Category: Uncategorized

Supermom phenomenon; I’m sure it’s been talked about. I’m usually late to most parties because I’m not super anything. I’m lazy and tired and sick a lot of the time. That’s not said metaphorically. I have Rheumatoid arthritis and severe sciatic pain so I’m actually in a lot of pain. So, I can’t keep up with life and what’s hot and what’s not. I wouldn’t know if this topic has already “trended” or not. I just thought to write about it because I’ve been feeling it, and I’ve been seeing and hearing so much of it around me.

This word seems to be reserved for a certain type of mom and it seems to shame the rest of us into oblivion. Then they want to hear “oh please take time for yourself.” While they look at us as though they are saying, “its not for me but you do you”. These are good moms. Good people. They are not doing it on purpose. They have just gotten used to flaunting the title. So if they don’t put up a few pictures of their greatness and get a few comments every day they can’t go through life.

While the rest of us quietly struggle without being super anything. You see people like me, we have perfect lives so we can’t be super because everything comes easy. Oh so easy. So if the husband is perfect, the kids are easy, there’s no housework then we must not deserve any kind of credit and we are not being great. We MUST get lost in the sea of many who are just below average. Our struggle is not worthy, or important because others can’t see it. I mean where are the pictures? Where is the constant status updates?  Seeing and hearing is believing, right? If I don’t “see” it, then it must not exist.

It’s all about permission. When I am not able to walk to the bathroom, I have to be carried. When my son will not use the potty with anyone else but me and I cannot for the life of me move from the bed. I sit there trying to convince him that just this one time let someone else help him and next time mom will take him. He doesn’t understand and he cries. I tell my maid to just take his hand and walk him to the bathroom while I hold back my own tears. Yeah I have a maid. A luxury? Is that How you see it? Not when you’re son is crying for you and you cant perform the simplest task of taking him to the potty. So no, I don’t have permission to be complain because I have a maid and my life is so comfortable. The sad part is in that moment when I look at my phone to distract myself and some friend or even some stranger is being deemed as a “great” mom for making organic meals for her kids or some other mom talking about how she doesn’t have a TV in her home and spends hours doing crafts, I just want to throw my kids ipad and store bought chicken nuggets in her face. I can’t do all those things because I will be parenting from the bed for the next week on the account that I can’t walk. Also for that reason my kids will be relying on the ipad a lot and eating a lot of chicken nuggets from a fast food joint. I have a maid but I cook most of the time. They don’t like the maid’s cooking. It’s easier to just give them what they like when I’m in this condition. But you’re not going to know any of this because all of this will not be plastered all over the internet with pictures. Hence no mom of the year award for me. No supermom title. All that brings is guilt. Guilt of not being enough, guilt for not doing enough. I have always fed my kids a healthy diet. I don’t feed them junk food a whole lot. I even freeze food so that when I’m not able to cook we can defrost healthier options than resort to junk food. But sometimes when you are sick and tired its easier, and I’d rather my children be happy and comfortable when Im cranky and frustrated myself. Still after all of those conscious choices when I see those moms feel less than them and I feel like everything I am doing and everything I am all of a sudden doesn’t matter.

Is that the only reason though? Obviously not, I can be insecure but it’s not that bad for me yet. What really gets to most of us out there are the people in our lives who are taking a page out of the internet and applying it to real life. Same logic. Show me and I’ll believe it. If you don’t talk about your great mothering, or your great struggles as a mother then you don’t deserve the title either. The rest of you who struggle silently sorry, the world has nothing for you. That is the only truth these days.

I truly hope that the point I’m making is not being missed. I don’t want the title. I don’t want to be one of those “internet moms”. I mean I do the best I can. I don’t want to be a sucky mom either. I do feel bad when I feel like I am not doing enough for my kids but I certainly don’t want to do more because I want any kind of title. HOWEVER, it does bother me when I realize that there are many more women like me who are going through so much every day dealing with their daily struggles. They have to feel like they are not good enough or even worse; feel guilty.

I actually am okay with being not supermom if it weren’t for the guilt that it brings sometimes. People tell me that my life is perfect and I have it so good.  I stay quiet. Can’t say much when you don’t have pictures to prove otherwise ya know?

The real question is though, why does the Internet only like to talk about the plight of only a certain type of mom and give her the title? the single mom? That’s a struggle for sure. However, there are plenty of women struggling whose husbands come home as well. I know my opinions are not going to be too popular with the most. But just hear me out. I’m not trying to say that the single moms are not doing a tough job, they are. It’s difficult for them. Somehow, however in honoring them we have completely ignored the other moms who also need attention that have it tough a lot of the times. Husband doesn’t always mean things are sailing smoothly. They have husbands, kids, in-laws, responsibilities, and a bunch of other messes to deal with. Believe me they are barely afloat struggling to breath. They don’t have fancy ways of describing their struggle. They just take it one slow puff of air at a time and hope for it to soon end. That is precisely the reason they don’t show up on your social media, they are not cool enough to “trend” and be super moms. They are far somewhere away from our realm of reality. We call them a happy home because they have a husband and kids. What do they have to worry about? They are not doing it all? They’ve got it made. The real struggle is elsewhere. While those women slowly drown, unheard, unknown. They are not special because they don’t have special anything. No suits, no briefcase, and above all no lack of husband and money to bitch about to the world.

In all seriousness here’s my question to everyone out there. Why isn’t being a mom/ wife enough anymore? Why do you have to be great at it? Why do you have to be greater than? I get that we all want attention. Sometimes that attention comes at the expense of other people, other mothers and other families. Not everyone is the same, not everyone can be the same. Don’t put the same kind of pressure on everyone. When you compare me to someone who doesn’t have the same health issues as me you make me feel less than. I can’t scream to the world or carry around my medical records. When you compare a working mom to a stay at home mom that’s not okay. Sometimes the hours of two working moms are different which leaves them different times to do different types of activities. It’s all really hard and it’s all really easy, depends on whom you ask. Maybe we should stop asking people all together. Why does it even matter who is doing what? Why do we need to praise parents for parenting their children? I know, I sound like a crazy person but that’s me. I don’t care what kind of parent you are if you are a parent that is your job. However you choose to do it you are choosing it so stop expecting kudos from the world.

More people are dead. Forty-nine more people to be precise, the discussion is looming around, whether the guy was Muslim or not. Is this a hate crime or not? Anti-Muslim rhetoric once more, its back; Yeah that’s the world we live in, we can’t escape it for too long. Here we are the second people die the debate goes to gun control, and Islamic extremism and all I could think about was that forty-nine plus people died including 50 and more people are injured out of which it seems many still might not make it.

I don’t think their families and loved ones much care about those things right now. Do you know how many rooms 49 bodies would fill? Can you imagine the blood on the floors that would need to be cleaned up? Fifty-three people are in hospitals, in critical condition. Those people who are in limbo waiting for their loved ones to pull through, have you ever waited in a waiting room? If you have, then you know how terrible that smell is, even worse when you have to wait there for someone you care. They are sitting there while you sit on social media and have a discussion about gun control or radical Islam or homosexuality or whatever else that suits your fancy.

You think they have time for this? You think they are thankful that they have intelligent and well-balanced countrymen and women like us on their side? Yeah we got this for them. We have really well written arguments in defense of their dead friends and family members. I am sorry, but I think my grief has turned into bitter anger because we have made a habit of getting on to the internet and just spewing hate and pointing fingers at each other and then that’s it. We think our job is done. Our trigger is the send button. As soon as things settle we stop. We get riled up by some other tragedy once more but only to post our opinion, rather our hate towards others. As soon that’s over we are done until the next time. The dead, the victims, the next victims, the criminals, no one needs that.

My heart is aching. Not one but all of my hearts, the heart of a mother, sister, wife, friend all of these are breaking and mourning. I can’t imagine losing so much in such a small amount of time.

For us Muslims the trauma is two-fold. It’s not just watching our people and country being attacked, on top of it we also watch our religion being attacked and then our own turn against us. We are left alone defenseless to fend for ourselves. While we are mourning and grieving just like everyone else we are also busy proving that we are not guilty by “apologizing” and “condemning” over and over these actions and attacks that have affected us just as much, which is absolutely ridiculous.

Past week with Muhammad Ali’s death, which proved to be a blessing in disguise that showed the world the true Islam. The everyday and mundane side of Islam. The common man’s Islam that we practice. The religion that’s not complicated and scary. It was going so well. I was feeling so blessed to have someone like Muhammad Ali in our midst. He had never been my inspiration while he was alive but in his death he taught me so much about how to live.

Yet here we are, one man who knows nothing of my religion. Who practices none of it is able to pollute so easily the hard work of a man who lived such a wonderful life for an entire lifetime. How fragile and forgetful we are, how ungrateful and unmindful we are.

In this time of crisis I wonder how Muhammad Ali would handle it. Kind of like a, “What would Jesus do” reminder for all of us. Not that I’m comparing Ali to Jesus. Let me put it this way; if Muhammad Ali were alive and Jesus were here, he would for sure would ask Jesus what to do. So what do you think Jesus would tell Muhammad Ali? Don’t you wonder? Because I sure as heck do, I assure you no one feels more lost and confused than I do right now. A guidance from the likes of Jesus would be a Godsend in all its literal meaning.

 

The sun has not risen yet. It’s still dark. Light is about to hit us. There is messages all around us. In the dark and in the light, there are tiny little messages. My son said, look mommy we can all fit on one tiny bed. I thought that was a message. He’s barely 4. He probably didn’t mean it as a message but I carried his voice with me all day. It was my guide. We find our reasons to survive our day, week, month, year. Those reasons can be big. However, usually they start with small things. Things like something someone says in a certain way. Or something we see. Or something we smell even. We take it with us and we let it guide us.
You want to know what that is in reality? Absolutely nothing; it’s just us trying to survive. We are making meaning out of things from around us to make life easier for ourselves because there is really no meaning in most things. Sounds pretty hopeless. Only it’s not, its most full of hope. We do what we can to survive and find meaning in things that may not have any meaning. In the end we find meaning in the most wonderful and unexpected ways. Life moves forward and we make so much stride in the most brilliant ways.

The pretty ones at least? Now, can we not please? At least not the ones that just recently became fathers or are about to. I know this topic has bean talked about but not enough in my opinion and some things have been missed. And I don’t like to miss the opportunity to talk about pretty boys in any capacity. I get it; we all have a thing for beautiful fathers. But here’s the issue with that, all of us beautiful mothers get left out of that scenario usually.

Im the one who had my body cut open to have a little person pulled out of it less than 24 hours a go but, yeah lets talk about how great my husband is for sleeping on the uncomfortable hospitable couch, and while we’re at it lets discuss if I know when was the last time he ate something. Oh, let me add I was waking up every few hours to feed that little person. He could not be woken up even if an avalanche hit him. Believe me, I tried. Boy, did I try. I hit him with things, big, heavy things because the baby was crying. He needed a diaper change. The man sleeps like a freaking log. So I threw a pillow at him. The husband, not the baby, missed him. It’s not easy to get in and out of bed after a C-section. Anyways, back to the topic.

Being a mother is so overrated, isn’t it? It is. Mom stories a total snoozfest. No young girl, or guy fantasizes about women with baby bellies and pregnancy weight. No one talks about how women look carrying carseats, or with that burp clothe on her shoulder. Hand Ryan Reynolds a stroller (baby or not) and he’s called a hot dad. But the woman who actually carried the child and then gave birth to it? No, those women are not hot because they are moms. They were hot before. They might be after. IF they lose the baby weight. They actually lose some of their hotness in the process of becoming moms unfortunately, all the while these men became more desirable to the entire world.

Im not questioning the hotness of these men; who am I to ever do that? Im not questioning what these men may do for their families. Im sure they are great at home. It’s not these men that I’m questioning really, or that they are not doing their jobs as fathers and husbands. Im actually questioning a phenomenon in our world today;  My point is they might be doing a wonderful job but that is all they are doing. It’s just what they are supposed to be doing. If I didn’t do anything extra ordinary by carrying and then pushing out a 7 lbs baby then my husband didn’t do anything extra ordinary by taking care of me and the baby. We all did our jobs. We all kicked ass at it, sure, but we did what we were supposed to that is all.

So, you want to say these guys are kicking ass at being actors, sure they are. Are they kicking ass at being dads ummm…don’t know. We don’t live with them.

That brings me to my next point. Just because we see them carrying a baby bag or hear them saying they change diapers doesn’t mean they actually do. Moms never say they change them, doesn’t mean all moms do. They all claim they help their wives, girlfriends, newsflash, doesn’t mean they all do.

Where’s the crazy praise for the moms who actually carried and delivered the babies? And are carrying the scars?

So, here’s what I need everyone to remember that all the other article, posts written about it just stop short of, we don’t know who these men are. We want to see them with our perfect “prince of the weak because I really want to watch that movie” colored glasses. But in a relationship is that really who they are? Does he wake up for night feedings? Because he had a baby a month ago and he’s been out promoting this movie since forever. So, let’s get real. The media has to do what the media has to do. We need to get real. I will still say Chris Hemsworth is awesome and I’m dying to watch his latest movie. But does that have anything to do with him being a great dad? Nope.

It has to do with him being a great actor and with his personal life really not being my interest even slightly. He’s easy on the eyes, the movie looks good, if they don’t show him as perfect all around, you and I might not be as interested in watching the movie. Also, did you know Emily Blunt is pregnant? Yeah, I’m sure you knew, so it will sell more to put John Krasinski in forefront as a dad prince than Emily Blunt as a new hot mom. I may be wrong. That’s just how it usually works though. She’ll have a belly. He has abs.

Now the question is what difference does it make? Why does it all really matter to you and I?

I’m not saying that it’s not okay to praise men for being good parents and husbands. Everyone should be encouraged for doing a good job and working hard to fulfill their responsibility properly. Did you get that? Everyone. There are plenty of mothers who don’t take their jobs as moms seriously so if that’s the reason for glorifying dads then that’s a terrible reason. That’s like saying there are a bunch of serial killers out there, so you are a wonderful human being for not killing people.

It’s that kind of entitlement that the world gives men on doing so little that makes them feel important. They turn around and make everything they’re wives do seem unimportant. It’s that kind of entitlement that says you work 24 hours a day with the kids but the three hours that I put in are so much more than what you do and if you ask me to get milk after those 3 hours I have put in, I will lose my shit. They translate that to mean that the women don’t appreciate them and keep asking for more.

It’s that kind of mentality that if the wife ends up sleeping in, when she wakes up, God forbid the husband or boyfriend had to give the kids breakfast. Father of year! And the bragging to the world, amiright?  Everyone has to worship the ground he walks on. Now he has earned the right to be upset with his woman if she asks for anymore “favors” the rest of the week because he does so much for her and the children. Not all men of course, but a lot of them see it that way. Do women brag about feeding and changing the babies and sending the kids to school? Or making dinner? Of course not. Who would listen? Who would care? That is our purpose in this world after all, what else would we be doing if not that? We need to stop doing that. We need to give this responsibility back to the fathers to raise their children. We need to give husbands and men the responsibility of taking care of their families just as the women do. It’s not a favor. It’s hurts them, it’s hurts us, and it hurts our children.

In the end I say I’m all for gray haired, bearded, eye candy. Heck that got me to the movies. I was well aware of the propaganda but it still worked just the same. I guarantee you the next advertisement tactic will take me to the next movie too. However, the cost may be far greater to me and to my household. I will enjoy the movie, at the same time I will suffer as a mother because someone has created a false world for me to live up to. In that world where my husband’s gray hair and glasses are considered sexy but I can’t dare walk into a party with glasses and gray hair because that makes me look unkept. A world where he can brag about cooking dinner and have everyone think he’s a fantastic caretaker whereas I sleep guilt ridden because I let him cook for us. If I mention something similar it’s received with weird looks because that is my job and why would I want praise for doing something that I am supposed to? It’s a thankless, cruel world that we get lost in. It’s a world where you don’t get thanks from your partner, not even from your kids. They love you for sure, but they don’t thank you. They don’t appreciate you. My kids know mom will always be there. They’ve also unconsciously learned that mom’s always here. They don’t thank me because they know it’s my job to take care of them. Dads a hero because they think it’s not really his job but he still does it. Mom is solid. Which is a great feeling but its also kind of disappointing because then I am not special, and dad wins again. He gets the “hero” status. Us moms are forever sucked into oblivion of momhood and dads get all the glory. We don’t want all the glory. We want to share it. We don’t want all the responsibility. We want to share it. Lets keep it real people. Im not talking metaphor and cool people talk here. I actually mean Lets. Keep. It. Real.

I actually would like to see a day into the life of Seth Meyers baby. That would be keeping it real. A little bit. I guess. It would be a start.

 

What is home? I have thought about this so many times in the past years. I was pretty sure of the answer though. Then there was that day when I thought I was packing up and going “back” to visit home. And there right then in that moment, I should have known better than to want things this badly. Who does that? Right? I mean come on this is real life.

So, as usual, jolt of reality. “Home” is not a place. Someone like me should have completely and totally grasped this idea by now. I have lived in so many places and traveled so much during my life that if anyone should have this lesson committed to their brain, it should be me. However, doesn’t everyone have that one place that they refuse to let go of? Yeah I have a place like that too. No matter what happens or how much I travel, or how many new and unique places I explore it will always be home. I went back there hoping to find that place and those people.

Of course things had changed. I was prepared for that. Those changes are what have brought me to my computer today. I had debated for a long time how to express my feelings about all this. I knew I had to. I knew I had to talk about life happening to us no matter how much we want it to hold still. As much as I move around, I find that the message of what’s real and what’s just only getting moved around with us gets lost. I was looking forward to going home to get grounded again. To gain some perspective for when I came back. Start fresh after seeing everyone I cared about and realizing that life moves on, things change but you stay true to who you are. It doesn’t stand still but there’s always a place for you when it gets too much and when you need to take a breather. All I needed was that reassurance.

See, us humans we are designed that way. Always needing a safety net. Right now I am living without anything. Right now Im on the edge, one wrong move and it feels like everything will fall apart. Or maybe, just maybe, I have already made all the wrong moves. At this point I have no idea. The uncertainties are just too great in my life at this time. I wanted my safety net back.

Are you curious to know what I found when I got there? What became of my safety net? Well, I think Im glad to report that I don’t have one anymore. Its better this way. Houston is still home. The smell of the street, the look of the buildings is still going to take me back again and again. But I have nothing to fall back on. It turns out it wasn’t the streets I was going back for. Surprised? Yeah me too. Now I wonder what do I have left? Nothing really? I think about that and it scares the living daylights out of me. I think about telling my kids stories of my childhood. Of things I did with people and places and it feels like it was all an illusion, a lie. I don’t want to tell them stories about things that were so easily destroyed. What do I teach them of the world? What do I tell them of what the world is? What home is? Is home just their house? Is everything outside of that not to be trusted?

All wasn’t lost. It was Houston, and I was there. That was good enough! Good time was had. I am grateful to a handful few that showed up to the party that is me, and my crazy family and partied with us. For those of my family members that were with me, dude we did party in that tiny little apartment, didn’t we? Haha. That was sarcasm. I am so thankful for you guys. I wish I could see you guys again and hug you even tighter because now that things are becoming clearer I am realizing what a blessing it was to have you by our side.

The lesson? Because there always has to be a lesson, right? No lesson. Just that people suck and I needed to vent. Life’s full of surprises. You take what you get and move on. Enough clichés for you? My life is not a “lesson learned” kind of thing most of the time. I learn one lesson and then in the next breath I unlearn that lesson to learn a completely new one that goes against everything I knew or understood. All I know is; keep moving. My home is in me. That’s it. That is what’s came out from all of this. Home is not a place or a city or a country, it’s wherever I am.

The next automatic question becomes whom do I count on? What do I teach my children? I was pretty confident that there were a few people in my life I could teach my kids to trust and believe in. I am not so sure anymore. Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe some mysteries we cant solve for our kids. We just need to make them strong enough to deal with situations and then let them go. Im hoping they can find a home strong enough in me to return to after every disappointment. I only wish I had such a place. For them home is wherever I am.

Okay, so I need names and numbers of all those moms everywhere who said that potty training would be easy. Yeah, where ever you are. The internet, my friends circle, family, I don’t care how or where I encountered any tiny bit of information that potty training is easy or that your child was a “breeze” I need to have a talk with you one mom to another. All those moms who wrote or said I took off my kids diaper showed him the potty and said, “ You are a big boy/girl now and this is where you go now” and that was that. No more accidents, no more problems. We were done with diapers, and we never had to worry about accidents either. This isn’t just one isolated incident or one Internet mom Im referring to, this is article after article. This is mother after mother talking about how easy it was and how uncomplicated the experience was. While here I am thinking, this is hell. This is how I am being punished for my passed sins. I am thinking am I ever going to get him to pee in the potty? We are not even going to tackle the subject of poo here. He just might be wearing adult diapers to college for that. While, we are on that subject I kept reading everywhere, “don’t worry no one gets on that school bus in a diaper” or “no kid goes to college in their diaper”. Here I am worried about getting through the day without getting wet or without getting my furniture wet, you really think Im worried about what my life or even my child’s life is going to be like a year from now? Or even a week from now? As of this moment that I’m reading your article mompsychologist lady I just need to know how I can stop him from peeing all over the house. I don’t need to know what condition he will or will not be later in life, thank you very much.

Breathe in…and breathe out…I’m better now. Yeah, those days are kinda sorta behind us. We are all doing better now. Our furniture doesn’t have plastic all over it anymore and the area rugs are back in the rooms. We are over the hump. Things are looking up. So, how did we do it? With a lot of patience, I would say candy and stickers were involved but interestingly enough when we started out my kid wasn’t really into either one of those things. So we tried many unique ideas. Nothing was really working for us. I kept thinking of different things. I did all the research I could possibly have done. Whenever he had an accident I tried talking to him and explaining why it’s not okay like some suggested. In some instances I ignored it completely. Sometimes I said, “Oh it’s okay, it was an accident you will tell me next time”. However, there came a time when I was completely done. I knew that he will just not tell me and that he will just pee in his pants. I was ready with spray and a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess. It was a complete white flag. He would get wet and I would say, okay. And without even a second thought, get to cleaning him up. There wasn’t a single reaction, good or bad. Before that even though I was using all those words and phrases I was learning from books and articles there was a hint of frustration in my voice, and understandably so because I had been cleaning pee and poop out of things for weeks. And lets face it their father and I had been fighting and arguing more than usual too. Not just about the potty training but in general because we were frustrated and tired from all the excitement of having to manage an irritated non diapered toddler who didn’t know how to use the toilet yet.

Then came that day; it was such a good day. Physically nothing had changed. I had accepted my fate as someone who will never leave the house and would have to clean up poop and pee every day sixteen times a day from every corner of the house. That was it. I stopped getting angry from the inside. I was just ready all the time. I wasn’t mad at my boy anymore. He wasn’t learning, he wasn’t ready, it wasn’t his fault, and I wasn’t blaming him anymore either. Oh yeah, somewhere along the way I blamed my son. Funny story, we blame our children and we hate to admit it because that makes us feel terrible about ourselves. But it’s true. I thought it; he’s just not trying. He’s lazy. All of that stopped and everything just started to get better. The very next day, and there is absolutely no exaggeration here. The very next day my son came up to me and said, “Mom I need to use the toilet”. No, that wasn’t the last time he ever had an accident. No, that wasn’t the last time we ever used a diaper on him. That was, however the first time of many that he told me on his own without me having to ask him over and over again that he has to use the potty. Since then he has been pretty consistent about telling us when he has to go. Don’t get me wrong there are still bad days. We still have to deal with accidents. He still hates using the toilet outside the house and in other peoples’ houses. Nevertheless, things have been getting better since then and have been getting easier and easier. He himself asked for a sticker wall in the bathroom and puts a sticker every time he uses the toilet. He knows the drill now. One of his sticker walls is full. That is a huge deal for us.

Here’s what I learned from all this, my son needed his parents to be strong for him. This whole process was harder on him than it was on us.

I thought potty training was hell on me well it turns out his little world was turned upside down more than mine was. I had time to prepare myself for this, he had no time; one day we just told him no more diapers. All he knew was pooping and peeing in the diapers. All of a sudden it was wrong to do that. All of a sudden his parents were getting upset with him for doing something he thought was A okay to do. Not just that it wasn’t okay to go in the diaper anymore he didn’t even know how to use a potty and every time he couldn’t use the potty his parent who had never shown him how to use this new evil thing before would get super cranky and upset with him and each other, and sometimes even with his little brother (albeit it was all unintentional but it happened). His little brother was only a spectator, who is now by they way refusing to use the potty at all, yeah, I think we broke that one. But that’s a problem for another day.

I’ll be honest, my realization at that time was not for my son, I had really given up. He is a very stubborn child though; he was fighting back because he was feeling pushed and forced. The moment he felt the release. The moment he felt that the battle was over he stopped fighting. See, for me it was never a battle. I was just trying to train him; he was just trying to stop fighting with his parents. We had at some point stop communicating. I had to stop and step back to figure out what was going on. They are tiny but they are still people.

Here it is, here is my story. It’s not my full story by any means. I am still working on it. I hope someone can benefit from it. We still have moments of miscommunication. I make sure to keep stepping back. Like I said he’s a stubborn one. He doesn’t like people to boss him. I am not an expert. I’m not experienced or qualified in any way to give any kind of advice. What I am is a mother who tries really hard to understand her kids and even with that I end up missing it, like I did this time for a while. But I got it now. Almost, I think. Uhh- Well. On second thought let me get back to you on that in a couple of months.

 

My Fairy Tale.

My Prince Charming.

I found it guys. I found him. I finally found him. And, what’s more? I said those words. The words I heard so many times and depending on my mood I either swooned or winced. “I’ll come back, I’ll always come back”.

“Don’t go”. “Stay with me” I heard those words too. Said to me. Can you believe it? Every night I wrestle with myself, and just like in any good story, I tell myself that this is what’s best for both of us. If I don’t get a few hours of sleep, I will not be worth anything for either one of us. But those words are like out of a fairy tale. Aren’t they? “Don’t go mom, stay with me”. My answer, “I’ll come back, baby, I always come back for you”. And tonight in an effort to calm him down and engage him I went a little further. I told him that no matter where he is and what he does in his life I will always come back for him. He said, “Yeah just like when I go to school and you come back to take me home, you always come back”.

“And I always will”.

And there it is. My fairy tale. I imagined my Prince Charming to be handsome but who knew he would be so cute that I would want to just eat him up with a spoon. Just don’t tell my older one that his snotty little brother got a whole post about being Prince Charming and this tale has some chance of staying fairy.

Im obsessed with fairy tales yet I never really wanted a prince. Im not sure what I wanted. Maybe I never wanted a prince because I knew there is no such thing in real life so I knew not wanting one was in my best interest. When I got married everyone told me that I had found mine. I was happy but wasn’t sure what I had found, because it doesn’t look like the movies in real life. In real life, it looks very real and the things that are endearing onscreen can be a real pain in the behind in real life. So, I thought yeah this is it. Case closed, fairy tales don’t exist. Of course they don’t exist. I mean yeah, I always knew that. That should not have been a surprise. Right? It wasn’t.

All we want our prince to do is save us. Save us from the everydayness of our lives. We expect them to take us in fantasies. We expect them to take us in lands that are new and exciting. We expect them to show us worlds that we never thought existed. All of that is so clear all of a sudden that it can be seen and had in so many different ways. My kids have made me smile in the worst of times and delivered me from the darkest of phases.

No other human could have done that for me. They have been my strength and my weakness all at the same time. And the worlds I have imagined with them, the fantasies they have shown me are unbelievable. Kids do come up with better fantasies than anything any adults could ever come up with.

Sure, there is a lot of unpleasant things to deal with but it’s not a bad trade at times when you can share a laugh with your prince when he comes running to you naked telling you to dress him because his dad ran away (run away dad, that could be a whole another blog). You are tired and you had handed him over to his dad because you wanted some time to your self. However, he came looking for you. He wanted you. That is special. No matter how tired and annoyed, that puts a smile on your face.

In the end I ended up with not one but two handsome princes, Fairy tales DO exist. Life gets you in surprising little ways and gives you little things that you secretly dream of that you thought you would never have.

 

A long time a go, I remember giving my son a hug. It was 2006 or 2007. Not sure of the date or month, or even the year, but I remember him smiling up at me in return very clearly. I said to him, “ I know you want to hug me back but you cant.” Fast forward to a couple of days a go Adam was running after Dawud wanting to give him a hug with his arms wide open. Dawud was running away from his hug. It’s a very common occurrence in our house. One of them wants to hug the other and the other runs away saying, “no, get away from me I don’t want a hug.” Their father was there too. I guess the open arms of his three year old were too hard to resist, or maybe he also remembered the same day I remembered. He called Adam and said I want a hug. He came running and gave his dad a hug. Then I asked for a hug. He came to me. As he wrapped his little arms around me I remembered how much I wanted this. How much I missed this with my oldest who wasn’t with us. In that moment I felt like he was right there. That was his hug. That hug from that day when he couldn’t wrap his arms around me when I hugged him. That hug from that day when Ismail, smiled at me and I said, “I know”. That was my hug. That’s smile he gave me, I didn’t know it then but I get it now. I know what it meant. He told me so much. I get all of it now. He knew so much more than I did.

This isn’t the first time my children have hugged me. This isn’t the first time I have thought about how badly I wanted Ismail to hug me back. This isn’t the first time that I have been thankful for having children who can hug me back.

This is the first time, however, I have seen Ismail in Adams hug. This is the first time I have seen Ismail in his smile and somehow known that he is feeling hugged and loved. That this love wrapped up in all its wonders is reaching him and his eyes are twinkling just like Adam and Dawud’s and he is smiling even wider than he did that day when I hugged him. He is saying, “I told you so”. He is saying, “I have it all, and guess what mom? So do you.”

So, there it is another big moment. All this made me realized that maybe this is the time that Adam is ready to hear about his big brother. Am I ready to tell him? I never thought it would be something that I would need to put so much thought into. I though it would just be something that would happen naturally and seamlessly. But it’s turning out to be a little more emotional. The emotions are not just mine. The emotions Im concerned about are also my children’s. Until I had them I just thought about myself, and how I would feel talking about Ismail. I couldn’t imagine what it would really feel like to tell real live little people about their big brother and why he’s not with them. Now I imagine their little faces when they hear about him and the questions, oh the questions. The questions don’t make me sad, the questions make me laugh just thinking about them. I can hear them in my head right now. I have no idea how to even begin to answer those. I know Dawud would just want to get away from us and go play and the pictures of the child he would just assume is himself; what can I tell you. That one is a narcissistic little boy. His only brother is Adam, he is not going to accept anything else until much much much later. But Adam’s questions… Maybe Ill wait just a little bit longer.

For now, Ill settle for those hugs and kisses that go above and beyond. Those “I love you’s” that come out of the blue and make it all better until you realize it wasn’t out of the blue at all. No, it was because they decided to mix the rice and flour on the floor kitchen and make coffee with it in their little pretend cups. Ill still take it though, because you know what? They are here and they are doing all these crazy things that drive me insane, that Ismail isn’t doing that I wish like crazy that he were. So, Ill take it all. Ill take the guilt hugs then clean up the mess and, then lecture them on how that’s not how coffee is made and, then drink the pretend coffee and call it a day. Well, at least hope to call it a day.

Every time I exit the airport the heat, and smoke, and dust all blends in to make this terrible mixture that creates this balance; A balance that remains in my throat and mouth for days after. Welcome to Pakistan folks! Oh how I love this country. It’s hot here, even though my sisters insisted that it’s going to be cold. Bring jackets they said. TWO! Psh. I didn’t even need one, but that’s all beside the point. As I was saying I come out and look into the crowd hoping that I will recognize my nephew because all the faces look the same. They all look like my own. They are all my people. They are all annoying me, asking me questions; do you need a taxi? Do you need to buy that? Do you need…? NO. What I need is to find my nephew and get the hell out of here. The kids are crying and did I mention it’s HOT? Where is he? He knows how much I hate waiting. He knows how it is out here he should have been here by now. I told him over and over again on the phone to be on time but these kids they hear half of what you say because they are too busy telling you they know what they are doing. Oh my goodness my porter wants to leave me here with my luggage and the kids because there’s another flight coming and of course he sees more customers. No way buddy, that’s not happening. How long has it been? Where’s my phone? Oh it’s only been 7 mins. Hmm…calm down old lady (that would be me). There he is, my handsome nephew. Such a good-looking boy he’s turned into, it’s always such a pleasure to see him. So responsible, never really disappoints me, so obedient to his elders. I can always count on him to be there and make sure to pick me up on time, which is important to me since I’m usually traveling with kids. All right buddy grab the kids lets get me some air conditioning and a comfy place to lay down.

YAY! We are at a house. It has a bed. Hopefully a working AC because, you know, who knows if there’s electricity at this time. I walk in and I’m swarmed by familiar faces. My kids get scooped up. I know what that means for me. Sleep. So much sleep.

Lights are off. I’m off. Almost off. Where are the kids? Have they eaten? They need to brush their teeth before they go to bed. I should ask someone. I should tell someone. Or maybe I should just go to sleep.

What’s that buzzing? Mosquitos? I’m so tired that I’m not even letting my kids’ wellbeing interrupt my sleep, you think you can win this battle little dude? HA! CEILING FAN ON FULL! We’ll deal with your army permanently when I wake up. Adam and Dawud are not used to mosquitos, I should tell someone to spray or put a mosquito mat in the room they are in. Or…I should just sleep.

The world is different here. It’s not as comfortable. Not as organized. Things don’t operate in a logical and systematical fashion. Everything is working on a whim here it seems. I don’t know how else to explain it. When I’m here I am extremely frustrated with how businesses and even people in general function, but at the same time it’s just so great. I am so extremely comfortable. I don’t mind at all that I’m late to most things. I don’t mind that I’m frustrated. I don’t mind when I show an office clerk an email that says he should have received my documents on a particular date, instead he obsesses over the date on the document itself and keeps telling me that I have the date wrong. All of my explaining to him that the date inside the document and the date on when he should have received the document are two completely different matters is in vain. I was completely frustrated but was also extremely entertained and was trying to prolong the conversation to figure out how he landed this job. I know, like I said in the beginning these are my people and like I said in the first post I am crazy.

I wish I could paint a perfect picture of Pakistan where everything is perfect. I wish I could say that when I land I am met with perfection and beautiful smelling daffodils or whatever people say when they visit their hometown. What I’m met with is heat, dirt and sweat. I’m met with hard working people who are trying to find their way in this cruel world. Im met with my people who are being harshly and cruelly judged by even me because Ive lived outside a few years and now I think I’m too cool for them. Most of my countrymen are trying so hard to survive and all they are getting in return is barely some food to eat once a day and a shade over their heads if they are lucky. However, I love it all. It’s pure. It’s natural. It’s who I am. No apologies. I’m always happy to be home: Always sad to leave Pakistan. Welcome home. Welcome to Pakistan.

The Nephew    —>     

 

 

 

We went on a trip to Makkah. We got to touch the Kaabah. Thats the house of God. The last time we got to do that was when we went with Ismail. Thats our oldest son; we lost him years a go. Adam, my 3 year old’s huge concern, when he saw that black square box was how does God fit in it? Why can’t he go inside and see if God actually does fit in that thing? “Ammi I want to see it”. A shape obsessed boy who has tons of boxes and carries them around with tiny little objects in them just wanted to know where God was. I think on some level his mother was wondering the same. But don’t say it out loud for it is blasphemy, is it not? I wasn’t sure how I was feeling during my circles around the big black box. That is part of the rituals we have to perform around the Kaabah. I was trying to concentrate but the kids chants of wheels on the bus and five little monkeys was making it very hard for me to turn my mind toward meditation and prayer.
Then in the midst of all that I would smell a dirty diaper.
I wanted to know that it was okay that my kids were singing while in the house of God. I wanted to feel content with the thought that even though I was teaching them words and phrases appropriate for the place and time they would repeat them a few times and go back to happily singing whatever their hearts desired.
If not singing they were jumping on us or each other talking about trucks (their latest obsession) or what sounds different animals make while pretending to be those animals.
Then we got to touch the kaabah. As I watched my older son trace the word Allah in Arabic calligraphy on the beautiful black fabric all of those fears and feeling melted away.

See, he doesn’t like to write. He specially doesn’t like to trace letters. However I watched him pickup his little finger and follow those letters along. Before that I heard them both happily sing and I watched them both happily play and talk about where Allah (God) might be. I heard them talk to each other and wonder where he lives and the things he has made. They were discussing that he has made that tiny silver ball in one of their toys that can never come out. And I realized that my approach was wrong. This is that place one can be anything one wants to be. There is no wrong way of praying or meditating here. There is no wrong song in this place.

The song of your heart and soul comes out in this place. What is inside is revealed whether you want to reveal it or not. You say it, you say it with words or you say it with your actions, but you end up saying it. I was saying it when I was reassuring my children that Allah is here and He can “fit” anywhere. I was reassuring them because I was sure myself. When I wondered where He was I wasn’t unsure of His presence in this place I was Unsure of His presence in my heart. However, Allah was never missing from within me either. I just had to look hard. I had stopped looking and searching deep enough. I had stopped because I think I thought the rituals of it all that I did every day was enough. But the connection is deeper than the mere action. That has to come from another place. When that happens your little finger automatically traces the words. The action just follows. The Heart and soul just connects. You don’t have to think about the actions. We are all Children in that place. We are our very natural selves.

I Have decided to make a Kaabah in my mind. So I can remember the feeling, remember to be a child and keep that connection open with my God and never become and adult. Well, those who know me and are reading this (which is not a lot so far) are probably chuckling. I am not much of an adult. My point is, I have learned so much from my tiny humans this trip and I am so grateful for them every day. Someday they will read this and for that day I want to say to them you two are awesome little brats!