Language and the inevitability of rip currents

Despite my best efforts to speak Urdu around the clock, buying Urdu books, singing Urdu songs, these are the most commonly uttered phrases out of my little boy's mouth:

Where are you [baba, mama, aloo]

Love you [baba, mama, aloo]

What's this?

This mine!

See you later!

No 'ew' in bubbles [translation: don't poop in the tub]

While he says it all in an adorable desi accent, accents do not a dual language make. To be fair, we do have Urdu words, many of them in fact, like kidhki [window], bus [stop, done], dudu [milk], aam [mango], but when it comes to conversation, English is pulling full steam ahead.

I can't blame him. Nor can I fully blame myself. I'm fluent, but things were different for me. Despite English everywhere, I grew up in a greenhouse of language. My parents spoke Punjabi and Urdu, as did their friends whose homes we shuttled to and from on weekends, as did my cousins who immigrated over the years, and the Hindi movies I watched as a kid [Hindi is its own distinct language, but spoken, its virtually the same as Urdu].

It's different for my son. K and I speak English to each other, our siblings, our friends, the cashier at the grocery store. At storytime, Gymboree, with his cousins, and many of his budding friends, he is in an ocean of English. And me? I'm a leaky faucet of Urdu.

To be clear, I don't regret speaking to him in Urdu. I can't underestimate this contribution, however small it may ultimately be. He understands Urdu. Fluently. Considering 90% of our one-on-one time is Urdu, we've had no language barrier and I believe he's better off for knowing Urdu even if its ultimately a temporary state of being.

But considering his English proclivities, how do we go forward?

Some options I'm considering:

• Switch entirely to English. I have to translate everything for little guy at Storytime and Gymboree and most places we go and I worry that since he's speaking English the most, I'm hindering him by not giving him more. A friend's neighbor, a language specialist, said you hurt your kids when you don't speak in your native tongue, and though I speak Urdu well, its my third language. As fluent as I am, I'm not nearly as fluent as I am in English.
• Speak Urdu at limited times. Maybe switch to speaking Urdu only when its just us and speak English everywhere else. Or perhaps, take it a step further and speak English all the time, save 1-2 hours each day when we speak only in Urdu.
• Stick to what I'm doing now. This is status quo and though it was hard to get here, I'm very comfortable speaking to him entirely in Urdu. Just don't know if its the best option to help him gain the most vocabulary and speaking skills.

It's not an easy solution and I don't want to sacrifice the long term benefit of dual language for the short term one turning him into a talky talker. But, in trying to hold on to the Urdu-only, I feel like I'm in a rip current, trying to pull one way when the stream is undeniably taking me a completely different and inevitable direction.

Thoughts? Anyone reading ever been in these shoes? Advice or perspective much appreciated.

How to spot an Indian. Apparently.

In search of bowls, the kiddo and I headed off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. [Which, as a side-note does anyone sell a set of bowls these days? They seem to only come huge head-sized individual bowls, or as part of an ensemble set with plates, tea cups, and the like.]

After we finished up we headed next door to PetSmart to check out the puppies, parrots, hamsters, and other fun animals on display. Waleed loved blowing kisses to the fish, waving to the dogs in 'doggy day camp' and seeing live the creatures he reads about every day. After a bit we saw some sales people in the distance and a small group of people around them, so we walked over to find a thin black snake sliding around an employees shoulders and arms while the other cleaned out his cage. T'was then the parent next to me decided to strike up conversation. I'll call him Bob.

Bob: Your boy likes the snakes?
Me: Yes, he loves all animals.
Bob: How many do you have?
Me: Animals?
Bob: No, snakes.
Me: Snakes? How many snakes do I have?
Bob: Waiting expectantly.
Me: None. I have no snakes.
Bob: Wait. Where are you from? Originally?
Me: Sigh. My parents are from Pakistan.
Bob: Ohhh okay, never mind then. I thought you were from India. They love snakes there you see. They like charming snakes, play flutes to them. That's why I thought I'd ask. I'm from Brazil. We have lots of snakes but we don't like them the way Indians do.

Though its been a while, I've had enough conversations like this, to not be surprised at the ability of people to assume, and yet, well, color me confused. Wait, what's that? Why yes, I am laughing to keep from crying.

Ramadan Mubarak

Each year I hold such high hopes for the holy month. I seek to strengthen my spiritual discipline. To gain closeness with my Maker. To find peace. Each year I succeed in some small part, but each year I do not live up to the full potential the month could give me.

Prayer and fasting are key parts of Ramadan but they mean nothing without the fully intentional heart behind it. There are some moments that can change your life, that can crack you open like a nut from its shell and set you free, I believe this month can do this for someone like me who is on a seemingly endless search for spiritual closeness and peace. A dear friend had an idea to hold one another accountable for the next 20-odd days. To try our best, and check-in daily on our pursuit to make the most of the holy month. I'm excited about the hope this gives me. And I'm amazed at how despite all these years of trying and coming up short, hope remains that this year will be it. 

Ramadan Mubarak to you and yours. May it be everything you need it to be.

Depth perception

My son and I went to Whole Foods today for his favorite Shea Butter Bubble Bath. We also purchased some apples, eggs, and a quart of Greek yogurt. All for the cost of a mini-cooper. As we were checking out, I saw an elderly man sitting on a bench by the sliding doors next to the orchids. He wore a blue checked shirt, his hair a thick shock of white, and his back hunched over, he sat staring into his lap, a distant look in his eyes.

My heart broke for this man sitting like abandoned goods at the front of the store with that distant look while his child probably went grocery shopping. Did she not have the patience for his slower gait? Was he remembering a time that he had patience for her as she toddled by his side so many years ago? Is he feeling choked by depression that its come to this? Sitting forgotten on a grocery store bench?

And then, as I pushed my cart past him, I saw a bag of groceries by his side and a smart phone in his lap. He was texting.

So, yes. Things are not always as they seem. Apparently.  

On playgrounds

Now that he's no longer an appendage I can simply feed, change, bathe and stick back in my Moby Wrap, but instead a walking, talking, I-can-do-it-myself-thankyouverymuch individual, there's a lot more mindfulness required in raising him. It must be true of all parents, that seeing our own children in the throes of childhood, brings our own childhood into sharp focus. I remember what worked, the memories that make me smile; I also remember what didn't. And I'm trying my best to do what worked and avoid what didn't.

One of my fondest childhood memories is our backyard. No matter the house, we lived in our backyard. Riding bikes on the patio. Sitting under mango trees. Making sandcastles. Swinging and chatting on the playground. It's this that I remember most fondly. It's also why, while house-hunting I was adamant about finding a yard big enough to give my son this same childhood pleasure.

We have yet to buy a new breakfast table. The living room, dining room, and basement remain devoid of furniture and probably will for years to come, but the swing set? We purchased it within the first week of moving in. It took driving all over town, coming to terms with the astronomical sum of money involved [those prices have indeed gone up since my own childhood, but thankful for my parents and their generous birthday gift for their grandson] and waiting six weeks for the installation, and then K renting a truck and hauling mulch, sand, tarp, and shovels spending an entire day in the hot sun clearing out weeds and making sure our son had a soft space to land but now, finally, its up.

I know my son is his own individual person. That my childhood wants and dislikes are not going to be uniformly his. I see this already in a million different ways. I also know that as much as I may try to avoid the mistakes of my childhood, I will make many new and original ones that he will likely point out as he gets older. I do hope that he understands, just as I understand with my own parents, that one does the best they can with what they know. But no matter the finger pointing that adolescence may bring, in the meantime.....

. . . we have this playground and we both unequivocally love it very very much. Amidst laptops, and iPads, and the future I might not understand, this playground is the thread connecting our generations.

With that said, Fort Iqbal is officially up and running! Let the playdates and memories begin!

Those parts of parenting you just can't plan for

Like when your son falls in love with a potato. Yes, a potato. Now admittedly, this is partly my fault. You see, he went through a phase where he thought emptying the pantry was the funnest thing ever. So when he dove into the bag of potatoes on the bottom shelf, I pulled out the smallest one with the smoothest skin and magic markered an authentic, 100% BPA free, Mr. Potato Head.

He loved it. Aloo, he crooned [Potato] and with it he left the pantry alone to show aloo his toys, stuffed animals, and for reasons unknown, the laundry basket. He pulled aloo in his wagon. Watched Sesame Street clutching aloo to his chest. The Three Bears can't be read alone now, aloo must also be present. Sometimes I would even catch him lying on a pillow in the living room whispering secrets with his beloved aloo. 

Sadly, unlike stuffed bears and monkeys, an aloo, though a hearty root, has a limited shelf life.  And early this week, aloo began showing his age. Knowing Waleed possessed a dear attachment to said aloo but fully aware there were approximately 25 other siblings in the bag, I tossed out the aloo and drew another smile on another potato and presented it to my son.

He looked at the aloo, handed it back to me and marched over to the trashcan where yes, lying within toddler reach was his aloo. He clutched it and stared at me as though to say how could you?  Now, knowing the depths of cruelty I'm capable of, he keeps an eye on aloo a bit more than usual. I've gone through the whole stockpile of potatoes and they're all big monstrous beasts compared to his dainty aloo and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll have to make a trip to the grocery store, aloo in hand, for a produce guy to help me pick a matching pair to replace his current beloved.

As I type this my son naps and the potato rests on the couch. I swear it's grinning at me. It's as if its telling me, french fries I will never be, I am here to stay. 

The aloo. It has seen better days.

What about you? Your kiddo ever develop an attachment to an interesting unexpected item?

The litmus test for love

Someone I love is going through a lot of pain. I want to take the pain away. I want to snatch it up, toss it in the trash and say there now, no need to think such thoughts anymore, but of course I can do no such thing. I have strong opinions on the matter but these opinions must be kept to myself since no one has asked me, and because it's not my opinion that will dictate the course of events.

K recently introduced me to a beautiful group Mumford & Sons and listening to them today as I swept the kitchen floor I heard these lyrics:

Love, it will not betray you

Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free

[Help you] be more like the man you were made to be

And I wept. Because I thought a) isn't this the litmus test for love? Why do people claim to love others and then tie their wings and why do people whose wings are not fully clipped refuse to fly? And b) why is it that sometimes the best thing I can do for someone is not swoop in and beg them to let me save them but instead bite my tongue, listen, and promise to always be there?

I did not smile on my wedding day

Unlike most girls, I never daydreamed about my wedding day. The marriage, yes, but the actual choosing the dress, cakes and caterers never appealed to me. Once I met Kashif, I daydreamed about the trips we would take, the dinners I might botch and the things we would discuss on our journey through life. But the wedding? Not so much.

The thought of sitting on a raised stage with a velvet veil and 200 pairs of eyes staring at me, discussing my clothes, the groom, and whether the food was better than the wedding last weekend or the bride prettier or uglier than the one before, was not my idea of a romantic and beautiful ceremony. Me? I'd rather have stood on a beach, the ocean waves lapping in the distance with my close family and dear friends by my side while we committed to one another for life; but at 21, raised in a tight-knit and far-flung Pakistani-American family I knew there was no point in trying to persuade my parents of a wedding any other way than the way they had always dreamed of. Besides, however I got married was irrelevant to me; I was marrying Kashif, this was what mattered most. If my parents found joy in the traditional, lavish wedding, I could give this to them as my joy lay in the marriage this wedding would give me.

Weeks after we got married, the wedding pictures arrived. I grinned as I popped open the box, and then promptly stared in horror as picture after picture showed not a bashful bride grinning on her wedding day, but instead, a girl in a lovely red grown, a beautiful groom by her side--- and a frown the size of Montana.

To read the rest of this post commemorating my ten [OMG! TEN!] year wedding anniversary over at Love Insh'Allah, please click here. Thank you K for ten lovely years and prayers for ten times many more.