The Baji Dance - She Takes the Lead

I Have Been Tagged!

2007-04-12T17:12:00.000-04:00

Thanks Surviving for tagging me! People who get tagged must write in a blog of their own ten weird things or habits or little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you must choose six people to be tagged and list their names. No tagbacks!

1. I was once a fortune cookie for Halloween. I even took the time to fill a register tape with good fortunes and ask passer-byers to rip off a fortune.
2. On another occasion, my friend and I dressed up as boys and would knock on the neighbor’s door and then run to the back of the house so not to be seen. After the third time of knocking and running, the neighbor-boys came running after us. They tackled us thinking we were boys. We had to scream for them to stop hurting us.
3. I once went camping and brought home a cockroach in my ear! The roach was burrowed in my ear canal and wasn’t discovered until a day later-yuck!
4. I am named after my Italian-born grandmother, which happens to be a fairly common Arabic/Muslim name.
5. I have never changed a baby diaper.
6. I have volunteered to wash dishes in a rural village dinner in order to get people in town to trust me. Dish duty also required scraping scraps into the pig feed and dog feed buckets.
7. I can read lips very well. This trait is so much a part of me that I don’t even realize that I still do it until someone puts their hand over their mouth while talking and suddenly I can’t “hear” the person anymore because I can’t see their lips.
8. I have hunted with my father and gutted fish I have caught.
9. I enjoy parallel parking.
10. I have been cussed out by politicians for organizing and educating poor people on their rights to demonstrate and to access their city halls and state houses, etc. I have been personally cussed out by the CEO of a major finance company as well.

I'm a Slacker

2007-04-05T12:01:00.000-04:00

Okay, I owe everyone a post and I am at work and swamped as usual so I shall cheat and bullet point the relevant and not-so relevant points of my life:

* I am super-busy and fluctuate between the pregnancy hormone highs and then crash. For once I’m feeling a range of highs and lows never before-experienced-fun!

* Hubby and I were treated to a super-super ultra sound at the University because of the “high-risk” with the family history of Spina Bifida. It was so, so amazing to see the little baby wiggling around inside of me. Mash’Allah, every thing looks healthy with the spinal cord, heart, blood flow, etc. All the fingers and toes appear to be there and boy am I feeling the movement these days!

* I mentioned to the technician that hubby and I had watched an ultra cool “miracle of Life” video by the Discovery Channel and about the amazing new three and four-D technology that let’s you see babies in-utero in “real time” So, walaaa, she pulls out that wand and we get to see the baby in four-D “real time” as if watching a movie. I saw the baby taking sucking it’s thumb and then taking it’s wittle arms and pushing the placenta out of it’s face. Amazing!

* So hubby says (while in the room), why are we keeping the sex of the baby a secret, again? And I’m floored! We had solidly decided against knowing. But, of course when he said that, I became curious too. Turns out that he and I and everyone else in the world, except my Mom were wrong; we’re having a boy! I was so shocked to hear that. It doesn’t make a difference, but I am so glad that now I know and can mentally prepare for a boy!

* Mom and brother are coming to town tomorrow! I’m so excited to have the both of them coming. I can’t wait for Mom to see my growing tummy and the pictures of her first-ever grandson!

* Hubby and I placed an offer on to-be-built house. It is a little out of a price range, but we were swayed by the whole “brand new” and customized to our tastes deal-io. Cross your fingers! We bid low and the agent wasn’t real happy about it, but it is a buyer’s market and all. We’ll see, that’s our final price/offer and we’re sticking to it!

* I got a great annual review and was surprised with a very nice raise, yahoo!
Finished On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I like it a lot. Too lazy to write a review at this time. Surprisingly, everyone else in book club was rather put off by the characters!

Nuff said for now!

Month Four!

2007-03-07T21:46:00.000-05:00

I had my fourth-month appointment on Monday. Never in my life have I been so excited about visiting a clinic. It’s as if I can’t wait to pull my pants down and have another opportunity to hear that heart beat. All looks good so far including heartbeat, blood pressure and weight gain. Speaking of weight gain, could someone please tell me where my waist line has gone? I’ve seem to have lost it and fear that I may never find it again. Oh let the list of sacrifices begins: number one: loss of friend marriage and gain of parent marriage. Number two: loss of sleep. Number three: loss of non-Mommy identity. Number four: SOME loss of bind with non-parent friends. Number five: loss of waist line.

So I finally move my lazy arse into gear and, gasp, change my insurance information from my maiden name to my married name, which of course is Muslim. So, this name change prompts a need to update my electronic medical record. My male midwife, yes male! proceeds to ask some questions:

MMW: “So what is your race?”
Me: Ummmm, a little stumped because I have never been asked this before, but happy that he would ask rather than make the assumption. I say with certainty, “Caucasian”.
MMW: “Are you sure?”
Me: Thinking what, why would he question my answer? I say, “Yes”.
MMW: “Well where were you born?”
Me: Incredulous, he still doesn’t believe me. Can’t you see my DH sitting right here? We’re married and I’m gori! “Right here in the Midwest, Sir.”

Then the next thing occurred, two men had a conversation about the logic of the quad screening test and then I change my mind. You see, DH and I had decided against the quad screen test because of its unreliability and then the possibility of stressing myself and choti out because of the results. We knew that we weren’t going to terminate because of the results, so why worry, right? Wrong. Abovementioned MMW gave us the run down and unintentionally swung my decision the other way. You see, because DH’s niece was born with Spina Bifada, we are the prime candidates for the screening. And the earlier we can detect (Quad screen) a probability of a SB defect, the better our chances of helping a baby get the care he/she will need at birth. So there, I changed my mind, gave blood and now I sit and wit for the results.

Any others with experiences as I sit here and bite my nails?

Choti's Marriage Proposal, Desi Humor

2007-02-26T22:10:00.000-05:00

DH’s cousin (actually second or third cousin) is expecting. She is having a boy. She says, “If your having a girl, consider this her first marriage proposal”. Ha ha.

Oh She's Trippin on Memory Lane

2007-02-19T18:29:00.000-05:00

Oh sweet, sweet day off work. I feel that this may be one of the last days I will get to enjoy myself as me and not “Mommy”. I started the day with reading the newspaper and some academic articles and essays on the topic of race. I enjoyed a lovely bath and shave my legs for the first time in eons (shaving seem so trivial these days ha-ha).

I mozied out of the house to have lunch with myself. Oh, how I cherish peace and quite moments with myself! I then went to the coffee house for chai latte and some quiet reading time. Afterwards I took a walk around the neighborhood, enjoying the high temperatures (40 degrees!) and sunshine. Birds were chirping and the snow was morphing into water gushing into the drains; a glimpse of spring, what a gift!

Ah, these days of reminiscing. Most of my dreams and waking hours have been filled with vivid and emotional memories of my past. Every phase of my life is being replayed and moving through my head as of on a reel of film. I see myself in my messy childhood room with not a care in the world in regard to my matty, unkempt hair and wardrobe from Salvation Army. What mattered most was grooming my little pony and scheming ways of making my Barbie’s life more magical and fantastical...

Thump, thump, thump

2007-02-06T19:31:00.000-05:00

I heard my bambino’s heart beat! Wow, what an experience. I cried and DH smiled from ear-to-ear. The whole pregnancy experience has become all for more realistic since hearing a live heartbeat in the depths of my chubby belly. DH and I e-mailed each other through out the day writing,” thump, thump, thump.”

On other news, I am braving very cold weather in this Northern state in which I reside; I’m loving my fuzzy robe and fireplace.

I am reading book number two for the book club: Dearest Friend, a biography about Abigail Adams. Honestly, I’m struggling with getting to page 100. I’ll blame it on pregnancy, but it may be the content that causes me to sleep no matter which time of the day I pick up the book.

I have been very involved with training, volunteering and attending forum discussions on for a new exhibit at the science museum. The exhibit takes a unique look at race from a combined socio-political, genetic, historical and biological perspective. After 20 hours of training, I have been afforded the opportunity to serve as a volunteer on the floor. I work every other Sunday for four hour shifts. Mostly, I work with engaging kids and parents in dialogue about the question, “where do humans come from?” These questions follow an underlying theme that shows that race is all made up out of fear and a need for retaining power or “whiteness”. The studies suggest that all humans came from sub-Sahara Africa and changes in skin melatonin and physical features are mere adaptations as a result of migration. Studies also show that I am genetically more similar to any random person from Nigeria or India, etc. than someone in my immediate family, thus refuting the notion that genetic makeup is unique to race or follow any immediate family patterns. I’ll be sure to share more about my experiences with this whole experience.

Hotel Baji is still running. Roommate has been trained to wash dishes, pick up after himself and to turn the heat down when he leaves, etc. For now, it’s a slight hindrance, but okay because it gives DH a friend while his wife falls into sleep stupors.

I broke the news to the folks I work with and they were all quite surprised and overjoyed. Everyone has been so kind with their well wishes and support. I feels great to receive such tremendous love from family, friends and co-workers.

Meri Sahaili

2007-01-23T19:11:00.000-05:00

She is such the dynamic force, that her name whizzed round and round the neighborhood block days before I even caught a glance.

"She’s pretty and sophisticated", they said. "She’s mature and cool". "She’s from the CITY and knows all about real life."

Who was this mysterious gal that shook up our white-bread block in the burbs?

I am privileged to say that she is my friend and, one of the few I consider a hero.

She rode up on her pink Huffy sporting the confidence of a runway model, world knowledge that I thought was only scripted for movies, a beautiful smile and an edge that could kick any boy's beeeeehind.

She was tough and intimidating, I knew that shy ugly-duckling me would never have a chance to win her affection. Boy was I wrong and that would be the first of many times I would guess wrong about by dear, precious friend.

It was the summer between fifth and sixth grade. I was moving from elementary to middle school and carried every pubescent horror that accompanies that stage. I had big out-dated glasses, fashion styled by K-mart, a wash and comb hair do and oily, pimply skin. I lost my father to suicide earlier that year and my mother to depression/overtime work. I lost my religion and innocence, but had no one to share it with. Fifth grade memories torment me to this day. I wasn’t invited to birthday parties. The one party I was invited to was with the “dirty” girl and her cousin molested me in the middle of the night. The other friend I had was a confused cross dresser.

My dear doll face as she was later to so be named, did not seem to see any of these ugly-duckling qualities. She quickly befriended me and lured me out of my tortoise shell. Did she know the gift she gave me? Will she ever? We spent summer nights riding side by side round and round the block. The boys fell over dead vying for her attention, and there I was, her princess, her bridesmaid, her honored secret keeper.

So many things she said went straight over my naïve head. She was city girl and I was sheltered by the boundaries of the white-middle class ceiling. She knew I was bluffing when I pretended, but she never once made fun of me. She took me under her ever-powerful wings and delivered me to the doorstep of teenage-hood.

Days at the city pool were awkward. I would have to leave my expensive ear (hearing aid) at home and rely on the forces of loud children to guide me through the days. I kept my “problem” a secret and thought I was pretty good at my game. What I now realize is that my dearest doll face knew my deep, dark secret and took care to protect me, despite risking her stature as the “coolest” girl at the pool.

Doll face introduced me to boys, makeup, clothes, pop culture and the like. Although she was notorious for running off her mouth at her parents, she never expected me to do the same. When we decided we would sign up with modeling agencies and become world-famous teenage icons, her father said “yes”, my mother said “absolutely no and wipe off that make-up”. My dear doll face accepted my Mom’s orders and reassured me that I did indeed look more beautiful sans make up.

She introduced me to the depths of my soul. When we were old enough to drive, she would pick me up in her black camaro with tee-tops down and we would cruise winding country roads. Music blaring and stealing sideways glances and smiles all the way. We would pull up to the cemetery and sit at our favorite spot, the 30 foot cross.

There we would cry about our lost childhoods and the fathers that abandoned us. Her story is too deep and private to share. Now well into my adulthood, I realize that I never fully understood the impact of her childhood experience and never truly will. For this and the woman she now is; she is my hero.

She introduced me to drama and poetry and we braved all odds of “not being cool” by becoming thespians. That’s what always made her so cool; that she had the confidence to do whatever she pleased.

I was and still am so proud to have her by my side. When I lwas leaving for college, she showed up minutes before I was puling out of the driveway and she gave me a very dramatic goodbye and sent me “off” almost like a mother to child. Looking back, I now realize that she knew more than I that we were about to diverge paths and my leaving the block was symbolic of how our friendship had grown.

We kept in touch, but had very different paths as she was braving life in the Big Apple working with big music execs; I was safe in the confines of my little Ivy League tower.

She married and I was blessed to be a part of the princess’ fairytale. Not having found myself nor my mate, I went to parties and bad boyfriends. Sadly, we drifted.

Recently we reconnected and I was so very honored that she found her way to my wedding (purple hair and all!). I still regret that I didn’t have a traditional wedding party in which to adorn her as a beautiful bridesmaid that she deserved to be.

But, now with the distance and the few and far-between conversations we have, I feel closer to her than ever and cherish her as a great, great friend.

My dear doll face, I am so sorry that you had to learn about the news of my next chapter in life through such a place as My Space. I hope that you forgive me for not calling you sooner; it’s just that I was unsure how to break the news that I had stepped out of the “club” so to speak and wanted to be sure that it was the right time and place.

Thank you for leading me to womanhood and standing by me through thick and thin. Thank you for sharing your inner self, it honors me more than you will ever know. Please let me return the favor any time you need to call on me, I’m here doll face.

So, so tired.

2007-01-22T00:46:00.000-05:00

Every night I fall asleep with musing in my head. Long, perfectly written and witty journal entries fill my mind and I swear, “I’ll post that first thing in the morning.”

Morning comes and I’m jolted into fast speed and then launched right back into bed 16 hours later. I start each morning with slight nausea, but still no morning sickness mash’Allah. I convince myself that a shower really is a good thing despite my desire to sleep the extra thirty minutes. I swallow some pills, put together a sorry excuse of a lunch and out the door I go.

Once I enter the work vortex, it’s never ending chaos. This crazy work schedule has it’s advantages and disadvantages. The fact that the day seems to go exceedingly fast is most advantageous. This despite this caffeine addict’s forced pregnancy-induced with drawl from caffeine! Furthermore, I am constantly moving in circles, visiting one part of the building or another throughout the entire day, this has to count toward my recommended daily exercise, right? And, I am now, for the first time in my life, forcing myself to sit down and have lunch each and every day. Mental note, this is a practice I must forever maintain. Nothing is too important to miss lunch, right?

The downside is that this pace is physically and mentally exhausting, thus my desire to sleep ten hours a day and my inability to post any of my brilliant thoughts.

Pre pregnancy, I made attempts to reach out into the community with hopes of meeting some new people. I joined a book club which is rockin-cool. We ladies found each other on Craig’s list and we are an awesome pool of gal power. I may or may not have already mentioned, but I’m too lazy to re-read my boring posts to find out, so here it is: we are one part chemist, one part high-school shop teacher, one part web designer, one part geologist and one part social service administrator. Again, how cool is that!? We just finished What is the What by Dave Eggers. This is about one Sudanese boy’s (Valentino) survival during of his village take-over which was the start of the years long war still being fought today in Darfur. The book takes us on a dreadful and heart wrenching journey through Valentino’s ten year-old eyes as he and hundreds of other orphaned boys dubbed the Lost Boys trek thousands of miles through Sudan to Ethiopia and ultimately Kenya. The journey lasts nearly a year and ends with many many lost boys dead to lion attacks, starvation, malaria, crocodile attacks, land mines and the like. Once at refugee camps, life is full of sadness and hunger for a period of ten years. Finally, the boys are invited to live in the states. There they find that life is very complex and tough.

Whoa it’s waaaay past my bed time. More on my museum adventures and updates on my recovery from my alcoholic upbringing as I continue to journey through the steps of Al Anon.

I'm Here (Raises Hand from Back of Room)

2007-01-12T18:18:00.000-05:00

I am so drained. I’m sorry for not responding earlier, but I’m so I don’t know, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

DH and I went to long-awaited, highly anticipated appointment on Monday. The first appointment is full of scary questions about your family medical history. My comment about two cousins with heart disease plus DH’s niece with Spina Bifida was enough to scare them and put us in “high risk” category.

After all the tests, we excuse DH and do the exam. The nurse was unsuccessful at detecting the heartbeat. This was extremely disappointing. I’m so full of mixed emotions and feel no closer to validation.

I am still having very little to no symptoms (perhaps phantom) coupled with the no heart beat and the “high risk” is all very daunting.

I have been keeping very busy (too busy) with work. I had to train three new staff this week plus my new volunteer commitment at the museum is taking up far more time and energy than anticipated. On top of that, hubby’s drifter friend is coming to live with us tonight. He is a great guy who happened to fall on bad times and was living in his van, so we opened our home and here he comes!

Sigh. Please any stories on your similar experiences greatly needed by this solo-flying gal.

Best Wishes for 2007

2007-01-05T18:06:00.000-05:00

I’m not sure where to start. I went to my Mom’s house for Christmas. In the two days preceding, my Mom made a lot of comments about babies and hoping that 2007 was the year that DH and I would make her a grandma, etc. It was becoming very difficult to keep the lies under control!

On Christmas Eve we did our traditional one gift and a toast for the New Year (since I am rarely home for New Years). So my Mom makes her big long speech and toast for a baby, etc. Then DH and I gave her present. She opened it and immediately shouted and started crying when she saw the baby bib.

Boy oh boy, cat out of the bag! It was so happy to see her so ecstatic and to have pulled a good one on her. She asked if she could tell her Aunts and cousins and brother whom we were about to go visit. I told her I didn’t think it was good timing with it being so early on and the fact that I haven’t been to a doctor, yet. She was visibly upset that I said this and was just bursting at the seams to tell the world that she had finally been chartered into the Grandma’s club. So I caved and agreed.

It was so nice to hear how genuinely happy people are for me and DH. The kind words and hugs were beautiful; and it made the event all that much more real. My friends were told as well and they were all very genuinely elated.

Symptoms come and go. One morning I was dry heaving like crazy, but did not vomit. Other days I have had very, very sore nipples and nausea. More days than not, I feel wonderful.

I cannot wait until I have my appointment on Monday! Insh’Allah, my fears will be squashed and I will be able to behave like a normal woman happy to be graced with pregnancy.

Happy New Year to you and your loved ones!

2006-12-20T16:56:00.000-05:00

Koonj asks, “But, are you happy?”

Honestly, I’m so scared that maybe this is a nightmare and I’m not having a healthy pregnancy. I mean I read all these sites about what to expect at week 6, which by the way is confusing in itself knowing that conception occurred 4 weeks ago either on the 21 or the 23rd. So anyway, I am supposed to be feeling soreness in my breasts, which I don’t. I’m supposed to be nauseous and experiencing morning sickness, which I have not. I am supopsed to smell awful scents, which I did for one day.

They warn that a loss of pregnancy symptoms may mean a blighted ovum. I mean I did feel very, very sore in the beginning. Honestly, now all I feel is tired and gaseous. But, I took another pregnancy test this morning it came up positive (that’s three folks). I just wanna puke, or feel like I gotta puke, that’s all!

I wish I could have had a Dr. confirm all of this especially BEFORE I trek to homeland to tell my Mom, brother and close friends.

I pray Insh’Allah all is well. I thank Allah for the pregnancy. I can’t wait till my first appointment January 8th. I hope I don’t get crazier through this pregnancy, because meri choti and miya would suffer, for sure.

HELP, I need some girl thoughts.

'I'm Not Weird, I'm Eclectic' Meme

2006-12-15T18:11:00.000-05:00

Tagged!

1. I have a green lizard in my truck named "Reggie". Reggie has traveled with me for many, many miles since I first started driving at 16. Something about his comapny remindsme of my woman-hood success through my travels from 16 to AHMEM 31; I love driving and feel so independent and free when I do.

2. I used to be the most bland eater in the world. I only ate grilled cheese, chicken noodle soup and cereal for years. Now I eat anything and everything and gawk at bland food. My family thinks DH is an alien and abducted me. Actually cereal remains my favorite food to this day and I will eat a whole box whenever forced to eat alone. Frosted Mini Wheats rock!

3. I have a tattoo from my younger chucks and potatoe sack wearing days. I once had my eyebrow pierced, but had to remove it b/c of an internship at a mental hospital.

4. I once was stupid enough to go on a joy ride which included top speeds of 100 mph and cruising down "Dead Man's Hill" while car was in neutral. We landed at the bottom of the hill after a 360 degree spin and life-flashed before our eyes.

5. I have owned snakes, turtles, cray fish, crickets, cat fish-you name it, whatever one could pull out of the "crick" as pets. One of my nicknames was "Bug"

6. Some people claim that I am fairly intelligent, but I have what my call "_____ (insert my name) moments". This means I totally space out and say stupid things like, "Wow I have never heard of the group called 'P'", when at a record store and mistaking the letter dividers for one of the CD titles ha-ha.

7. I have never baby-sat or otherwise taken care of a child and I plan to be a mother!

8. One of my favorite books is The Jungle and it led to my passion for organizing. My first week on the job after grad school had me in a full-length fuzzy shark suit and a picture of me in said suit was posted in the newspaper. "Look ma, I'm a radical rebel in a shark suit with a master's degree!"

9. I was raised Christian but really have an embarrasingly low-amount of knowledge about the bible and the stories one is supposed to know as a Christian.

10. I spent college spring break on a Habitat for Humanity trip with strangers digging ditches while my friends partied in the Bahamas.

Say it ain't so

2006-12-14T23:27:00.000-05:00

Reasons why I might be pregnant:

*I feel as bloated as an inflatable doll and everything is sore

*I have never-ending gas pains

*Aunt Flow is nine days late

*My stomach growls day and night

*I have very early dates with my bed

*People don’t seem so cute and tolerable these days

*The positive sign appeared on the home test

*The doctor’s office laughed at my request for a test saying, “Honey if you tested positive, you’re pregnant!”

Why do all of these still add up to disbelief? I just don’t believe it, yet!

Thank you, thank you for all of your well wishes and prayers, I think they just might have worked! Alhamdallilah!

Better Than Flowers...

2006-12-12T21:58:00.000-05:00

Hubby came home with Folic Acid!

**B/c it's way too early to tell anyone else and I'm totally not convinced...To my blogger frineds: I am five days late and just tested positive on a home test.

Phenomenal Woman

2006-12-05T23:44:00.000-05:00

Wow, time flies and I’m not exactly sure I have anything to account for the time lost. Thanksgiving was warm and relaxing, as it should be. DH’s cousins came and we had desi-Euro style tikka turkey, aloo zera, green bean casserole and chocolate pecan pie. It was quite nice to have four days off in a row and their great company made it easier for me to keep myself away from work. DH and his cousin number one who is exactly his age had a falling out. These animated display of emotions always surprise and scare me at the same time. I grew up in a “stuff it and talk about others” type of environment, so you can imagine my anxiety during those times. He left on pretty sour terms, Insh’Allah, they will see past these differences.

Can I hear an Allalejiah for beautiful women? I have recently been graced with by the positive energy of some very wonderful ladies. I attended a diversity training led by a phenomenal, educated, talented facilitator who is the first African American president of the American Psychological Association. She was both courageous and soft-hearted at the same time.

Then I attended a fundraiser for a women’s organization which was hosted by a local chapter of Zonta, a group of philanthropically-minded professional women. The group adopts an organization that has women’s issues in their mission and vision for a period of two years and fundraises, markets and volunteers for the group. Over 300 women attended for this brunch buffet and thousands of dollars were raised in the name of single moms in need of assistance-Alhamdalilah!

I continue to attend my weekly Alanon meeting. This group is not segregated and occasionally a man will come, but it is mostly sisters that join me in our shared journey to recovery from the trauma we experience in loving alcoholic parents, brothers, husbands and children.

I joined a book club and expected that the women might be bored SAHMs. I was proven wrong and humbled by the power of a discussion group which includes a chemist, shop teacher and web designer.

Furthermore, I am proud to be able to “voice” my support to a few of my virtual friends in the Brass Crescent Awards. My votes went to Baraka at Truth and Beauty (thank you for the knock on my door by the way), Shabana at Koonj and my new favorite, the talented Maliha at Lightness of Being (Aisha, I wished for the opportunity to vote for you, too!).

Each of you are phenomenal and we each make the world a more beautiful place. Next time you look in the mirror, revel in your inner and outer beauty as a WOMAN. May you enjoy the power of Maya’s Phenomenal Woman…

PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

News

2006-11-09T00:25:00.000-05:00

**Election yielded some awesome results, makes me proud to be an American. Alhumdalilah, Keith Ellison, Muslim convert is first Muslim to be elected to Congress. I can’t wait to see the thumpin’ Curious George is gonna get in the next two years!

**I committed a huge faux pas via e-mail. I responded to an old co-worker at the wrong e-mail address basically dogging my old boss and place of employment. E-mail went to old co-worker’s old e-mail address and was intercepted by old boss. Woke up Saturday to a nasty-ol e-mail from old boss. Decided I had nothing to lose at that point and spent two days devising counter-attack e-mail. Boy-oh-boy, what’s done is done, eh?

**Fell ill with flu. Was disappointed when it ended with advent of menstrual period, thought perhaps nausea could be sign of pregnancy.

**Baby talk becoming more and more of a B-side topic of conversation; husband bought an electric guitar is response. Pray for some Thanksgiving-time lovin’ y’all.

Peace Out.

After Thought

2006-10-28T15:59:00.000-04:00

A very, very belated Eid Mubarak to everyone. This Ramadan was the most beautiful, yet. DH and I had an unusual and non-traditional Eid. We ended up eating out and then going to the museum and then to a movie. DH made nihari and halva for day two, yum!

One thing that was of concern… While fasting, I was obviously impaired on a moderate level with lower energy levels and slowed response times to the daily work-related crisis and a dulled sense of creativity. A month of this clearly impacts my program at some level, despite the fact that it is just one month out of twelve; it does affect staff, programs and ultimately the participants. What do you think? Does your fasting, which is a very personal and selfish, albeit spiritual act, negatively impact your surroundings, clients, customers, work-output, patients, staff, etc?

It is especially difficult in a Westernized country whereas Muslims are the minority and the working hours and expectations do not change because of Ramadan. No one at work knew I was fasting either and I felt it selfish and rude to explain it as a means for justification for less than par behavior and work standards and besides I didn’t wasn’t to be a braggart. How do you handle it?

Al Anon

2006-10-28T15:46:00.000-04:00

I went to my first Al anon meeting today. I attempted two other times and ended up in the middle of an AA meeting the first time and lost the second time. I am so glad that I persisted, because today was worth it. The group was so courteous, open, caring and aware. I think I am going to like this program. For those who may not know, Al Anon is an unprofessional support group for family and friends of alcoholics. The group is very protective of anonymity and has rules and expectations regarding the self-navigation of twelve steps much the same as the alcoholic goes through in their AA process.

Aggressive Tendencies

2006-10-28T02:45:00.000-04:00

I hate that I am weak and cannot say what it is I want with confidence. Hell, if I don’t believe it, who will? I recognize a need to stop my passive-aggressive tendencies. I fear being labeled as an aggressor; I can no longer be passive.

The worlds of my universe seem to be colliding and I must play air traffic controller lest one problem will be assumed into another.

My husband and I have been dancing to a strange tune lately. The record plays round and round, but never seems to end. I feel the pull physically, psychologically, chronologically and logically in the direction of starting the family. Hubby is going through his own motions. He feels a pull in the opposite direction. He clearly isn’t ready for the fatherhood chapter; that coupled with my own fear, leaves a lot of room for ambiguity. The tug-O-war of passive aggressiveness is as follows: he wants me to say with certainty that a child is what I want. He is testing me in some ways. On the other hand I want for him to want it, too. I want him to console and quell my fears. I want for him t feel my pain of the clock rather than make me feel bad for the omnipresent tick-tock. We clearly are not on the same page.

I have a fear of stating my innate desires aloud. I want what he wants. I want him to be a man and take this step. I am saddened that he expects me to shoulder the burden, yet doesn’t validate my fears of further putting off pregnancy and of my fears of loss of energy with age. I feel he is being selfish, but fear saying it out loud. Yet, I think he needs for me to take charge because of his fears.

Colliding on the right hemisphere is the big white elephant: my brother. A recent visit home has disturbed me to a point of no return. I am sick with sadness and anger over the choices he is making. I cannot play nice anymore. I know I have to take care of me and confront my fears surrounding his illness which parallels my father’s abandonment. My father’s suicide is me and is ingrained in every fiber of my being without my knowledge of it being so. I cannot face my brother because he is the ghost of my father. Yet, I cannot ignore it any longer, for my sanity, his health and for the love for my mother. I am once again called upon to take charge and to play “I spot the white elephant in the room”, because there is no one else. All my life I have waited for my Mom, an Aunt, an Uncle, someone to bail us out and it never materialized. I must show my true feelings at any cost as to stop this fairytale and save my mother from her imprisonment of self-blame. I must release my brother even though it means ripping hearts out of place.

I face similar challenges at work in my role as the leader of a fairly-sizable non-profit program.

I feel my whole world is waiting for me to mature and say, “I’ve had enough. I need this… I will not tolerate that…”

Please pray that I have the strength, for I need your help.

Another September Gone

2006-10-19T20:28:00.000-04:00

Hi there my long lost friends. I am alive and well. These glorious days have been long and exhausting. Nevertheless, I am grateful for having the health and strength to enjoy my fasts. However, once the sunset dips below the horizon, I greedily stuff and then fizz and burn out. DH and I have been crash and burn. We desire intimacy, but fail to have the energy. Instead, we speak words of kindness, have lengthy philosophical conversations and speak of our dreams.

He has dreams of quitting his job and moving to the east coast to go to law school. I’m okay with that dream as long as it involves kiddos in tow. I do want DH to be happy and to fulfill his dreams. I will support him that as I promised him I would. I truly do not have a problem giving up our current income and a car and the trips for his happiness. The problem is I don’t know that he can do that.

Plus we have to think about anchoring ourselves down with a house so to have a place to host his family. I will not continue sharing such limited space with long-term visitors, ahem, I mean roommates. I learned that we need more space to seek solitude and spread the wealth of material goods. I hate that this is true, but I praise the gifts I have received. We are deep into the rat race my friends. Will we break out?

My visit with my Appa was wonderful. We were so fortunate to have her all to ourselves for 10 days. She is a great, great friend and sister. She understands me better than anyone even though N has two other sisters who are closer in age. Appa came to the US at 20 and is truly an American. She understands us so well. It is so nice to have uncensored girl talk and giggles. Appa even says that she tells me more about her thoughts, fears, desires, etc. than anyone because she trusts that I understand and would never judge. I believe her and that makes me so happy.

I have babies on my mind. I dreamt of a baby last night. It was amazing the intense longing and heartache I felt while looking into that baby’s eyes. Funny, I don’t seem to feel that in my state of consciousness. I mean I adore babies, but I find them more curious than anything. I am officially in the pink zone. I have been off the pill since August. I am tracking dates and flirting with pregnancy. I have to be careful as to not be too forceful because hubby is definitely warm to the idea but not completely hot. Believe me if I have learned anything in my marriage, it is that my husband absolutely despises being told what to do (ha-ha). So, I have to wait for him to heat up to the idea. I’m scared of wasting or losing time. I’m scare that my fear will complicate and stress everything. I’m scared that maybe I don’t want children, because I don’t honestly know 100%. Yet, I’m confident in my hubby to pull through; he always does. The best will be for us to enter into this willingly and excited, right? Or does it just sorta happen and then the love for the child grows over the length of the pregnancy? Help. Let me know your thoughts. Thinking of BMS (Baby Making Sex) is very strange for a 30+ person who has never thought of sex as anything but a physically and emotionally gratifying act rather than as a receiving host.

I went to my hometown this past weekend. It wrecked me, more to post on that. Good news: I purged some of chapter one and got rid of hubby’s sports car and sold our condo. It was so sad to kiss the condo goodbye. We put so much love into that place. We spent countless hours dreaming of the design and decorations and then researching and making the renovations by hand. We sought refuge in there when we were not even “ousted” as husband and wife. We hosted our first meeting with two of the sisters and his parents there. **Goodbye to our love nest.

Bad news: It hurts. It’s not new news. It’s shameful and sad. It needs to be confronted and screamed at. It’s tiring. Tonight I’m going to an Alanon meeting for the first time ever. I’ll share more, because I have to.

Ramadan Becomes Easier

2006-10-01T17:37:00.000-04:00

Ramadan Mubarak!

This Ramadan has been by far, the easiest and most enjoyable.

I find that I am even closer to God, my husband and myself. Since it is just the two of us, it becomes a very quiet and intimate affair. Because we don’t have any Muslim friends outside of work (we’re workaholics and we just moved here!), fasting is like our private affair. I enjoy it. Insh’Allah, if we are ever blessed with children, then we will hope to have more Muslim friends in our lives.

I have only broken one fast because I was sick. I think that it helps that I am more mature and this is more about God than myself. I also think that it helps to be in a position of working outside of the house. The days go by much quicker while busying myself at work than on the weekends.
May this Ramadan bring you peace and happiness!

All in the Family

2006-09-01T23:11:00.000-04:00

Sigh, the in-laws have gone and the house is quiet. My FIL came a month ago and spent three weeks here. My Mom joined in, per my request, for a few days of action. One week ago, all aborted and we are once again kids home alone as husband and wife.

Right before my Mom came, I started having doubts. She has recently retired and when we moved away from her, she had sad that she would visit four times a year. So while Ammi was here, Mom was feeling lonely and “left out” she wanted to know when her turn would come to visit Hotel Pakistani-Americana.

DH and I decided it would be good for her to visit a few days while Abbu and Ammi were both here. Sounded innocent enough considering she has joined us for dinners, hanging out at the pad and theater trips, etc. the previous two years when we lived in the same city as her.

But, then I panicked. Would they get along? Would Ammi and Abbu understand my Mom’s simple and somewhat crass ways? Would my Mom have patience to deal with PPT (Paki People Time)?

Of course, I had reached my limit by that time and I nearly cracked-or maybe I did crack-who knows? So I was stressed by the anticipation of a nightmarish mix of the collective in-law gathering. Sheesh if we had children, we could all just divert attention to them darlings, right?

Well, despite all my fear, the trip went pretty darned well. This is all owed to the fact that MIL/FIL and Mom each went out of their way to try and understand one another and we all met somewhere in the middle. This is not to say that I enjoyed myself immensely. I was extremely cautious and stressful the whole time and it has taken me two and a half weeks to decompress. Like a hawk, I watched and monitored every second, ready to referees any misunderstandings. I really didn’t give them enough credit-next time, eh?

To ease the pain, we traveled up North to the cabin for the weekend. Discovering new places and the surrounding beauty definitely helped move the time and hide the awkwardness.

Most memorable moment: FIL shouting downstairs to MIL that he needed a lota. The conversation took place between two stories with Mom and I on the couch. MIL was offering up suggestions of which kitchen gadgets would suffice… “How about the measuring cup? No, how about this watering can? “Forget it, I’ll just wash this glass and bring it up.” Imagine the horror on my Mother’s face when I finally explained what a lota was and how it was used. All the while, trying to give the lota due-justice with explaining rituals of cleanliness and being a “good Muslim”. Some things are hard to wrap one’s mind around… A Christian American, who has never even witnessed a bidet, will probably just never understand that custom!

Most annoying moment(S): My MIL INSISTED on speaking on my behalf and answering every question my Mother asked of me. I.e. Mom: How is work going? Me: “Oh..” MIL: Mash’Allah, she works so hard, you know. And she has to hire a new supervisor….. WTH? Firstly, how dare she take away Mother and daughter time when she has had so much time with me? Secondly, my Mom is her elder, isn’t she supposed to respect that or something? This took place the entire weekend. It really, really hurt my Mom, but she never said otherwise out of love for me. My Mom is certainly not the quiet and timid type, either. That really, really hurt. I am not quite sure how to bring that one up to hubby without it blowing out of control. I don’t think they (DH and FIL) even notice, because they are so used to her prattling on and dominating conversation. And being the matriarch and all, I think they are used to that or they just tune her out? Either way, it is wrong and I need to address it. Suggestions?

Most shameful moment: My Mom loves casinos. Now don’t get me wrong, she is by no means a gambling addict, but playing slots are her favorite past-time. She is retired and she has worked very, very hard for her money. She really doesn’t like shopping and she is very simple, and doesn’t have a lot of hobbies. So she and her church-going buddies take bus trips to play slots. It may be wrong, but not in her Christian mind. And it is the cultural norm for her. She spends two hundred dollars and enjoys the buffet. So, my Mom kept dropping hints that she wanted to stop at one of the casinos we passed on our way to the cabin. She was not getting my repeated statements that it would not be a good idea and that the company we were with would not enjoy it. She pushed and pushed in her cute way, knowing that my DH would take her (because we have on several occasions in the past). I think this was her secret rebellion.

So DH turns the car into the casino and drops us at the front door and parks the car. I pull my Mom aside and lecture her like a child saying that she pushed her way into this and that the in-laws were only being gracious and didn’t I know that this was a sin and she shouldn’t drag others into her sins….. Tears swelled in her eyes and she looked so shocked and hurt. Who was this girl standing in front of her? I’m sure she wanted to smack me right across the face, but of course she didn’t. I’m sure she wanted to cuss me out for calling her a hypocrite when I was the biggest hypocrite of them all and insecure on top of it! Here she had been hearing stories about how Ammi’s nephews work in the gambling industry and how Ammi’s brother used to take her to Vegas every year…. My Mom assumes that just as she and her Christian friends conveniently dismiss gambling from their righteous paths, so do Muslims, which she is absolutely correct in that assumption. But, I freaked out thinking that we were offending my MIL and FIL, but really the only person I offended was my dear mother. Bless her for all that she has tolerated in giving the love of her life to a foreign culture.

I Do Love Her, I Do.

2006-08-16T00:09:00.000-04:00

I survived four days under one roof with my MIL, FIL and my mother.
More on that when I find sanity.

My friend sanity has left for vacation.
Only one week left and I don’t know that I’ll make it.

EVERY little thing she does is driving me to scream. I can’t believe I made it this long. It is amazing what the human brain is capable of.

Her cute/annoying tendencies are always exacerbated when her husband is around. I am under tremendous pressure with work and the fact that I had to take off three days to entertain does not alleviate work loads, nor stress.

The minute I walk in the door she’s telling me, in detail, what she washed. That’s great, do you want applause? Then she asks me to do some laundry while they are gone. Ummm did you not notice my absence the last, oh 12 hours? Its called work, too, ya know.

Then she proceeds to tell me that I have to pack my husband’s suit case for the vacation they are going on while I stay here and work.

She then proceeds to tell me what I will be eating the next three days. It is in one way out of love that they are concerned about my well-being while they are gone. Truth be told, she is more concerned that food will be wasted. These thoughts consume her; it’s quite sad in so many ways.

I throw trash away and she pulls it out (cat poop as a matter of fact) and tells me that I am throwing the trash wrong.

I seriously have visions of running far away and of gauging my eyes out. I had to literally bite my tongue in a meeting today because I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would start screaming and never stop. I am sick. Let’s hope this is temporary delirium.

Exhausted

2006-08-09T12:19:00.000-04:00

Void and deplete.
Deflated in defeat.
Is this it? Am I complete?

Slammer

2006-07-30T11:59:00.000-04:00

My heart aches.
My mind races round and round the merry go-round.
Fear suffocates.

I scream, “Lock me up,”
“Can’t you see the stab, stab, stab that I inflict upon my self?”
But, no sounds escape my lips.

And, they marvel over my strength and tenacity.
So I drag foot-to-foot, hand to hand forward.

“Should I turn myself in”, I ask?
If I go, will I be able to come back?

Tack, tack, tack, the nails are pound into the wall one by one.

Spoiling the Apple

2006-07-16T20:02:00.000-04:00

I am rushing out the door, running late for work. She shouts from her bed, “When you return, could you please help me with the laundry?” I pause, deciding whether or not to ignore her and blame it on my poor hearing. But, I decide to play nice and I turn around, march upstairs and prepare for the laundry discussion.

“Ammi, I won’t be home until late tonight, remember I am obligated to go to the fundraiser after work. Why don’t you have N (her son) help you?” She responds, “No, you help when you get home” “But, Ammi, I won’t be home until after ten pm or so. Just ask N, he certainly knows how to run the washing machine.”

I return home around 10:30 pm. Ammi again asks me to assist with the laundry. Flabbergasted, I ask, “didn’t you ask N?” She plays the game, ignoring my question and repeating her request. “Why don’t you show me how to run the machine tomorrow”, she says.

Unbelievable! Would someone please tell me why she refuses to ask her son to do ANYTHING, but has no problem asking me to do everything from cooking, to taking the garbage out and doing the laundry? This is especially baffling when I work an equal amount of long hours as her son.

Is it that she spoils him or that she is afraid of being a burden on him or both? It’s insane and it pisses me off to no end!

Occupying Time and Mind

2006-07-10T00:34:00.000-04:00

Currently reading:

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin

Recently Finished:

The Dancing Girls of Lahore by Louise Brown
I am glad that I read the book as it added to my Pakistani-culture knowledge base. The book is a biographical account of one professor’s studies of escort servicing and prostitution in Lahore. The author takes the issue very seriously and touches on the social implications of women used and abused and the never-ending cycle of tarnished women and their “bastard” children. This issue is undeniably real and the children of the “dancing girls” are doomed into a life-sentence.

I do feel that the book was lacking in substance and was not written with the best clarity. While I appreciated the author’s attempt to paint a real picture of Lahore and its culture, religion, landscape and language; I couldn’t help but feeling there were more history, psychology and sociology lessons to be learned by the professor. I felt the story being told just to be told and far more factual details could have been interlaced into the tale. I was surprised to learn that the author had spent several years living in Lahore for several months at a time while developing this story. It would seem that one who has that kind of first-hand experience would have a lot more to report and more culturally relevant insight on the issues.

Overall, it was a good read, but it dragged on to long and left me longing for more.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
I cannot adequately express how much I enjoyed this read. The book is a fantastically written fictional account about a boy growing up in Afghanistan. The book is fiction, but owes its huge success to the fact that it loosely mirrors the author’s own life experiences having grown up in Afghanistan.

The tale begins in pre- Russian invasion and Taliban rule and chronicles the joy-hood of two mother-less boys living the life of tree-climbing and kite-running. In the beginning, the boys are vaguely aware of their differing class (the author being the son of a wealthy business man and his best friend the son of the live in servant) and religious affiliations. It is with time and one act of cowardice compounded by family secrets and politics that the boys drift apart.

An escape from the Taliban and all things from the boy’s childhood begins with a near-death suffocating ride in a gas tank. It ends with the boy returning as a man to pick of fractured pieces of his childhood best friend’s and half brother’s remains.

The Kite Runner is beautifully fluid and is a must read.

Just Watched:

The Message
A tasteful and creative account of the Prohet’s life; another must see and own.

Life is Beautiful
A wonderfully written, produced, and acted story about human perseverance in the ugliest fate ever: the Jewish holocaust. This movie was so emotionally intense and beautifully written, one has to remind her/himself to breathe while watching.

The Art of Zoning Out

2006-07-09T23:52:00.000-04:00

I am losing all patience! Presently I am hiding out in our bedroom, “working”. I took an extra long walk by myself earlier today and I went into the office for a few hours yesterday. Do you think she’ll notice my absence? It’s sad when I dread the weekends.

Five months is really too much!

As an addendum to the garbage post… We went out for ice cream on Friday night. After we finished I was preparing my trash for a trip to the garbage can. Ammi quickly rescues the plastic spoon which is an essential, rare piece that must be added to the collection. My DH raises his voice and says “No, Ammi, we are not taking that spoon.” Ammi blatantly ignores him. DH reaches over the table to grab the mint-chocolate chip covered apparatus; literally, a fierce game of tug-o-war takes place. Final score: one messy spoon shoved into Ammi’s fancy leather purse. Unbelievable.

The Baji Dance

2006-07-04T15:34:00.000-04:00

Red, pink, gold
Hand stitched fields of flowers
Shimmer, shimmer
bangle jangle

Painted faces each tells a story
Of the beautiful woman glory

With smiles and pleasantries
And a shake, shake, shake-
Sway of the hips
This is the Baji Dance

Why I Hate Recycling...

2006-07-03T18:18:00.000-04:00

Would someone please tell me why oh why my MIL feels the need to “save” everything as if she were saving a kitten from imminent death?

My MIL cannot stand to waste at any cost. This leaves me with cupboards toppling over with used cans, jars, bundles of newspapers, used sporks-you name it!

It drives me insane! At first I thought it was the coolest thing that she was the modern recycler and that we were learning to makes use out of our trash. I agree that we Americans are far too wasteful and I agree with recycling.

What I can’t seem to agree with is reliving my dirty fast-food secrets over and over. For example: I open up my pantry to locate some flour. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong!

The flour, five varieties of dal, the fried onions, the sugar, you name it, are each carefully wrapped and tucked into random KFC, Ragu and Wendy’s containers. This “storage” system makes absolutely no sense to me and makes me so angry. How the hell am I supposed to find the damn flour I want to scream, but I smile and bite my tongue one more time.

I opened up my cupboard to pull out a pan to fry an egg with. I am greeted with mounds of newspapers and old-junk mail envelopes, which are carefully stuffed between each pan, and it’s lid. She stands over me, telling me to be careful not to scrape the pans. “They are pans for God’s sake, they DON’T have feelings.”

Every once in awhile my hubby will interject. He will scream and go on a rampage and start pitching the plastic sporks, JC Penny fliers and KFC buckets into the trash.

The next morning, the twice-over garbage will be found washed and placed right back at their original place. My MIL has an obsession with “saving” the trash and cannot and will not let it go. While my MIL is here, the beautiful home that both DH and I work so hard to create is turned into the junk-yard found at Sanford and Son.

Help! I’m drowning in my own consumption.

Paggle

2006-07-02T16:43:00.000-04:00

I ' m G o i n g C r a z y ! !

Me in 20

2006-06-24T16:26:00.000-04:00

I am? A strong, passionate woman.
I want? To have the courage to move to the next phase of my life.
I wish? To feel more comfortable about the politics of Islam.
I hate? Materialism.
I miss? Staying up all hours of the night sharing desires and philosophical thoughts with my best friend/husband.
I fear? Becoming a mother.
I hear I am not? Relaxed.
I hear I am? A “doer”
I dance? Rarely.
I sing? Very poorly.
I cry? Often as a way to cleanse and replenish my soul.
I am not always? Easy going.
I make with my hands? Social Service Programs
I write? To document and communicate.
I confuse? Blogging with having a life. (stole this one right under koonj’s feet!)
I need? To accept this phase of my life
I should? Force my husband to communicate more he slips away.
Istart? A To Do list
I finish? Almost everything on the list.

Appreciation

2006-06-19T19:32:00.000-04:00

My Dh and MIL had a very long and heated discussion on Saturday night. The discussion started at the dinner table (Paki time being 9:00 dinner of course) and lasted until 5am! I don't think that my family has spoken to each other for that length of time for a combined a period of two years. LOL.

There were a lot of tears and various emotions throughout the tirade. A lot of personal family history was shared and descriptive examples were given, etc. What I am surprised by, and what I appreciate, is that the entire conversation remained in English. I know that it must be difficult (especially for my MIL) to continue such lengthy and emotional proclamations in one's second language.

I am so appreciative, because, even though I remained silent througout the whole event, I know that deliberate effort was made to include me, which meant so much!

Begum Magic Tricks

2006-06-19T19:28:00.000-04:00

The magic card to pull out of the hat…
“Well N says that he likes it” or “N doesn’t want it done that way.”

For example, "No Ammi, N doesn't like to have his shirt ironed THAT way." Or, "No, Ammi, N says that we SHOULD throw away those leftovers".

Whenever I am fed up and my tongue is bleeding from my biting it (which is a lot these days), then I pronounce these magical words, which give me the ultimate power!

Sad, but true. I hate that it is true. I hate that I contribute to the whole sexist society thing by doing it, but God save my sanity or I’ll unleash the fury on the dear MIL.

Please Go!

2006-06-10T18:16:00.000-04:00

Please GO and take you mother with you!! I just need a moment of silence with myself. I cannot take another command. “No put the dish over there.” “No, rinse the dish before you put it into the dishwaher.” Me, “I **sigh** did, Ammi”. “Well then rinse it again”, she says. “Now run the dishwasher, you didn’t do it last night.” “Okay.”, I mutter even though inside I am screaming, “why don’t YOU run the dishwasher? Why does the dishwasher HAVE to be run at night? STOP telling me what to do like I’m a child or worse yet, a servant!”

I continue to play dumb daughter-in-law who doesn’t know the fist thing about anything because it is the only way to save my sanity. I can’t stand to be managed in my own home. I can’t stand someone breathing down my neck and telling me that I cook stew, meatloaf or spaghetti wrong; advise on biryani or pulao I can take, but American classics I cannot.

The whole respect your elder thing, and of course the language barriers complicates things even more. Help! Don’t get me wrong, I am more than respectful, too much so, I think, but I still makes me want to run for the hills. The alternative….work long hours and sleep as often and late as possible.

Two months down and three to go.

Cultural Fair

2006-05-31T19:31:00.000-04:00

We had a Cultural Fair at my Office. Everyone had an opportunity to showcase and offer trinkets, music, facts and food of their culture. I had a Pakistani booth and served Gulab Jamon and Somosas and played Ghazles. I wore my new Shalwar Kameez and passed out extra kurtis for my teammates to wear. We had a blast putting together our Flintstone-mobile Rickshaw. We cut out a Rickshaw from a refrigerator box and decorated it with beautiful colors, fathers, bells, beads, flowers and topped it off with a Pakistani Flag and “Assalamu Alaikum” written on the sides.

2006-05-15T00:20:00.000-04:00

Ciao!

2006-05-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

As I tire of the hard work where it seems that a weekend is hardly a blink of the eye, I ponder and recall the recent honeymoon.

You see, I brag and boast about how I am a lucky girl with four separate wedding ceremonies. But, then I would counter my “big fish” story by baiting pity for the fact that my hubby and I have never had a honeymoon. Selfish, I know, but I wanted a honeymoon, dammit!

A month ago, at the tail-end of our Switzerland trip, my Dear Husband (DH) and I snuck away via train and landed at one of the most romantic places ever: Venice, Italy. For three nights and four days, we had a new, tantalizing, romantic and fun universe to explore all by ourselves. We did not go with an agenda, nor did we have to entertain anyone else’s agenda (tour group, parents, in-laws, friends, etc.). The world was in our hands and we ate it up!

This honeymoon as we have declared it, was long-overdue, yet couldn’t have come at a better time. After three years a marriage, I have come to saying, “Now that the honeymoon is over….blah…blah….blah”. Having had a honeymoon after year three was just what the doctor ordered so to speak. If you relate to anything I am saying, I highly recommend you to seek a similar remedy.

Memories I will cherish:
Seeing an entire city lined up along the Grand Canal. Although we have all seen the photos and the movies, nothing compares to actually seeing a city so cleverly designed which replaced all streets with canals. Truly amazing.
Wandering through the back alleys and witnessing Renaissance, Gothic and Romanesque influenced architecture all within one block.
Visiting the Peggy Guggenheim Museum and then my amazing self-discovery of the modern art movement and finally understanding the artists’ intentions with futurism, surrealism, etc.
Eating.
Loving.
Watching.
Sharing the most private and romantic gondola ride with my husband as the clock struck midnight and the driver bellowed love songs in Italian.

No more complaints about never having a honeymoon.

Is he Reading??

2006-05-08T13:50:00.000-04:00

I think my hubby must be reading my journal! Yesterday he pitched in and helped clean the bathroom, cooked breakfast AND dinner and folded the clothes in the dryer after I had fallen asleep!!!!!!!!! Wow, that's awesome!

One Fine Day on top of the Swiss Alps

2006-05-07T10:44:00.000-04:00

To Spoil

2006-05-07T10:20:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking about my recent post/rant about the unfairness of how women and men are treated differently in certain cultures or societies. Although, I admit to spoiling my hubby more than I ever thought that I would spoil a man, I don't want to end up spoiling my son (God Willing).

Some parents may fear that they are de-emasculating their sons by making them do “women” chores. I think that it is a disservice, especially in this Western society, to not encourage both boys and girls to have an equal share in the upkeep of their family home. Children will likely go off to college and/or live outside of their parent’s home prior to being married, and they need to know how to care for themselves and their living spaces. These boy children will marry women who are most likely their equal in terms of educational levels attained and achievement o professional dreams. It is our responsibility as parents to prepare our boys to support their professional women, that is if that is who they choose to marry, on all levels including doing their equal share of the upkeep of the household.

When a working man fully supports the working wife, then he contributes to the overall happiness of the marriage by making the woman feel valued and respected. He alleviates stress levels and freeing up time which in turns allows for more love, care and passion.

My hubby is usually pretty good (I'm being pretty liberal with this compliment) at doing his share of responsibilities, but he loses all common sense when his mum is around.

What do the parents think? Do you find yourself treating your boy children differently? Is it a conscious effort; if so, why?

Counter (Former Catholic Girl Guilt)

2006-05-05T23:31:00.000-04:00

DH, MIL and I went to…drum roll…the ball game! Hubby got tickets from his boss. My dear MIL was gracious enough to agree, but we both knew she was hesitant. So being a good sport, we put on our bum clothes, hopped the train and head downtown for the game.

Our seats were close to the field, thus we were truly able to enjoy the sport. MIL began smiling ear-to-ear and we truly enjoyed our family night out at the ball park.

In case I haven’t sounded like it, lately, I am grateful to have such a wonderful family.

Boys will be Boys

2006-05-05T19:07:00.000-04:00

I think I was a little perturbed when I last wrote. It was not to suggest that my MIL is on my case about having a baby. She knows better than to rock the boat with my hubby, her dear son. He has clearly stated to her and the SILs that it is our business. So MIL has joked a few times about it, but she is careful to say it in front of N.

It really is my SILs who cannot end a phone conversation without commenting or questioning the baby factor. We are not anywhere near ready to begin trying. Heck, if anything, my MILs presence will kill any shot of pregnancy possibilities. Her room is right next to ours….. Boy oh boy.

Speaking of preferential status. Since I have dropped the honeymoon eyes and donned the wifely eyes, I have come to notice just how spoiled my hubby is by his Mum and how much he eats up her attention. Big surprise, huh? I just find the preferential status toward boys a bit disturbing-don’t you?

I mean, even though my MIL is kid-hearted and supportive and cooks almost every night, she still has biases on expectations. Both hubby and I work 50+ hours per week. I just so happen to make ½ of hubby’s salary (social service field). But, I am still expected to do dishes, laundry, trash, etc., etc. Of course I do this without pitching a fit while biting my tongue as to show respect and appreciation for my dear MIL, but it eats me up inside that my work and my value will never equal his and I will always be reduced to a homemaker in one way or another.

My mother is not this way. She raised my brother and myself equally. We were each expected to work and we each did our chores, split down the middle. Some weeks I did trash and lawn and he was folding our underwear.

Arghhhh. It is so frustrating. I am just so grateful to be working and very busy at that. I could not survive being home and being coached as a homemaker for 10+ hours a day.

Vent, vent, vent… She never, ever asks him to do a thing, but I get asked all the time. And of course she wants to talk when we come home. So hubby is allowed his time alone to relax and unwind and I am expected to come in the door with full smiles. Arghhhh. Breathe in, breathe out.

Boys will be boys and Mothers will let them.

MIL Round III, Chapter 1

2006-05-02T23:45:00.000-04:00

Oh I don’t want to complain, but I feel my blood pressure rising. I just might explode if I don’t release the pressure valve. Oh yeah, that’s why I have a blog…

Let me preface by saying that I love my MIL dearly. My MIL and FIL have provided me so much love, consideration, benefit-of-the-doubt and many, many gifts. But, at the end-of-the-day, I must declare the honeymoon over and bemoan the in-law blues.

I am still in shock over the length of time my MIL will be staying. I mean, oops, no one informed me nor my hubby and surprise, you have an in-house visitor for 4.5 months! Yep, you heard me right-1/3 of my year. I am very hurt for a lot of reasons. I am upset about the presumptuous notion that we had nothing else scheduled for our first summer here in this new state. Or better, yet, the presumption that all our activities would/should be scheduled with MIL in tow and revolve around my hubby’s family and friends.

Already, I am struggling with the fact that I have moved far from my family and friends and that I know no one here. Now, I have “lost” my hubby to his mama and all my future social activities involve his friends and family.

What about our plans to take weekend drives and find new camping sites? What about the long line of “our” friends and my family that wanted to visit this summer. I mean ¼ of a year especially given the fact that we live in an arctic region is a big commitment. I feel that her visits always drive a wedge between me and my/our friends and family because they are not part of the “exclusive” tight knit-hand-stamped Pakistani circle. I fear alienation and loneliness. I fear that I continue to lose my identity little by little.

Maybe our long-awaited honeymoon in Venice from two weeks ago was really the end of the "me and hubby" era. I mean let’s tell the truth, she was sent for such a long period of time for many, many reasons, which I’m sure we’ll discuss over the months. But, the number one agenda item is to set me up for pregnancy. I’m sad, excited, curious, scared.

My life is truly all about family at this point. Once you have children, you truly cross over from “friends in love who happen to be married” to parents and providers of the grandchildren, nephews and nieces, etc. Removed from my family and friends and being in a strange place, these thoughts are intimidating and doubtful.

Sigh.

2006-05-01T01:38:00.000-04:00

Back from Holiday

2006-05-01T01:16:00.000-04:00

So I wondered if I should just scrap the whole Blog thing. But, I cannot forget all my acquaninces and the joy I get from your updates and your comments of my updates.

Where do I begin? I am exhausted and “sneaking” in a few minutes of “me” time. I patiently waited out as hubby and MIL prattled on until they tired themselves and finally went upstairs to bed. “Oh no, I must get caught up on this work”, I insisted. In reality, I needed a minute to myself and an opportunity to try and save what’s left of the Baji Dance.

Where has Baji been? She’s been off a dancing in Europe. This was my first trip to Europe; hubby and I spent two weeks in Switzerland and drumroll….Venice!

Switzerland is picturesque, international, historic, unique and very well organized. Honestly, I really didn’t know what to expect. Hubby and I were invited to go and meet his parents and have a holiday in what was part family vacation and part business-venture. Seeing as my DH’s father always has an agenda, we didn’t bother planning anything, for fear that our hopes would be crushed and raging war would break out between DH and father.

We were pleasantly surprised by how much we enjoyed Switzerland. We spent the first few days in Lausanne. We drove through rolling hills, vineyards and quaint towns. We saw beautiful Lake Geneva and ate awesome fondue at Gruiyere. We ate the most amazing 11 course meal in some fancy-shmancy restaurant which was an experience in itself for this hick-girl gone-cultured LOL. We also crawled around a castle which was begun in the 12-13th century.

Following this, we went to the Suisse German side to a town called Interlocken. Here we stayed in a beautiful hotel which had a magnificent view of the Swiss Alps. We spent one day trekking up the Alps (via cable car that is!). Once we reached the top, we had the most majestic view. It felt like we were in the middle of diamond dust universe as the sunlight beat down onto the snow-covered mountains. This was truly a breath-taking experience. Interlocken was a little less obligatory on the social/business front and more like a true “holiday”. My FIL insisted that my MIL have her first full-body massage, which she was not at all thrilled about. So, I was charged with taking the lead and ensuring that my MIL follow through with his orders, which meant that I, too, had to have a full-body massage-DARN! LOL. That, too was an amazing release of energy and celebration of self and a magical journey to self’s past. Wow. I’m blabbering….

Not to be the least bit ungrateful, but hubby and I wanted a few days to ourselves. So we made last minute plans to take a train to Venice. More on that and the tales of MIL Visit Round III.

Breathe

2006-04-04T23:54:00.000-04:00

Argggghhhh, okay, now I’m stressing. My hubby, like always, procrastinated with sending his application for the Schengen Visa. Now, it is Tuesday night and we have no idea when his Green Card and Passport are to return safely into our hands. And, oh yeah, did I mention, we are supposed to leave Friday evening?!

Nice to meet you Muslim, I mean M'aam

2006-03-28T19:43:00.000-05:00

Where do I begin? I have a whole new schedule with the new job. I love the new job. I am a program director for a social service agency. The agency is much larger than I am used to working with. This has its pros and cons. The main pro is an increase in resources, which means much larger staff, budgets, money for office supplies, creamer for the coffee and support services for the participants/clients. The main cons are the constraints from government policy and bureaucracy which can mean a loss of creativity.

The office where I am located (there are many in the agency as a whole) is a crazy maze with mis-matched furnishings and complete with an amazing staff. I love the office and staff. The good thing is that my boss is in another location, so the buck stops at me so to speak. The bad thing is that I am replacing err succeeding a woman who has an amazing shadow. She has stayed in the industry, but happens to now work for the entity issuing our main grant/contract (government). I am constantly reminded that I have some big shoes to fill. I can’t help but feel a little nervous about being watched and literally monitored by her. And, all the staff has made it clear that they miss her. But, I know she has laid a great foundation which should make for an easy transition upwards.

The staffs as I said earlier are an amazingly diverse and hard-working group. I have had the positive experience of sitting down with each person and having a one-on-one meeting. The great thing about working in a social service field is that we can celebrate diversity and one’s personal accomplishments and unique experiences that they bring to the work place.

I have never been so immersed in diversity. For once I am seen as symbol of diversity as well. I am in an area that is hyper-sensitive (esp. within this social service agency) to the presence of Muslims because of the large number of East African refugees, many of whom are Muslims. I now carry my husband’s last name and people are very reactive to the new white boss-lady with a Muslim name.

Overall, everyone has shown nothing but warmth and acceptance. At times I feel a little uncomfortable for the spectacle of sorts that I have become. I’m sure my recent insecurities and fatigue as a result of adjusting to my new role compound these feelings ten-fold.

There have been a few interesting interactions. Like, the woman who questioned, “How could YOU be a Muslim?” upon just hearing my last name. Presumably, using one’s last name now gives license for one to question religiosity and one’s appearance (i.e. Gora without hijab) also defines one’s relationship to God. Here, I just smiled and swallowed hard, trying to wipe the redness from my cheeks.

In another incident, I was sitting in around a crammed board-room table for a work-related meeting. Before the meeting starts, the facilitator introduces me as the newcomer to the agency. Upon hearing my name, the gentleman next to me (presumably Muslim because his name was “Muhammad”), says, in a very loud voice for all to hear, “Oh! I didn’t know you were Muslim!” He proceeds to pull his chair away from the desk as to be sure not to touch me. Am I plagued? Should he be touching non-Muslim women?

It is all amusing to me because I have always assumed the role as dedicated, hard-working, passionate, but quiet woman. And, now I feel like I am being thrust into a more extroverted role, shouting look at me! God works in mysterious ways.

Dreaming "Gora"

2006-03-19T19:58:00.000-05:00

The secret is out. I do dream “gora”. With the new job and a visit from Mom, I have been away from blog-land and missing it tremendously. I was touched by some fellow bloggers inquiries to where I am. The other night I had a dream that I attended a blog meet up in San Fran (jealous of Baraka J).

So there I was, sitting at a large dining table taking in all the new faces behind the stories I read each day. During this dream, my conscious and subconscious were having quite a fight. My mind’s eye dream-view was assigning very Euro attributes to some of the blogger’s whom I KNOW are desi (such as Aisha, Mystic, Baraka, and Opinionatedinjerzee). So I kept telling myself, “No, they don’t look like that, Aisha has beautiful long dark hair, etc.”. LOL

I mulled over this for quite some time once I was fully awake. I don’t consider myself to be racist and I definitely feel that people from Pakistan and India are much more beautiful than those that “look” like I do. It is disturbing and fascinating to me that my mind does truly “think” in white terms.

Despite this oddity, it was a great feeling to “meet” everyone and I hope that all are well.

Shan to the Rescue

2006-03-07T23:21:00.000-05:00

Today was day two at work. I rushed home to do step four of five of my grand plan to clean the house in preparation of Mom’s visit on Thursday. After completing this, I contemplated what I could make for day three at work in which there is going to be a farewell party potluck. Exhausted, I had no interest in cooking anything. Dun, dun dunnahhhh…Shan to the rescue! I quickly whipped up some Chanay/Cholay with Chat Masala, thanks to my superhero friend, Shan.

This brought back memories of one of those competitive super-woman moments. On several occasions I would marvel at my hubby’s cousin’s cooking. Knowing that she, too, was a very busy professional, I marveled how she must be in the kitchen at un-Godly hours preparing her biryani, kofta, haleem, etc. All I knew was that my MIL made everything from scratch and the food tasted marvelous, but the process was no joke. The hostess/cook would just nod and smile and take my compliments without ever answering my question of how she was able to accomplish such a feat. For this, I was very jealous.

Then one evening, another guest questioned the hostess as to whether or not she was using Shan? The conversation then switched to Urdu. All smiles and laughter, all I heard was “Gi…Han……Shan…..Shan…Shan” and a lot of words I didn’t understand.

“Who is Shan”, I thought to myself? It sounded like the Irish name of “Shawn”. Was there an Irishman making her food? Was Shan a restaurant on Devon Street? Is Shan a Desi Aunty catering her food?

Ever so curious, I couldn’t help, but be impolite. On the drive home I turned to my hubby and asked him if he knew of this “Shan” person. He rolled with laughter at my exasperation. “Hon, it’s the Desi cheat sheet or cliff notes of cooking. C’mon I’ll take you to the store and get you some.”

Hallelujah, I love my buddy, Shan! But, hide him before your MIL comes!

Gratitude

2006-03-05T12:11:00.000-05:00

Reasons to be Grateful:

Today is my last day of unemployment; starting tomorrow, I will be gainfully employed.
My husband is awesome!
My Mom is coming to visit us this week. This will mark the one year anniversary since her last bout with her illness, Alhumdalilah!
My brother and I are becoming closer and I am learning to trust him again. He maintains that he is now sober 2.5 months.
My friends, the old and new, are awesome!
We are going to Switzerland in a month.
I have had so many consecrated opportunities and experiences for which I am grateful and cherish those memories.

I'm a Suburban SAHW Groupie

2006-02-27T10:39:00.000-05:00

DH is only in his late twenties and he seems to be experiencing something of a mid-life crisis. He is trying to capture some of his youth before it slips away. Some could argue that it is mid-life for him because it seems as though he was born 30 years old.

You know how it is: boys and their toys. First it was the huge flat screen television; the masterpiece of art hanging above the mantel. Then it was the need to feel cool while walking into work wearing his tailored suits, French-cuff shirts and an I-pod. Last week DH walks into the house grinning from ear-to-ear and carrying a guitar.

He has been diligently practicing and has determined that he will be a “rocker” one way or another. Saturday night we went to a jazz club and his mouth was on the floor as he was watching the guitarist’s fingers pluck note-to-note creating fantastic sounds and emoting feelings of euphoria.

Yesterday, we were out and about doing the weekend chore circuit. DH receives an annoying work related call which lasted about an hour (I just love when this happens and I get to sit in the car staring off into parking lots of the suburban shopping frenzy). After the call, DH starts the car and angrily speeds off. We arrive at the undisclosed destination: the Guitar Center store.

Inside, it feels like an amusement park. Guitars of all shapes and colors line the walls with their dangling wires swinging like vines. Stacks upon stacks of amps piled in a haphazard fashion, serve as aisles. One was thrust in the middle of an oasis of freedom and creativity. Boys and men were sprawled all throughout the stacks, cradling one of the beloved guitars, trying their hand at rock-stardom.

The deep-throated bass sounds, coupled with the finger nail on black-board-like screeches, and various attempts, good and bad, of replicating masters such as Stairway to Heaven and Foxy Lady, swirled round and round as a carousel of fun.

I suppose I should be annoyed by these boyish antics, but honestly, I find my rock-star to be quite sexy!

Urdu

2006-02-22T02:01:00.000-05:00

Help! Has anyone learned Urdu or in the process of learning?

This is a feat that I continue to suffer at. My hubby promised to help me, but inevitably, it gets pushed to the back burner considering we see very little of one another. Consequently, the dialogue we do have needs to be understood by both, thus occurring in English. I know roughly 100* or so (I am not sure, I may be underestimating here) words which we use in our daily vocabulary while talking to the cats or cooking, etc.

I have purchased a self-guided book and c.d. titled: Teach Yourself Urdu by David Matthews and Mohamed Kasim Dalvi. I have tried numerous times to get through chapter one, but have a hard time feeling like I am getting anywhere. I have now decided to create my own flashcards. I am hoping that this will help me get through the first chapter considering I am very much a visual cue learner. I have asked my hubby if he would agree to play word of the day with me in which I pick one flashcard which introduces a new vowel or consonant sound with a sample Urdu word provided. Hubby has to help me by using that word at least two times in the evening in Urdu or Englurdu sentences.

What have y’all done? What works, what doesn’t? Do your significant others help, if so, how? Have you found any professional tutors, if so, where? For the parents, does your Urdu speaking partner faithfully speak to the babes, and does this help you by learning elementary Urdu along with the kids?

Thanks for playing :-)

*On second thought, I do know a lot more than 50 words

Check Up

2006-02-21T11:51:00.000-05:00

I resolved to lose weight and it has been a struggle. Through the month of January and the beginning of February I kept a daily food diary and up the ante on water, fruits, vegetables, and yogurt. Additionally, I kept a minimum twice a week work-out regiment and I did not lose ONE POUND; nope, nadda, nay, no weight lost.

Frustrated, I have caved and decided to try another “fad” diet. So over the last 12 days, I have put my hubby and me on the South Beach Diet, Phase I. Essentially, we have agreed to cut out all white flour and sugar from our daily consumption. This strategic wage of war against the bulge combined with the continued twice weekly exercise has prevailed. We have each lost 9 pounds. We plan to continue making more sensible eating choices as we graduate to Phase II, gradually adding the occasional piece of wheat bread or wheat-based pasta and brown rice.

I feel so much better for having maintained control and suppressed all cravings. It is amazing how hard it is to endure two weeks of restricted eating. Making such a conscious effort makes me realize how much crap I put into my body and also how much food fuel our bodies need absent the sugar and chemical additives. Take away the fillers such as bread, cereals, rice, and pasta one has to eat a lot of meat, fish, cheese, nuts, fruits and vegetables. This takes a lot of preparation, which is most difficult in our busy-day society.

I feel great for how my body is changing and becoming slimmer and more firm. I hope that I continue to place my health and happiness in the forefront by staying on the right path.

Anniversary

2006-02-18T16:13:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my hubby and I celebrated three years of marriage, Alhumdalilah. After waiting forever for him to come home from work, we rushed off to have a nice, quiet seafood dinner.

This is a silly poem I wrote to recognize the day:

As it is today, three years ago was very bitter and cold,
The officials warned, “Don’t Go”, but we were two young hearts determined and bold.

Off we went skating on icy roads in our trusty jeep,
To give our promises to keep.

You in grey and I in black, one would think it a somber mood,
But, anticipatory bravery and happiness were all the memories ensued.

Leaping over the staggering snow drifts at the homestead of _____,
We were bound to prove lasting love evermore.

We were met by our kind hosts and a stranger with green pants and a ruddy nose,
This jolly mayor carried far too many vowels one would suppose.

But, alas, those who bore witness performed with style,
Romantic hues, from the day’s sunset and the warm fire, surrounding all the while.

I said “I Do”,
You said “I Do”,
And then one joined by the other became “The Fearless Two”.

~

Hon, despite all the strife,
I could not be happier to have this life.

You have mad me a better woman than I could ever be,
You have helped me to bare witness to the all the beauty this world carries for us to see.

I love you then, now and forevermore,
‘Till the rocking chairs thump, thump on our patio floor.

A Journal Entry

2006-02-17T11:15:00.001-05:00

Each night, just as I am drifting off to sleep, I am jarred awake. My chest tightens with the air of my gasp trapped inside and my heart feels as it is struggling to pump thy blood.

I become paralyzed by the fear resulting from the realization that I may never again live nearby by mother and brother. As the anxiety subsides, I am forced to consciously recognize this fact. I undergo a self-scrutiny much like holding a mirror up to my face.

A hurricane of questions swirls round and round:

Who am I? What have I become? Where am I going? When will my Mom die?

Does my marriage really mean “to death do us part?”

Will I ever connect to my brother, again? Will I remain close to my friends?

Will I be able to maintain a bond with my family at large?

Will I be able to maintain any of my familiar personality traits?

Could I become a mother?

How will I cope with the stress of pregnancy?

What will my life be once I am a mother?

My Mom had to work so hard after my father’s passing when I was 10 years old, so there has always been a wedge shoved between us, prohibiting us from having a very close mother-daughter relationship. I am very independent and have pride in my self-made ways and accomplishments. So why am I struggling to cope with this separation? We are only 10 hours away and my Mom’s retirement schedule will enable her to visit at least four times a year for as long as she can stand to be away from her home.

My out-of-control reactions are frankly quite surprising to me.

I think there are many things at play here. From my father’s traumatic death 20+ years ago, I have learned endearing traits such as avoidance, fear of abandonment and separation anxiety. I also learned to cope by becoming a perfectionist, which is substantiated by persistence and control. The death was so traumatic and taboo, that I never properly mourned and I now fear the inevitable which is my mother’s death. I had turned to the church in order to receive some solace and as a means of gaining closure. A representative of the church, a Catholic Nun, gave me a precious gift of agnosticism by telling me that my father was indeed burning in hell.

I say these things out loud so-to-speak as a means of undergoing the grieving process for the first time. I don not want to wear the badges of trauma and the carry the sorrows of the past. I want to move the surreal to the forefront, grieve it, forgive, release and grow.

Broken Reality

2006-02-11T20:40:00.000-05:00

I recently went with a friend to see Brokeback Mountain. She and I went in with the expectation that it would be a stereotypical portrayal of homosexuality. Despite our presumptions, we went to see what all the hype was about.

I must say that I was very impressed. The cinematography and music were quite pleasing. The actors were very passionate and the overall feel of the movie was that of slow, low riding and quiet challenge of the viewers’ understanding of same sex love.

I appreciated the behind the scenes portrayal of same sex love. The characters were not depicted as stereotypical “flaming” or other traits one may associate with gay men. The characters were that of our brothers, uncles, friends, and unfortunately husbands.

In Brokeback Mountain, both men led dual lives as husbands and fathers. The wives were oblivious to the fact that their husbands were indeed acting in a sexual affair while out hunting and fishing with their buddies.

Like it or not, this behavior does take place in every society. It is the enshrouded secrets that lead to problems such as sexually transmitted diseases spreading to married women and their unborn children.

One does not have to condone same sex behaviors. At the very least, we should be aware that men and women of all cultures and religions lead secret lives of duality and engage in risky behaviors. It is time for dialogue. For these problems have always existed and will only get worse without proper education and communication.

Where's My Bahoo?

2006-02-08T12:57:00.000-05:00

My FIL called this weekend asking, “Where’s my Bahoo? Why haven’t you bought your ticket to come to Pakistan?”

Some quick updates-

I have been very busy with many interviews and the entire rigor moral that accompanies. I have been researching the organizations and their programs, printing references, updating my cover letter for the umpteenth time, googling the directions, getting lost, putting on smiley interview face, and feeling crushed when I find that it isn’t the “right” job or worse, yet, that I am not the “right” candidate.

I have been quite emotional. I am so very sad about the present plight of Muslims. I, too, grow tired of defending. How much more can we explain away, tolerate, and defend? For what price are we willing to support the senseless heretics? How sad it is that even the most devout believers, who are, by far, the majority, feel powerless to change and are scared for themselves and the future of Islam.

This is not an attack, but speaking my fears out loud in hopes of returning to my path to the greatness that Islam has to offer. I have met and read about so many beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, respectful, peaceful, spiritual, and artistic Muslims. I have seen the beauty from within. I now witness so many of these beloved people growing tired of the defense.

In the midst of all of this sadness and self-conflict, me thinks, “At least my Abbu Ji loves me!”

Where's the Islam?

2006-02-03T20:15:00.000-05:00

I made a trip to the downtown library which is the main branch, with what I would presume a large collection. I searched for Lahore Girls, the Kite Runner and Muhammad: His Life Based on the Earliest Sources, by Martin Lings. The library was out of the first two books. Apparently they must only carry one copy, because this was my third attempt to check out these books. I made a request to put these books on hold and asked the librarian about the Lings’ book. She informed me that they don’t carry it and we checked the shelves only to find a handful of books on the prophet. She said, “Here take one of these.” I informed her that I didn’t want one of those; I wanted the Lings’ book, because it is deemed to be one of the most unbiased and factually accurate biographies (according to my family, friends and many fellow bloggers). She says, “What do you need it for class?” What? As if my only interest for a specific book about the prophet could be as a result of a mandate. Arghhh.

So, I decided to stop by my local Border’s Bookstore. The bookstore is located in a fairly affluent area of town which is noted for its multi-cultural and diverse inhabitants. I was able to locate the religion section because of its large size. The section spanned an entire wall and is undoubtedly the largest subject of the bookstore. Several large placards were lined along the wall indicating religious preference with fairly large bookcases containing various books under each. They were as follows: “New Age” “Christianity”, “Christian Fiction”, “Christian Influence”, “Judaic”, and “Eastern Religions”. I re-read them, looking for “Islam”. Scan, scan, re-scan, nope, not listed. Stunned, this peaked my curiosity.

Perhaps, Islam is in the Eastern Religions section, I thought? Nope. Mind you, there are several bookcases devoted to Christian and one entirely for Judaic books. Under Eastern Religions, there are several bookshelves dedicated to Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc. I began to get more upset as I searched for “Islam”.

I must have looked like a madwoman as I scanned the shelves, shuffling back and forth amongst the peaceful people sitting in their chairs, absorbing their new treasures. I thought to myself, “How could the fastest growing religion with millions of followers, one of the BIG three, not have a section at this corporate monster?” Surely, it has to be here, they can’t be that blatantly racist, there are thousands of Muslims who live here.

Finally, I located eleven, count ‘em ELEVEN books, two of which were anti-Islam, which took up one half of a bookshelf under the “Christianity” heading. Furthermore, not one copy of the Koran could be found.

I am stunned and insulted. I debated about approaching management about this concern of mine. But, I decided to first go home and find out, via my trusty internet, whether or not there are other people who have noticed this trend in their local Borders. I found one man out of Toledo, Ohio who voiced the same concern. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get his local Muslim group, Toledo Muslims, to join him in signing off a letter to the Border’s headquarters. Although, he did not get any fellow brothers and sisters to give their john hancock, he was successfully in his solo venture. His local Border’s now has a proper heading of “Islam” in their religion section and they now carry the Koran.

From today’s experience, I gather that this man’s fight has not influenced the corporate strategy. I plan to approach management with this by presenting a letter. I would like to know whether or not this is a problem of local or national scope. Please share with me your findings, if you are a Borders shopper. I'm most certain that the stock must vary by area demand, so I am curious about your experiences. Join me and giving Islam the literary space it deserves.

Ethics of Photojournalism and Boycott

2006-01-31T21:09:00.000-05:00

Today, I had the privilege of attending a very interesting lecture. While enjoying my time OFF work, I have been challenging myself to use my time wisely and actually do some things that I claim I would do "if only I had the time...” So now I have the time, there should be no excuses to waste it away.

I attended a lecture as part of a series titled "Tuesdays with the Scholars". I entered the room and was quick to note that there did not seem to be another person under the age of 60. Whoops! But, I decided to stay and I am glad that I did.

While filming pictures of the present-day Iraq, would you pick the picture of the child with severed limbs? Would you pick the picture of a human body so badly burned, the blob that remains looks like a burned garbage bag? Or, would you pick the picture of American army doctors operating on an Iraqi civilian? The presenter, a retired photo editor for a fairly large newspaper and adjunct professor, said he wanted to show the awfulness of war. He hates war and feels that we Americans are disillusioned by the reality of what our soldiers and the civilians witness each day. His editorial board chose the happy photo.

What do you think about showing dead bodies? Does it better situations by promoting pro-active change? Or, is it too insensitive? I think like many things, there needs to be balance. As long as photos are used ethically to tell an important story, then we need to see the images. If the photos are used as propaganda, or to sensationalize, or promote hatred and racism, then they should not be used. Consider this link for examples of what our newspapers are saying: http://www.journalism.org/resources

Also consider that not showing pictures is a form of censorship. Surprisingly, the US continues to drop in the world-wide rank of free press. What we don't know ends up hurting us in the end.

Another point to ponder is that of the use of propaganda. Consider this: President Clinton submitted 100 photos opps. to the AP in his eight years of service. President Bush loves to toot his horn. This self-loving egomaniac has already submitted 500 self-promos in his six years of service. What is the image that George wants the American people to see?

Finally, remember that we must be careful of how we digitally shape existing images and present them as real. It is unethical to alter a photo and present it as a fact, unless it is presented as a form of art.

*******************************

Check off my list. I went to the Halal grocery store by myself. In Ohio, the stores were mostly run by Palestinian FOBs. The men would often give cold stares and the women almost always stayed behind in the cars. After a few trials whereas my DH and I went shopping, we decided it was best that I did not assist in this chore.

Today's market was very cool. I did not feel out of place at all. I bought Halal pepperoni for the first time, YIPPIE! My market has pulled all of their Danish products as a result of the disrespectful cartoons of the Prophet. Have your markets done the same?

Good night.

What Does Your Word Cloud Say?

2006-01-31T00:25:00.000-05:00

Thanks to this cool site http://www.snapshirts.com, I created a Word Cloud (idea stolen from Jenny at Tales of an American Exile).

Funny that Aisha is so prominently placed :-)

PTSD

2006-01-30T23:14:00.000-05:00

I may have already shared this story in a previous post. I felt compelled to write after reading Baraka’s post at

This story begins is about a neighbor of mine who could probably be characterized as someone with very little ambition. He was a drinker and he and his buddies were always hanging around the front to the building looking half-crocked so to speak. Nevertheless, he and his brother were always friendly and often offered casual conversation to me and my dh and the other neighbors.

The neighbor was a member of the National Guard and he was deployed to Iraq. The neighbor was home for a week for a visit. He approached me as I was walking through the front door. He had a very desperate and scared look in his brown eyes. He asked me if my hubby spoke Arabic. I thought this was a curious question and felt a little annoyed with the assumption. But, I quickly stopped my negative thinking in my tracks. I know that in order to fight the stereotypes, I must act as a positive leader with open arms.

I carefully explained that my husband is from Pakistan and that he speaks Urdu. He asked again whether or not he knew any Arabic. I said that he know a little, mostly from his Quaranic teachings. The neighbor asked if my dh could please come downstairs and speak to him. I could see that this young neighbor of mine was quite distraught and needed some guidance.

I went upstairs and told my hubby about the request. My dh hesitated for a moment. I think he felt that he was being set up as a target of this young man’s anger. I told my hubby about this man was very distraught and confused and was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I told him that we should support him because he was reaching out.

My hubby went down stairs. I stayed behind, allowing the moment to be for the boys. The neighbor had witnessed a lot of violence and unnecessary death. He was unsure of why the US was in Iraq. He and his peers had been told during Basic Training that they were going as security forces to help the Iraqis create a democracy. This made him feel god and important.

He quickly learned that the US had no intention of using neither him nor the other soldiers to “help shape a democratic society.” My neighbor was upset that he had not even been taught how to greet Iraqis and he knew nothing of their culture. He felt like he was an intruder trespassing. My husband took some time to explain what a Muslim believes and how to greet with “Assalmu alekum.” They also talked at great length about the history of US and the mid-east relations. The neighbor was very grateful.

Grateful or not, I am sure he has suffered tremendously. He and many other soldiers are returning to the US with many unanswered questions, and feelings of grief and anger. People who experience PTSD need a lot of love and support. They need to belong to a group comprised of others who have shared the same experiences. They are prone to anger and paranoia and often self medicate with drugs and alcohol. Disproportionate amount of people experiencing homelessness are veterans.

It can be said that many of the men and women who engage in acts of terror and senseless violence do so because they have grown up in poverty and harbor a lot of anger toward the evils of the Western world. Many of these men and women value life differently than you and I and have un-wavering belief that they are soldiers of God. The same can be said about the young men and women who enlist in the US armed forces. Many enlistees come from poverty and feel that they have been slighted by the land of opportunity. They don’t see their “out”. They harbor a lot of anger and racist feelings toward the “Muslim enemy”. They feel that it is their duty and that they will honor the most important people in their lives: their parents, spouses, community, and God.

They return to the US very disillusioned and a new world-view which they are unable to share with their loved ones who could never understand life outside of their community walls. They find themselves unable to get ahead and with feelings of guilt, questioning the two things they had the most faith in: the US and God.

Today, we continue to deal with the aftermath of the destruction of the Vietnam “conflict”. Be sure that today’s “War on Terrorism” peace troopers will need a lot of supportive resources. Let’s all do our part, whether it is volunteering at your local VA, holding a fundraiser, or urging our local representatives to not cut the VA budget.

I have worked with many Veterans as part of a homeless advocacy program. What I have learned is that most would rather talk about their war experiences than not. Most have a lot to say about history and politics, etc., but have no one in their peer group todiscuss these topics.

And on a final note, thank you and God bless all of the World's soldiers. People are good; governements and dictators are the one with selfish agendas.

The Quartet Meme

2006-01-30T14:04:00.000-05:00

I was tagged by Sister Surviving – Yeah, my first time tagged!

Four Jobs I’ve Had in My Life
1. Dishwasher at pizza shop (I was demoted from wait staff after spilling hot soup on elderly ladies-boy are they sensitive!)
2. Disaster relief for FEMA after flood 3. Community organizer (first week of the job I was photographed by the local newspaper wearing a shark costume while participating in a demonstration)
4. Warehouse staff assembling industry catalogs. Unbelievable experience; we would spend entire work days circling around a line of tables collecting hundreds of sheets of paper one by one, thus manually assemble catalog

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
1. I really dislike watching movies more than one. I usually end up falling asleep if I do.
2. The movies I have seen more than once are gems from the 80s and 90s which I was subjected to multiple viewing by virtue of having no choice while “hanging out” with friends. Some examples: Sixteen Candles, Singles, Sid and Nancy, Friday the 13th, Pretty Woman, etc.

Four Places I Have Lived
1. Various places in Ohio from the North to the South
2. Minnesota

Four TV Shows I Love To Watch
1. Myth Busters
2. Various design shows
3. The Travel Channel
4. Everybody Loves Raymond

Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
1. New England trip including New York, Boston, and visits to Yale, Harvard and Dartmouth
2. Puerto Rico (technically it was a non-denominational missionary trip and not vacation)
3. Karachi
4. Toronto and Niagara Falls

Four Websites I Visit Daily
1. Blog line up
2. My local newspaper
3. A local non-profit job search site
4. I usually end up conducting one new random search a day which leads to various sites

Four Favorite Foods
1. Dark chocolate
2. Quema pollack with chaval
3. Chili
4. French dip sandwich with steak fries

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
1. On vacation in a warmer city in which neither of us have ever been to
2. Camping with my hubby
3. Visiting family in Karachi
4. Visiting family in Pennsylvania

Four People Whom I Tag Next
1. Aisha
2. Mystic Soul
3. Southern Masala
4. Jaycie

Modern Woman

2006-01-18T18:21:00.000-05:00

Thank y’all for your responses. At this time, I am not sure whether or not I will be traveling to Pakistan. If I do, we will decide in February for a March trip. At this moment, I continue to look for a right job that I am passionate about and that will benefit my career path. If such a job does not present itself, then we will consider other options for me including travel and starting my family (Insh’Allah).

Even though I have only been there one time, I do think that I would feel more comfortable than not, staying with my in-laws (especially since it would likely be only a month or so). I have spent enough time with my MIL to trust that she would be very supportive. I thank Allah that I am blessed with such a wonderful family. I leave it up to him to guide me to my hubby's homeland.

My friend was here in my new home visiting. She is a friend from college. We had some wonderful times. Each time a person on my past comes into my life, I am reminded about how great my hubby is and how much I have changed over the years.

We had a heart to heart talk with my friend. She is struggling. She is 31, not married and very lonely. She and I talked about how we American girls were brought up with the ideas that we were to not be foolish and marry and have kids young. We are expected to go to college, build our careers and become strong, independent women. Sometimes, we don’t find our future spouses in college nor in our first jobs. Then one day, we wake up in our late twenties and scared about becoming lonely single spinsters without children. But, of course our college education and work experiences help to shape the people who we become and we can’t imagine our life without them.

It is tough to grow up as a woman in a lot of places. We must remember that it is also difficult in a modern and free society. Believe me, there are days that I wish that I could have started my family by now.

I also think about some families (some first generation American) that encourage their daughters to go to college, but really have no desire for the woman to work. These types of families want their daughters to learn and to have the security of a degree, but are more concerned about them marrying out of college rather than working.

I think that there needs to be a balance. Obviously marriage and family are more important than anything. I also know that being a mother is the hardest job. But, I struggle with the vision of a work force, government, social service sector, etc run by men only. There are differences between men and women and women add such a unique and much needed flavor to our society.

My hope is that our educated and hard-working women will find their loved ones who will support them through the beginning phases of her career and then transition into family-hood.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

2006-01-11T15:22:00.000-05:00

The dilemma… My in-laws have graciously invited me to come stay in Pakistan (Karachi). At first, I dismissed the invites as part of the Pakistani politeness. But, then my FIL personally e-mailed me and invited me saying I should take a break from working so hard and come.

I am very happy, because I know they are genuine. I am very excited by the prospect of having time to get to know my SILs and my nephews and nieces. My SIL has a new baby a few months old, which is good practice for me. They keep saying this, because they really want us to start our family. I could spend time with cousins and learn some Urdu, cooking, prayers, etc. I have only been there one other time (last year) and it was quite hectic with our wedding ceremony/dinners, etc. I think this would be a great opportunity to show my gratitude for all that my in-laws have done.

A part of me is scared. I would be traveling alone and would be going without my husband. I am not sure how I will get along with the day-to-day of staying somewhere so far from home. But, then I am so inspired by people like Tara and Dawn that have done this. And, besides, my MIL will be staying with us for the whole summer, so between this and my hubby’s crazy work schedule, we really cherish our time alone.

But, that is stupid. It would only be for a month or so. Seems like I am passing up a very good opportunity for some very stupid fears.

I need some support yays or nays appreciated.

Eid Mubarak!

2006-01-10T09:57:00.000-05:00

Take Two

2006-01-09T10:58:00.000-05:00

I was anxiously awaiting the return phone call regarding a particular job I very much desired. Turns out, it was not meant for me. The woman had called to tell me first-hand that she was sorry that she was not able to offer the job. She was very kind and complimenting me and said that there was just one more person with a little more experience. She reassured me that my resume was impressive and that I interviewed very well. She said that she had another possible opportunity in mind that she would advise me of.

I was crushed. I really wanted this and failed. My hubby handled it very lightly and I felt like screaming. But, he reminded me that Allah wants what is best and that I did my best, the rest is in Allah’s hands.

Maybe I do need this time to relax and do some long-overdue soul searching. For this time, I am grateful.

On the brighter side, my hubby and I had a relaxing weekend. Also, I applied for and was accepted into a training. It is a six week course in which I will learn about housing policies. I am very excited about the opportunity to learn and meet new people.

On a sad note, I read an article titled: Selective abortion blamed for India's missing girls. The link: http://today.reuters.com/news/newsArticleSearch.aspx?storyID=15491+09-Jan-2006+RTRS&srch=india+abortion

This follows Aisha’s discussion about a movie calld Pinjar which depicts the horrors of a gender biased society which forces many to fear the birth of a female baby. I am shocked to say the least. Admittedly, I assumed that the problem discussed was remnants of ancient cultural practices which take a long time to dissolve in Third World nations. What the article points out is that the practice of selective gender-based abortion I on the rise with the advent of access ultra sound machines. I cannot believe that people have access to such technology, but still behave in such barbaric ways.

Alhumdalilah, I am grateful that women are valued in Islam and such practices are prohibited in the Quran.

Too lazy to write it all out

2006-01-03T18:43:00.000-05:00

Some random tidbits:

1. New Years was great. A lazy weekend in with my hubby and lots of yummy food. We watched The Human Stain (love my netflix!). This is a very thought-provoking movie that gives an alternative view to racism-check it out.

2. I really, really want one particular job which I interviewed for two weeks ago. I have been holding my breath ever since. Today, I received a message from the interviewer. I hope that I get an opportunity for a second interview. I have not wanted something this much in a long time.

3. Despite my identity-crisis issues of being unemployed, I have enjoyed my time immensely. I finished The Alchemist and Cosmopolis. I have also caught up on several back issues of Wired, the New Yorker and Scientific Atlantic.

4. Today, I officially became bionic woman; I received my two new hearing aids. So far, seems to be going well. You can not imagine the number of sounds I can now hear. I heard kids yelling with glee as they sled down a hill far off in the distance. I went to Subway for lunch and was able to hear just about everybody’s conversations. This new-found gift can be annoying as well. I now hear every little shake and rattle of the car and the things like water running through pipes and the motor of the refrigerator.

5. I went to the library, got a card and checked out some books. I ended the afternoon with a cup of coffee and I am reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I have recently learned a lot about my father’s death and decided that I need to take a grief journey as a means pf re-connecting, creating a history, reviving memories, and bidding a proper farewell to my father. I am journaling my steps.

6. It is official II. I am chubby! I faced my fears and stepped on the scale. I am at my heaviest weight ever. I am taking action. Today was my first visit to the gym. I am going to keep a food log and hold myself accountable for my actions.

Happy New Year!

2005-12-31T15:11:00.000-05:00

Wishing you and your loved ones a peaceful, healthy, and prosperous new year. A special thanks to each of you for all of your insightful and kind words.

Ready or Not, Here I Come

2005-12-30T12:14:00.000-05:00

The holiday visit was not at all what I expected, but to be expected. On the plane ride in, I completed The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I had gotten this book for my brother for his birthday. I really did not know much about the book, but I saw it on the shelf and remembered seeing it listed on several of my fellow Blogger’s reading lists.

My brother loved the book. He was very emotional and enthusiastic. Emotion is something of a rarity for my brother over the past year. This peaked my mother’s curiosity and she too read it and raved. Not wanting to miss out on a chance to catch a glimpse of what might make my brother tick, I borrowed the book.

I was so excited to get home and have a discussion with my brother about what he felt while reading this book and what his personal legend is. My mom picked me up from the airport. She said that she was mad at my brother for choosing the bar and football game over me. She spoke of doom. I dismissed it.

We went home and waited and waited; hearts pounding. Finally the phone rings. We didn’t have to pick it up, we knew.

My brother asked for me. He was sobbing. “Please don’t let Mom ‘help’ me anymore.” “Tell her I need to help myself.” “I have lost everything.”

“What do you want?”, I ask. “What do you want for your life?”

He replies, “I want to get better.”

So we hang up the phone for what begins another part in the journey. It took a lot for me to convince my Mom that we were right in not bailing him out. It took a lot of energy to support her when I too was feeling such despair. It took a lot of nagging of self to stir up the deadened emotions.

Why??????? Why has he done this to himself? Why has he done this to Mom, to me? Why do we believe his lies? Why do we enable? Why are we re-living the story twenty years later? Why does my husband have to be a part of this? Why is this so hard?

My brother is very sick. We have never healed. Like the puss of a wound, he is an indicator of our infection.

The Merry of Christmas

2005-12-29T13:00:00.000-05:00

I went home to Mom’s house for the Christmas Holiday. When my hubby and I married, we agreed to spend every other Christmas with my Mom because it is so important to her. I no longer buy gifts for anyone except my Mom and brother and more than anything, we enjoy the time together. My Mom is a bit sad about the fact that I no longer attend church with her, but she is just as happy to have us there.

I shudder at the thought that some Muslims might think that it is a sin to wish someone a Merry Christmas or to participate in the celebration with family or friends. The spiritual path is a very personal act between a person and God. Participating in a society as very important and one that requires tolerance. How can we be a religion of peace and not honor and respect the other paths? If we cannot tolerate Christians and Jewish traditions, than how could we “gori” wives ever expect to have the privilege of being married to our Pakistani husbands, etc.?

This year I said the words “Merry Christmas” with more spunk and confidence than my 30 years previous. Like Wayfarer, I want to live by positive example. I want to demonstrate acts of tolerance as a way of opening up hearts and minds and promoting peace. I want someone else to witness the beauty of Islam and consider a convergence.

I want not to alienate my friends and family. My mother has accepted a lot with my choices. She has felt great loneliness and fear in the amount of changes I have endured and the physical and mental distances that I have undergone. For the love of my mother and my family, I celebrate Christmas as a cultural practice that has a tremendous amount of meaning and importance.

Just as I have witnessed the importance of other holidays to other cultures, I am sure you can imagine the importance of gathering together once a year regardless of one’s religious convictions.

“Merry Christmas” means, “I love you”, “Have a blessed life”, “Let’s rejoice” “Let’s celebrate”, “Let’s praise God”, “Praise Jesus”, “Exchange of the materials of our hard work and ingenious invention is a blast”, “You deserve love no matter your religious or socioeconomic status and regardless of your poor choices”, and “Peace on Earth starts with each family”.

My in laws called from Pakistan just as we were sitting down for dinner and the phone went around with words of love and glee. That’s my Christmas.

My Heart Breaks

2005-12-19T21:55:00.000-05:00

My first best friend,
My protector,
My interpretor,
My number three fan,
My judge,
My confidant,
My heart breaker.

Reminder

2005-12-19T21:44:00.000-05:00

Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.
-President Thomas Jefferson

My Jail Time

2005-12-15T11:42:00.000-05:00

Aisha’s post on It’s My Life: http://aishaiqbal.blogspot.com/ has me thinking. Suicide is a very touchy subject and I know of the devastation all too well. I am glad that people like Aisha have the courage and compassion to speak up and address the issues. Like all issues, suicide stirs a lot of emotions and people like to opine their thoughts and feelings.

I just wish to convey that mental illness is very complex and affects each person differently. Worse yet, is the fact that it often hidden by the person or shielded by their loved one’s or the surrounding society.

The results of suicide are devastating. It is not enough to blame the person for not seeking help or for being a coward. It is not fair to blame the family for failure to shoulder the burden and alleviate the illness.

My father was not a coward, he was a very brave man. He fought in Vietnam and left his small town coal-mining town in search for a bigger dream. He was the first person in his family to attend college.

My father did not fail to get help. He started with a manic depression title and graduated to hallucinations. He tried many pills and therapies. They worked, too well is some cases; he felt so good he stopped. It was then, that he was so sick, that his mind convinced him of inconceivable, irrational things.

My father was not stupid. He was often dubbed a genius and became very successful despite his crippling shyness.

My mother did not cause this, tho twenty years later, she still doesn’t believe this. My mother’s own family turned their backs. She stayed awake countless nights with watchful eyes and prayers toward the heavens.

My mother gained a tremendous faith in God. My mother had to go on as the “father”, giving up her role as “mom”.

Who in their right mind would trade in their very existence??

I lost a “mom”. I lost faith in adults because NO one came forward to talk to me or my brother or my mother for that matter.

The nuns of the church avowed my question of, “so this means my dad is forever burning in hell?”, by saying, “That’s what the Bible teaches us”. The biggest loss, I lost God at the age of 10 and struggle at 30 to find his greatness.

Honeymoon?

2005-12-15T10:28:00.000-05:00

At the time of our Wedding Weekend, we had already been legally married for 13 months. So, to this day, when we are asked “how long have you been married?” I still stumble with the answer. We have decided to celebrate the anniversary of our first ceremony because it is about the day we made the commitment to one another in front of God; not the day we celebrated.

My dear hubby’s parents stayed on for a few weeks afterwards and I immediately went back to work. I was saving my vacation days for a trip to Pakistan later that year.

It was December of last year that we were blessed with a fourth wedding ceremony. (more on that later)

I joke with my hubby that we have never had a honeymoon. What about y’all, did you get a honeymoon?

The Wedding Weekend

2005-12-14T20:12:00.000-05:00

Because my husband’s sisters were unable to come (I still had not met two of them at this point), I decided against the traditional bridal party line-up. But, my best friend stood next to me as maid of honor and my hubby’s cousin was best man.

We ended up inviting 150 people to the white dress wedding reception. My husband was somewhat involved, but I did most of the planning myself. Unfortunately, my Mom had fallen ill for several months and was not able to help much.

MashAllah, the weekend was beautiful. Many of our cousins and friends flew in from all over the country and Canada. Everyone was so happy and supportive. LOL, all people on his side knew we were already married, while many guests on my side were clueless!

My hubby’s parents were obviously there, too. My FIL baked my wedding cake!!! It was a beautiful three-tiered fruit and nut cake with marzipan. My MIL crated all of the marzipan flowers and ornamentation with her two hands. Everyone was so amazed that my in-laws would do such a thing; it took days for them to cook and assemble.

The day of the Nikkah, a picture of the Imam who was supposed to marry us was plastered all over the major newspapers and news-stations (he has since been deported for anti-Semitic statements he admitted to making and other “suspicious” activity in Palestine)!

With my Pakistani family being as late as they always are, we arrived to the Nikkah like 45 minutes late. I was freaking out! My family, who is always a half hour early, was to meet us at the mosque. I was so nervous because they were nervous about going to the mosque and this Imam’s picture is all over the place with him being labeled as a terrorist and we kept them waiting!!! But, alas, we arrived and my family was there with shoes off, heads covered, and supportive smiles.

The Nikkah was beautiful. The Imam was a very soft-spoken, kind-hearted man. I cried, my hubby cried, my FIL cried, my mother cried, heck everyone was crying at the end!

The next day was the white dress wedding. We had a ceremony at sunset. The ex-priest officiator started with “Asalaam Ualekum and Peace Be With Everyone” He asked everyone to shake hands and greet one another. We had selected some traditional Christina readings, the Kahlil Gilbran reading and we ended it with a Rumi poem.

What of Marriage? From The Prophet~ By Kahlil Gilbran ~

Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

They run, and they run~ By Jalaluddin Rumi

A lover doesn't figure the odds.

He figures he came clean from God
as a gift without a reason,
so he gives without cause
or calculation or limit.

A lover gambles everything, the self,
the circle around the zero! He or she
cuts and throws it all away.

This is beyond any religion.

Lovers do not require from God any proof,
or any text, nor do they knock on a door
to make sure this is the right street.

They run, and they run.

Everyone had a great time. Both my Mother and my FIL gave speeches about how taken aback they were when my hubby and I announced our love for one another and our intention to marry, but how they see we are perfect for one another. My cousin, who is a nun, kicked off dinner with the Lord’s Prayer. The best past was seeing my in-laws dance together for the first time ever! My MIL has wanted a dance all of her life and she got it!

Planning the Wedding Weekend

2005-12-13T10:51:00.000-05:00

So his parents and my mom had given their blessings. All had agreed that they wanted us to have a “public” ceremony. My mom, of course, had a dream of her daughter wearing a white dress and getting married in a church. I obviously didn’t marry in the church, which was never much of an issue. She is a very spiritual person and attends church every Sunday, but she accepted early on that when I married my DH, that things would change. We also wanted the traditional nikkah as well.

So my hubby and I had a lot of planning to do! The wedding weekend as we call it was to take place in early spring and this was now early fall. I had six months to plan the whole ordeal because that was when his parents were able to return. And, frankly there was no reason to slow the process down with us already being married.

So we decided on the nikkah on Friday afternoon with a dinner following and the “white dress” wedding on Saturday evening with a reception following.

My hubby spoke to the Imam about the nikkah, and then we went in search to find someone to officiate the Saturday ceremony. First we went to an old Jewish woman and she was a bit too costly and surprisingly, she kept steering us in the Christian direction. Then we went to an older man who is a former priest. Of course hubby was a bit skeptical about this whole part, but went along with it because it was what my Mom so dearly wanted. Compromise.

We walked in the room to meet this ex-priest dude and we are instantly greeted with a six foot wide banner that reads “Assalamu `alayku la ilaha illa Allah”. Another banner read “Peace Be with You” and then one that read “Shalom”. We sat down and had a lengthy conversation with this man. He and his wife were teachers at a Catholic school, she a nun and he a priest. They fell in love and married. The received so much ill-will for their decision that they really began to question Catholicism. From that point on they have spent their time studying world religions from a historic standpoint.

They marvel at how many similarities there are and how many inaccurate facts have been passed down as truth in Christianity. The man still considers himself a Christian, but believes that the Prophet is the last to be sent by God and that Jesus and the Prophet will unite. He studies Aramaic and teaches this and the story of how all three religions interrelate. He and his wife were fascinating! We spent hours learning from one another.

Hotel Rwanda

2005-12-12T12:08:00.000-05:00

We watched Hotel Rwanda. What a great and informative movie. I have posted a link about the autrocities of the genocide and ways we can help.

http://www.rwandapartners.org/

Politcally Correct

2005-12-08T23:41:00.000-05:00

The other night my hubby turns to me and says, "I am a classist, racist, and a sexist."
I respond, "No you're not!"
He insists that he is.
I stare at him like who is this person sitting in front of me?
He clarifies:
I know that classes exist and to say otherwise is socially irresponsible. I know that there are varying races and resulting cultures that make us all different. America's insistence of not talking about race because of political correctness makes things worse than better. And, there are notable differences between men and women, so I am a sexist.

Back to the Wedding Story

2005-12-08T15:57:00.000-05:00

So I was running around like a mad woman trying to make our home presentable. I was so scared to meet his father and to have his parents staying in our home. I bought new clothes and a new bedspread for the bedroom, etc. Over and over I practiced saying “A salaam Uailekum”.

My dh’s cousin came with us to the airport. The two of them ran off and left me hanging. So I ended up spotting my in-laws first. We shared our greetings. We lugged the bags to the car and headed home. True to fashion, it was my dear MIL that helped the conversation to move forward.

Once in the home, we were bombarded with gifts, pictures and stories. There was not a moment for us to feel awkward. My MIL and SILs had some joras and shalwar kameez stitched for me and the in-laws insisted that I try everything on at once.

My FIL stole my heart. He is so generous, intelligent, passionate, open minded, and complimentary. He is a wonderful teacher a fearless leader, a gentleman’s man, a guiding father and a soft-hearted grand father.

Well, I can’t forget my MIL can I? My MIL is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. She is kind, intelligent, soft-spoken, open minded, and artistic. She is a dreamer, an artist, a natural environmentalist, an easy going friend and sister; she is compassionate, worldly, spiritual and the queen matriarch.

My hubby is so much both his Ammi and Abbu. He is awesome, they are awesome. I am a very lucky girl. So much, so, I often wonder how I ended up with such a lovely family.

They met with my Mom who had just recovered from a major surgery. Everyone tried their best to understand one another and accept that we were newlyweds.

I think that one of the things that made it easier, was that N’s cousin was slated to get married while the in-laws were there. Their wedding was also “rushed” if you will b/c of immigration issues. Fortunately, her parents were able to be there, but his parents were not (they have yet to meet her). My in-laws are very close to his parents and were asked to represent them at their ceremony.

So off to another state we traveled for the wedding. Once we arrived to the bride’s apartment (a lovely woman that was the first to give me a wedding gift-I love her dearly), everything became very chaotic.

Everyone was speaking urdu and there were a million people crammed in one apartment. The wedding was slated for the next day. I know they were talking about me. I was unclear as to what was said about our marriage. I was obviously introduced as the wife, but I’m still not sure about the context. My hubby was out of the picture for most of the trip.

The nikkah was beautiful. My MIL took care to explain what was going on. The reception was nice, too. My SIL and her family came in from PK the day of the ceremony. The children were exhausted. My SIL asked me to hold her baby. That was my comfort the whole night and everyone thought he was mine LOL

The next day, we were having dinner at the apartment. I walked into the kitchen to help the ladies. They started speaking English and were talking about how awful it is that these Pakistani men are dating “gori” women. I was very hurt by this especially because my SIL and the new bride were part of the conversation. I just continued to wash dishes and wished I were somwhere else.

Once dinner was served, I was invited to sit down at the table. Having been brought up with manners, I declined the offer and counter-offered it to the man who was offering because he was an elder and there was limited seating. He insisted, so I sat down thinking that this was acceptable because I was a new bride. The room went silent and everyone looked shocked. Who did this white woman think she was sitting at the table!? I think that man set me up because he stood there with a smirk on his face.

The next day we were in the car after having had another dinner where I was silent because everyone was speaking urdu and staring at me. I broke down. I couldn’t hold it in any more. How embarrassing.

Once my hubby and my in-laws returned home, things were much better. We started to plan for their return, so that we could have our ceremony.

Then Comes a Baby Carriage

2005-12-05T12:08:00.000-05:00

We moved here a few days ago. I don't even know which day it is. I have been so busy with unpacking and organizing, that I just don't know which day it is anymore. It has been six weeks since I have had to wake up to an alarm clock! It has been so long since I have had a period in my life where I did not work.

Being a SAHW is not easy! I can't even imagine doing it with kids. Good practce, though. Now that I am far away from family and friends and playing house in the new and bigger space, I am thinking more and more about babies.

My hubby freaked out when I stopped taking the b/c pills even though we had talked about it. My prescrip. had run out and we had changed insurance cos. So we discussed how it really isn't good for me to continue taking the pill. So I set up an appt. with a gyn. to discuss options.

The gyn. was a very nice Arab woman. She seemed very curious-asking a lot of peronal questions. I explained to her my concerns. Suddenly I become a "pre-conception" patient. She tells me that the best option for me is to use rhythm method and condoms and "if you get pregnant, well you are married.."

She sent me to the lab for some tests (RH, Thyroid, etc) and a prescription for prenatal vitamins. I was happy and on a high. For once in my life, I started to see myself as a woman capable of carrying child; rather than child trying to play "woman".

What I was left with: A very expensive lab bill, an unused prescription, an angry husband who didn't want to have intercourse for fear of impregnating me.

I was so upset. A friend advised me to put everything on hold, because of the move, etc. She reminded me that we need to be on the same page. She was right. I called the doctor for a birth control pill prescription.

I wasn't trying to get pregnant, I was merely trying an alternative, albeit a not as safe, method.

My inlaws are starting to lay it on THICK. Every conversation is about when we are going to start our family. Did y'all deal with this?? My SIL is even encouraging me to just stop taking the pill-which I would NEVER do.

Moving Forward

2005-12-02T10:58:00.000-05:00

The next few months were pretty bad. My hubby was quite depressed. I was so scared and unsure in so many ways. Here we were married, but no one knew, so it really did not feel like a marriage. My hubby was still unable to work, so a lot of friends and family were giving me pressure about his not working, etc.

Later that summer, my dh's parents said that they were coming to visit. They were told before they came that we were married. His sisters and all others were so upset. They had not even thought that their brother was thinking about marriage and they did not get their opportunity to "pick a wife". Once I asked my hubby if his family had someone in mind for him to marry. He said no and that they thought he was too young and they had not thought about it, yet. He also said that in some ways his marrying me was better than marrying his college girlfriend. They were againt that union because she is of a different sect (shia).

So his parents are coming!!! My dh and I take my Mom out for breakfast to tell her, too. We wold her that we had married because of legal reasons. She was crushed I'm sure, but she did not show it. She supported it and said, "no one needs to know, now when are we having our wedding?" She wanted to see her daughter in the white dress and she didn't want anyone to know that, *gasp*, we had eloped. I was shocked. I think she may have enterained the thought that we were already married. Or, in some ways, we weren't "really" married- which I guess is arguable.

Pomp and circumstance is a funny thing.

So now the 'rents are coming to visit!!! I was so nervous. My dh and I had bought a condo (yes, before he was even working LOL) We had gutted the place and we were renovating it by ourselves. If you remember the earlier post, I mentioned that his parents had already stayed there on their previous visit.

I really did not want to buy the condo while all that was going on, but my hubby really wanted it. He felt that his parents never took him seriously. He felt that if they saw that he owned his own home and that he was fixing and repairing everything himself, etc., that they would see him as a man with a wife and a home.

The floor was half done, the walls were gutted and not finished and there were boxes everywhere. I was so nervous. I orgnized our friends to come help us ready the place. We pulled an all-nighter, trying to make our home presentable.

Happy Thanksgiving

2005-11-28T10:00:00.000-05:00

Happy belated Thanksgiving. I had a wonderful week with friends and family which is what I am most thankful for. My hubby’s 15 year old niece was with us for a week. We had so much fun. I feel bad, though, because we were so busy in the final stages of our move, that she had no choice but to help out (cleaning fridge, windows, etc.) But, she is such a good girl, she never complained. My hubby’s family is so sweet and down to earth and open minded, it never ceases to amaze me.

At one point of conversation, my niece said something to the effect that her cousin (who is first generation born-American) said “those Americans were acting so crazy buying up everything.” My niece, who is also American born, was relaying a story about how funny it is to them how crazy people can act when shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

Fair enough. I imagine people who shop the day after Thanksgiving are crazy, but they are “people” not “Americans”. I pointed this out. I asked her and my hubby when they think that people start feeling like they are the Americans that they technically are. She was so embarrassed and said that it was wrong for her to say something like that because it infuriates her when people tell her that she is not an American. I explained to her that it was harmless latent racism and that I wasn’t trying to make her feel bad, but was curious as to how first generation Pakistanis truly felt.

I think, like all generation before us that settled in America, it does take a couple of generations until one truly feels they are “American” first and then their parent’s or grandparent’s homeland is the root of culture. But, with prevalent racism in America around people of color and people who practice Islam; coupled with the fact that some new communities tend to be so close knit, it is hard to for individuals to define themselves.

Another point of interesting conversation was Thanksgiving. My niece, who has grown up in America loves Thanksgiving as my hubby does as well. We had a wonderful feast with my relatives inside my Aunt and Uncle's home. As always, each person was very careful to not include pork in any of the dishes. No the turkey was not halal and yes there was an abundance of alcohol, but we all tolerated one another, loved one another and in the end said a prayer of thanks to one God. We are a family, albeit a diverse family, but we are all thankful to our God for our family, health, COUNTRY, and freedom.

When we returned, my niece was chatting away with some of her Pakistani friends from school. They, too, are either American born or studying at American schools. She asked them what they did for Thanksgiving. One girl responded, "We don't celebrate Thanksgiving, remember!" As to suggest that my niece might have forgotten that they (either Pakistanis or Muslims, I'm not quite sure of the context of "they" in this one)don't celebrate Thanksgiving. My niece laughed because like I said, my sister-in-law has raised her and her siblings in America and they have always celebrated Thanksgiving.

I would be interested in hearing what anyone who might read this dull blog might have to say on this topic.

Hideaway Marriage

2005-11-22T16:23:00.000-05:00

We decided to elope. We had not yet received blessings from his side and we were fearful of what the INS might send him back to Pakistan. At the time there was a “special” investigation for all men of a certain nationality and age as a result of a clean-sweep after 9/11.

We did not tell anyone of the elopement including my Mother and my friends. We did not want anyone to think that we married just for legal reasons. Matter of fact, my DH pretty much left the planning all to me. He kept saying that he wanted me to be sure that I wanted to go through with this. He did not want me to ever feel like he was pressuring me because of his situation.

So I scheduled a justice of peace ceremony in a small town two hours away from where we were. I scheduled it in the middle of the week and called in sick to work. The night beforehand, I bought a new dress from a department store. The dress was short and black with red flowers.

The morning of our marriage, there was a huge blizzard. All of the schools and major highways were closed. The State Highway patrol issued a warning and urged everyone to stay off the roads. We waited until three hours before we had to be there and decided to go ahead with plans. It took over three hours to get to the bed and breakfast in which we had scheduled our ceremony.

The officiator and our witnesses (the owners of the bed and breakfast) were waiting for us. We literally drove in and rushed into the ceremony. I had to wear boots with my dress because the snow was so high.

The ceremony was so intimate and beautiful. It was held in front of a fire place in a log cabin that was over 150 years old. The readings that this stranger picked were beautiful. It is a night that I will cherish forever. After the ceremony, we were served a private dinner with just the two of us and the warm fire.

The next month, my DH’s parents came to visit. They stayed in OUR new condominium while I stayed elsewhere. This time I was going to meet his parents, but I had no idea where or how the situation would transpire.

The night we were to meet, I was asked to show up at our nightly hang out which was the local coffee house. The goal was to make the situation as casual as possible. So, all of my friends were ordered to be at the coffee shop acting like this was any other night.

My DH brought his parents in as a drop in. They did not even know that I was to be there. So there I am waiting to meet my father-in-law for the first time ever and he didn’t even know it.

My DEAR, sweet hubby introduces us and then conveniently disappears by sitting at another table with our friends. So there I am sitting at a table with my mother and father-in-law who had just been ambushed. THANK God that my mother-in-law is the most awesome person in the world. She took charge and took a hold of the situation. It was so brief and awkward. I know, not quite Bollywood style, but that was it. At the end of the night, Abu said something along the lines of, “so you want to marry my son…” and gave me a laugh and smile.

I felt so bad for them. They had never dreamed that their only son was to marry this white Christian woman. Worse off, I was a couple of years older than him and an American.

So now what? How do we transition from this point into the married couple that nobody knows that we are????

The Next Few Months

2005-11-19T22:36:00.000-05:00

He fell into a deep depression. He was faced with pressure from the INS because he had now overstayed his student visa. This posed a barrier in his ability to do much of anything including working and traveling back home. He had virtually cut off all ties to his homeland and the US didn’t want him either.

I urged him to shed the shield and to spend more time teaching me his religion, culture, etc. We spent countless winter nights cooking Pakistani food, drawing out the family tree, practicing Urdu words. We would go on magic carpet rides back to his homeland as he described his childhood, his grandparents and his sisters. Everything seemed to unreal and fairytale. At times I would doubt and he would go out of his way to prove to me it was real.

I grew up in such an ordinary, mundane world, that I could not imagine his tales of friends that were models, being on TV commercials, having royalty in the family, etc. to be true. In silence, I battled with truly believing that he loved me. Me, a lowly and ordinary girl from the burbs. Of course I questioned his intentions. But, when he opened his heart and shared his love for his homeland and all those living there, I knew that our pending marriage was not in “green card” vain.

I was more worried of his depressed state. He felt so alienated and alone. He may never have his parents’ blessings. And having been here since he was 16, he was truly caught between two worlds. He left there as a Pakistani child and became an American man. At that point, he had not been home for nearly three years.

We spent hours reading Rumi and discussing the Prophet and his Message. I was teleported back in time and experienced the miracle through my hubby-to-be’s passion for Islam.

Despite all of the uncertainty, I knew one thing for sure; that he is an honest, sincere man and that he loved me.

Back to the Love Story

2005-11-17T01:41:00.000-05:00

Things were very quiet after his Mom left. Two months later, we took a road trip to visit his old college town and rescue some stuff from storage. My dh surprised me by arranging one of the most romantic evenings ever. He took me to a restaurant at a nearby small town. He arranged for private seating on the third floor. There was music set up and fresh flowers on the table. He got on his knees and proposed to me. There was no ring, but I could not have been happier. He said that he knew that the situation was not the best with his family and all, but that he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He had been at this restaurant before, as a college student, and he had said that he would propose to his wife there-and that he did!

He could not afford a ring and it was not “official”, so it was our secret to keep.

After a year of dating, his parents came for another visit. I was “on call” waiting to see if his father would meet me. Between his Mom’s visit and this one, his parents did not speak of this situation; I think that they were waiting for me to just go away. His father did not agree to meet me. They fought the whole week. Finally, he gave an ultimatum. He told them they had to accept the fact that we were together or they would lose him.

His parents left and we did not meet. I was crushed.

On Halloween, my dh gave me a ring and we made the announcement to my world. It was so hard to explain that his parents had not given us their blessings. But, he knew that it was part of my culture to provide a ring and announce the engagement.

He did not speak to his parents for the next few months.

You May Want To Go Around, It's A Long Whine

2005-11-15T15:22:00.000-05:00

dis·or·der (ds-ôrdr)
n. A lack of order or regular arrangement; confusion.
A breach of civic order or peace; a public disturbance.
An ailment that affects the function of mind or body: eating disorders and substance abuse

Each of us has a disorder or two. I am having a bad day after having seen two different doctors, today. I have cried and my heart is very heavy. I need to look upward and get past this.

Hello, my name is Baji. I have binaural hearing loss. I have had this since I was four years old. I have worn a hearing aid since then. Refusing to allow me to believe that I am disabled or crippled, my Mom helped me to create one of my biggest secrets.

I am thankful for this. I am a success story, I guess. Mom went through great lengths to help me conceal this. I never wore my hair up in fear of showing off my disorder. I remember on picture days, my Mom would send me to school with my hair up sans hearing aid and I would bumble around like a fool. She shielded me from the mean kids, although occasionally it would get out. I was beaten up by a few neighborhood boys who took a whiffle ball bat (no, not Run DMC here) to my ear repeatedly. It is still beyond me as to why humans can be so mean like that. Kids teased me, and I never had a lot of friends.

My brother was my savior. He was my hearing guide so to speak. From the age of three on, he would be my interpreter, telling my Mom and other relatives and friends what I wanted to ask for or say. I was painfully shy. When we were older, good friends like lemondaisy knew of the disorder, but did not care. I was always surrounded by other disorder lies. In high school, I started to come out of my shell. This was because my big brother let me hang out with his friends. This is probably the reason that I have always had so many male friends.

My Mom, bless her, used to make me practice my speech. She would stand in one room and say words and I had to repeat them without seeing her. I have a great knack of reading lips and facial/emotional expressions. This is one of many reasons I chose social work as a profession.

I cannot complain. I am proud to say that I have gone through college, including grad school, without any special assistance. I would wager to say that most of my friends and professors really had no idea of my disorder.

But, the aging faucet has started to drip. It is inevitable. The prognosis is that my hearing is worsening. I have been avoiding this for far too long. I know that I have to have a second aid to assist my right ear. I have found order in my chaos, and this knew prognosis throws a wrench in it all. For some reason, I have convinced myself that I with two aids, then I am surely disabled.

The odds of someone noticing an aid is doubled. I can no longer use a telephone like a normal person. I can no longer lay my head on my honey’s lap while watching a movie. I can no longer avoid the awful beeping feedback of when someone hugs me by automatically guiding the hug to my right side. I can no longer take in “natural” sounds unaided by technology.

But you see in my magic trick, I have also created quite a scene. I am the fool in my own movie. My denial has kept me from my full potential. My denial causes great embarrassment for myself and my love ones. My denial causes me to be quiet or defensive. I have noticed my friends’ and loved ones concern. I am holding myself back by not hearing to my full potential.

I am scared that I will become more disordered. I am grasping at straws. What if it gets worse? My husband has been such a great supporter and source of strength, but what if the disorder becomes a disability. What if it embarrasses him? What if he leaves me? What if my children are affected by this? What if they are embarrassed?

What if I become stronger with overcoming this? What if I become a source of inspiration for someone someday? What if my faith is being tested and is enhanced.

How dare I quip about something so minute when there are people with much more serious ailments? I think I should stop the tears and count my blessings that I have so little to worry about and that I am able to afford hearing aids and that I am blessed to have the opportunity to serve others.

The Beginning II

2005-11-15T01:15:00.000-05:00

For the next seven months or so, N and I were dating and his parents were unaware. N lived with his cousin at the time. His family started to get suspicious as he was spending more and more time with me and they were having a hard time reaching him. I found out recently that his cousin caught a lot of flack for covering for us. Apparently one of my dh’s sisters blamed his cousin for allowing N to be with a gori. Because his cousin was much older, he was considered an older brother and was expected to shield him from evil such as my kind.

N’s parents came to visit and I was not a topic of conversation. My Mom did not understand this and started to become quite scared. She told me I should end everything before I got in too deep and became hurt. She told me that it would never work. For the first time in my life, I disrespected my mother and screamed, “This is the man I am going to marry.” I left the house and we did not speak for a few days. She called later and from that point on she understood I meant business.

N’s mom came by herself to visit. My DH decided that it would be best for me to meet her first. He knew that the only saving grace was for his mother to give some mark of approval in order to get his dad or sisters on board. Which by the way, he is the youngest with three elder sisters.

I was so nervous to meet his mother. We went shopping for the perfect outfit. We discussed the plan for the meeting, etiquette, what not to discuss, etc. I could not sleep for days. And, of course I really was unable to communicate with him while his mom was visiting.

So we decided I would come for dinner. I offered to bring desert. One thing you must know about me, is that I did not cook until recently. So I decided on the easy American way, which was to pick something up at the bakery.

I entered the apartment and N’s cousin was gone. I quietly sat on the couch for what seemed an eternity. N was in the back room with his mother (mind you, I still had not seen her). I had no idea of the gravity of the situation!

Finally my future MIL entered the room as graceful as a queen. Rule number one broken: I just sat there saying “hello”. She just stood there dumbfounded. I was so stupid and disrespectful for not standing! I was so confused and stupid.

We had a great meal. My MIL has wonderful table manners and kept the conversation going. Rule number two broken: do not attempt to impress by leaving the fork aside to use roti to break the kofta while nervous, because it will land on your lovely skirt (btw, the skirt was N’s idea, not mine - long skirt that is).

After dinner I presented my oh-so-impressive dessert-strawberries and cool whip on stale angel cake. How embarrassing that I could not even cut the strawberries properly.

Rule number three broken: The first time you drop an Urdu phrase into conversation, it should not be your knowledge of the origins of the word pajama (pai jama). This leads to an embarrassingly long silence as your future MIL ponders as to how the conversation of pajamas came up between her son and this freakish, sloppy, unsophisticated gori that is being presented to her.

I was so embarrassed that I promptly exited at the first chance I could. I left so abruptly with another rude gesture of a goodbye that you would give to the mailman that you see each day.

That night I pondered my gaffs and beat myself up repeatedly. I drove to the 24 hour drugstore and bought the most beautiful thank you card I could find. I had a magnificent letter drafted in my head. What I penned was more along the lines of “I’m so sorry to have been so rude and rushed off…. I assure you that I was nervous as hell because I do love your son who is the most awesome man on the planet, which I am sure you are aware of or you would never have agreed to meet me….blah.blah.

She read the card and I was invited t come back over for tea the next evening. You better believe that I jumped out of my seat when my future MIL entered the room that time. She told the most fascinating stories and I listened in awe for hours.

N’s cousin was shocked as hell when he returned from his weekend away (aka, I better get the hell outta here) to find me there having tea.

More of this later…

The Beginning

2005-11-13T22:49:00.000-05:00

I was born in white suburbia, "Wonder Bread Country". My childhood was that of a middle class blue collar family. We had our issues with alcoholism and mental illness, which definitely helped shape the person I am now.

I would spend my summers riding my bike to the local pool proudly baking in the sun. By the end of the summer, my bronze skin could win me a prize at a coppertone commercial try-out. In the evenings, the kids would play hide and seek; running through the safe suburban blocks. Eventually, the boys began to discover that they did indeed like girls and we were flattered and at their mercy.

The girls would get together and play house with dolls and barbies. I was a kid of the eighties and the names I chose were of popular teen sitcom characters. I liked Sam and Jo for the girls and Corey for the boys. Sometimes I would select a boy's name to depict my crush of the month. I would pretend to be Chinese or Indian, because I thought that those women were so colorful, graceful and beautiful. I would wrap a pretty sheet as a kimono or put a red dot on my forehead as a symbol of marriage.

I started dating boys in middle school and my mom was okay with that. She recently told me that was her way of spoiling me. She felt guilty that my father was dead and she wanted me to be happy and to get married off. But, for some reason, I never imagined that I would marry my highschool or college boyfriend. I had bigger ambitions, and I was not going to marry out of highschool and have two point five children living in the Wonder Bread box.

I went on to college. The first college I went to was an urban business school and for the first time ever, I was a minority. The experience was both scary and exciting. After my freshman year, I transferred to a state school. For the first time in my life, I was exposed to different cultures. I was very intigued and sought out new culturally-based experiences. During my junior year, I was one of ten people selected to go on a "non-denominatinal" ministry trip to Puerto Rico. This was my first experience out of the country. I loved it! I had a roomate from Japan during my senior year and the year following.

After grad school, I was visiting my best friend (since highschool). Her neighbor was over. He sat very quietly in the corner. I really did not pay any attention to him that night. I thought he was a little odd because he was so quiet. She said he was from Pakistan. I honeslty didn't know mush about that country and just overlooked the whole evening. But then, each time I was there visiting, so was N. He began to talk more and I was fascinated by his intelligence, charm and of course the accent!

The three of us rushed to one another the day of September 11, 2001. We sat in my friend's apartment glued to the t.v. We were shocked. We discussed the tragedy and politics and human emotions for hours upon hours. We were suppoting N as he waited for a phone call. His parents had flown into Washington DC that day and he still had not heard from them.

The next day, I called him to offer support and see how he was doing. That was the first time that we had interacted outside of my friend's apartment. He began calling me every day. For most people, Septemeber 11 is only a day of national tragedy., For me, it was the day I began to fall in love with my husband and to see a whole new world. Our relationship was pretty much secret for a few months.

I decided that I would introduce him to my Mom as a friend first. I didn't want any of the biases to exist prior to meeting him. The day after she met him, she said "I love that one friend of yours...." She fell for him, too. He reminded her of her highschool sweetheart.

My mom is first generation Italian, so she fell for his dark eyes and hair and olive skin. His "old world" charm was reminiscent of my Mom's past. As she and all of her peers had pareants that were "Fresh of the Boat" (FOBs) or "With Out Papers" (WOPs). My mom and my brother knew that we were dating, but his family did not.

More of the story...

June Day

2005-11-11T11:07:00.000-05:00

I sit here "indian style" on the floor of what used to be my newlywed room. I called it the June Room because the color of paint is called June Day. It is Spring green on the cusp of Summer. It is very bright and anyone who knew me pre N, would have never guessed this color or this life that I have chosen.

The color, just as the purchase of this condo, just as the elopement to my husband were all very risky propositions. In the end, my MIL eneded up having my Nikkah jora stitched with the same "June Day" color. It is vibrant like my MIL. She had an old Urdu word that was used to describe the color of rice stalks before they mature. N doesn't even know the word, I'll have to ask my MIL again, because it is special to me. This green has since then become my favorite color and will always remind me of our humble, but daring beginnings.

Last night, after the last item had been loaded on the truck, N and I sat quitely observing the walls of the home we had together created. He exclaimed, "Baba, look at how far we have come." I cried. Lately, we have been passing ships in the night and it has been more like old married couple bickering to make this move happen then friends on a journey. He then went on talking about how this move was going to remind us of why we chose one another and bring us closer together. He said that he was excited about the journey and the new beginnings. We talked about the next three to four years and Inshallah, having children.

I told him that I wasn't feeling well physically and emotionally and despite his exhaustion, he said he would make dinner. He made Keema Pollack with dal and chaval. I was in heaven! This is the ultimate comfort food. It is without a doubt, my number one favorite. Who would have ever thought? So that reminded me of the question posed about how much of my dh's culture, religion, etc. have I incorporated in my life.

I love that topic. I think I could write for hours, but I won't bore you. I will put some thought into that and post in the next day or two. Off to pick up my babies (billys) from grandma's .

Going Postal

2005-11-08T16:21:00.000-05:00

Aisha from It’s My Life posted a very lovely story about one man’s (her father) quest to promote the USPS Eid Stamp. This story reminded me of an experience that I had, so I thought that I would share.

A year ago, I was at a post office near my work. This post office is an urban office in a very poor neighborhood. The woman ahead of me was at the counter. She points to a poster which has pictures of Hanukah, Christmas and Eid stamps and a caption something along the line of “Express your self this holiday season.” The woman asks the clerk, “Do you know what this says?” pointing at the Eid stamp. He replies saying that he does not.

She “informs” him that the stamp says “Americans are Pigs” in Arabic. The clerk ignores her and proceeds with the task at hand. She becomes very angry, raises her voice and demands that he take the poster down and remove the Eid stamps from the office. The clerk asks her to watch her tone. She becomes belligerent screaming racial profanities left and right. The clerk becomes visibly angry, throws her mail back at her and tells her to leave or he would call the police and reminds her that her threats are a federal offense.

The whole post office staff and customers come to a standstill. The woman exits. My heart is pounding. What do I do? In a blind rage I run outside after her. I tell myself that when I reach her, I will set an example by educating her and showing her that not all Muslims hate Americans, etc.

Once outside, I see that she has created a soap box of sorts and she already has a crowd of people around her. She is yelling and screaming and telling everyone to protest the post office and that she read something on the internet that says that the stamp says that “Americans are Pigs” as well as the date in which the terrorists took the Twin Towers.

I cut through the people go up to her and tell her she is absolutely wrong and that the message is of one of God and peace. She exclaims, “You’re wrong, those Arabs don’t believe in God.” I lost it. I screamed, “Don’t you dare tell me what I believe in! You are the one terrorizing and spreading hatred.” Then I marched off.

Of course I am not Arabic, but for the first time, I inadvertly claimed to be a Muslim.

Eid Mubarak

2005-11-06T12:35:00.000-05:00

Eid Mubarak (Belated). N had planned to come into town for Eid. We had said that we would host a small gathering at our place to celebrate with friends. My friend, and former co-worker, made the offer to host it at his house. He knew that we are so busy and we would have to move out all of our packed boxes, etc. in order to host. This was such a kind gesture and I am so grateful.

N and I made Chicken Biryani and Bhindyi. I wore a new purple jora that Appa had given me. My man looked so handsome in Shalwar Kameez. My friend is a doctor, so his guests were mostly doctors of Pakistani and Indian descent. We ate, ate, and ate some more. It was a great time and a blessing to not have to host the party at our condo.

At times it is still a struggle to cross barriers. One woman in particular was very hard to crack. I tried to make small conversation and I complimented her several times. Each time she responded in a very matter-of-fact way and she appeared “high and mighty.”

Me: Oh this is lovely, did you make it?
She: Yes.
Me: Oh, it tastes very good, what do you call this dish?
She: Potatoes and Peas
Me: (Knowing that is some type korma, but not sure exactly) Yes, it is very good, but what do you call the dish?
She: Potatoes and peas.

Now, throughout the night I made every humble attempt to use Urdu/ Hindi words and was blending in, I thought, quite nicely as I greeted everyone properly and prepared desi food, etc. But, every attempt I made with this particular woman was met with failure. I’m not sure if she was being mean and trying to make a point; seeing as the very first question out of her mouth to my husband was “where did you meet your wife?” Or did she make the assumption that I was completely ignorant and culturally insensitive despite my appearance and mannerisms?

Me: Oh your bangles are so beautiful, my MIL and SILs have bought me several sets. Um, um I forget the word, what do you call them?
She: Bangles.
Me: Yes, bangles.

And it’s not as if she could not speak the language, because she and he friends would speak it to dear hubby.

Chaalo

2005-11-02T11:17:00.000-05:00

Last week N and I drove one of our cars and some of our belongings to our new home. In true Pakistani style, we did not depart until 3 pm which meant arriving at 4 am. You know what, I really can’t complain, because I think night-time driving just might be the way to go. On the way I got a call from a prospective employer and an interview was arranged for the following day at 10 am. Nothing like a three hour nap before an interview!

On the way to the interview, the cabby was saying all kinds of bad things about the agency and trying to dissuade me from going there. He was saying how bad the conditions were for the clients and how dirty the place was, etc. I was a bit skeptical going in. Once inside, I was surprised to see how clean and well organized everything seemed. Everyone from low level to high level staff to clients seemed to get along with one another. The overall energy felt very positive. I think the interview went well. The job will be interesting and aligned with my previous experiences, but definitely more low- key and stable. If offered, I think I will take it (I need something a little slower for right now).

So we got the keys to the new place. It is awesome. I have space to store kitchen gadgets plus a washer and dryer. Wahooo! The new place also has a second bathroom off the guest room which will be awesome for our long-term guests like my in-laws and my Mom.

I was pretty sad about leaving my family and friends, but I am accepting it now and putting on my brave face. Life with N is a blessed one and we will, Inshallah, be traveling many places and experiencing many wonderful things.

Chaalo

Let’s Go

Marked separation from sense of place,
and familiarity of one’s tribal space

Clear allegiance in our pledge to be dear wife,
a sense of knowing in their strife

Of boys of young who left homeland for a piece of the pie,
and grapple between their mother’s cries and opportunistic skies

A Name Does Not Tell the Whole Story

2005-10-31T23:00:00.000-05:00

During our Shadi, Ammi was introducing me to a woman who was a friend of the family. The woman asked Ammi, “What is her name? (In English as if I wasn’t standing right there.)” Ammi replies with my name and the woman says. “Well then she is not a muslim.” How rude! I was more offended for my MIL and hurt that I was being judged this way after all of the compromises I had made. Who was she to say what my beliefs were?

I have not taken a muslim name yet. N and family have been extremely supportive of this. I am still on my path to conversion and they are very respectful and supportive of my choices. N and I have been married for over two years and they have not pushed me in any way. When I take another name, I will seek their guidance.

I cannot lie and say that the thought of being called another name doesn’t bother me. My name as everybody else’s means a lot to me. My parents gave me this name after careful consideration. I am named after my grandmother and her name is found in the bible as a person close to Moses. The spelling of my name is unique and has a lot of meaning to my mother. I will take a second name as a proclamation of my faith; but, I will expect to known by both names, so not to forget who I am, where I came from nor to disrespect my parents and grandparents.

Arghhhh!

2005-10-26T13:54:00.000-04:00

I do love him, I do...

Me: "Hon what time is your appt. tomorrow?"
DH: "10:30"
Me: "So we need to be up by 9:30"
DH: "No we should get up by 8:30 or 9"

I ignore this because we have been through this routine a million times. And at 9:30, I get up and shower and proceed...

Me: "Hon" (as I am lovingly scratching his back so not to upset) "Sweetie it is quarter to 10"
Me: Repeat earlier step. "Hon it is 10"
Me: Again.
Me: "Do you want me to leave you be?"
DH: "Yes"
Me: "So you are not going to your appt.?"
DH: "That wasn't the question"
Me: "But if I leave you alone, you will fall asleep, miss your appt. and it will be my fault.
DH: "That is true"
Me: In the nicest way possible b/c of fasting "I can't believe you just sleep through your appts."
DH: Sleep and silent treatment for an hour
Me : An hour later "Baba, please don't get upset, let's get up"
DH: "you called me useless"
Me: What? "I said you sleep through appts. I did not call you useless"

MEN! If this is a man, what will children be like?

I love him, I do, he is just so spoiled sometimes :-)

The Need to Blog

2005-10-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

We live in a community that does not have many desis and my hubby does not have any family here. I started blogging in hopes that I would be able to connect with other gori wives married to Pakistani men.

What I have found is way beyond expectations, which causes mixed emotions.

First, there are lots and lots of people just like me. This is great in terms of support which was my original need. I love to read about everyone else's issue which ring so true to me. I love the support and comarade of sister-hood. There is also a certain element of sadness in knowing that I am not so unique after all.

But, this is ood for me to witness, because at the end of the day the marrirage is a marriage and a family is a family no matter where you come from. The two risk-takers in love who risked so much and hurdled so many barriers are now Mr. and Mrs. as any other Mr. and Mrs.

Secondly, there is also an aspect of blogging being like a popularity contest (probably self-induced) I see that there are so many cool people out there. I laugh at their jokes, I "peer" into their homes, I visualize their children, etc. I feel that I can relate to them and in turn want them to know me.

I was always vey shy as a child and still, I a bit of a introvert. I have failed miserably so many times in trying to make new friends in school, at parties, etc. I do not feel this as much because I have a stable group of friends. Blogging has stirred up some of these emotions as I try to get my foot in doors and forge relationships or whatever it is that we do on blogs. I am not sure what it is, but I know that I desire to relate to y'all, so will you be my friend?

Thirdly, blogging is dangerously addictive.

Next Time, I Will Have Heat

2005-10-24T13:38:00.000-04:00

I no longer work. Friday was my last day. It was bittersweet to say the least. The morning was great. I spent time with my staff and they were so sweet. They gave me a framed picture of all of us and a beautiful card. The sentiments in the card were so sweet and real. I cried. They cried. We all cried. We are really a dysfunctional family that serves some of the most hated, unwanted people; the homeless.

Later we went to the main office for my “surprise” cake and ice cream, which I knew about. I made the decision to break my fast for this. I know this is wrong, but I am weak, I guess more than anything, I just wanted to be in good spirits on my last day. While I have gotten more familiar with the patterns of fasting, I am still “out of it” and distant. I felt so bad all week for feeling so tired and weak and tried to overcome this so that no one would know. Especially this week, were I was supposed to be more relaxed and enjoying the farewell and when my staff were seeking so much of my attention.

I do realize the point is missed, though. Submitting, or having Islam, should be greater than any day-to-day activity such as my going away party or my Mom’s retirement party, etc It is very difficult to be so strong, when you don’t have anyone around to share this with. My friends have been very supportive. But, I do still project some of my own uneasiness because it is all so new and unfamiliar.

I know that my intentions are what matters. I also get scared because I do not want to subscribe to fear. I don’t think any religion should be based on fear. I felt that my upbringing was a bit like that.

I have enjoyed fasting. I am grateful for the opportunity to do what is asked of God. I feel good. I like sharing the act with my hubby and his family. I appreciate the opportunity to devote this time and to share my intentions and educate my friends and family. I enjoy my daily readings about Prophet’s life. Ramadan Mubarak!

I cried last night because of my boss (ex as of Friday). He hurt me so bad and so many people make excuses for him- I will not! As mentioned earlier, I went to that office for cake. He was there. He was enthralled by the woman of the hour. She took over the conversation as usual and dominated the party with stories of her recent labor and delivery. She passed her baby around and in turned into a baby shower of sorts. I sat in a corner not saying much. Finally, I got up to leave. I went to say goodbye to my boss and he was gone. He had left and never even said goodbye!

What kind of person am I? I must be so stupid. Why else would I take a pay cut to work as a program director to be treated this way? Why would I tirelessly work for the past two years to help people out with no heat, no drinking water, etc. to be treated with so much disrespect. I wasn’t even authorized to by a fridge so that my poor staff could pack their lunches and we accepted it because the organization was poor. We had NO HEAT for years! I was acting director, supervisor, hr, fundraiser, organizer, case manager, marketing director, secretary, etc. for what???? To not even get a “goodbye”, “good luck”, or even thank you! I have a master’s degree and many years of experience. I have brought in so many grants, staff, and resources. I have turned everything around-thank you very much! There I feel better. I still feel so stupid.

Man, how did you get her?

2005-10-18T00:15:00.000-04:00

14-12-04

We went back to the market today. We saw lots and lots of cupra, chappals, and jewies. Another uni approached Appa and was dressed as a woman. He kept calling her “Mona Lisa,” and saying, “Mona Lisa, don’t break my heart!”

When we returned, our suitcase had arrived. We wrapped all the gifts and gave them to the children. They were so excited about the barbies and remote control air planes. We all sat out on the patio and the sky was so blue and the weather so perfect. The overall atmosphere and sense of family was tremendous.

One observation that sticks out is last night’s meeting with N’s childhood friend. N was asking his friend how he had come to be married with his wife. Because the way marriages are traditionally arranged, or at least involve the family input, the question became, “How did you get her?” His friend’s reply was, “She is a good friend of my sister.” There was nothing wrong with this response. It was just strange to hear about this girl as if she wasn’t sitting right there and as if the marriage were a business transaction.

And, this morning the birds were chirping so loudly, N and I commented that we don’t normally hear such loud birds back home. Then I realized how strange it is to have such an abundance of birds in such a major metropolitan area (Karachi). The difference could be that American neighborhoods has employed methods of major clear-cutting and in Karachi, the city was built up around the nature, so some of the trees are very, very old and the birds are still plentiful? Who knows.

Worker Bee

2005-10-17T23:39:00.000-04:00

N and I are planning our move. There are so many emotions that accompany this move. The move is a result of his office closing here and his job has been moved to the headquarter office.

I have never lived out of state and all of my family and friends are here. I am very excited about the new life and the new experience with my best friend. I am also nervous, too.

Friday is my last day at work. I am glad for an "out", because it is time, though I cherish my experience. As a program director, I learned so much. I learned about the issues of homelessness and maintaining grants as well as supervsing; all of which were very challenging. I enjoyed being "queen" so to speak. And my hard work really turned a dying program around. I have made life-lasting frienships and have helped so many people in their time of transition from homelessness.

So now what? I have submitted a few resumes and have been called for two interviews. I turned one job down. Another job, which I thought I had just turned me down. I am beating myself up. I am also secretly grateful, becuase this means I can stay here until after Thanksgiving. And for once I don't have to be the responsible one. For once, I can relax and see what comes our way.

I do not want another low-pay, 50 hour a week stress job. I want to have more time for my hubby, to cook, to clean, to read, to exercise, to study urdu (to nest so-to-speak). I will work, but I won't make it my priority. This shall be an interesting concept for me to master seeing as all I have ever known is my career.

A Fairytale?

2005-10-16T18:48:00.000-04:00

The other night, N and I had a couple over for dinner. They are new friends. The wife is from this area and the husband is from Albania. The dinner was very nice and the conversation lively.

The husband, I’ll call him Tim, was so enthusiastic, it was inspiring. Tim told us how he grew up in communist Albania and how it was very strict with very little freedoms. Tim’s family is Muslim, but he did not know this since no one had the freedom to discuss their religious affiliation. Tim talked about how his parents used to tell him stories and parables about the Prophet and the Koran, but without naming the Prophet or citing a religion. So the stories he learned were like fables and fairytales.

Now, Tim has fled that oppressive life and come to America. He is so happy to be here; almost like a kid at an amusement park. Throughout the dinner, Tim was on the edge of his seat asking N questions about Islam. He is trying to discern what he knows and what he doesn’t and put all the pieces of the puzzle together.Tim is so in love with his new found religion that at one point he jumped out of his seat and proclaimed “I love my religion!” Wow. I was so amazed to see this behavior.

I wonder if I will ever allow myself to feel that level of enthusiasim.

I just took N to the airport. We had such a wonderful week. He'll be back Friday to help in my last day of work celebration. This past weekend was Mom's retirement celebration. The whole fam. is going through changes.