Unplugging [with updates along the way]

I remember when my elementary school library acquired a white fuzzy squeaky mouse the likes of Cinderella fairy tales. At least that's what we thought when we heard of the mouse for the computer in the library. What sort of mouse? We wondered. Some kind of souped up robot-mouse? Do we shout out what we wish to type and it hops as instructed on the keypad?

We've come a long way from hypothetical robot-mice, pay per minute dial-up, and you've got mail! The computer and corresponding internet has gone from a novelty to a medium we cannot live without.

Or can we?

Everywhere I go, parks, doctor's offices, restaurants, in line at the store, I see people poring over their smartphones, staring at an iPad and wonder what important work they're doing with furrowed brows and a look of complete absorption. Inevitably its Facebook. Or twitter. And lately- those people? Are me [Although-- thank you new FB for making my head hurt, I've logged in only once since]. I've known life without complete internet dependency and see the difference it's made in my life. I read less. I write less. When the phone bings, I check it. Almost immediately. I read blogs, check e-mails, but sometimes one link leads to another and I've spent an hour I could have worked on a short story or read a book just surfing-- and while that can be useful, most times its not especially when its time spent immersed in social media-- I mean, did I really need to spend twenty minutes looking at pictures of a facebook 'friend's' parent's cousin's best friend's in laws' thirtieth wedding anniversary? There are benefits to the instant gratification the internet provides, but there are drawbacks. I'm thankful I don't tie my self-worth to my on-line life- but facebook, twitter, they can have damning consequences and we can forget that life is lived on the dirt we stand on, the people having dinner across from us, not the 'friends' we accumulate and count and tally. If we're on-line too long, too frequently, checking on every bing, and ping like the classic Pavlov's Dog- we have the potential to lose sight of that- and that? That's frightening.

Three months ago we cut our cable. I anticipated methadone shots to deal with the withdrawals of the steady background noise of TV during the quiet moments my son was asleep or otherwise engaged- but nothing. I still watched TV via discs since I'm not anti-TV, but the background chatter vanished. Once it was gone I realized I didn't need it at all.

Do I need the internet? Will I jitter without it? I want to know. I want to see how my life will improve [or not] if I cut it out. I want to know what it's like without instant gratification at the touch of my fingertips. I want to rid myself of the potential descent into a life in which the internet controls me, and not the other way around.

So for one week, I'm unplugging. Not entirely. As nice as it would be to be all or nothing, I'm in the middle of a few high-priority situations which require access to the internet. So the plan is simple: For one week: disable my phone notifications, check and reply to e-mails/blog comments, twice a day [morning and night] and nothing else.  It's just a week. But I'm curious. Will I learn to enjoy the pleasure of my company, read books, play with my son more? Or will I huddle in a corner with the shakes. [Methadone is not a cure-all after all.] In any case will update a week from today [or sooner if I fail spectacularly-- which, I might]. 

Wish me luck! Ever unplugged? Ever consider unplugging? Curious for thoughts on this!

Day One: Well, so much for sticking to my rule for twice a day internet. While I've stayed away from facebook, twitter, and web-hopping, I've definitely checked my e-mail about five times. Still. Better than nothing. But not better than the plan. Will aim for stronger willpower tomorrow!

Day Two: Does it get worse before it gets better? That phone of mine is the hardest thing because a simple click and I check in on my e-mail-- and yes I've even clicked on a few links and read them. A lot lower than normal internet usage but not the unplugging I wanted. The thing is, w/out notifications I just check it more to see if I missed anything. Very counter productive! And while someone reading might laugh at me, try to be w/out interent for one day- completely- and see how you feel. You don't realize how completely dependent you've grown on the medium until you try to quit it. It's honestly scary. This weekend is super busy and I wont be near a computer so as long as I can tame my e-mail checking abilities on my smart-phone Seriously wanted to regale you with stories of internet-free zen-bliss. Seriously disappointed :( 

Rest In Peace Troy Davis

Troy Davis was killed today. Just a few short words from a few judges decided a man's permanent fate despite the serious doubts about his guilt. He could be my brother, my father, my husband-- my son. When will stories like this be 'once upon a time' and not here, now, in my own backyard? A painful reminder for me to do my part.

Rest in Peace Troy Davis. I hope you find it in the elusive hereafter. God knows you didn't find it here

Notes on the journey through language

It seems my son is learning Urdu. He claps to thali bajao, points to his kaan [ears] baal [hair], closes doors, turns off lights, all with Urdu commands. It seems things are moving well on the path to bilingualism but considering he's primarily nonverbal, and raising a kid is a work in progress its hard to know when I can declare victory. When he's 2? 5? 35? I know many of you reading are planning to teach [or are teaching] a second language so I thought I'd share what I'm doing now incase its helpful.

 1. Focused Language. I have to be realistic. I speak to K, my friends, my brothers, in English. To try otherwise is forced. Regardless of how fluent Waleed becomes, English will be his stronger language because English is my stronger language [unless he chooses to pursue Urdu studies when he grows up, and then I can perhaps learn from him]. Instead of forcing a 100% Urdu-environment I simply speak English to him when its inconvenient not to and otherwise, I speak exclusively in Urdu. Our time at home, is 90% Urdu. It's not always easy but the more I do it, the more natural it gets.

2. Engaging fluent speakers. If I want to teach him fluent Urdu- I need to hone my own skills.When I encounter fluent Urdu-speakers, we usually resort to speaking in English and its hard to mess with the status quo. I'm afraid I'll mess up, that they'll laugh at me, but I'm doing my best to overcome this and try my best to convince native-speakers to engage me in an Urdu-language conversation.

3. Reading stories. In both languages. I read English-language stories to Waleed in Urdu, while K reads the same stories in English. In this way he gets the the rhyme, meter and prose of how the book was intended, and the urdu-version as well.

4. Making an alphabet book. Most alphabet books give letters that correspond with pictures for that letter [duh]. And as awesome as 'A is for apple' alphabet books are, I'm making my own Urdu-English hybrid alphabet picture book where A is for atta [flour] and B is for bandar [monkey]. Imperfect but as perfect as it can get at this point.

While, I'll definitely add to this list as I go along, the ultimate question is: will these measures work? I don't know. It's entirely possible five years hence, he'll be speaking with a southern accent and think Urdu is the funny way mama speaks when she doesn't want him to understand her. 

Some think its great I'm trying to impart language. Some make fun of me. Some point out Urdu isn't exactly Mandarin. It's spoken by some but not all that important in the grander scheme. But it is. If I spoke Arabic, Finnish, Swahili, I would do all in my power to impart these too. As beautiful and rich as English is, if I can give my son the ability to speak another language, he'll have another angle from which to view the world. I know its not important for everyone, and I respect that, but for me? It's very important. It doesn't mean I won't fail. I might. Spectacularly. But if he doesn't learn what was in my capacity to give him and what I want so passionately for him, I will see it for what it is without rationalization of any sort-- my failure. I guess I'll just try the best that I can.

No pressure or anything.

Any tips or ideas on teaching language to your kids?

Three Beautiful Things Thursday- And I'm featured on BlogHer!

One. I'm featured on BlogHer! For this post! Which is well, all kinds of cool! If you're visiting via BlogHer- hi! Make yourself at home and don't be a stranger now, ya hear? [And for those of you who already read via readers, google-friend connect, etc thank you!]

Two. Incase it wasn't obvious- I hate football. The guy I live with? Loves football. My dream is to sprawl on the lawn reading books with Waleed under the autumn breeze. His dream is for Waleed to be sitting next to him on a baby computer mulling over baby-fantasy-football trade offers. And while K insists football love is a nature versus nurture thing and well, being his son, he's likely genetically programmed to heart football, photographic evidence which recently came into my posession appear to paint a different picture:

 

Yeah, nature my . . . ardvark! Honestly though? I might despise football, but this father-son sporting? I love it. I love my kid's inclination towards athleticism and my husband's desire to draw it out. Besides, books or football, it's still a bit early to figure out which one he'll like more. Right?

[football 'surveillance' pictures courtesy of our good friend and awesome photographer AbidK]

Three. I have mixed views about living in the South and though I've lived more south than this [Miami is quite south after all] Miami isn't The South. While the South has its perks like ridiculously tasty sweet tea and the ability to say y'all without anyone batting an eye, I long for the all out awesomeness that is San Francisco, the quiet culture of Asheville, or the sheer beauty of Boulder. I forget sometimes that I can recreate that here, like in Decatur, an intown enclave of family-friendly and uber-granola folks which is basically right up my alley. This past Saturday I took Waleed to a playgroup at toy park [I was super excited about this as I envisioned hunkering lego structures and intricate sand castles. It turned out to be just a park- with toys- but toys geared towards kids his age]. He loved it. And I loved watching him and interacting with the other mothers, some who were simply walking around who I had never met, but were open to friendly conversation- and then having lunch across the street in the open air in the company of good friends. It was normal. It was ordinary. It was perfect.

Just today I took my son to yet another park, this one closer to home, one too big for him, where the sun was too hot and the parents kept their eyes fixed pointedly away from one another, and I couldn't help but remember my Saturday at toy park. Books I read advise me that I'll meet other like minded mamas at parks- and yet out in the burbs this has yet to happen, ten minutes at toy park and I felt completely at home with people I only met for the first time. While I admit a part of me wonders if its less that the suburbs are inherently isolating or more that I'm simply the wrong color, that's neither here nor there. The vibe is just different, it just is. At least I have a car. And it can take me to toy park where I can see my son's smile as he marches about happiest in the company of others and where I can have lunch with good friends who carve out time to spend with us. Those 90 minute drives are worth days like this.

um, waiter- you forgot my order
[thanks for the great pic Cylinda!]

Bloggy recognition, father-son sporting, and the memory of a beautiful Saturday afternoon.  A beautiful Thursday indeed. Hope you had a beautiful day.

Aisha and Bob- and so much left unsaid

Have you ever engaged in a conversation with a perfectly pleasant person who says the most perfectly confounding things that you're just not even sure how to respond to? In the classic film You've Got Mail, Meg Ryan's character says what happens to me. . . is that I get tongue-tied and my mind goes blank. Then, I spend all night tossing and turning trying to figure out what I should have said. Yeah, that about sums me up entirely, including this conversation with 'Bob':

Bob: Hi. I'm Bob.

Me: Nice to meet you. I'm Aisha.

Bob: Oh man. I gotta tell you. I love Indian Food! And Vindaloo? It rocks. 

Never had vindaloo. Not from India. But glad to hear of your devotion to Indian food.

Me: Oh, that's nice.

Bob: I've always wanted to go to India and visit an ashram and learn yoga. You must do great yoga.  

My wii instructor finds my yoga skills average. India does seem beautiful. Thanks for sharing this random tidbit about you. I hope you realize your dreams of yogi zen.

Me: Well, my ancestry is Pakistani. I'm not sure if they do a lot of yoga or have any ash-

Bob: Pakistan! I had a friend from Pakistan when I was a kid! In Vancouver. Her name was Sara. . . Khan was the last name, I think. Do you know her?  

Sara Khan. From Vancouver. Ofcourse. Why wouldn't I?

Me: I don't think so.

Bob: Pakistanis like chai. You must love chai.

Sigh.

Me: I do.

Bob: I ate at a Pakistani restaurant in San Francisco. You guys make the best chai.

Me: Well. . . thanks!

Bob: Have you had the chai-tea from Starbucks? It's the best.

Oi.

Bob: But seriously. . . I'm sorry about your loss a few years back.

Me: What loss?

Bob: Benazir Bhutto. Her passing must have been difficult.

Contrary to popular media perception, she was not beloved and adored by all- myself included. I felt sad for the brutal death of a human being however no different than any other life taken unjustly. 

Me: Um yeah I managed.

Bob: Are you on facebook? I'll totally look you up so we can link up. I don't think I have any Pakistani friends on there.

And now, reason 1,000,201 to deactivate my FB account once and for all. 

Me: Yeah, that would be. . . fun.

Not fun being boiled down into a stereotype- especially when, in matters of chai-drinking, I so fit the bill.

This blog post was featured on BlogHer- if you're visiting via BlogHer- hi! Thanks for visiting and if you like what you read please do subscribe or connect, don't be a stranger now ya hear? :)

Happy Sixteen Month Birthday

Dear Waleed,

Yesterday you turned sixteen months old. You say uh oh when you drop things and cover your ears with your hands, mischievously, as if by plugging your ears you silence the world for us all. But there is little silence in your company these days. I now feel the full comfort of your companionship in the way you share your [quite vocal] input as we shop for groceries, and grab a 'phone' to join in when I'm chatting with a friend [the blue tooth weirds you out though- you stare at me with concern like I'm talking to the voices in my head- which I guess I am?] You're less a baby and more a child with each passing day. I thought I might mourn this state of transition but how can I when we're so busy having fun? From your love of marching around in your monkey hat to the way you fall on me laughing each morning- you're just so much fun.

This month playing with toys while Mama had toast and tea for breakfast became totally passe. Instead, one morning, you guided me to your seat and requested to join me in this morning ritual. Now, most days, we take tea and toast together [though your tea is, um, water] and chat about life, and while I'm not entirely sure what we're talking about- this is not unlike many conversations I've had. Your naps are now singular, but blessedly long enough to let me fit in yoga and lunch- and now when you wake? You no longer burst into tears, hysterical until you see my face- instead you call out for me and play with your toys knowing full well I'll come get you- and when I do- your grin- that wattage could light Turner Field.

But my favorite development this month? You love books. I admit I worried books just wouldn't be your thing despite assurances from others that not all babies are bookworms straight out of the womb. Until now you couldn't be bothered. There were antennas to bend, toilet paper to unroll, and other Very Important Business. This month you've climbed into my lap each day and for thirty minutes we've read together, your mind-body-soul fully engaged. Are You My Mother? Pelle's Suit. These were stories my parents read to me. Reading them to you? Special doesn't begin to cover it. Your favorite stories are Little Kitten, and Hurry, Hurry.  Anytime a duck graces any page you squeal ducky and lean in to kiss the page. And while a playground beats book learning any day of the week- if you could live in a playground you just might- I'm simply thankful you finally appreciate books.

Your nana and nani came to visit the weekend following Eid- I'd like to think they came to celebrate my birthday- but I know better- they take those sixteen hour round trip drives for 48 hours of the pleasure of your company. You spent the long weekend clinging to them or showing off all the marvelous things you do like push a laundry basket around the house like a shopping cart, or turning a coffee table into an obstacle course. When it was time for them to leave, you watched them perched on my hip with an expression of confusion- and then I saw the realization pass over your face as the car pulled away- they were leaving- and for the first time ever, you wept. So did I. At your age all my relatives lived an ocean away- to see your comfortable, familiar interactions with your extended family makes me realize how much I missed and makes me so grateful that you never will.

You're lucky to be surrounded by so much love Waleed. Life is full of people. Some we are tied to be by blood. Some we run into on the streets and chat with in passing, some become our friends, while some remain strangers and nothing more. Sometimes the tie of these relationships feels comforting like a child's security blanket- other time it feels suffocating like a noose around your neck. Hold on to the relationships that help you grow, release the ones that taint your heart like black ink. The ones who love you will always love you unconditionally- the ones who love you will never make you feel small or unworthy because you are neither of these things. You are Waleed-- my son. A living, walking, breathing, blessing. Never forget this singular truth.

Love,

Your Mama

Wordless Wednesday-- I see fall

The air is chillier lending increased pleasure in ones chai and wonder in my son's eyes as he watches a flurry of gold leaves flutter to the ground. Its also the beginning of football season. A reminder I guess that one must take the good with the bad. Still, fall is here. And its perfect enough-- football notwithstanding. [Disclaimer: While I hate football and am fairly certain if hell is personalized my version would involve ESPN NFL highlights on a loop- I'm able to separate my hate for football and my love for the people who, for reasons that elude me, love it]

[My first attempt at Wordless Wednesday though I guess brevity will be the goal as wordlessness is beyond me. Honestly, do y'all enjoy reading WW on blogs or find it annoying? If its a snoozefest I'll ditch it as a regular thing.]

On nursing and putting away the rose-colored glasses

Friend: When did you wean your son?
Me: Last week.
Friend: What?! He's almost 16 months old!
Me: It was so convenient it was hard to let it go.
Friend: Convenient? It seems inconvenient to breastfeed.
Me: No, its simple, no bottles to wash, no formula to buy.
Friend: So you enjoyed the experience
Me: I loved it. It wasn't a problem.

I walked away from the conversation feeling uneasy. While I'm looking forward to drinking ten cups of coffee back-to-back with wild abandon [if I wanted to] and sharing the nighttime routine with K, nursing was a special bond and its end is bittersweet. Nursing was also much simpler than preparing bottles at 6:00am so why does it feel weird to say nursing was simple, and convenient?

Oh yeah, because it wasn't.

Those first few months of motherhood nursing was so difficult bottles of formula waltzed through my fractured dreams like the hippos of Mickey Mouse's Fantasia. The daily samples of formula piling up in the pantry didn't help my resolve either. It's only thanks to a good lactation consultant, a supportive non-judgmental husband and family that I made it through. Over time it got easier, convenient, wonderful- but not for a while.

There are many heated debates on the topic of nursing. Those that judge who don't.  Those that judge who do. Though we are in a very pro-breastfeeding era there are those who argue that to nurse your child past one year of age is not just unnecessary, you're a bad mother for doing so, with the author of the book I linked to actually stating that perhaps a mother who nurses past 12 months just doesn't want to make an extra effort to figure out how else to bond with her child. Yes, really. Waleed's own doctor said its up to you but followed up with words that indicated she too thought the idea preposterous scoffing at self-weaning by saying a kid will never self-wean; at some point a parent must parent.

Maybe this is why I reacted so cheerfully to my friend's astonishment that I still nursed my son. If I smiled and said it was easy, I would not be judged. But it wasn't easy at first and those early months I thought myself a lochness monster for finding what I was told was the natural order of things, more difficult than running ten miles on stilts. My astonished friend is not yet a mother and I'd hate for her to look back at our conversation one day and think Aisha said it was easy and worry-free but this is hard. What's wrong with me? 

As woman we should support each other, hold one another up, but instead so often, we judge and bring each other down be it over nursing, the choice to work or stay home, sleep routines, etc. My instincts are to smile and say all is well, because its a knee-jerk reaction akin to responding great! when asked how its going, even if its really going the complete opposite. But I can't do that. I can't remove my honest experience with a knee-jerk feel-good response. To do so would be to potentially hurt another person struggling through what I did and to make them feel alone when they are not.

Nursing was great. Nursing was hard as hell. I wrote this post so I won't forget.

Why I will no longer borrow children's books from the library

Because when you walk in on this. . .

 it makes you question a lot of things.

And while everyone is so very confused and bewildered as to how this could have happened . . .

Well, this is strange!

Let's just say, I have my suspicions. 

mama, isn't this what they'd call, garnish?

You can't help but wonder as you walk in on a shoe-banana-book sandwich that a) it is the way of children and b) what do other kids do with their library books? And while perhaps it builds immunities its also just . . . yeah. So as not to inflict on others the remnants of such savory concoctions as my budding chef puts together, I'll be buying my baby's books for a little while to come. [for the record this was not a library book based meal]