Now I could totally support "World Leader Shoe-Chucking" as an Olympic sport. Although I think it would probably lose it's glamour if it became an Olympic sport since I'd then be forced to watch the Olympics. Obviously, the Iraqi team would be the gold medal favorite. The thing about this event that totally floors me is that Bush is so completely ignorant of any culture other than American. He totally laughed at this and doesn't understand how completely insulted he should be. Don't get me wrong. I'm 100% on the Iraqi guy's side and I'll tell you why: In his goodbye speech, President Bush announced to his Iraqi audience that after 8 years of their country being destroyed by the US military under his command that, oh by the way, there really WEREN'T any weapons of mass destruction. Oh, well. Maybe next time things will go better. In Arab society, showing someone the soles of your feet or shoes is an insult. As is calling someone a shoe or hitting them with your shoes. One would think that after EIGHT YEARS of warring against another country, one would know SOMETHING about his enemy's culture. Bush does not.
Anyway, if I were to be on the "World Leader Shoe-Chucking" team, my dream targets would be Condoleeza Rice, George W., Dick Cheney, Bill Clinton, Al Gore, M. Hosni Mubarak, Prime Minister of Israel du jour (they change a lot), Mayor Bloomberg, and Hillary Clinton. I would love to open this up to be more than just chucking shoes at world leaders. Maybe we could include the rich and famous such as Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Madonna whose shopping trips count as world news events on tv. We really don't care....unless they're being slapped in the temple with a pair of Jimmy Choo's, it's not news. Don't show it. Maybe we could also stick other famous people in the list...you know, people we love to hate: Ann Coulter, Tom Cruise, David Hasselhoff, Regis Philbin and anyone with a show on FOX News. Anyone wanting to be a member of the Shoe-Chucking team initiative, please forward their video applications via You Tube showing themselves chucking a shoe of their choice at a poster of their favorite target.
Ordinarily, I don't beg people to read my stuff....okay, I lie! I am a limelight lover and I have no pride........so PLEASE read my blog and just click on the "Follow This Blog" option over there on the right of your screen.
It would SOOOO help me in the "Emotional Health Department" to know that
what I have to say is important to SOMEONE in the world. My kids certainly don't listen to me....husband, not so much. So I'm asking friends and relatives and hell, even complete strangers to help me develop a better sense of self-worth and just read my blog.
Okay, I'm pathetic. But truthfully it would give me a better feel for who would buy
I've been asking my husband for about 2 years to buy me a Taser...but he won't. He just shakes his head and laughs everytime I try to explain my latest reasons for having one. He says I'm too "reactionary" and "hot-headed" to own one. Humph! Says HIM.
I promised him that I wouldn't shock the big-butted woman in front of me on the bread lines at the bakery and that I wouldn't shock the kids' new principal at the school EVEN if she "has it coming to her." I promised that I would NEVER use it on his siblings or his children and that I'd wait until AFTER his brother's wife has her baby before I used on HER irritating ass. He actually considered this for a brief moment and then shook his head and said that even if he wanted to buy me one they don't sell them in Egypt. I, being the ever problem-solving genius that I am, suggested that he just pick one up for me in Greece or in the US next time he goes on a business trip. He thought that he could out-maneuver me with the ole' "it won't get past customs" trick. But I was one step ahead of him as usual, and I retaliated with the ole' "but they come in leopard print carrying case AND have headphones with 1GB MP3 players now!" Surely he couldn't step past THIS intellectual landmine. But DAMMITMAN! He's been watching me and listening to me sidestep HIS issues with such grace and finesse for so many years that now the grasshopper has become the master....and he blew me away with this: "You are so accident prone that you'd probably plug the headphones into the wrong part and zap your own ears off! And even if that didn't happen, I'd have to leave a power-of-attorney with my lawyer every time I left the country so that someone would be able to bail you out of jail the two or three times a day that you get upset or impatient with someone and try to fry them." I stopped and thought about it and sulked. I knew he was right. If you think he's wrong, I'll have to ask you to go through my blog archives to see my ramblings on why it is a good thing I don't choose who lives and dies on this planet as I'd be awfully lonely.
Yesterday was the first day of the Festival of the Sacrifice. This is the celebration of the prophet Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his only son to God and Muslims worldwide sacrifice cows, buffalos, sheep, goats, and/or camels and distribute the meat to the poor and family and friends.
We sarificed a sheep this year. Mohamed bought it Saturday night and put it out on the balcony, where he stayed until Monday morning. Sunday morning I mopped up after him and then I guess he decided that he'd had just about enough of me and stomped his foot and lowered his head at me....so I decided to mosey on back into the house and just hang my laundry INSIDE the house. That sheep may have won the
"Battle of the Balcony" but Monday afternoon when I was eating him for dinner I decided I'd won the war.
My brothers-in-law sacrificed two gamousas (buffalo) and the kids were just excited
as all get out to watch the sacrifice and butchering and clean up. Samiya was watching out the window with me and was asking the name of each part of the buffalo in both English and Arabic so that she could write them down. That's my girl! Always looking for new vocabulary. She'll be a polyglot yet...just like her Mom.
Soooooo, عيد سعيد which is pronounced 'Eid Sa-eed and means Happy Feast to all. I'm going to go eat some more meat!
So, I was in the vegetable market yesterday and a woman was arguing with a fruit vendor (NO! It wasn't ME.)about whether or not the tangerines he was selling were ripe. I tuned them out again and looked through the line at the bakery to see if my friend had finally gotten her bread so that we could leave together. That's when it hit me: the smell of December in my childhood.
The vendor had finally handed the woman a small tangerine to taste and as soon as she popped open the peel, I could smell the juice from it and it dragged me back 35 years (OH DEAR GOD....am I REALLY old enough to SAY that???) to when I was a little girl in Germany on St. Nicklaus' Day.
We would position our rubber boots (because they were the tallest and held the most
loot) outside our front door before heading off to bed. And at the crack of dawn, Denise and I were trucking down the hall in our pajamas to dump out all the tangerines and chocolates hazelnuts and sometimes small toys onto the floor before diving in!
"HEY! Are you in there???" asked my friend, now back from the seemingly endless
bread line. "Yeah, I told her...be right back."
And I bought 2 kilos of tangerine-flavored memories from the fruit seller.
I took Hamo and Ismail to the eye doctor last Saturday night. (YES! Saturday night.Egypt is THE epitome of a nocturnal society.) I've been putting off this particular errand for quite a while. But then Hamo poked Ismail in the eyeball two weeks ago and I had to take him in to make sure it was still functional and all. (They were wrestling.) The doctor told me to bring him back in a week for a regular vision test. Sooooo, I did and brought Hamo with us as I've procrastinated long enough getting his eyesight tested, too.Ismail is far-sighted...and I-----N-----C-----R-----E-----D-----I-----B-----L------Y SLOW at reading the friggin' eye chart. Hamo was convulsing next to me and whispering in a NOT-SO quiet voice, "What's wrong with him? He's taking forever and the doctor is going to say there's not enough time for MY exam!" FINALLY, after 20 minutes of pulling the up, down, left, right answers out of him, it was Hamo's turn. Took him 4 minutes to read the chart....9 for the complete exam.
Now a bit of historical baggage to pull out of my graveyard of a closet, I NEVER understood how my mother managed to let me walk around squinting and bumping into walls until the age of 9 before getting me into an eye exam only to be fitted with big thick bifocals. I thought until the age of 40 that my mom must have just overlooked me as a clutzy kid or was too busy with the 3 siblings behind me to notice I was blind as a dingbat. Fast forward to last week's eye exams of my sons.
The doctor looks at me and asks, "How long exactly has Hamo complained of headaches?" To which I sheepishly replied, "Off and on for about 3 years or so." (The hairy eyeball is not so cool when on the receiving end.) Then I got indignant and yelled, "HEY! Don't judge me! I have 5 kids, a husband and a priority list that does not get rearranged daily but hourly............His eye exam has been Overtaken By Events on several occasions and then he just stopped complaining! The squeaky wheel gets the oil, Man! And frankly, he just stopped squeaking! BESIDES...it's a family tradition!" Ismail just laughed while I pulled Hamo out from under the chair he was hiding under in humiliation, grabbed the boys' prescriptions and left. When we got home, I sat down and wrote my mom a long overdue letter of apology. She only let mebang around until I was nine. I left Hamo to do the same until he was 13. I win the MOTY award.
By the way, they are both cute as anything with their new glasses on!
Thanksgiving is and always has been my favorite holiday of the year. It's a time of bumper-to-bumper traffic, "sweater-weather", pick-up football games in the front yard, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, sweet potatoe pie, cranberry relish, BIG FAT BIRD and pitchers and pitchers of ice tea! My favorite Thanksgivings were always around my Granny Jean's dining room table with the big long blue wooden bench pulled up for us kids and me and my cousin, Wendy, forced to sit next to one another so that when we cracked up laughing and spit tea out of our noses it got all over each other and nobody else.
Our first Thanksgiving in Mobile after Mohamed and I got married, he got embarrassed by how tired he was after dinner. It was his first experience with "turkey naps." Granny just shuffled him off to her room to nap on her bed just like every other person in the family had done at least once before in his life over the years. It made him feel very welcome that he had been initiated into the family via napping in Granny's bed.
I am thankful for my husband and all five of my ornery children. I'm thankful for my family, friends, relatives, and even those people I don't like very much, because I've learned something from all of them. I am thankful for all that God has blessed me with and all of the things that He has not blessed me with. I am thankful for my health, home, and all of the love that I give and receive daily. I am thankful for the pasta and salad dinner that we had on this Thanksgiving day because none of the poultry vendors had turkeys today. (It's an American holiday, for crying out loud. And THIS is Egypt.) I am thankful that I have internet access and that I can share my Thanksgiving message with all of you.
Be grateful for everything that you have and for that which you don't have. Praise God for all that He gives you when you ask for it....but don't forget to praise Him anyway if he doesn't give you what you ask for. Praise Him in ALL things....not just in what's convenient for you. This is true thanksgiving. May Allah bless you and keep you all on this truly special family holiday.
I woke up this morning at 6:30 and really felt that sense of CARPE DIEM(that's "Seize the Day" for most of you who never took Latin and for those6 of you who never watched that Robin Williams movie "Dead Poets Society"). So, I got upand prayed morning prayers and got the kids up and on a staggered pace to the bathroom with clothes laid out and sandwiches made and in the back-packs, and just as I stepped into the girls' room to get MY clothes on....Hamo and Ismail decided NOW would be a good time to beat the hell out ofone another. *sigh* Begin CRAPE Diem. *sigh* Then after I pulled them off of one another, threatened their lives, and returned to the room to dress, Samiya and Aiman decided toduke it out. Apparently I will be the one responsible for Hamo and Aiman's future psycho-therapy sessions. I figured I couldn't run the risk ofthem going to school with black eyes OR risk Randa waking up at this hoursince she only went to bed at 2am. SOOOOOO, since they refused to let mebe alone in the room for longer than 30 seconds at a time before fighting....I did the only thing I could do. I got dressed in the living room in front ofall 4 of them. Of course, Hamo and Aiman got all embarrassed and Ismail giggled his butt off. Samiya didn't care as long as I promised to put her hair in a ponytail before I put my shoes on. WHATEVER. I had a very quiet and relaxing morning after they went to school. I got a nice 25 minute brisk walk in, took a nap until around 11, did some dishes, washed some clothes, hung some clothes, wiped some dust off the walls, gaveRanda a shower and took her with me to buy a chicken and some vegetablesfor lunch. I brought Randa home and got her situated in front of the t.v. andasked her to repeat "the rules" to me (No balcony, No kitchen, No windows,No fighting) and then she told me, "Go. Get the kids," and gave me a kiss.So, I locked her in (my neighbor has a key) and ran to get the kids. My quietand productive day ground to a screeching halt about the time that all 5 kidswere back in the house. Ismail decided to test his tether with Hamo and thenext thing I knew I was pulling them off of one another again. Got Ismail tolie down and take a nap and then took Hamo to his room to calm down, at which time he decided to have a B.A.T.S. (Big Ass Tantrumming Session). During the next half hour of screaming and yelling, I was informed how he hates me,how I love everyone but him, how I always defend Ismail, and how I always punish "just" him. After the first 3 or 4 minutes, I decided this was a re-run,so I closed the windows so as not to disturb the neighbors and closed the door so as not to disturb me. I went back in the kitchen to finish cooking.I ended up breaking up no fewer than 5 fights between Samiya and Aimanafter that and finally vowed to begin breaking limbs of the next person or persons that interrupted my dinner preparations with fighting once more.I got lunch served around 5:30pm. Oh well. I swear I'm ready to just quit this stinkin' SAHM job and do something lessstressful such as Nuclear Disarmament or National Budget Balancing.And by the way, for those of you who still are unclear on the subject, theday as described above is 100% factual with no embellishment and is partof my daily routine anymore. Also, it is the "make or break" factor in my decision NOT to homeschool all 5 of my kids.
Okay, so NOT REALLY but you HAVE to admit that this
photo is an absolute scream! Couple this image with Alec
Baldwin's reference to the Republican candidates as the
"Mc Bush-Bible Spice" ticket while he was on Letterman
the other night and we have a winner in the FUNNY dept.
****Note to all my right-winger relatives: I WILL delete
any nasty comments about my political views, to which I
believe I'm entitled whether I'm a liberal or not!****
So, Monika and Shauna will both be relieved that I'm an
Obama supporter. My mom, dad, Denise, probably ALL
aunts on both sides of the family and ALL cousins at least
from the maternal side will don their black armbands and perhaps burn me AND Barack in effigy.
And that's okay, too. I'm okay with that. I was sooooooo
not thrilled with the Bush (the elder) /Clinton choice that I
voted for Ross Perot and I think my mom blamed me person ally for splitting the Republican vote. Oh, well.
My uncle Sid said that he would consider ME for president as a write-in candidate. I thanked him
for his support but told him that I'd have to respectfully decline the position. For several reasons
I would NOT be elected president.
1. Unlike Barack Obama, I actually AM a Muslim. So due to our lovely press in the US, they'd translate this to mean that I am a terrorist and would SOMEHOW find some sort of link between
my career as a SAHM and Al-Qaeda.
2. I could not be elected as president as I have a tendency to NOT spend money that I don't have. I don't really like buying on credit. It's just too easy to dig yourself a hole that you cannot
climb out of. (Just ask any of those million people who've had their homes foreclosed upon in the last year..."Pardon me, Ed McMahon.....if you had to do it all over again, would you have PAID for your house in cash or perhaps lived WITHIN your means?") I once lost a house to foreclosure
years before anyone knew this fiasco was happening.......could no longer afford the house, tried to sell but the market was saturated with old homes for sale and new homes kept getting built faster and bigger and more bionic? that it was a buyers market and all along the banks were approving more and more loans that they know people can't pay back. (And that was during Clinton's Administration!)
Been there, done that, don't want the t-shirt. I would as president provide tax incentives to first-time home buyers who PAY CASH for
3. Another reason I'd probably never be elected as president is because I would boot all of the MEN off of the ways and means committees and any committee having to do with budget balancing. ONLY women congresspersons (or at least a majority of them would be women) who
have shown proof that they can balance their own checkbooks for at least one year, use coupons wisely to save on groceries in their own home (not just use coupons but actually use coupons for stuff they'd NORMALLY buy) and demonstrate that they can effectively renegotiate a loan via
telephone in front of ME. Anyone who leaves these tasks up to an accountant would immediately be removed from any budgetary policy decision-making jobs and be required to take a remedial
math course at the local community college of his/her choice at his/her OWN expense!
4. My foreign policies would walk hand-in-hand with my domestic policies. All funds currently being shipped overseas as "foreign aid" that are NOT actually for humanitarian efforts (we'll address those later) would be cut off immediately. This means that all this B.S. money that we've been shelling out for decades to countries like Israel, Egypt, Jordan, and more in an effort to get them to "play nice" with one another would be immediately redirected to build new homeless shelters in each state with at least 3 more dedicated to the District of Columbia. (I am AIPAC's
Each shelter would be staffed with 1 full-time medical doctor and 1 full-time psychiatrist. (These positions would be MANDATORY 90-day rotations for 3rd year residents at all teaching hospitals.) Each shelter would have 1 full-time lawyer dedicated to helping the homeless with any
legal issues they may encounter, such as social security benefits, divorce, bankruptcy, military benefits, etc. The lawyers would also be doing 90-day rotations out of the larger law firms around the cities and work would be billed at the firm as pro bono.
The 1.7 million spent daily on wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, after I pull our military out of
both countries and allow these countries to get their own STUFF together, would be used to im-
prove the daily lives of our military that they so desperately need AND deserve. Their pay would be increased to put them at least above the poverty level so that the military wives do not have to spend hours on line to collect the food stamps that help them and their families to make it through the month to their next meager pay day! Yes, it's true. Those people defending your
country and fighting our (and others') wars aren't even making enough money per month to feed
their kids a lot of the time. It's amazing what most civilians don't know about military life!
There are a ton of foreign/domestic policies that I'd create, change or CAN altogether.
The Ann Coulters of the world are not ready for me. My dad and all of his FOX NEWS viewing companions would SOOOOOOOOO vote against me. Oh, yeah.
And these are just SOME of the reasons I'd never be elected and so I forego the waste of
There has been an unspoken tradition on my dad's side of the family for several generations...the women all cut their hair short once they reach 40. (With the exception of my cousin, Jeanne, who waited until she turned 50...I think.) At any rate, I've never been one to follow trends as I prefer to set them. So, I figured when I hit the big 4- OH! that I'd just keep my hair as is....constantly dyed to hide my true age and long so my husband doesn't flip out.
**sidenote: WHAT the hell is it with men that they can't stand when we cut our hair short? True, there are some men who totally dig short-haired chicks but I think the majority of men prefer some sort of mane to grab hold of on their women. Must date back to the cave-men days. I digress.**
Anyway, Mohamed left for Greece last week and I happened to bop over to the hair salon to have my friend, Sherine, trim up the edges and cut me some bangs. She took one look at my hair and asked if I'm losing hair in my comb. I commented that by the end of the week I can usually pull about a wig's worth out of the bath drain. She just shook her head and said, "I'm very sorry. But I can't fix it except like this." And she hacked off my hair. It's just to the top of my shoulders. ZOIKS! Sooooooooooo glad Mohamed will be gone for the next 3 months so as not to give me grief about my short yucky hair. I mean, it's not bad....but really. I'm limited as to what I can do with it. Thank God I'm Muslima. I cover my hair up with a scarf in public anyway for religious reasons. Now I've a secondary reason to cover it....I look quite boyish and roundish-of-face. *sigh*
After I got home that night and started to attempt to style my newly acquired (yet not requested) coiff....I realized that perhaps the Nicholas Hair Hacking at 40 thing isn't in fact a tradition but a genetic trait. I didn't intentionally do this. But it happened. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. My Nicholas genes are showing through. Happy BALD Birthday, Baby!
Isn't this photo a scream? Definitely a good image to
show the little trick-or-treaters the ill effects of alcohol. HAHAHHAA! And since I LOVE Halloween
as well as a good laugh, I thought I'd share.
Mohamed left for Greece last night so we're adjusting schedules and bedtimes and menus. Today the kids got Ramen Noodles for lunch and a potato and onion omelette for dinner! Right on. Not much meal planning going on around here. WOOOOHOOOOOO!
I do miss him terribly and so do the kids. But he'll be back home before we know it.
OH! An important announcement before I forget:
There are 15 more shopping days left until my birthday! I like BIG diamonds, BIG cars, and COLD HARD CASH!!! Send your presents early and avoid the rush at the post office. Really, I'd be happy with an e-mail and wishes for an early bedtime. (Dear LORD! I truly AM old.)
I'll be adding some more "re-runs" to this blog soon as I find the time. I still have to make dinner, hang clothes on the line and dye my hair dark brown to cover this gray.
(This way, Monika can't say I have "fake-looking" red hair anymore.)
Now, off you go to buy me lavicious and expensive gifts!
Note: I'm beginning a short series of 're-runs' of blogs that I'd previously posted on myspace. I decided that I don't like myspace so much and decided to move my stuff here. I've dated the re-runs with their original composition dates so as not to confuse my adoring fans with incorrect dates and ages, etc. Please feel free to comment on the hilarity of me and what a great writer I am....or not. Just please don't spam me to death with ads for sexual enhancement medicaments. PLEASE!!!! Thanks in advance. Here goes:
Since the beginning of man wearing underwear with separate leg-holes, the males of our species have been fascinated with the wedgie. Cotton fabric being jammed as tightly and highly up one's hind region as is allowable by physics, is viewed as a source of pride among wedgie-givers worldwide. Although the practice, seemingly, tends to have been perfected in the United States, wedgie giving is alleged to date all the way back to a rather moody Japanese tailor, who one day just snapped as a result of having to look at yet another naked behind of the national Sumo wrestling team. Legend has it that he jerked the fabric so tightly into the wrestlers crack, that he went on to be the world champion by accidentally winning 10 of 10 matches when he was, in truth, only trying to uncrank the cloth from his colon. Since that time, the wedgie has travelled from continent to continent and has developed into the "Super Wedgie", "Hanging Wedgie" and the ever-feared "Atomic Wedgie." This six-letter word can bring even a 30-year old computer geek from Microsoft to tears, as it triggers dreaded memories of high school nightmares gone by. And my sons, ages 6, 9 and 12, carry on the legend of the wedgie behind me as I type this right now. The Japanese tailor would be so proud.
P.S. (3 oct 2008) I just thought of one of my all time favorite wedgie scenes in movies....It would have to be in that movie with Steve Martin, Queen Latifah and Jean Smart where Queen Latifah gives Steve Martin's sister-in-law a serious thrashing in the women's room at the country club and then hangs her up by her one-piece bathing suit on the doorstop on the upper corner of the changing room door. Definitely a wedgie worth respecting.
No, REALLY.... I truly do hate dealing with people on a daily basis. I consider myself a "people person". But I think it's an act. If it weren't for the graveyard rattling around in my closet, I would totally be a politician. I can wheel and deal and smile and tolerate....as long as the cameras are rolling and there are soundbites to be made. But close the door and I'd turn into a one-woman gripe session about how ridiculously lame people truly are and how intelligent people are not doing their part in repopulating the planet with our kind fast enough!
You know that comedian from the "blue collar tour" (can't remember his name) who hands out signs to everybody ("Here's your sign") due to the stupid questions they ask? I'm wondering if that could be written into a bill and pushed through Congress. I'm sure it'd go over better than national ID cards. Anyone who is stupid would be required to wear a t-shirt that says STUPID on it or a plaque around their necks. Then those of us who are too busy to deal with insipid questions like, "What's the difference between a 16-inch pizza and a 12-inch pizza?" or "Why did you forget that?" or "Why is it so doggone hot? ((question asked on 12 August in the state of Texas))", could avoid being asked the questions in the first place AND avoid 8-10 years in the slammer for aggravated assault. Dude is on to something with that sign thing.
Speaking of which, I have to go to the post office now and deal with sign-wearing candidates. So, perhaps I'll blog poetic later.
Well, it's the 5th day of the holy month of Ramadan. For those of you who are not familiar with Islam, it is the month of fasting, in celebration/honor of the time when the Holy Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him.) We fast from all food, drink, smoking, sexual relations and fighting/arguing/bad words, etc. (which of course is supposed to be avoided all of the time anyway) from dawn until sunset. This year Ramadan started while the weather is still pretty hot, so it's not easy to go without water like it was in the wintertime.
Anyway, we're all fasting this year. (Even Aiman, age 7.) The kids are so cute encouraging each other and even teasing those who don't fast. They make it so competitive and call each other FATIR (means breaker of fast) if they give in to them- selves. At any rate, they're all doing quite well.
School here starts 21 September. I almost have everything readyto go. Just missing the backpacks and school supplies and maybe a new jumper for Samiya, although she'd rather just wear pants. I know this is more a "newsy" and boring blog entry but I can't be real creative before 5 am (at least not without SOME sleep). Hopefully I'll get some creative juices flowing soon AND be able to beat the kids back off the keyboard in order to get it all down soon.
More sooner or later..............the woman who STILL can't get her (#&*($#*ing camera to download it's pictures!
I have always had a short fuse. With age, marriage and five kids I've managed to stretch that fuse time and time again. The result of this practice is that most people think that I have the patience of Job. NOTHING could be further from the truth. I do TRY to have patience but I'm not really very good at it. I AM very good at holding my temper at bay. THAT, my friends, requires self-control and not patience.
Today my "hit list" would be quite long if I were Queen for the Day. And when I say "hit list" I MEAN hit list. I've always believed that it is a GOOD thing that I do not have any control of who lives and who dies in this world. Today I decided that it is also a good thing that I don't decide HOW. Had I been Queen for the Day today, the guy who runs our Internet Service Provider office would have been slapped with wet hands across the face for about 3 hours and then catapulted into space directly onto whatever satellite our DSL is coming from in order that he fix it manually once he figures out how to get out of the straight jacket he'd be wearing. (How he'd get home would fall fittingly into the category of "NOT my problem"...which apparently is the category of internet access complaints when customers call him.)
Also, the boy who delivers groceries fromthelocal market would have made the list tonight. I've always considered him an oxygen thief since the first time I bought a kilogram of flour and 3 eggs and this little brain-donor recipient hopeful just tossed all 3 eggs right into the bag of flour...chicken poop and all. I handed the bag to the store owner and asked for a new order to be filled and suggested this boy's mother could deal with the now poopy flour. He's put my cheese in the same bag with the bottle of bleach and thrown a can of corned beef on top of the fresh bread. Here in Egypt we have our own little way of preventing strangers from coming up to our apartments. We call for a delivery and then lower a basket down with a rope. I told the owner when I called for the order that I'd need change. He sent it. But instead of putting it into the bag with the order, he threw it loosely into the basket on top of the bags of stuff. When my son pulled the basket up to the window the money blew out of the basket into the dark street. It took about 30 minutes and most of the charge of my cellphone being used as a flashlight for the boys to find that 6.50 pounds. (That's enough to buy breakfast tomorrow morning!) Anyway, this genius definitely made the list tonight.
Now, I'd never put my children on my "hit list" for death. However, the 3 boys have earned permanent positions on the "stepping on my last nerve" list. Aiman is now up to 4 days of being grounded from computer games and Hamo has lost 2 days. Samiya learned her lesson last night and only has one more computer-less day. Ismail smelled hours of endless play about the time the other 3 kids lost their first days and he went straight to sleep. Smart kid. I'm thinking of making them clean the bathroom tomorrow, too. Each one responsible for one specific porcelain item to clean. Aiman is SO looking at toilet duty. He's the ring leader in the bedtime olympic games. Grrrr.
I may not ever get to be Queen for the Day over all the universe....but with these kids, I'm Queen every day. I guess it's a pretty good position to have.
Oh, MAN! I'm having a wicked camera-related headache and I'm not exactly sure how to cure it -- short of smashing it against a wall. This, of course, would be another bad example of how to handle frustration in front of my kids. So I'm saving that as the absolutely final option. It would also end in my husband ceasing to speak to me since it cost him a little over 125 Euros to buy it for me.
At any rate, I cannot figure out how to download the freaking pictures from the camera to the computer. I'm not so stupid as to not know how to connect the USB cable, etc. This works fine. But then what? I've already downloaded the software AND there is no option that you click on that says "download photos from camera." Also, before anyone helpful tries to suggest I read the owner's manual, I cannot. Due to the fact that my husband purchased this camera in Greece and even though only TWO (yup, count them TWO) countries in the entire world (Greece and Cyprus) speak Greek and even though it is a Canon camera and even though Greece is part of the European Union, where most business is done in either English or French, the blankety-blank owner's manual is STRICTLY in Greek. Of course being the fine company that it is, Canon did include a CD version of the manuals in English in the box. The only problem is that my retarded computer continually gives me the "not responding" error message everytime I open it to the "how to download your photos" page. *sigh*
Apparently, it is not destined that anyone should see anymore photos of my beautiful children. (At least not this week.) So, when I'm finished tantrumming and finally figure this stupid thing out.... maybe things will turn around and you'll get to see all the photos. God willing....
My sister, Monika, directed me to a blog on here called Mom101 where this woman tells how another woman directed her two little girls to leave their half-eaten hot dogs, foil wrappers and dirty napkins in the middle of the aisle in the Target in Brooklyn. She went on to say all the clever things that she WANTED to say and actions she WANTED to do but then didn't. While I appreciate her justified outrage over the mother's irresponsible, pig-like and uncivilized behavior, I am a little saddened that she didn't go one more step toward crazy. I have taken this step and believe me, it feels GOOD!
About 7 years ago, we lived in a townhouse in Maryland. One of the neighbors across the street from us consistently walked his dog on our front lawn and at least twice weekly left us a big pile of dog poop on the grass near our walk leading from the front door to the sidewalk. Dude had to have walked up our front sidewalk and stood no more than 10 feet from my front door in order for his dog to do his business. I caught him twice and yelled out the door for him to pick up the other half of his dog and he just shrugged his shoulders and walked away. The second time I swore to him that I'd get even!
Well, since I had just had my 5th baby about the time of this neighbor's THIRD offense of irresponsible dog-walking, I decided that I'd have to go on a stake-out. I made my oldest son look out the window and tell me when the Doggie-Do-Dude came to our lawn. He yelled, "Mommy, the man with the dog is back." And I came a-running. Since the windows were open, the guy heard and started to leave at a quick pace. I squatted and peeked out the window to see exactly which townhouse he went into and then grabbed up the 6 month old baby who had fortunately just completed his daily constitutional and changed his diaper. (Yes, I am fast....after 5 kids, I could win in any diaper-changing event in the MOTY olympic games!) I grabbed the poopy pamper and raced out the door, ran across the street and up into their front lawn and opened said pamper dumping it's contents onto his lawn, closed up the diaper and turned to walk back home. His wife threw the door open and yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
And I looked at her and shrugged and said, "I don't have a dog but I've got 5 kids....three of which are in diapers. You keep your shit to yourselves and I'll keep my shit to myself!" They started walking their dog on their own side of the street!
I don't think that I'm going to go into this into too much detail as to the why's and how's of my simple little policy regarding In-Law's. Really, all that can ever come from it is pain and embarrassment and hurt feelings. So, instead of all that, I'll just put this out there!
I chose the man. I fell in love with my husband; not his family, friends, relatives or his millions of dollars in numbered accounts in Switzerland (real or imagined). I promised to love and honor and cherish HIM not his sister or brothers or their spouses or his cousins or any of the others that are related to him via marriage or blood. I explained this to him that when one marries, it's sort of like buying something off of one of those TV info-mercials. "Buy now and get this super duper plastic piece of crap for free!" You really WANT the blender but you're gonna get this plastic bowl scraper shaped like a chicken whether you want it or not. So you buy the blender and trash the excess or leave it in the box or use it AS a doorstop or whatever.
I chose the guy. Any of the rest of the folk that seemed to come along with him are just the " free tag along" gifts that came along extra. I can be polite and friendly but all in all....I didn't marry THEM. Just him. HE completes me. The rest I can take or leave.