Three Beautiful Things Thursday

One. I've decided its time to get serious about my sweet-tooth. This isn't the first time I've decided this- but the first time with a ten-month-old watching me eat a bowl of ice-cream [and not one of the three ingredient variety, more of the high-fructose corn-syrup type]. So the next two weeks? sugar-free. Simple sugar- white rice, bread, and pasta-free and let me tell you its not going to be easy.  Still, I felt motivated this morning as I woke up- I can do this, I told myself. A slice of whole wheat toast and a cup of tea to start the day. Waleed on my hip, I headed downstairs, and saw this:

Are you kidding me? Emptying out the pantry the other day I found a box of brownies days from expiring so promptly baked them. [Can't let perfectly good brownies go to waste can we?] I asked K to take it to work because leaving the whole tray at home would be like putting an alligator in a room filled with koala bears and telling him not to take a bite. It's hard. I appreciate his gesture to leave me one since he's aware of my adoration of all things chocolaty- but of all the days. I've heard life keeps presenting you the same test until you pass it. Seeing the brownie on the breakfast table I thought: I could eat it and start tomorrow. And someone might bake cookies Saturday. Or cake Sunday. There will always be a test. May as well go about trying to pass it now. And while this doesn't mean I won't ever eat sweets again, good food is the spice of life, today, I abstained. Will I ultimately succeed? Don't know. Fighting an addiction, even one of the legal sort, is never easy. But I did today. And that's something.

Two. I didn't focus on the brownie too long as I plopped Waleed in the car and headed to my local Asian store to do some shopping with a mom's group. Sunny raved about her MOMs club and though she lives on the other end of the country, I learned there was an equally cool local chapter here with kids Waleed's age and down-to-earth engaging mamas. So I was excited to put the pedal to the metal and shop and have the kiddos play after. Except, I went to the wrong one. Apparently my 'local asian market' is a national multibillion dollar franchise with seven locations in a ten mile radius from me. Now I know. Waleed had a blast looking at cactus and other things I did not know were edible. As I put away my groceries I was struck by the visual before me. Soy sauce next to Marinara next to Wasabi next to Spanish chilies and daal and Thai Red Curry paste and I thought to myself how lucky I am to live here in a multicultural society. To have the world's palate within arm's reach. It's a privilege not everyone has. And the thought of a life lived without sushi? Hush now. So much beautiful about living in the United States, and my pantry and all it represents? One of the most beautiful things of all.

Three. As much as I love being a mother, wouldn't trade it for a million brownies, some days are just hard. Today was one of those days. Waleed alternated between crying for reasons that eluded me despite peek-a-boo, mashed bananas [flung in my face], sippy-cups [flung in my face], and the emptying of my entire filing cabinet filled with five-years worth of carefully saved documents. When working, there were days I stared at the clock- waiting for quitting time. It rarely happens now but today I found myself staring at the clock- waiting for shift-sharing, when K would come home and help. As the evening neared Waleed, clutching a stuffed yellow bird K got me years ago as a very random-long-story gift, crawled up to me and banged on my arm. Yes, ducky, I said.

Ducky.

I just about shot up from the couch. What did you say?

Du-uh-ucky, he grinned a toothless smile. Du-du- duck-ee. 

While it seems to have been a 'one-show' performance and while upon closer examination I realized said duck is not a duck but a chick- he said ducky and in that instant gave me a glimpse of the child he will be, the person he might become. And just like that this otherwise difficult day goes down as one of the best of my life. [I guess now 'ducky' along with my sandals will be on the short-list of things I won't be donating- ever.]

So in sum: uneaten brownies, playdates to come, international cuisine, and duckie- best. Thursday. ever. Hope you had a great day too.

The 'do as I say not as I do' parental integrity dilemma

The other day K and I had a passionate discussion over dinner. I don't want Waleed to have to deal with weight issues, said K. I nodded in agreement, healthy food, organic when possible. You have to stick to what you believe, I said as I picked up my Five Guys burger and looked up to catch my son licking his lips as he watched me take a bite.

I want my son to be happy and to live a life of meaning and integrity. I thought I lived my life with integrity- my actions in line with my beliefs- but now that I have a son watching my every move, I realize this isn't always the case, the contradictions beginning to surface like fine fractures along a sidewalk- not a problem at the moment but give it a few years and you just might trip and fall on the cracks of shifting stone.

It's not just food. [This isn't a knock on kids who watch TV but] I want him to avoid screen time for as long as possible. Granted, now that BRAVO TV got cut off Waleed entered our life TV viewing has dropped as its relegated to his sleeping hours but we still watch it. And enjoy it. Mad Men. The Wire. Breaking Bad. K and I frequently discuss pulling the plug since the aforementioned shows are viewed via Netflix and the actual harm I find in TV is in the mindless channel surfing that can render you a couch potato and a passive participant in life. Yet each time we call to do the deed DirectTV offers more discounts, offers, and then K hesitates, well I do enjoy my sports and the decision is postponed for another few months.

Right now none of this is really an issue  I can easily eat a brownie while handing him diced apples, eat a greasy burger while feeding him organic pizza and home-made french fries. But its all temporary- soon he's going to catch on- and chuck that home-made fry in my face.

Parenting with integrity requires constant self-examination, self-restraint and self-discipline. And none of this is easy. I love sweets. I would eat sweets for breakfast-lunch-dinner if it were socially acceptable- and this struggle to eat better is not a new one it just feels more urgent because I'm his role model. If he sees me ingesting a mountain of ice cream rivaling K-2- chances are he'll want to do the same once he can.

Little by little we're making changes. K and I have given up soda [which if you know K, is huge]. We watch 80% less TV. And- I am getting serious about curbing my sweet-tooth. I know I won't always succeed in parenting with full integrity- but I want to be able to look back and say I gave it everything I had to do so. [And if you see me eating a brownie? feel free to smack me!]

Can you relate? What challenges of 'do as I say not as I do' do you struggle with when it comes to parenting? [And- just throwing it out there- anyone successfully curb their not-great eating habits? This sugar addict aficionado would love tips!]

The father-son song dilemma

Me: Why are you on youtube?
K: Trying to find a good father-son song.
Me: There's Cat's in the Cradle.
K: I said, a good father-son song.
Me: That's a GREAT song!
K: I meant, a song I could sing to my son without worrying he may hate me at some point in the distant future.
Me: Oh. Any luck?
K: Nope.

So I asked DJ Googly and it seems that K is right:

Father-Daughter Songs

As long as one and one is two there could never be a father who loved his daughter more than I love you. [Father and Daughter]

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May. I guess you'd say. What can make me feel this way? My girl. [My Girl]

In my daughter's eyes darkness turns to light and the world is at peace I find reason to believe, in my daughter's eyes. [In My Daughter's Eyes]

I thank God for butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer sticking little white flowers all up in her hair. [Butterfly Kisses]

Father-Son Songs

I got no love from my daddy cause the coward wasn't there. He passed away and I didn't cry, cause my anger wouldn't let me feel for a stranger They say I'm wrong and I'm heartless, but all along I was lookin for a father he was gone. [Dear Mama]

How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again. From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen. I know that I have to go away. [Father & Son]

Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he lay his hat was his home. All he left us was alone. [Papa Was a Rolling Stone]

My son turned ten just the other day. He said "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on lets play, can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today, I got a lot to do" [Cat's in the Cradle]

It appears musicians love their little girls. And hate their fathers. An interesting conundrum since K loves singing to his son, and Waleed, if the brightness of his smile is any indication, thinks his father's voice has no equal [granted, Waleed's experience is limited]. So until we find a positive father-son song, or a singer who likes his dad pens a song, we'll be adapting.

As long as one and one are two. . .

.

Are we missing something? Heard any non-therapy inducing father-son songs lately?

Three Beautiful Things Thursday

One. Spring-cleaning is in full swing and I spent the week collecting items to donate the rule being if I hadn't used it, worn it, or thought of it in two years- it goes but- am I the only one who gets emotionally attached to things? Like my white heels. The ones I wore on my drive up from Florida to Michigan with my brand new husband. The ones that blistered my feet and hobbled my steps as we made an impromptu stop to wander a field of gardens. The ones K insisted I remove, giving me his flip-flops instead. The ones I held in my hand as we continued exploring the garden arm-in-arm on that hot July afternoon. I'd only known him a year. Only seen him a handful of times. And yet in that moment as he gave me his sandals without hesitation, I knew he would make me happy. And though I'd never wear them again [my GOD they HURT] every time I see them in the corner of my closet I remember that day. And though it breaks my rule to keep them- and I remind myself they are just a thing, and how long am I going to hold on to them?  I can't seem to let them go. On the plus side, to compensate I donated at least twice the things I normally did, some sadly never worn at all. My shoes, I'll give them away some day, just not yet.

Two. In keeping with spring we sprung for grass for our backyard which remained grass-less for years due to shady trees that we only just chopped down to let in sunlight and tilled to begin laying down sod. K waters the sod in progress but was running late today so called to ask me to do it while it was still light out. I cringed- not because I am watering-averse, but because of the mint. One of my 101 in 1001 was to grow mint. I kill plants. All shapes, and sizes, but mint are a hardy sprig so I felt confident this time would be different. My father in a show of support gave me a lovely pot of leaves already abundant and minty. Water it, bring it in when the weather is extreme, and you're guaranteed not to destroy it, he said. [As a parent I now understand his desire to believe in me, however misplaced]. I did water it, brought it in at the first hint of thunder for about a week and then promptly forgot all about it until January when a snowstorm pummeled my southern city and I looked outside to see a four foot high snowy lump- my mint. Once the snow melted I felt my heart sink when all I saw were black spindles. I hadn't stepped into my backyard until today. I perched Waleed on my hip as I sprayed the grass and kept my eyes averted from the location of the sad little black pot. Trash goes out tomorrow, I thought. Maybe I should just chuck it so I don't have to look at it every time I step out. So I turned to pick it up and chuck it in the trash and saw this:

Save plucking it from the roots and feeding it to a Koala bear I essentially followed a step-by-step for how to kill mint guide. I asked K you didn't go and buy new mint to make me feel better? To which he replied, what mint? We have mint? Caught up in driving, texting, interneting, TV viewing, you can gain a lot- but miss out on small miracles like this that can go entirely unnoticed if you don't stop to look. Whether on the cliffs of the Napali coast or my suburban backyard its impossible to be outdoors and not feel the presence of Greatness. I thought I killed this plant. But it was never up to me.

Three. For the past two weeks I've been getting headaches. All the time. I upped water, decreased caffeine, took medicine. Nothing worked. Concerned, K urged me to see a doctor. I pushed away my own anxiety until I found myself in the waiting room looking at my son clutching his stuffed stork and saw K's number flash on my phone- and suddenly I felt my throat constrict as I realized not for the first time how fragile life truly is and how as much as we seek to control it, like the mint, its just not up to us. Sometimes I think we create calendars, and lists and pack our schedules to hold fast to the belief there will be a tomorrow, a next week, a meeting, a trip. But in those moments before I met the doctor I felt myself stripped of all the exterior ways we push away our mortality, remembering that life moves very quickly, rushing us from heaven to hell in a matter of seconds. As it turns out my doctor thinks its a tension headache and referred me for a massage. And while its beautiful to get an insurance covered massage the moments in the waiting room are not easily forgotten because for so many people just like me, the diagnosis is nothing so simple. You can watch the news and see the stories so painful and tragic you can't put it into words, and you can remind yourself how fortunate you are and how you shouldn't let the little things stress you out, but it isn't until you're yanked by the collar and pressed to face the reality that life can turn in an instant, that you really get it. We've planted half our sod- the other half this weekend. We will water it every other day for a year. We will lawn mow it weekly. And I hope to God I will see my son run barefoot through it. But right now? I'm going to focus on laying down the grass one square at a time as dogwood petals fall like pink snow to the earth and enjoy this moment here and now because while lawns will be mowed and children will run, this moment now is the only moment I'm certain of. And what a shame to not be present to truly live it.

So in Sum: Shoes and donations, miracle mint, and zeroing in on the present. A good Thursday if ever there was one. Hope you had a great day too.

The importance of language. And the difficulty of imparting it.

I met an old friend the other day. Her daughter, who I last saw as a grinning three month old was now seven and clutching a Harry Potter book, looking anywhere but in the general vicinity of this auntie who may want to pinch her cheeks and remind her she knew her when.

Ami, can I go to the basement and read? She asked. You can, but come back upwhen its dinner time, her mother responded. I will, she said I can help watch the other kids too! she added before skipping downstairs. The entire conversation was in Urdu.

When I complimented her daughter's fluency, she looked at me, surprised, saying, you're the reason she is. Come again? When we last met you told me how you hoped to raise bilingual children and that your parents spoke to you in Punjabi, pretended not to understand when you resisted and tried speaking English instead. It made me realize the importance of imparting language.

Her response made me think a) how amazing to leave such a lasting impression and b) how easy it is to have lofty visions of parenthood when you are not yet a parent.

I've written at length about my gratitude for being fluent in Urdu and Punjabi, and my desire to impart at least one of these languages to my child. I chose Urdu though I'm more fluent in Punjabi since the former is spoken more prevalently. But picking language is one thing; imparting it? Another matter entirely, particularly when I speak to my husband, friends, brothers, in English and when I read, write, think, in English. [though my dreams strange enough, are often in Punjabi]. Yes I can carry a fluent conversation in Punjabi, but my knowledge of English is more studied simply because it is the language of my surroundings and my vocabulary as a consequence is more rich in complexity.

All of this to say that as much as I desire to impart my ancestral tongue to my child it is easier said than done because speaking English is as natural and easy as breathing and speaking Urdu to Waleed requires mindfulness. Counting his toes I start to say one, two, three before I pause and try again aik do theen. Eat your food. Khana Khao. Had fun? Maza Aya? And so it goes- each word said twice as I self-correct along the way. 

While I hold no illusions that I will impart language rich enough to turn my son into the next Mirza Ghalib, I want him to be able to understand the language, for the words to sound not exotic, but familiar. There is so much I would do for my son that is beyond my reach, but I have the language of my ancestors- it costs me nothing to impart while its value is priceless. The thing about priceless gifts? By their very nature they are a thing not easily obtained. Will I succeed? I do not know. I'm just going to try my best and hope that I can give him what I believe is his birthright to possess.

If you are bilingual how are you handling this, or planning to? How do you work on improving your child's fluency particularly when your mother tongue is English? Any advice or perspectives most appreciated.

Four Beautiful Things Thursday

One. It was a bright beautiful sky-blue sort of day so I popped the babe in the car to run some errands. Except I couldn't find my keys. I combed the entire house- nothing. Finally, I pulled out the spare key and left- wondering all the while where it could be. I parked the car, went shopping, drove all the way home and after parking the car looked at my car trunk and. . .

Really. This is the second time in as many days I've misplaced my keys. Just yesterday I combed the entire length of Borders for missing car keys [I did drive here. The car is in the parking lot. They have to be here somewhere!] Twenty minutes later I found them- in the stroller cup-holder- literally right under my nose the entire time. Perhaps I'm a bit preoccupied these days, but I shudder that I left my keys dangling from the trunk like this. So thankful my car was still there when I returned from shopping- it was practically begging to be stolen.

Two. My best friend from Miami adores Dunkin Donuts, and while visiting some time back, we went for coffee runs a lot. Each time she never hesitated, pulling up to the drive-thru in her cool SUV with her cool shades and ordering a coffee, light and sweet. And each and every time, regardless of location, they didn't hesitate, making the coffee exactly the way she liked it. I loved the lingo- it made a simple coffee run feel hip and trendy. [and while I'm aware you can go uber-trendy at Starbucks ordering a tall venti mocha shoka- the coffee tastes like ground cigarettes so no amount of cute lingo can rectify the situation]. After Miami I began craving some sweet and light coffee but since I shortly after found out I was pregnant, I abstained. Then since I was nursing, I abstained. But now that he's on solids most of the day, today, as I ran errands and spotted a Dunkin Donuts enroute I decided why not? So I pulled up to the drive-thru window psyched to use my lingo and drink the coffee I waited for so long to have.

Me: Half-Caff light and sweet please.
Asian guy: huh?
Me: light and sweet?
Asian guy: Sighs. Sorry my English no good. walks away.
Different Dude: Hey how's it going? What'd you say you wanted?
Me: Um. Coffee. light and sweet. please?
Different Dude: Light and what? You mean. . . cream and sugar?

I guess the lingo was a Miami thing because Different Dude looked at me like I was two cards short of a full deck, and I inadvertently made a very friendly Asian man question his language abilities [something I'm apparently making a habit of lately]. But the coffee? Lingo or not- so good. Down to the last drop. 

Three. As I said in the last post I'm dealing with a bit of stress lately, and this could be why I found myself standing at the meat section of Whole Foods staring at the meatloafs for entirely too long, with the butcher finally interrupting my thoughts.

Butcher: Can I help you?
Me: Oh sorry, just looking at the meatloaf. Any good?
Butcher: I've heard they are delicious!
Me: Have you tried them?
Butcher: Me? No! My wife makes meatloaf from scratch!
Me: Oh. Must be nice.
Butcher: You know what? Pulls out a pound of meatloaf and wraps it up handing it to me. It's on the house. Try it and if you like it come back for more.

Despite my insistence otherwise, he stuck no charge to the box and sent me on my way. While its entirely possible that he simply was weirded out by the desi chick staring at the meatloaf for an indecent amount of time, perhaps it was simply kindness- neighborhood friendly kindness from one human being to another. It was such a simple gesture but he has no idea how much his simple act affected me at a time that I really truly needed it. And the meatloaf? It was delicious.

Four. I'm reigning in my stress through exercise, yoga and the daily reflection of blessings- but today as I plucked my son out from the car after a busy day of errands, I looked up and was struck by the anomalous strange black cloud directly atop a spring tree right across from my house:

If that tree looked up- it would simply see the darkness swirling above and nothing more; but from where I stood I saw the clear blue skies around it and the wind rushing through its branches that would soon push those clouds away. Despite how dark those clouds may look, they will pass. As this poem Tracy shared with me years ago says:

Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

So in Sum: An unstolen car, Dunkin Donuts coffee, meatloaf, and perspective- a beautiful Thursday indeed. [I've grown accustomed to writing these Thursday posts. I hope you enjoy reading them as I do enjoy writing them] Hope you had a great Thursday.

Life Pre and Post Baby [or why I now wish I was seven feet tall]

We went to the grandparents this past weekend and while I've written before about the differences pre-and-post baby vacationing, I figured a 3.5 hour drive for a weekend trip should be cake to pack for. Wrong.

Pre-baby trip to in-laws: two outfits, book, toothbrush.

Post-baby trip to in-laws grandparents: four outfits since baby will destroy two, diapers, wipes, books, bibs, baby food, spoons, sippy cup, disposable changing pads, car seat, stroller, playpen, blankets, elmo chew toy, alternate chew toys for when he chucks primary chew toy, rattle, nursing cover, baby Tylenol. [and I forgot to bring my toothbrush didn't I?]

From doubling driving time to insane diaper horrors incidents en-route, a baby makes traveling different but looking around my house today I realized I'm not seeing the full picture- a baby [particularly a mobile one] changes everything one subtle thing at a time:

 Pre-baby trash can

Post baby trash can

 Pre-baby laundry basket

 Post-baby laundry basket

 Pre-baby recyclables

you know, in the recycling bin

Post-baby recyclables

Living rooms are perfectly acceptable spots for recyclables. right?

 And the reason its all so completely totally 100% worth turning my house into a recycling plant/home for 'bending-averse' individuals:

Yep this trashcan loving 'raccoon wannabe' baby boy: totally. worth. it. 

[Just me? Or can anyone relate?]

Thoughts on the King hearings

It was a good weekend. Grandparents and cousins. A barbecue in the park taking in the sunny seventy-four degree weather and Ben & Jerry ice-cream. An ordinary day in the life of just another American.

Except- I'm not just another American.

At least not according to King. I generally avoid discussing my faith here. Mainly because its a personal and spiritual connection between me and my Maker- but also because I speak here only for me, not my entire faith- and as most minorities can attest to- every good or bad I do lends itself to generalizations for everyone who looks like me. Every single interaction I have I'm aware that I'm not just imparting an impression of me, Aisha- but an impression of over a billion people. And this is a heavy burden I'm neither knowledgeable nor capable enough to carry. While this is inevitable even in the purchasing of a pack of bubble-gum or a doctor's office visit, I do my best to minimize this burden and speak seldom on topics of faith.

But my silence on this topic does not mean I can escape that burden like during my Masters when the teacher asked me to explain exactly why all Muslims shouldn't be sent to internment camps if a few pose risks with the majority of the class nodding in agreement, or five years ago, asked by my professor to explain terrorism and the perceived silence of Muslims with every eye trained on me as though I was a learned sheikh, not a fledgling law student like them. I wrote this post then, but my thoughts from then apply just as well today to the King Hearings and to a man who wants to put a religion on trial for the actions of some of its adherents. Most relevant:

People from professors to friends have said that if Muslims are not speaking out in droves against terrorism than our silence equals complicity. There are over one billion Muslims in the world. Almost four times the size of the United States population. Most Americans don't feel the actions of a stranger in South Dakota or New York or even our next door neighbor speak for us, but as Muslims we must go out in throngs to disavow the actions of a stranger who happens to be one of 1.6 billion people who call themselves Muslim. David Koresh was Christian. The BTK killer went to Church faithfully. Should I assume Christians love the actions of these men because they did not make a public announcement ("We as Christians do not condone murder. We are peaceful as a faith. These people do not represent us")? Baraka wrote a fantastic post where she included a quote from Anne Frank's diary: " Oh it is very, very sad that for the umpteenth time, what one Christian does is his own responsibility; what one Jew does is thrown back at all Jews.'" Such is it now a days for Muslims. . .

. . . For the record, I am against violence. period. You call yourself Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, WHATEVER I am against violence as a means to resolve issues. Call it cheesy, idealistic, unrealistic but I am for peace, and love and harmony and tolerance and patience and kindness. That is my stance.

It's still my stance.

As much as the vitriol spoken at these hearings leave me feeling bruised and terrified for my son- and what the future may entail I remind myself of what I know to be true: the actions of a few of my fellow Americans do not speak for all my fellow Americans. This is the same nation that elected Barack Obama as its President, and Keith Ellison as Congressman and doesn't blink an eye when thanking my decidedly brown husband for his military service.Yes that's my country. And every time I feel that ache of worry swell inside, fears of internment camps of our relatively recent past haunting my dreams, I remind myself of this.

[For other perspectives on the King hearings you can also read Jamila's take. And Cecily's. And Keith Ellison's. And CAIR's [Council for American Islamic Relations].

*As an aside, its been a while since I've touched on a topic on my faith- if you have something against this I respect your right to hate but please, just click away- I'm not in any place to have an argument or hear bigoted statements in the comment section- and if I see them- I'll simply click delete*

Three Beautiful Things Thursday

One. Now that Waleed's older and I no longer need to pack the equivalent of a suitcase bound for a two-week trip to Russia for a simple run to the grocery store, I'm pulling out my old purses finally able to contemplate using them again. If you've been reading a while you know I'm slightly obsessed with purses. I can't explain it; I'm not a big shopper, but there's something about a cute purse that makes me feel like a giddy schoolgirl. Clearing out my diaper bag today I came across a crumpled receipt from a DC-area desi restaurant I went to with my dear friend Tracy and her little boy. Usually, no matter how bad a desi restaurant, the tandoori naans are buttery fresh and delicious. Not so here. The first batch they bought resembled cardboard. Correction: Buttered cardboard. So I requested more naan, please. And then we waited. And waited. Finally, I flagged down a waiter scurrying past us and asked again: more naan please? Nada. Finally, I went to the attendant, once again, requesting for more naan please?!? resulting in a surly waiter tossing a basket of naans on our table. And the bill:

Is this such a chronic issue they created a key for it? A passive-aggressive move to mock me? Or did they simply want me to know I was heard? I don't get it but it made me laugh then and it makes me smile now.

Two. I love going to the grocery store. There is a meditative quality in gliding ones cart down the aisles looking over all the possibilities that can be. I don't go nearly as much now, asking K to pick up items on his way from work instead. But yesterday the weather was nice, the ginger was in short supply and my recipe needed three hours of marinating before dinner so I packed up the kiddo and we went grocery shopping and I remembered how fun it is to be there. Now, I'm not sure if its because I'm writing a manuscript so am a walking critic lately, or because I'm a momma to a young-and-tender lad but this description on the bag of frozen peas made me stand and stare for a good minute:

And while I realize its neither here nor there, I just had to ask: Is it just me or is that strange word-choice to describe frozen peas?

Three. In a departure from levity I must admit I'm a bit stressed out lately. Nothing in itself is really that serious, but sometimes problems as small as snowflakes can start piling up until you feel you're staring into an impending avalanche. When I get really stressed out I begin daydreaming of condo-living or moving to San Francisco [because for some reason I feel like everything is always happy there- and if I can only just make it there I will never have any worries again, ever]. Today I read this quote: Bloom where you are planted. Such a simple phrase and yet it shook me. This is my life. Things aren't perfect- but they aren't perfect anywhere [even in San Francisco. I think]. I can choose to look at my life and focus on the difficulties and stressful situations and let them overtake me- or I can choose to look at my blessings. Tonight, as I nursed my son to sleep, instead of reading a book or checking my e-mail I closed my eyes in the dim light of his room and simply counted my blessings. My sight. My ears. My toes. My son. A roof over my head. Food to eat. A soft bed to land upon. Friends who love me. I lost count, my son asleep in my arms before I could finish counting all that I am thankful for- I doubt I can ever truly finish counting them.  Its cliche- its banal and trite- and yet- there is so much to be thankful for- and the best way to show my gratitude is to bloom where I'm planted- to make the best of what I've been given and be aware that I've been given a lot. And while this does not make the world icecream and cupcakes, rainbows and sunshine- it helps a little- and some days, that's enough.

Purses. Memories. Meditating in the grocery aisles. And gratitude. So much gratitude. All in all a very beautiful Thursday indeed. Hope you had a beautiful day.

Happy Ten Month Birthday

Dear Waleed,

You turned ten months old today. I never used to understood why parents memorialized first moments like first smile or first laugh- why record the mundane? Then I had you and realized nothing about these firsts is mundane. I am witnessing the evolution of a person, the very wonder of parenthood. I haven't recorded exact dates for most of your firsts but the day you stood for the first time completely unsupported?  February 16, 2011. I can't articulate why this date means so much to me. Will it have any impact on your future presidency, or residency, or writering? No- but I will never forget it- one minute you were sitting and then- knees tucked under legs, you sprung both hands into the air as though ready to take flight- and you stood. You stood. You stood. 

You're growing more interactive, more toddler-like by the day. You still love peek-a-boo but prefer doing the peeking yourself, hiding your head in the crook of my elbow and pulling it out with a cackle overjoyed by our faux-shocked expressions. You've kissed me since you were five-months-old, but now? You kiss upon request. We ask, you lean over and give a peck on the cheek and grin as though you've bestowed a generous gift- which you have. You also mastered the sippy cup which I personally believe was precipitated by a desire to compete with your new friend Gabriel since the day after you saw him using one was when you used your own the right way- not as a fling toy, or a means to turn any flat surface into a drum, but tipping it back and drinking like a big boy. You loudly let us know when you enjoy a food [scrambled eggs with feta], and turn your head away, annoyed- when you don't [cauliflower?  notsomuch]. So much more like a toddler with each passing day- including that toddler attitude- it too is slowly emerging.

And speaking of preferences and attitude? You are now officially daddy's boy. Sure, you've always loved him- but this month? This is the first month you leapt from my arms into the arms of another- your father's. Your eyes light up when he walks into the room, you climb him, wrestle him, and I can see already how much you look up to him.

We had friends over for lunch just the other day. Their son looked at you and said It's hard to imagine I was ever that little. And yet I remember him when he was three-years-old clutching his mother, afraid of the hooting owl in the backyard. It feels like yesterday but it was seven years ago- children are good for putting time in perspective. It's going to be that way with you isn't it? I'm going to blink and you're going to be fully grown looking back at these pictures wondering how you could ever have once been this small. I'm thankful I get to be your mother and bear witness to the rolling, sitting, crawling- and all the walking, talking, and so much more that is yet to come.

Love,

Your Mama

Friday Round-Up Linkety Link

The fooding: Yen shared this troubling piece on genetically modified food and how we are eating more and more of it each day without even realizing it as the article states that nearly 80% of the food in supermarkets are genetically modified.

The parenting: And on that note- this post questioning the chemicals in diapers and its effects on our babies was something I never really thought about but now can't stop thinking about. Disposals make life so easy but as much as I worry about what's going IN my baby I should perhaps also be equally focused on what goes ON my baby.

The babies: Murgdan posted a picture of our kiddos together at the bookstore we met up at for coffee- and I'm slightly distressed by the fact that my son is tugging at her son's sleeve urging him to go forth and destruct with him [trust me, he was. I was there]. Makes me realize yet again how different life will be once this kid is 100% mobile.

The Books: Since I recently wrote about plagiarizing and copying without consent, this news story of a lawsuit pending against Stockett, the author of the bestseller, The Help, caught my eye. Aibilene Clark is suing Stockett for using her life in her story. While I typically side with authors on matters like these, the the similarities listed are disturbing. I know writers take inspiration from life, but she could have at least made it less obvious she was writing about this lady. I can't imagine how it must have felt to read your most private moments in a book for the world to see.

The blogging: I wrote about my thoughts on being termed a 'Mommy Blogger' some time ago and this post by Her Bad Mother about why she does not like the term but owns it nonetheless had me nodding throughout.

The creativity: I've restarted the 365 Project at Flickr [its an experiment- may stick with my blog if its simpler, time will tell] and love this post by Ali Mattu on connecting his photography project with cognitive therapy as well as very practical tips on actually completing the project. This is a beautiful read even if you're not planning to do the 365 project.

The 'laugh to keep from crying': Love that the Egyptian people maintained their humor with these posters while creating revolution in their nation- like Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity- except for real.

The spiritual: Baraka shared this about people 'unmosque'ing' due to the challenges faced attending their local mosques- particularly women. It made me quite emotional to read.

Meanwhile, at my other blog: As most of you know I began a writing blog where I'm writing about, well, writing- and updating book reviews too. My first two posts are about my guilt about Border's bankruptcy and tips on finding time to write post-baby. Thanks y'all for your encouragement- and for the follows y'all are truly awesome. [and apparently when I feel sentimental and gushy I say y'all. A lot.]

Happy Friday y'all! Thoughts? Any cool links you found this week? 

On walking. And the lack thereof.

I thought I'd be a neurotic parent much like I was a neurotic pregnant person looking up not just baby center's "your baby this week" but every other space touting such information even if it was itzmyblogdood.com or something equally scientifically sound all the while coaxing my baby to wiggle and kick by ingesting orange juice by the buckets just to make sure he was okay. But now that he's here I'm a lot more laid back than I thought I'd be when it comes to developmental milestones like crawling, and rolling, and walking- I just think he'll pick it up when he's good and ready to at his own pace and while its awesome to see him reach his milestones I'm not angst-filled if he's not surpassing each and every one of them.

Which is why the walking drama is interesting.

Apparently walking is a very big deal and something we're asked by family on a nearly daily basis with great cause for concern: Is he walking yet? Why isn't he walking yet? Have you practiced today? You really have to work with him and teach him. 

While I cant wait for the day my child takes his first steps I'm barely keeping pace with his crawling and if he wants to wait on walking- I'm okay with that. Besides, he's nine months old. While maybe there is some nine-month-old whiz kid out there currently running laps in knee high socks and Nikes, its not like Waleed is behind if he's not walking. Though we know the reminders and sincerely voiced concerns day-after-day about why isn't he walking come from a place of love, K decided it was time to address the situation:

G: Any progress in the walking?
K: No, still crawling.
G: You guys should set aside time each day to teach him how to walk.
K: I know- I'm so angry with him.
G: Angry?
K: Yes. I tell him to walk, and he just won't listen. We're so disappointed. I mean, how hard is it to walk? What is with him?
G: No- wait- don't be disappointed in him!
K: But why is he being so lazy? Why won't he just walk?
G: Plenty of kids don't walk yet! These things take time and he'll learn when he's good and ready to! Stop pressuring him!

Redirecting a grandparent's concern into a grandparent's tiger love for their grandkid in a matter of thirty seconds. I wish I knew how he did it.

A brief bloggy update

Thanks to your advice I've decided to merge my separate blogs into: (1) This, my main blog, containing 95% of my content, and (2) a writing blog focused on all things reading and writing. Most writers have focused writing blogs, so I thought now a good a time as any to make like a duck and join the flock. If you're interested, I'd be honored if you checked it out. [And thus concludes my apparently 'once every seven years' blogistential mid-life crisis] And seriously, thanks for your input!