are you a fallen angel?"
2. While my mom was visiting us in Egypt last year, Randa caught her in the kitchen and with all seriousness said, "Hey, Toots. What's for dinner?"
3. Ismail was teasing Randa mercilessly one day and Mohamed and I fussed at him several times. Finally I asked him point blank, "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Randa answered for him, "Ismail's JACK ASS!" Mohamed sprayed coffee out his nose.
4. This past summer, I was taking the kids from our home by the beach into downtown Alexandria to visit their cousins and Randa was extremely tired and started to cry. We were on the bus and people kept staring at us and asking what's wrong. Finally, after 15 minutes I turned to her and asked, frustrated, "Do you think you can stop crying sometime today?" And she sniffled and then patted my hand like I'm a moron and said, "Maybe later, Dear."
5. About four nights ago, I was falling asleep when I heard Randa yell, "Oh, man!" So I asked her what was wrong and she said, "Stupid computer." So I asked if she would like me to fix it for her and she deepened her voice a bit and replied, "Why, yes, my juicy dream girl!" Oh, the incontinence due to laughter! (No, really.)
Randa has taught me so much over the years....patience, love, tolerance, the ability to ignore rude people and lots of laughter and lightheartedness! She brightens my life daily.

Bright Spots in My Day Today

This is Ismail. He's my third child, second son, first to help when I need it. Ismail could charm the pants off of just about anyone if he tried. And he has a heart of gold...with a taste for ornery like you wouldn't believe. He's been in trouble for dumping a plate of cold eggs off of the balcony and onto the head of the woman who lived downstairs from us. He once decided to spackle the walls of our apartment for us...using 100% pure thick table cream for spackling. He's peed in the oven, scared the neighbor's daughters by wearing a "SCREAM mask", and dumped trash all over the bedroom while pretending to be a garbage man. (It was the kitchen trash can he used.)
This boy is so full of imagination, charm, and naughty that sometimes I forget that he's still the sweet and loving, protective, helpful and hard-working kid that I know and love. He's good with his hands. I once described a wooden step stool that I wanted my husband to build for me so that I could reach the dishes on the top shelf of the cupboard and more importantly, so the shorter kids could reach the sink when they help clean up. My husband told me he'd do it later after he finished some other ongoing project. Ismail happened to be in the kitchen at the time.
He grabbed the tool box and some scrap wood out of the closet (please don't ask WHY we have scrap wood in the closet.) He went out on the balcony and sawed and hammered and banged and kept himself busy for a full hour. When he came back in, he handed me the exact type of step stool I'd just asked my husband to build for me. Granted, I only used it as a shelf to put things on on the counter because he had used plywood for the top piece and it was not very sturdily balanced on the legs. But the fact that he could hear a verbal description of what I wanted and then go and build if for me with no direction, instruction, or supervision at 9 years old?!! That's pretty damn awesome, if you ask me.
Ismail is a neat-freak and helps me clean up without being asked. He does 75% of any errands that I don't do myself and he never complains when asked to do them. This boy is my little bright spot today. He made me laugh when I needed it. We were talking about bacteria and how there are some types of bacteria that are good that we need in our lives. And Ismail asked, "Isn't that Fronteria? The good ones, I mean." How cute. Sometimes I forget that they're learning two languages at once and so don't have all the vocabulary that someone learning only one language would have at their ages. I explained that bacteria is the term used for good and bad microbials and that although Fronteria would be a good word to have, sadly it doesn't exist.

Come on. Look at that face! He's a keeper, huh?