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?

Why Don't I Have the High-Metabolism?

It's so annoying to hear extremely thin people who
have difficulty gaining weight complain about what
a problem it is to never get over 50 kilos when all
they do is eat! I am married to a high-metabolism
guy and gave birth to 5 high-metabolism kids!

While yes, I agree that having an extremely high
metabolism rate can be a little problematic...imagine
having your metabolism slam into a brick wall and
all of a sudden now if you so much as SMELL fresh-
baked bread, your ass stretches out one more pants
size. THAT is a little bit of a bigger problem. No
pun intended...well, maybe just a little intended.

So I am wondering how the whole thing works. Not
metabolism. I took biology in high school. I mean,
how is that my 15 yr old son can eat seemingly non-
stop all day and night to the point his stomach
aches at bedtime. He goes to the bathroom (we call
this the mysterious TFBC's - Time For Bed Cramps;
similar to the phenomenal DWC's - DishWashing Cramps.)
And he takes nearly an hour to poop. He complains
of constipation a lot. But he never gains weight.
HOW can a body burn off all the calories and still
block its own intestines and NOT GAIN ANY WEIGHT???
It's surreal.

Me? While I've managed to lose about 7 kilos since
moving back to Egypt (mostly because I walk everywhere
and do not own a car), I still feel a little on the
round side. Now I'm not as bad as some. I know women
who are as wide as they are tall and they weigh less
or the same as I do. Fortunately, I was always very
athletic my whole life. And muscle weighs more than
fat. My muscle is still there. It's just very well-
insulated. I think it's time to take a few layers of
that off.

I'm back in the game as of tomorrow morning, God
willing. Maybe a case of grapefruits and a high-protein
diet will get me back where I need to be. Me and this
here metabolism are about to dance, Baby! Bring it on.

Goodbye, Friend!

My sister informed me a few nights ago that
a friend of mine from high school passed away
quite recently. I'd known that he was ill and
had been diagnosed with the same type of
melanoma as my mother some 26 years ago. I
guess because my mom made it, I'd had hope for
Devon. God had other plans.

Devon was a couple of years ahead of me in
school. He was very intelligent and funny and
politically aware and spoke fluent Italian and
English and was learning German and of course,
I had a crush on him. Only I was a dork freshman
with braces and he spoke to me but NEVER with
the look in his eye that only a 14-year-old girl
could wish for.

His two best friends were Alex and Rudy. The
three of them would climb on the bus each morning
on our way to school and laugh and rehash events
that happened over the weekend at various clubs
(usually Karibik the disco down the hill from
our housing area in picturesque Schwaebisch Gmuend,
Germany.) I loved to hear their stories and to
watch Devon dance that typical German dance where
one hardly moves his head and moves stiffly to the
music....sort of like the guys on Schprockets
from Saturday Night Live. Devon introduced me to
punk rock and spray-on pink hair. I've never been
able to listen to the Clash without thinking of him.
And even though my short-lived crush was not
acknowledged by him, my friendship was. He was
always a good guy and remembered some of our conver-
sations once we reconnected on Facebook.

And while his family and friends are devestated by
his death at such a young age, I pray that God bless
them all with patience to overcome this sense of loss.
And that God be generous and merciful to Devon and
forgive him any sins and allow him into his place in
Heaven.

My Kids Are the Greatest!

Okay, so last night I got the mother of all migraines.
It hit me so hard right after dinner that I felt dizzy
and nauseated and like a giant railroad spike had been
rammed right next to my left nostril up through my eye
and poked out of this before unseen throbbing vein in
the center of my forehead.

I tried tylenol by the handful and water and mint tea
and sprite to keep the nausea at bay. Nothing worked.
So after 6 hours of agony, I opted to just stop "being
a man"about the nausea and puked my brains out. At least
my stomach felt better. I showered and went to bed.

Somehow my kids actually EMPATHIZED and left me alone
today. Only a few interruptions, usually involving "May
we have money?" questions to buy tea biscuits for break-
fast and later for some cheese so they could have sand-
wiches. Then Mohamed came in and told me that it was
now 2:30pm and they were really hungry. I told him I was
still sick and I'd try and get up and make some soup.
He told me he'd cook if I told him how. So I gave him
recipe and he wrote it down and gave his younger brothers
money. They went down and bought some zucchini and
potatoes and parsley. Ismail chopped the vegetables
while Hamo got the meat and onions browned. And then
Ismail went ahead and peeled 2 or 3 more potatoes and cut
them into sticks so that we could make french fries for
Randa. (She only eats crunchy food.)

Samiya mopped the bathroom floor and Randa brought all
of the clean laundry in off the clothesline, folded it
and put it away. When I finally got up around 3:30pm,
the soup was finished and I had a cup of coffee and
made a pot of rice and Randa's french fries. Then we
ate dinner together and Samiya washed the dishes without
being asked. AND there were hardly any fights or teasing
today and very little backtalk. Samiya and Ismail and Aiman
made fried egg sandwiches for supper.

My headache is almost gone and my heart is happy. Clearly
I am doing something right by these kids. They are awesome.
And I am blessed to be their mother.

I've Got the Teen-Raising Blues

The funk is back. I could blame it on the geography,
but that would be dishonest. The truth is that I am
the mother of two teenagers and one 11-yr old who
started puberty early. (Lucky, lucky me.) THAT is
about 90% of my blue mood right there. The other 10%
has more to do with the fact that my husband and I
are living on opposite sides of the world...again. I
don't know. Maybe I should switch those numbers. Maybe
my problem is 10% teenagers and 90% not getting any.
I mean,really...I could probably better deal with the
teenagers if I had a really good release system...
which at present I don't. Well, yeah, I know. I COULD
drink. Except that it's against my religion. And it's
a bad example to these rotten ass humans I call teens.
I don't think I can tell them not to use drugs and
drink as a means to escape and have it be remotely
credible when all the words are coming out slurred and
interrupted by giggling and occasional belching.
Because LET ME ASSURE YOU, if I were to fall off the
wagon at this point, I would TOTALLY roll right into
a liquor store and remain drunk for the next 10 years.
Yes. That's correct. TEN YEARS, Baby. Because it'll be
that long before all five of my kids are out of their
teen years. And that would be one helluva hangover,
don't ya think?
So, I grit and bear it. And I blog. And enjoy little
tiny fantasies throughout the day that involve teenage
kids with severe cases of laryngitis that last weeks at
a time where I don't have to hear things like, "I hate
you!", "Whatever!", or "No, FAKELY!" which is usually
in response to the question "Oh, really?"
I'm sure one day it will all be worth it. I'll get my
MOTY award and be crowned Most Awesome Sober Mother
and write a book and be interviewed by Oprah after she
reads my autobiography with her book club: LOSING MY
SANITY WHILE RAISING KIDS WAS CHEAPER THAN XANAX (And
Other Money-Saving Tips for the Birth Control Challenged)
In the mean time, I'll just have to work out a little
more frequently after reaching for that comfort food!

What Am I? An Idiot?

It's 2a.m. and I'm supposed to be having a
garage sale tomorrow. YIKES! I've got all
the smaller furniture and lamps and wall
hangings and stuff in the garage just
waiting to be dragged out onto the driveway.
But all the big ticket heavier than a
truck full of Sumo wrestler items are all
still in the house. *sigh*
I know I'm not going to be up before 7.
And it's going to take until 7:45 to get
Mohamed outta bed to help me. Maybe I'll
just wake up the kids and make them help
me. Or maybe those damn early-bird people
who'll be knocking on the front door at 7:30
asking if they can have discounts for helping
me to roll out of bed on time.

(Yeah, if someone is stupid enough to do that
they could get hurt. I'm a little on the
stabby side pre-coffee.)

I don't have a list of prices.
I don't have those cute little post-it
sticker price tags. Hell, I don't even
have the dishes, crystal or cookware
that I want to get rid of out in the garage
yet. (Maybe that's a good thing. I caught
Aiman playing end table hop out there and
threatened to break his little legs if he
didn't quit hopping from dresser to dresser.)

Of course, some of this worry might not be
eating at me had I not sat in front of the
computer and played 9.5 hours of Mystery P.I.
with Aiman and Samiya. No, really. 9.5 hours.
The up side is we won unlimited play on our
trial download. Yay. One more puzzle to keep
me occupied during my sleepless nights.

My sister used to be a regular yardsaler.
Of course, now that she has a toddler she
doesn't do it so often. Because of the child
running amok? you ask. Nay. Because she can
no longer handle the hangovers. She would
drag all of her crap out into the yard and
plop down in a lawn chair with a big ole
thermos full of ice cold margaritas and by
around 2pm she was sloshed and had given
away most of her stuff. I guess about 15
bucks would make it into her gas tank that
week or maybe be used to replenish the now
emptied tequila stock. Too bad I don't drink,
huh? Oh, well.

Guess I'll mosey on off to bed. Since I'll be
getting less than 5 hours of sleep I may end
up with the same "drunken effect" as my sister
but mine will be only due to my insomnia.
Yeah, I'm an idiot. I should have had a week-
long yard sale.