There were Eids before you.

There were Eids before you. 

But-- what was it like to not give you your morning bath? Watch you race from room to room in your Eid clothes? Pray salaat with you quietly by my side? Your adopted auntie in our adopted city smiled as she handed you your Eidi. We're going to watch them grow up together, she said so simply but so profoundly that it stopped me mid-step- because just like that they will do just that- grow up. What was it like before I watched you watch children with curious reserve who appear today, an ocean apart in age, but who in a few short years, I pray, will be your dearest friends? 

Sometimes I question the power of prayer and I wonder-- is anyone listening? And then- there are these moments of startling clarity. . .

. . . when I look up at the people who inhabit my life each day so seamlessly I can fail to see the magnitude of the blessing I've been given.
 

But I see it today. Every prayer that means anything is reflected in the people I love. When I look at your father and you, Waleed, I realize every dream I had came true. Thank you for new kinds of Eids. The ones that give me joy beyond measure by the simple presence of the lightness of your being.

Eid Mubarak to you and yours

Confessions of a cook. If that's what I am.

Before I got married, I seldom cooked. By which I mean, I occasionally boiled water. Living in Lansing my first year of marriage, away from family, cooking became a matter of survival [there are only so many times you can eat take-out] so I promptly learned all the desi dishes my mother made. I made them from scratch since Shan wasn't available where I lived [Shan's a good [though high-sodium] hand-holder for learning new recipes]. I shocked both my family and myself with the things I learned, Shami Kabob, aloo gobi, chicken kardhai, plau. All from the basic ingredients in my cupboard.

Sometimes I made other things too. And by make I mean, I picked up a frozen packet of teriyaki chicken, defrosted it, served it with a salad and felt pride at the meal I made. In this spirit I served apple cobbler, blueberry pies, cheesecake, all from mix and match and coat and serve, and took credit because I opened the box. I assembled the ingredients. I cooked! [In my defense, my cooking resume just six months earlier involved burnt eggs and boiled water].

I soon broke free of frozen meals but the break from my long standing dependence on packaged food came by accident. I promised breakfast pancakes to visiting friends and that morning woke to discover an empty box of Bisquick. Panicked, I searched the internet for options. Pancakes came in a box because making them from scratch had to be difficult. Except, I learned, it isn't. Flour, milk, eggs, sugar. Really, that's about it. I was astonished. Not only was the result easy, cheaper, and healthier with less preservatives and additives- it tasted fabulous! And it made me wonder: if pancakes are this easy what about other things? Are they similarly uncomplicated?

Yes. Hashbrowns. Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce, and stuffing. One after the other, easy, and according to K, tasty. And those that were not easy, that perhaps took a bit more time, I found a particular pride in making that was different than tossing frozen fries on a baking tray. I found the ability to grow creative with my cooking, trying my own touches, my own twists. And the feeling of watching your loved ones enjoy what you made, what you really made? It was indescribable. If its tastier, and cheaper, to make it from scratch, why, I wondered, did I feel so intimidated for so long, questioning my ability to even try?

The food industry, I am now learning. I'm reading Something From The Oven, a look into the evolution of American cooking from the 60's to today and exactly how influential the food industry was in pushing our dependence on boxes, mixes, and freezers. Magazine editors, television chefs, the shapers of our foodie culture were given a lot of incentives by the food industry to popularize cooking via box. A box of bisquick is a lot more profitable than selling flour. Society at large resisted at first, but ultimately, succumbed, leading to me, a reasonably educated person, absolutely intimidated by the prospect of pancakes.

I guess now I could say, take that food industry! I make my own food now thankyouverymuch! I am free! Except, I'm not. That is what this book made me see. Yes I make Pad Thai, but I use peanut butter as a base. I don't crush the peanuts myself. I use Kikkoman soy sauce instead of boiling soy beans [if that is how soy sauce is infact made]. I make Thai Red Curry, but the Red? It's from a paste I got in a jar from the store and the coconut milk came from a can, not an actual coconut I chopped and boiled.

So then, did I really cook these meals? Can I truly claim credit?

As Eid approaches I've been planning what desserts to make and was debating between a heath bar trifle or chocolate eclairs. They get rave reviews and I was super excited to make them. Except, both are really box creations. Different boxes, but still- boxes The trifle involves boxed cake. Frozen whipped cream. Dried pudding. Heath bars. It was then I realized, as much as I try to wean myself from processed basics for my cooking, when it comes to desserts, I'm a Betty Crocker poster child.  And this made me feel sick.

I'm not making it I told K. I can't make it. It's not me. It's just boxes. But- as much as I want to make it from scratch I feel overwhelmed by the work required to authentically create each part. I'll bake cookies from scratch I told K but he was having none of it. He loves it and assured me that if I'm truly opposed to making box-based items he'll eat my share himself. He's selfless like that. So I'll make it. But can I really take credit for it?

But how far does one go in the quest for authentic cooking? I've never milked a cow for my day's milk, nor would I want to. Nor do I foresee myself purchasing my own wheat to make my own pasta. It could be I'm overthinking this. [Who? Me?] It's just that I love cooking. I take absolute pleasure in the act. But feeling like a fraud, sucks.

Image Source Here

How he slept. And I didn't.

6:45: What's the time? He's still asleep?! Sweeeeet! Roll over go back to sleep.
6:55: But that's weird. He always gets up at 6:45. Check to make sure he's breathing. He is. Back to bed.
7:10: Seriously? Not even for a bottle!? Dont be crazy Aisha. He's sleeping in. Do the same!
7:15: Fever. Must be. Check forehead. Normal. Don't question good fortune, get some shut eye now!
7:30:  No point in trying to fall asleep, he'll be up any minute now.
7:45: He'll be up any minute now.
8:00: He'll be up any minute now.
8:15: He'll be up any minute now.
8:45: He's up. See. I knew it.

When I went into his room to get him, he looked at me, pointed, and laughed. He's frankly been in the best mood ever. So I'm fairly certain he did it on purpose. To mess with me. And it worked.

Auntie. Uncle. Mister. Misses. Or, Aisha?

I'll never forget the first time someone called me auntie. I was 24. She was 12. I was horrified. Auntie, in my opinion, should be reserved for people old enough to be your mother, and unless she came from a very dysfunctional world I was decidedly not an auntie thank you very much.

I'll also never forget the first time someone of diminutive size called me Aisha. A toddler, grinning, waving, calling out Hey Aisha! I about nearly staggered mid-step.

A language is devised from its people, their cultures, and resulting values. There are hundreds of words for snow amongst the Sami [it be cold there]. Desis, perhaps due to our traditional collectivist nature, have an insane amount of words to define our relationships. No relative is called auntie/uncle, its mami [mom's bro's wife], khala [mom's sis], mamu [mom's bro], chacha [dad's bro] and so on. Auntie and Uncle represent the bare bones of respect. Every random desi, stranger and alike, is auntie and uncle if they're our elders. Random desi guy grunting wordlessly as he hands me my satchel of groceries? Uncle. Desi lady I've never seen before in my life confused about what exit on the subway to take? Auntie.

All this to say that the terms auntie and uncle are tattoed into our brains. Which leads to interesting encounters with decidedly non-desi neighbors who pass by, coo at the baby, and to whom we automatically respond say hi to Uncle 'Bob' Waleed!.  It happens quite a bit, with Auntie Rachel, Uncle Steve and the like slipping out of our mouths before we can recalculate for a different culture. Which, with good friends, its one thing, Auntie Cylinda, Yen, or Rebecca works perhaps, but random people? I can't help but wonder if they think we're major weirdos who fancy them like family when we don't even know their last names and leads them to pity us for we must be very lonely, friendless souls.

Regardless of cultural norms, calling an elder by their first name, feels wrong. So the plan of the hour? Mister/Mrs/Miss for non-desis, and the traditional auntie/uncle for desis. And hopefully the collateral non-desi "auntie/uncles" along the way will understand. Or invite us to Thanksgiving dinner. Either way.  All I can do is balance my worlds as best as I can and impart to my son the fine balance inhabiting two cultures entails.

What about you? How do you plan to have your children address their elders?

Three Beautiful Things Thursday

One. Playing has ramped up several notches in this household. Peek-a-boo and tickle monster remain popular staples but the repertoire's expanded to hide and seek, toss the ball, and ofcourse pool. He's a regular hustler at pool:

The playing corresponds with his ramped up curiosity of the world around him. No longer content with rifling through the cupboards [though he still hones this skill daily] he wants to do more. Like draw. On my kitchen walls. His increased desire to explore and play led me to worry about how best to meet his developmental needs so I got him legos and a "stick the shape in the right hole- box" [surely there's a simpler name but the box had no clear title for said cube] He politely played with each for approximately five minutes, and then stuck the empty lego box on his head and tromped around the house playing soccer with"shape box"

Someone suggested daycare for the developmental benefits of constant interaction and while a part of me thinks there will be plenty of time for regimented play, the other part of me worries that home with me, he's not getting enough. The other day, too incapacitated to be much of a playmate, I reached new levels of mom-guilt when he bounded up and presented me with a paper cup and an expression that seemed to say Because I have inadequate stimulation you've reduced me to wandering the house with a paper cup for companionship. I grabbed a pen, drew a face on it, turned my voice up a few octaves, and made it a puppet. He has so many toys but I've never seen him so completely filled with joy as he did when playing with our 'puppets' [he made me make one for him too] Silly yes, but nonsense? No. There's benefit in creativity and stretching the imagination. Plus it was free. This time is fleeting and I know around the bend is a day when rudimentary puppets will not do. Why not focus on the simple pleasures and let the toys, for now, gather dust if they must?

Two. And incase I wasnt aware of how fast time flies, I checked my e-mail today to find an e-mail from a student I taught my first year of teaching. She asked me to review her personal statement for college. For college.  I remember her walking into my classroom with a dress and a shy smile. I taught her antonyms and adverbs. College? I remember college. The most difficult part about teaching is knowing you have just that year, and then you must say goodbye. Each year, without fail, when I saw them lined up on the last day of school, ready to leave the nest, I wept. You love them so dearly, you fall into their worlds and their challenges, and then- you let them go. It never got easy. I'm so thankful to keep in touch with some of my students and doubly touched that even now after all these years, I can find a way to help them.

Three. I'm almost done line-editing my second manuscript where I  double-check grammar, spelling, and tone. In revisions past I printed out all 250+ pages because staring into the bright light of the computer can get tiring for hours on end. This time? I e-mailed it to my kindle. Reading it on there in 'book form' was indescribable. I made my revisions then re-sent it to myself to double check, all without a single tree having to pay the price. Hope is a curious creature. I can't see it, touch it or taste it. But I can feel it. As I read my manuscript on Kindle, I could feel it coursing through my veins. With Borders gone, and publishers biting their nails, I don't know what the future holds, but I can tell you that this moment of sitting down with a cup of tea to read a book, my book? One of the most beautiful feelings ever.

The best part of writing these Thursday posts is the sifting. Sifting through all the beautiful things there are. Sometimes its easy to lose sight and it's my responsibility not to.  Hope you had a beautiful Thursday too.

It should take a village. But I guess a babysitter will do.

The weekend before Ramadan my parents were in town. Taking advantage of an opportunity rarer than lunar eclipses, we put the babe to bed and snuck out to our first movie in years.  We saw Crazy Stupid Love but quite frankly would've watched Zoo Keeper if it was the only available movie playing. [Though I did feel a bit like Encino Man when I balked at the ticket prices- $22 for two movie tickets? I could just buy the DVD for that much!] Still, it was the price for an outing- and it was awesome to get to do it knowing he was safe and sound asleep at home.

We need to do this more often, we agreed as we drove home. Some fresh night air and time out without worrying about diaper bags and booster seats- every couple needs that once in a while. That night I e-mailed my parent listserv, a completely awesome support group through K's work that gives me advice on all things parenting, for advice on how to procure babysitters, costs, and recommendations for any in our area. I got great responses with tons of advice and some recommendations for baby sitters.

But then I got one e-mail that made me pause. That hasn't left me yet: I don't get it. How about your friends or family? You can always ask someone to watch him and then return the favor when they want to go out sans kid? That's the best way to do it, you save money, build community. Don't you have anyone?

No, I don't.

I have friends. Friends I love. Friends who would happily babysit. But many either have kids beyond the babysitting ages, or don't have kids yet, or live too far away. And I don't feel comfortable asking anyone hey can you give up a Saturday night to watch our kid so we can get dinner even though the favor can't be returned? I can't do that.

This morning I woke up under the weather. It started off mild enough, K went to work, and as soon as breakfast finished, I felt so nauseous I was incapacitated. Like, on-the-couch-hugging-a-bucket incapacitated. Except, I can't afford to be this sick when I have a toddler to look after. One whose needs do not abate simply because I can't physically get up. I never felt so alone. It took every ounce of strength to force myself off the couch, to feed him a snack, prep his bottle, and give him a nap before collapsing into bed. Luckily, the one hour nap helped. I woke up feeling better. Not so great that I planned to do a scrub down of our house just yet, but good enough to provide basic attention to my son without feeling like I would literally not make it through the day.

In the books set back in the day in the US, or other cultures abroad, I read about parents sending their kids to the neighbors when they were sick or had a doctor's appointment. For me, parenting is done in an island, an enclosed vacuum of space. And it shouldn't be this way. Research shows time and again that children need community, that the more loved ones who interact in helping raise your child, the better the child is for it. I'm lucky to have family in driving range who he gets to see and chat with on Skype, and who if I needed would take time off work and make the drive up to be here for me. [My sweet youngest brother, who stayed with me for nearly three weeks when my son was born to help around the house is proof positive of this] I see my blessings and recognize them. Still, I wonder what it would be like to have someone just down the street. I wonder what it would be like to have my brothers or parents in the same city. I wonder what it would be like to have community.

In the meantime, I guess a babysitter will do.

Can you relate? Do you have a strong community that you can turn to when the going gets tough or you just want to go out or like me, are you turning to babysitting?

Fifty Book Challenge #14-21

It's been a while since I've updated on my 50 book challenge for the year. I used to post my book reviews on my review site. There are hundreds of books there broken down by category. This year I reviewed books #1-9 here, and books #10-13 here. In years past I read 100 books and promptly burned out. Fifty is a much more doable goal but considering its mid-August I'm very behind. Still, its more about the journey than the destination- and it is possible to reach my goal- maybe? [Do board books count? I think they should?] 

A Fine Balance. Many of you recommended this book over the years but its purported heaviness both emotionally and physically [page-wise] deterred me for years. Luckily, a friend sent me this as a gift. [And as far as gifts go, books are ten notches above Godiva chocolate since they don't cause weight gain and last a lifetime if you don't have a son who sometimes fancies himself a goat]. This is now one of my favorite books. Painful. Haunting. But beautiful. While it covers the lives of four ordinary people whose lives are turned upside down due to the 'Emergency' in India during Indira Gandhi's rule, it speaks to so much more than that. It's fiction, but its also true. The caste system. The poverty. It's all real. I'm certain there are people who have lived lives like these and that is what haunts me most. There are a few books one reads that can deeply affect your worldview- and while how exactly this book did that deserves a post in and of itself, suffice to say, this is easily one of those books for me.

What is the What. This is a fictional account of the trials of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. I suspect the fabulous Dave Eggers chose to fictionalize it so he didn't have to face the issues many people who write memoirs encounter [Mortenson, Frey] where you are called to task should you choose to smudge a detail for dramatic effect. This is a powerful, haunting tale of Valentino Achek and what happened to him in Sudan [as relayed to Dave Eggers, I suppose]. I don't like the flashback method of storytelling- it draws me out of the story and that was my biggest struggle with the method of writing. Still, this is an important story. Gut wrenching with little silver lining to conclude with. A good read. Just difficult.

Room. I'm not sure why I wanted to read a story told from the point of view of a five-year-old boy born and raised in captivity in a shack with his kidnapped mother. But this book was a fascinating read from a very different point of view. Surprisingly the book wasn't as despairing as I thought it would be since for the young boy, his life imprisoned in the shack is the only life he's ever known. His mother has done her best to protect him and while its a tough read, its heart-warming too as it speaks to the strength and resilience of a child's spirit. The writing is effortless, and it's not as depressing as one might think.

Suicide by Sugar. Excellent book about the cultural revolution post WWII and the role fashionista koala bears played in its unraveling. [No, not really. Just checking to see if anyone is reading this far down the list]. It's a book about sugar and how its about as bad as crack for us. This book is also a good example of why Kindle is about as bad as crack for me as I normally never would have bought this book but for my lack of impulse control when it comes to all things book. If you think sugar is fun then this book will enlighten you otherwise. I however having already been enlightened on the dangers of sugar didn't find anything new inside. I bought it hoping it would live up to its promise of giving advice on kicking the sugar habit. In this area, I found the book lacking.

Brain Rules. A book via Kindle I'm glad I bought about how a kid's brain works and how to best help them grow to their optimal ability. As with most parenting books I definitely spent a good portion of it feeling like the worst. mother. ever. like when I read that we should be speaking 2100 words/hour to our kids for optimal IQ. I tried this for a few days and let me tell you chatting maniacally with a toddler who can't speak, I am cutting a salad! Oh wow tomatoes! Now I'm changing your diaper! Here is the soap! is exhausting. [are any of you doing this? Please give me advice on how to chatter on for hours in one-sided conversations- I do my best but not sure if I succeed]. Still, communicating is important and this book helped me get lots of research based tips and advice. [I also have now purchased The Idle Parent: Why Laid-Back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids Kid for a different perspective].

Rock, Paper, Tiger. Oh Kindle, you led me astray. Tantalized by a thriller set in China I clicked purchase. Sigh. If you like the writing style of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo [more specifically, book Two in the series] then you might love this book. I don't, so I didn't. The title is pretty cool though, so there's that.

 








Mrs. Kimble. I thought at Sam's Club- a store for bulk buying- I'd be safe from the siren call of book buying. I was wrong. I've been sad about the closing of Borders, but moments like Thursday when I saw this book, liked the title and the cover and the price and impulsively purchased it, makes me realize what an incredible loss it is to lose brick and mortar bookstores the gateway to chance upon a book. This is a book about a man and his three wives [though not all at the same time] and how he deceived them all. Loved the writing and the story kept me going, but while enjoyable there were so many plot holes it was disappointing. The book appeared designed to be a character driven novel and for that it simply fell short. Mr. Kimble is just not fleshed out and appears a robot, not a real person, a sociopath at best, but the author insists he is not, that he is an ordinary man. Which, if you read the book, is difficult to see. It was a good read, but it could have been so much more.


Corduroy Mansions. I adore Alexander McCall Smith's books. It's a cup of tea on a cold rainy day. A pleasure from start to finish. As with all McCall-Smith books, not much happens. We glimpse normal people doing normal things. Yes there are mysteries and drama and suspense but not 'jumping over cliffs' type. I don't know if McCall sees it this way, but for me his books are about the quiet dignity of everyday ordinary life. His characters are normal people living normal lives but he describes it all so beautifully and shows us that there is so much pleasure in the simple act of boiling a cup of water for tea, or shopping for dinner, cooking a meal. After reading his books I often find myself seeing the beauty in all the little things and the inherent dignity and integrity we are capable of possessing. After reading his book, even mixing pancake batter feels special- because it is. All the little things, a conversation with a friend, a drive to the library, a meal with a loved one- those are things most lives are made of and we're so lucky to get to live it. McCall Smith honors it beautifully.

Currently reading 32 Candles, and considering retackling the Harry Potter Series resting on my bookshelf. I never actually read them from first to last straight through. Ever done it? I'm thinking it might be fun to try.


Hope you found this helpful. Read anything good lately?

Whole Foods, Paula Abdul, and Ramadan **[UPDATED]

When I was a kid I had a huge poster of Paula Abdul on my bedroom wall. I also had a picture of her on the back of my door, in my trapper keeper, and owned every tape she ever recorded [Though not a very discerning fan to be clear since for years I thought her song 'Rush Rush' was in fact titled 'Mush Mush' about a snow-dog race in Alaska]. It was less about the music and more about the last name- Abdul. A Muslim last name. I analyzed her clothing, her accent, pored over interviews in Tiger Beat trying to figure out where she was from. Morocco? Turkey? [I quite frankly still don't know since by the time the internet was ever present I lost interest].

I admired this woman because her last name was similar to names I knew in the small circle of my life. And considering back in my day there were hardly any South Asian or Muslim people on the large or small screen, or anywhere really- I longed for a face to identify with. In school we celebrated Hanukkah, Christmas, and later Kwanzaa, but where was Eid? It wasn't. I felt I practiced a secret faith, that I belonged to an invisible minority- where were we when I turned on the TV? [You know, normal versions of 'me' not mustachioed bandits or terr.orists in action films] And while now, for the life of me, I can't understand why it was so important to me to have a person who reflected me on television or in any media, period, I do remember how earnestly I longed for it. I imagine children today are no different in this regard.

My son is growing up in a different world. Aziz Ansari, Dave Chapelle, Talib Kweli, Mindy Kaling, Kal Penn, Russel Peters, are just a handful of famous faces who in some way, resemble him. He also is born into a world where Eid Stamps are a given. Seems silly but such an important and hard-earned milestone that did not come easy. It's a whole new world from the one I grew up in and I'm glad for it. [though let's be honest, he will not be watching any Aziz, Chapelle or Kweli material for some time to come].

When I see dates at Sam's Club and Krogers, not just any dates, but Mejdool dates just in time for Ramadan, I don't take its presence lightly. Seeing variations of my face or race reflected in the media, seeing something as small as dates, to me they are a silent acknowledgment to Ramadan and on a bigger scale an acknowledgment of me: you're a part of the fabric of this society, we see you, we recognize you.

Which is why when Whole Foods decided to explicitly state in internal e-mails that we should not highlight Ramadan in signage in our stores as that could be considered 'Celebrating or promoting' Ramadan, it felt like a punch to the gut.

Whole Foods, in years past, sold items from Muslim distributors during Ramadan. They advertised this with small crescent and star logos above the items, just as they have passover signs over relevant products, just as they celebrate many other holidays. Apparently some people didn't like this, and shared their bigotry with Whole Foods which made them decide to remove any mention of Ramadan from their stores this year. A Q&A for store clerks explicitly covered the issue as well: Is Whole Food Market hosting a campaign to celebrate Ramadan? No. Whole Foods Market is not promoting Ramadan.

To be clear, I don't expect grocery stores or malls to have Ramadan banners or any sort of accommodation for this time. It's a corporate world and its up to the corporation who they acknowledge. But. Its one thing for a company to simply not consider Ramadan for it to be just an afterthought. It's another to make it a store policy not to acknowledge it because some bigots told you not to, especially when you did so in the past.

When I see Asif Mandvi, or Moz Jobrani, and their mainstream success, I see an implicit message that says you exist. And when I hear about Whole Foods taking affirmative steps to make sure that they in no way, shape, or form acknowledge Ramadan, I see an explicit message that says: but we really wish you didn't.

And while I'm not outraged, shocked, or devastated, and nor am I planning to boycott or toss [cage-free] eggs at their store fronts, this news story saddened me. And I'd be lying if I didn't say, I'm a little hurt, and most certainly disappointed.

UPDATED TO ADD:  Since I know Whole Foods has issued statements denying any of this and saying they are still running promotions for Ramadan based items, I went to Whole Foods today. I asked them for their Ramadan related items, the seasonal items. They stared at me like I was asking to locate the aisle for skewered koala bears. Five sales clerks later, Customer Service said that while they have some Saffron related products they aren't carrying anything different than they ordinarily would and were definitely not doing anything related to Ramadan. Riddle me that Whole Foods?

Happy Fifteen Month Birthday

Dear Waleed,

On Sunday you turned fifteen months old and I'm fairly certain you swallowed some magic beans because you're growing faster than I can keep track of. You are a world class babbler and your communication skills are growing by the day. Doggie. Ducky. Mama. Baba. Nana. This. That. [And when you see flowers you point and call them mama- ~melt~] You close doors when I ask, hand me hangers to help with laundry, and clap if you want more food. And speaking of food? You love my cooking. You are not one for polite gestures. You hate cauliflower and let me know by chucking it across the room, so when I bring you a bowl of Pad Thai, and you clap upon seeing it and then attack it and demand more- I know you mean it. And while I love it if anyone loves my cooking, seeing you enjoy what I made, real food beyond mashed apples and bananas, the sort of food that will be your standard fare in our home- its one of the best feelings in the world.

Your smile takes a close second though. Since the day you were born, you look dead center in the camera and pose. Now, you've taken it up a notch for reasons I don't quite understand. There's the 'Rico Suave' look:

how you doin?

And the recent one, where you scrunch your nose, eyes and face which I can only interpret as mama thinks koala bears are all kinds of cute so I will try to look like one:

Seriously. Every picture. And while I love all your smiles because I love everything about you, my favorite photos are when you're smiling your real smile, the one you flash us when you don't know a camera is around:

But let's talk about the other stuff, you know, the discipline stuff. You are a good baby, inquisitive, curious, and always exploring, but seldom naughty for the sake of naughtiness. But when you need some reminding like 'no we do not put fingers in sockets' or 'please don't bend the cabinet door backwards so it splinters off' you look at me, take in my stern expression, and- laugh, as though to say cute mom, really cute, and go on your way. As a former teacher, I just had to look at my classroom with the look and a hush overtook the room. Now, that same look sends you into fits of giggles. I don't get it. But your Abu? The one who is by far the more easy-going parent you possess? If he so much as looks at you and says don't do that in the gentlest of voices, you are a heaping mess of tears. Since usually it's me and you, I need to find some way to get your attention. Luckily nana and nani [unwittingly] got you a time-out chair and as you can tell its working spectacularly:

koala bear Waleed in time-out

But the best part this month? Now that you're [almost] fully weaned, your Abu is in charge of your sleep routine. We were supposed to alternate every other day, but he loves it so much he's done it every night since he could. He says he missed out on over a year of sleep moments and he doesn't want to miss one more. He says putting you to sleep centers and soothes him. You're lucky to have him kiddo.

I know the months bring with them a newer, bigger you. I know you will change, because change you must- but whatever you do, my one bit of advice is: fight to keep that sense of wonder that you possess most sincerely today. The way your eyes light up with unrestrained joy at all the new things life has to offer, the way you wake up each morning joyful, excited to tackle the day? Please never lose that.Money, degrees, making honor roll are well and good, but this state of being, of enjoying the sheer act of existence? It's priceless. Please guard that part of you with all you have.

Love,

Your Mama

Substantive Blogger Award

Sunny nominated me for an award! I'm honored since she's one of my favorite bloggers!

To accept I share seven random things about me and pass the award to seven others! I'm fairly random by default so without further ado:

1. I enjoy loading the dishwasher. I love arranging the plates and glasses just right and settling in on the sofa with a cup of tea and a book as the machine hums away doing all the dirty work steps away cleansing everything within, but-

2. I hate unloading the dishwasher as I am not the most agile person and have dropped one too many items causing one too many injuries to my person. It also gets complicated when you have a fourteen-month-old child who insists on helping, especially with the knives- he really wants to help me with the knives.

3. Similarly, I love loading the washing machine- sorting whites and colors- and pouring the detergent into the machine- but. . .

4. I hate. despise. abhor. to the greatest extent one can, putting away the laundry. Not because I break towels- its just boring. Though less so now that I have a child who likes to help me with the sorting [but mostly the unsorting] and occasionally tries to climb into the dryer and shut the door behind him [is he trying to tell me I don't give him enough alone time?] He keeps even the most boring tasks, interesting.

5. I'm a thrifty shopper. I buy jeans on sale. Target is my friend. But- I have one weakness: purses. Have abstained for years- and with a diaper bag currently in use most times I haven't given it much thought. Except I saw my friend's Luis Vuitton "never full" bag which is all kinds of awesome- and its not badly priced for a Vuitton bag- except it's a Luis Vuitton bag so that doesn't mean I'm going to find it on the clearance section at Ross. And while these things logically make sense, when I think of that purse, my heart skips a beat and I catch myself almost daydreaming about what it might be like to toss in a change of baby-clothes, my wallet, and cavort about town with said accessory. I would never get one ofcourse since it's an obscene amount of money for me but- its pretty. All this to say, I have major bag issues.

6. My favorite movie is Office Space. My favorite comedy show, The Office. Now on a Parks-N-Recreation kick thanks to Netflix. For someone who does not actually work in an office I quite enjoy my work place comedies.

7. I find it rather ironic that I was nominated for a 'substantive blog' award spent it discussing things of relatively no substance whatsoever. At least its random.

And now, for those I'm passing this on to: Cecily, Stacey, Katery, Kmina, Susan, Panda, Azmina, Leigh Ann, Deathstar44, Julia, C, and Yen! Fantastic ladies who write about all sorts of different topics from motherhood to writing to all things food and all things random, but who I read and love just the same because I truly enjoy what they have to say and how they say it.

And since I've shared some of my favorite bloggers [though not nearly all as my google reader's 100+ subscriptions attest to] do share- who is your favorite blogger? Always looking to add more!

Thoughts on Ramadan

Today is the first day of Ramadan which for me represents a spiritual reset- a cleansing to help me focus and reflect on life, faith and to try to be a better person. This month also represents an unwavering belief in hope for the human condition- that we can both be better and do better if we put aside the petty day-to-day and focus on the things that matter. Our faith, our family, and our community.

Like any aspirational ideal this is not always the case. Family is far, and though I love my friends as sincerely as one can the community at large is distant from where I stand for reasons too complicated to venture into here. My complex relationship to my Maker- the questions that ebb and flow- remain, well, complex. And fasting? The act of not eating or drinking from sun up to sun down? To be perfectly honest, its hard. Just as difficult as it is indescribably beautiful to feel the first drops of water rush down your throat and travel through your body- something you have to experience to appreciate in all its beauty.

Life doesn't become roses and daffodils this month. But I guess that's the point. Life is not easy or perfect. But it is also to a great extent, what we make of it. Tonight I feel blessed to have another year to try to be a better person and make the most of what I've been given. This month will not erase my worries but it will help me refocus and strive to see them in new ways because "with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world."

Ramadan Kareem to you and yours.