Square Peg in a Round Hole

CHECK OUT MY NEW BLOG !!!!

2010-01-31T22:53:00.000-06:00

Now that we're back in the USA, I've decided to move my
site.

So, please check out Squarer Pegs, Rounder Holes at
http://squarerpegsrounderholes.blogspot.com/

Be sure and become a "cult follower".....You know, once
I get all set up and everything.

We're Moving...Blog and All

2009-12-23T08:30:00.000-06:00

We've sold our apartment...finally. Not the price we'd anticpated...but the
important thing is that it's sold and our family will soon be reunited, God willing.
I've immensely enjoyed this outlet to my frustrations, joys and "situational
comedy that is my life." It's far from over, of course. But due to all the stress
of showing buyers my place, forcing kids to study at squirt-gunpoint, renewing
passports that expired TWO FREAKIN' YEARS AGO, and all the other
fun that an expatriate can have, I'm not writing here so much anymore. Also
due to the opening of a portal to the dark side of Yahoo!, I opted to open a
Gmail account and I'm having some problems logging in here as much. (Mainly
due to my inability to remember all 674 passwords to accounts all over the
internets...I digress.)

So, God willing, أنشاء الله to those who read Arabic, we'll be starting over in the
USofA next month some time. I don't know how long it will take before I have
internet service there, but I'll have a new and improved blog site to go along
with my new and improved address and new and improved outlook on life....
you know, since I'll have access to my spouse again. So stay tuned and I'll post
a new URL as soon as I get one. And do check back in...I'm 100% certain that
we should have all kinds of new funnies. How could we not? I'm going to be
travelling from Egypt to Texas by myself with 5 kids, 12 suitcases, 6 carryons
and a partridge in a pear tree. But one question from customs at any stop along
the way, and that partridge'll be stuffed with pears and handed over to the agent
as a culinary bribe!

Speaking of culinary bribes: I FINALLY convinced Randa that we should leave
"Randa's house" and move to Texas. I had to tell her that I'd take her to McDonalds.
See? Bribery DOES work.

Mothers and Daughters

2009-12-01T13:52:00.001-06:00

Today has been a truly mixed bag of emotions for me. I woke up
this morning and started to knock on the door to my mom's room
to remind her to take her thyroid medicine. Then I got this over-
whelming feeling of sadness as I realized she's gone. She left last
night around 10:30pm and cried that she was leaving us behind.
I'd threatened the kids not to cry in front of her so it wouldn't be
so hard on her. Apparently, it didn't make a difference. My neigh-
bor, who drove her to the airport in Cairo 3.5 hours away, said
she cried the whole way. Poor thing.
Now, don't get me wrong. My kids were totally affected by her
leaving. I just made them wait to get back in the house to cry. And
cry they did. Especially Ismail. He and my mom argued most of the
month she was here. He was sassy and bossy and rude...typical
tween behavior. But it was his usual false bravado that tends to
find it's way into him as he tries various "personality outfits." He
cried his eyes out for more than an hour and eventually fell asleep
in her bed.
I'm so happy that she came to visit us. We had a wonderful visit.
And I think I love my mom even more than I ever did before...even
though I didn't know I could love her more!

I Did Not Marry a Man...I Married a Pack-Rat!

2009-11-11T17:56:00.000-06:00

HOLY HEFTY BAGS, BATMAN! THAT'S A LOT OF TRASH YOU'VE
GOT THERE! Or at least that's what my neighbors were thinking as my poor
eight-year-old, Aiman, was lugging the three giant black plastic bags down to
the dumpster in two separate trips. MOST of the trash was courtesy of cleaning
out my husband's closet. And NO, I did NOT throw out the polyester leisure
suits awaiting their return to the (ahem!) fashion (yeah, I can't even say it without
laughing either) rotation. I did get rid of the sweatsuit with all those little fuzz
balls built up on it and the white oil-based paint on the leg of the pants. And I'm
sure some homeless guy will enjoy the acrylic sweater in camouflage colors with
the buck and deer embroidered on the front. However, none of those items, or
even the navy blue velour polo style long sleeved shirt he's had for the last
ELEVEN YEARS made their way to the trash.
   Nope. It was mostly paper trash. Receipts from the electric, water, gas, and
telephone company spanning the last 6 years or so and including accounts from
three different addresses, every bank statement from two different CLOSED
bank accounts, and every bank statement from a third closed account that we
requested to go paperless at least 4 years ago had the first trash bag overflowing.
Then there were the old worn-out passport covers, 5000 saved drawings from
the children, every love note I ever wrote him (Awwwwwwww...) and a giant
broken Batman and Robin alarm clock that nearly gave me a concussion when
the glass face fell out of it onto my head when I pulled it out of the top of the
closet. Oh and guess where I found the VCR that was broken during a fight
over which video we were going to watch next...TWO YEARS AGO! That's
correct. In my husband's closet.
     Now there are a few good things about his ability to "save stuff." I found
the warranties and owner's manuals for every single appliance that I'm trying
to hock right now. My husband is a tidy man....errrr...neat freak.......can anyone
say OCD? He does not like clutter. Which leaves me to wonder why on Earth
he chose to marry me, because...uh...Martha Stewart, I ain't. He has been known
to collect up all the mail and bills from the kitchen counter and shove it into a
plastic shopping bag which was then stuffed into a tiny cupboard above the
fridge that I never use because I'm only 5'3" and can't reach it. Ordinarily, I
don't mind when someone tries to declutter my life. However, I'm fairly organized
for a disorganized person. I know that I have that whole "out of sight, out of mind"
mentality. So I tend to put unpaid bills on the counter to remind me to pay them.
When Mr. "Don't Clutter My Life" collects them up and hides them in a cupboard
so that he doesn't have to see any messy countertops, I show my blond roots
when I am completely clueless as to why we are sitting in the dark over a 3-day
holiday weekend barbecuing everything from meats to cheerios because the
electric stove is not usable due to my inability to remember to pay the bill simply
because I didn't see a piece of paper on the formica! I digress.
    So the closet is no devoid of all photos of people we both truly hate, checks
that we'll never use, broken shoelaces, plastic bags from various duty-free shops
around the world and the empty box and owner's manuals that go to the Motorola
mobile phone stolen over a year ago, AND both the 110v home charger and charger
that plugs into your cigarette lighter in your car for an Ericsson mobile phone
that we sold 5 years ago. There was a cigarette lighter/ashtray combo thing
purchased as a gift for someone in the States only he forgot to take it with him last
time he went. I could go on, but I'm actually embarrassed. So suffice is to say, I
at last found wood that turned out to be the bottom of the shelf I'd not seen since
the day we put that bad boy together seven years ago. WOW. One really can
accumulate quite a bit of crap in eight years time. But when you're married to a
pack rat, all bets are off. (Hint: wait until your pack rat is out of town like I did.
It makes the separation anxiety over getting rid of stuff sooo much easier to deal
with...especially if they've saved so much crap they don't remember owning it in
the first place!)

Today I'm 29 Years Old....for the 12th Time

2009-10-29T19:45:00.000-05:00

That's right! It's my birfday today. Though it started off on the wrong foot
with me having to go personally ruin the career of a teacher who hit my son
in school yesterday, it was all up after that. My mom flew in from the U.S.
to spend a month with me and the kids. And my sister-in-law bought me
cake and visited for a few hours and my other sister-in-law actually put on
her "human suit" and came down and visited, too. And my children all painted
beautiful pictures for me. And my husband called and sang to me. AND my
sister, mom, and husband got me a new laptop for my birthday. But the
best gift of all was my new bra.

Yes, that would be odd in comparison to a laptop. BUT having lived
in Northern Africa for the last 8 years, I've been reduced to buying these
Chinese torture devices in order to hold up "the twins." I was so excited to
have an actual new Playtex bra with no ragged strands of elastic hanging out
of the side panels that I put it on immediately after I got out of bed: BEFORE
COFFEE! My mother thought it strange that I was so excited about a very
functional (while still pretty) piece of underwear. I was never so unaware of
my breasts....this is a new feeling after breast-feeding 5 kids. I am constantly
aware of my boobs anymore. I have to throw them over my shoulders in
order to keep from crushing them against the sink while washing dishes. The
bras here really do little more than add a layer of fabric between your skin
and your blouse. The elastic is absolutely useless. In fact, one would have
more support were she to just tuck them into her pants along with the blouse.
So naturally, when I got this new brasierre with REAL elastic in it and REAL
support (YES...lifting and separating) and returning "my girls" to their original
homes after such a long visit at my waistline, I was on cloud nine. Let's face it.
When you nurse kids non-stop for a total of 7 years, your once perky bosoms
are going tend to resemble two tube socks full of wet sand and there is little
you can do about it...non-surgically, anyway.

But now with my awesome battle bra and a quick touch up on my dye job, I
could probably pass for 29 for real. OH what a wonderful birthday. Props to
Playtex for bringing affordable "front end hydraulics" to the masses!

I've Become a Stepford Mom

2009-10-23T08:51:00.001-05:00

So we've been sick now for nearly two weeks. I even went so far as to take
all SIXof us in for exams at the same time last Saturday. Cost me 100 LE
just for the exams and another 125 LE for all the meds afterward. And of
course, when it comes to MY prescription, it's for (drumroll please?) an
antidepressant medication. I've managed being a mother for 14+ years and
never had to take more than my daily handful of acetaminophen due to the
noise levels. But apparently this really wicked case of "prickly heat" I've had
for nearly 3 months is ACTUALLY a stress-induced case of hives. And if
I'd not been depressed before he wrote my prescription, I totally am now.
And yes, while it's always up to me whether or not I actually fill a prescription,
the pokey, itchy, red and disgusting bumps all over my chest, neck, shoulders,
and left cheek won the argument with the obstinate part of my brain that wants
me to be SuperMutha and do this whole teenage thing sans drugs. And I filled
that bad boy!

I've been on them now for 6 days. And ya know what? Not that much has
changed. Am I any less stressed? No. Am I still having fantasies of duct-taping
my kids to the ceiling, cleaning up the entire house and then enjoying the quiet,
clean, argument-free fruits of my labor while they watch from above for a whole
24 hours??? You betcha. The only difference is I'm enjoying the fantasies more
and sleeping at night...and the red bumps are starting to fade. Oh, and I just don't
give a hoot anymore if the boys pummel the crap out of one another. I've gone back
to the old, "Boys! If you don't stop hitting and start using your words, REAL words,
to solve your problems, you're going to lose your computer priveleges!" It's not really
working any more than it ever did in the past but ya know what? I'm not stressed or
depressed over it anymore. How cool is that? I'm not crying on the floor in the fetal
position wailing about what a failure I am as a mother. It's actually quite liberating, this
whole chemical dependency thing. I think I'll buy a petticoat and a beehive wig. I may
as well look the part, right?

Writer's Block...Is That Like Creative Constipation?

2009-10-11T17:18:00.001-05:00

Usually, I'm inspired on an almost daily basis to write either here or on my novel. Finding time to actually sit down and put word to paper (or fingers to keyboard) is another issue entirely. But every few days I do make the time and have a plethora of ideas from which to pull one and expound on it.

Then there is this week which has lasted all month. The administrator's at my children's school are apparently all smoking crack. They've altered the schedule no fewer than 5 times and they've only been in school for 9 days. NOW they are discussing disbanding the everyday schedule and having them go every other day, with side discussions of closing the school entirely come November. All of this from fear of the Avian and Swine Flus. There is word that 2 different girls (one in middle school and one in college) have died in the last week due to one of the two strains of influenza. And people are scared. And they keep reacting. And changing my kids' school schedules. And jacking up my current mental state by adding fuel to my insomnia fire. I'm not a pleasant person when I don't sleep. But that's okay. Being unpleasant also gives me plenty of creative outlet due to my cynical personality and sarcastic wit. But when the usual (lack of)
sleep schedule alters from 6 hours of interrupted REM to 4 hours of interrupted REM, my creativity starts to clog. Well, as it relates to my writing anyway. I still have creative ways of stacking dishes (where they are haphazardly placed with no thought to size or weight and sometimes fall and break) and fixing a cracked window pane. Normal Me would have removed it and had a replacement cut to the size of the window frame and installed. New and Exhausted Me took a hammer to that bad boy and knocked it out of its frame, swept up the shards of glass and warned the kids not to walk barefoot for a few days before passing out on the couch for a nap.
So I can't decide what to write about and I KNOW I've had at least 6 really great topics pop into my head. And the creative part of my brain has bound up like a septagenarian whose forgotten where she put the Metamucil. It's sad really.
Instead of sharing my really impressive outlook on the world, I'm writing about regularity meds and my inability to write. Perhaps I'll try the insomnia meds instead and tomorrow the blockage may loosen up.

Why Kids Don't Belong at Frederick's

2009-10-01T21:41:00.002-05:00

Call it "Flashback Week" if you want, but I've been remembering all sorts of crazy things that have happened to me. Today I was thinking of embarrassing moments in motherhood and flashed back to someone else's embarrassing moment in motherhood. I was still just a "cool aunt" figure.
My best friend, we'll call her Anne, was divorced and had custody of her 4 year old daughter, we'll call her Marie. (Yes, you know who you are because I'm using your middle names in an effort to keep you "innocent.") Anyway, Anne had been seeing a guy for several months and decided to buy him silk boxer shorts for Christmas. They didn't fit.
So, like any good girlfriend, she volunteered to exchange them for him because he was too busy (read: too embarrassed) to do it himself. We piled into her big ole blue beast of a car and drove to the mall where we found (ta-da!) Frederick*s of Hollywood. The return/exchange line was a mile long. And Marie was bored. I took her to get some french fries and we looked at some toys at a toy store and she rode one of those mechanical horse rides. We went back and saw that Anne was next in line, so we busied ourselves walking around the store.
Like most four year olds, Marie was very impressed by all the colors and textures of the racks and racks of clothes. "Woooo, this one's shiny" and "Yuck, this one makes my hands itch" and "I like this pink one with the mirror things on it" were a few of the comments she made. Then it happened. The murmuring, chatting and music all seemed to go
strangely quiet all at once. And Marie's voice could be heard
shouting, "HEY! MY MOM'S GOT ONE OF THESE!" I looked up and over at the cashier where I could see Anne's shoulders tense up and her buttcheeks clench. Since I didn't want her thinking I'd shown her child something totally inappropriate I yelled to her, "RELAX! IT'S A ROBE!"
The whole place cracked up.

Sanitary Napkin Memories

2009-09-29T15:45:00.001-05:00

While I love to read the more she-geared blogs and subscribe to several of them, I tend to stay away from words
like "vagina" and "tampon" and "girly bits" in my posts.
Not for any PC reason, I just don't have to talk about it in order to have one. At any rate, today is a special day.

I was chatting with my mother today and we got into a discussion about menstrual pads. Now, contrary to what various advertisement agencies will have you believe from their life's work of 30-second spot commercials during prime time t.v., women don't actually sit around discussing their
preferred methods of catching "Aunt Flo." However, my 13 year old daughter is getting around that age where we expect she'll be starting her period soon. This doesn't seem like a
big deal, does it? It is. My daughter has what the "experts" call Pervasive Developmental Delays with Autistic Tendencies (PDD/AT). Whatever the hell that actually means, I don't know. I do know that she is pretty verbal and smart and reads and talks and writes in both Arabic and English. She learns visually and doesn't "get it" when you're trying to explain some abstract thing that she can't see. And since I had a hysterectomy about 8 years ago, I can't exactly "accidentally on purpose" let her see me change a pad in order for her to freak out on my menstruating...because I don't. So...back to Sanitary Napkin Memory Lane.
I mentioned ALWAYS with wings to my mom and she said those damn wings always flip over and cause some serious damage to pubic hair. And I started to laugh. Loudly. I had
flashed back to a memory of high school. Yeah, of course, it
had to happen there. It's funny NOW that I can look back from 24 years later...but when it happened. I didn't laugh so much as I cried.
In 1986, we only had to have 20 credits total to graduate high school. I'm sure things have changed since then. But my dad was ahead of the school board apparently. He frowned upon any non-academic electives and constantly pushed me to take extra academic courses, like extra math or science classes. He also encouraged me to take a paralegal course at the community college a couple of nights a week just to see if I really wanted to be a lawyer. Anyway, at the end of my senior year, I had 24 academic credits and some college credits to boot. So a week or so before graduation, there was an assembly for seniors. And I got an Achievement Award.
And I was on my period.
Mr. Reynolds, the assistant principal, called my name to come up on stage in the auditorium. My friend, Vickie, was sitting next to me. She knew I was on the rag since I had to borrow a pad from her since I had run out. As I started to stand up, I whispered to her, "Oh man. I think this pad has turned upside down." I straightened up and I felt lightening bolts shooting through the old hoo-hoo. I let out an "owww"
that was only heard by Vickie due to the applause of the other seniors. I proceeded to walk as carefully as possible up the EIGHT STEPS to get to the top of the stage and by the time I got to shake hands with Mr. Reynolds and take my award, tears were streaming down my now red face. I was certain that my lower extremities now had that "Brazilian body wax" look and I carefully lowered myself into the seat next to Vickie, who was now sitting cross-legged trying not to wet her pants while she died laughing.
I wasn't tragically scarred for life, physically or psychologically due to this event. But now I find it a bit amusing. Regarding my daughter, it looks as though I'm going to have to wear a pad with "monkey blood" on it in order to
get her slightly used to seeing the ole "big girl bandaids" each month. Hopefully, she won't follow in her mom's footsteps of Introduction to Bikini Waxing in a public place.

We're Clearly Doing Something Right

2009-09-25T15:16:00.001-05:00

My brother-in-law remarked to my sister the other day that if their kids hate them, clearly they must be doin something
right. She said that she's going to print that up and stick
it on the refrigerator.
And now that his comment has reached my ears, I must say,
Dude is on to something. I hear all the time from my elder
teenager that I am hated. Of course, it's usually just after
he gets sent to his room for being disrespectful or hitting
someone or calling someone an insulting name involving a
specific part of the human anatomy.
Speaking of disrespect, my 11 yr old is now telling me as
I type this that if I "continue to treat" him the way I have been (read: demanding respect or he spends time in his room), then he's going to run away from home! I wonder if there is a respectful way for me to offer to pack his bags.
Probably not. Instead, I'll choose to just ignore the remark.
I keep trying to encourage them to use real words to discuss their issues but they prefer the slap-down/cry hysterically method. One slaps down a sibling who proceeds
to cry hysterically. The result usually involves loss of
computer priveleges or ability to play outside. The fighting
levels are starting to go down a bit, even though the "I-hate-you's" are going up. So, I'm thinking David's correct
that clearly, we must be doing something right.

The Never Ending Summer

2009-09-20T16:26:00.001-05:00

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? You must
adore me, then. It's been a few weeks.

So,not much has changed here. We completed the month
of fasting for Ramadan and today is the first of three
feast days of Eid al-Fitr. The kids are all fine. I'm
fine. And school STILL....HASN'T....STARTED....YET!
What in the hell is wrong with this picture???! Randa
is so fed up with this perpetual Summer vacation thing
that she pulled all of their backpacks out of the
closet yesterday and stitched up any holes she could
find in them and threw them in a big pile on the floor
by the shoe closet and yelled, "GO TO SCHOOL NOW!"
The girl is so right that it hurts. They've been out
now since mid-May. Frankly, I'm getting a little sick
of seeing them myself.
Don't get me wrong. I love my kids. I just tire of
the "He's sticking his tongue out at me!"-"She hit me!"
routine and DON'T get me started on the "Is it my turn
yet?" regarding the computer. I had to sit through "turns"
for each of the five of them TWICE and forcibly remove
my 8 year old from the seat in order to get MY turn in.
And I'm the one trying to download the webcam software
so they can see their father when they talk to him! Silly
me. I didn't realize that "just 5 more minutes of Spider
Man" was a higher priority.
Another high point to their going back to school will
be the facilitation of my working out and dieting. I've
been trying all summer to work out. It's hard to do kick
box aerobics AND yell at your 11-year old son to stop
walking with his pants down to butt-crack level and making
"gangsta faces" at his sister. Mind you, this is all taking
place in my dining room and my heartrate is getting higher
by the second more from the aggravation factor than the
hook to the head/knee to the face combination.
One of the teachers knocked me for a loop yesterday,
though. She said that due to the high number of influenza
cases this year, they're going to be sending the kids in
grades 1-3 in the morning and the kids in grade 4-6 in the
afternoon. WHAT?! There goes my chance at free time, house
work, cooking and homeschooling Randa! I've got a third
grader, fourth grader and fifth grader. Who KNOWS what
craziness they're talking for the eighth grader? So, it's
looking like I'm stuck with kids galore for the remainder
of the year. Lucky, lucky me. Poor Randa. It's going to
take a lot more than stitching up ripped backpacks for
her to get any one-on-one time now.

Legend in My Own Mind-Part Deux

2009-09-06T06:40:00.000-05:00

It happened again...today...TWICE! First, the same guy who couldn't remember me
before e-mailed me again and this time remembered our Class President- duh!
AND my sister...who I introduced to him. Yeah. I'm thinking he's GOT to be screw-
ing with my head now. Did one of you e-mail him a copy of part one of this blog?
Maybe he actually read it...on his own...but I'm thinking that he may have enjoyed
a little more than the "experimental dosage" of black hash that made it's way from
Turkey to our high school in Germany. But damn. You remember my younger sister
but not me. Hmmm. Nope, you're obviously an idiot. Or blind. Or a burn-out.
Because I was way cute. Not that my sister wasn't. I'm not taking anything away from
her. She's a hottie. But let's get back to ME. I'm the funny one who ISN'T shy.
Whatever. I'm so going to just un-friend him on Facebook. I don't care if that's bad
etiquette. It happens. And it's not like he'll notice anyway. I'm obviously not even a
blip on his radar. So I will just have to chalk it up to the fact that it has been 24 years
since I've even seen him. And not everyone is as smart as me to remember names
and faces and dates and places.
This does NOT, however, excuse incident number two. I found a former co-worker
that I met about 23 years ago...but I worked with him for several years back then. And
then again about 10 years ago. And we had partied together several times. And gone
to lunch together a few times. And he dated a friend of mine. AND the second time
that we worked together, I was pregnant for like the 47th month...okay it only seemed
like it........I was about 6 months pregnant with the 4th kid and I distinctly remember
about 4 or 5 of us from the office riding together to a meeting or a luncheon and HE
was going on about how great Dr. Laura Schlesinger was and we discussed the friend
of mine he'd dated years before. AND his love of larger women. And when he men-
tioned one day that I was "looking real good," I made a mental note to start on a diet
immediately! So how is it that he sends me a Facebook message after ACCEPTING
my add friend invitation telling me he's drawing a total blank about me? Again, IS THIS
EVEN POSSIBLE? Someone is just screwing with me, I know it. I'm far too cute for
people not to remember me. And I'm funny. And I'm really smart. Not just smart-ass.
I mean, really smart. I have an I.Q. of 143! That's nothing to sneeze at.
There is definitely a plot out there to drive me stark raving mad. Why does this
bother me? Because I am totally 100% an attention whore. I know this. It's what drives
me to blog. Well, that and the fact that I'm raising five kids in a foreign country with no booze.
I suppose I should be grateful that my kids remember me. And my husband. And my mom.
And my sisters. I'm a little uncertain as to whether or not my brother remembers me. But
I can't un-friend him. That would be...just wrong. But these other two clowns? I have to
just remind myself that it's their loss. They won't get to reacquaint themselves with the
glory that is me. Gotta click that delete button. Obviously I won't be missed.

My Fantasy Life Has Been Interrupted by My Kids

2009-09-04T15:03:00.000-05:00

I'm lying on a big comfortable king-sized bed, wearing pretty pajamas with no
food stains or holes in them, and my hair is clean and there's no one banging on
the bedroom door screaming, "MOM!!!!" I'm sleeping...actual r.e.m....and no
alarms and no telephones and no dreams of any kind........and......
BLAMMO! Someone slams into the bedroom door with his shoulder to open it,
because, you know...those damn door handles...well, they're just a decorative
option. "Hunh?...get the glue out of the cupboard...I'll make dinner...huh? What?"
I sit up in bed.
"Mom! Ismail won't give Randa the remote control back and he's not even
watching t.v.!" whines Samiya.
"That is NOT true. I turned the t.v. on an hour ago and so it's my turn to have
the remote!" shouts Ismail from the living room.
"REMOTE! I LOVE YOU, REMOTE! T.V.! REMOTE! STUPID ISMAIL! CALL THE
POLICE! ISMAIL'S JAIL!" screams Randa from behind her tear-stained face with
stripes of skin where her eyebrows once were as she plucked vertical stripes
when she found my tweezers sometime last night.
I crawl back under the sheet and pull the pillow over my face. Will death not
come quicker than this? Why now? I just went to bed at 6am. What time is it?
My mind is a tornado of questions that 30 seconds ago didn't exist. "What was
I dreaming about?" I wonder. The shouts are getting louder and the mother's
intuition is starting to kick in. I throw back the sheet and sit up, place my
glasses on my face so that I can find the bathroom without crashing into
furniture and shove my feet into my slippers. With very old, fat, and exhausted
cat-like reflexes I throw a hand up to catch the fist of Ismail that is about to
pound down on Samiya's head as he shouts, "TATTLE-TALE!" I spin him about
and shove him toward his room.
"Back to your room, Mister! And don't come out until I call you!" I continue
shuffling to the bathroom. "And don't throw anything out of the room at her."
I hug Randa to calm her down. "And don't call her nasty names from in there
either!" I yell out as an afterthought. "Samiya. You're grounded from talking
at all for the next 20 minutes because you tattled and minded their business
instead of your own."
"But I...." she starts. She gets the morning stink eye from me. She takes a big
huffy breath and stomps off to her room and slams the door at me. Whatever.
I think about how much my fantasies have changed over the years as I brush
my teeth with the door locked and use my "maternal noise-cloaking device"
(M.N.C.D.) deep in my brain to tune out the fight that has begun between
Ismail and Hamo in their bedroom.
I used to fantasize about my husband and me running hand in hand on the
beach or being wealthy jetsetters, not to mention the sexual fantasies. Now I
fantasize about clean, hole-free pajamas and napping without interruption!!?
What the hell happened to me?
The M.N.C.D. is starting to jam due to piercing screams and four-letter words
being yelled by the boy in the headlock and crazy, macho self assurances are
being shouted by the one clutching the owner of the foul mouth, "YEAH!
WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW? I'M THE TOUGH GUY. NOT YOU! I'M THE MAN."
I spit and rinse and run my fingers through my graying hair (time for a touch up)
and take a deep breath before going to pry apart the warring teenage factions
and face the reality of my life: Motherhood sucks sometimes.

Why Your Sons Should Not Play Karate Games

2009-08-30T21:29:00.001-05:00

So I carried on last night about how my boys had their Butt-kicking
Festival in the dining room and I ignored it. Missed that? Shame on you
for not being a better cult follower. Read about it here . So we have
already established I'm not up for a MOTY award. Well, how about the
World's Biggest Loser Award where I have to walk around with the
word LOSER stamped on my forehead and have my parental rights
revoked? Well, maybe not the forehead stamp....

Earlier yesterday, Aiman was doing God only knows what in the
boys' room and this required him to stand on Hamo's footboard in socked
feet. He slipped and racked himself, mostly on the backside but apparently
a little further forward, too. He told me he hurt his butt on the bed but
didn't mention any further details. And he wasn't crying, coughing, bleeding
or singing the high notes, so I asked for none. Blah blah blah. The day
continues and eventually ends with the shirtless free-for-all we discussed
earlier above. About two hours later, Aiman came in crying that his "butthole
is hurting on the left side." Okay. So I told him to go rinse it off in the bidet
hoping that his verbage was mistaken and that hurting really meant itching.
Nope. "It didn't work! My left butthole is still hurting me really bad." So
thankful for the previous hygiene advice, I went ahead and inspected. He
was right. The left side of his anus was swollen about the size of a half dollar.
So I put an ice pack on it. What else was I supposed to do? It was 2 am and
it's not like you can run to the nearest pharmacy and ask for the usual
prescription one receives from half a swollen butthole. He lasted 30 seconds
with the ice. Finally, he went to sleep.
Today when he got up he was walking funny. So, I asked him, "Hey, how's
your butt today?" And he said it still hurts. So I re-inspected and wow! The
half-dollar sized swelling was up to a couple of bucks....the swelling was about
the size of my hand now and included most of his left cheek and was extending
downward. I got him dressed and took him to the hospital and the pediatrician
there said, "I'm pretty sure he just hit himself pretty hard but I'd like to refer
him to a surgeon just to play it safe." SURGEON? Not the word you want to hear
when dealing with your kid's lower levels. So, I put on my brave face and wore
it for the rest of the day. Egypt is a fairly nocturnal society. You're lucky if you
can find a doctor around during daylight hours. So we had to wait until tonight.
I took him to a different hospital where I knew the two surgeons. By this time,
it was 9 pm and the swelling had increased now to include the entire left testicle.
He was so swollen that he had to walk with legs way open and he was in pain if
he sat down too hard. This doctor took one look at him and wrote up a referral
for a sonogram...across town. We caught a cab to the radiologist and the place
was packed. Wall to wall sick people. Yuck. We finally got seen and got his films
and got out of there around 1 am. YAY. Only needing a prescription and no
need for surgery as nothing was twisted or broken. Of course, the radiologist
gave Aiman and Ismail (who was along for the ride and PROBABLY the one who
kicked him in the ding-ding in the first place though he swears he didn't) a stern
speech about the dangers of karate kicks, chops, and punches to the testicles.
Aiman is only 8 and these types of questions don't enter his mind. But Ismail
will be 11 next week. And after seeing his brother's junk swollen 4 times it's usual
size, asked me, "Will Aiman be able to have kids still when he's old?" And I told him
God willing. The doctor did reassure me that he's okay down there but he MUST
be careful in the future.
I wonder if I buy three cups at the same time if I can get a discount. I'm sure the
wrestling around may stop temporarily but I don't think it'll last forever.

Oh the Testosterone is Getting Thick in Here

2009-08-29T15:29:00.000-05:00

So, I'm sitting here just being the mixed bag of emotions that I am;
excited about my mom finally coming to visit, sad that my husband
isn't here right now, perplexed as to why I can never seem to get
my creative juices flowing on my book like I can when I'm blogging,
slightly psychotic, yet thankful to the old high school not-real-friend
that gave me fodder for yesterday's blog post. And then boredom
sets in with my lunatic sons.
Hamo, the 14 year old came in and asked if it would be okay if he
and Ismail, the 10 year old play together for a while. Normally, he
wouldn't have asked except that Ismail was grounded to the couch
because he had been aggravating Aiman and Samiya in the girls
room when they were trying to make an imaginary restaurant and
he kept stealing their table. So I tell him yes...but after another 5
minutes of his timeout. Hamo offered a nice quiet (yea, right) arm-
wrestling match. I started to smell this funky, aroma that I couldn't
quite identify.
"You're not a man! I'M a man. You're a girl." Hamo shouted.
"You're the girl, soft boy!" Ismail shouted back.
"Let's see who's the man here, Wussy." Hamo challenged.
Begin full blown wrestling match on the dining room floor. Thank
God Samiya and Aiman dragged the table into her room for their
restaurant business. "You're no man! You're a coward." shouted one.
"How do you figure, Sissy?" yelled the other.
"Only a coward kicks a man when he's down!"
"Only a loser would go down in the first place. I'm just kicking you
to keep you down, Loser."
Begin crotch-punching, ankle-biting, and other cheap shots. "Stop
grabbing my balls, Chicken."
"Keep your balls off my head, Coward."
"Keep your head where it belongs....up your BUTT! KAYAAAH!"
I shut my door. I can't deal with the noise anymore and they can't
hear me when I tell them to be quiet and settle down. "What is that
smell?" I again ask myself as it gets stronger.
Finally, I see shirts flying past the window of my bedroom door and
begin to hear punches meeting backs and stomachs. Oh great! Aiman,
the 8 year old, has jumped into the fray. Apparently, he's going to get
his revenge on Ismail while he tag-teams with Hamo.
"Okay, okay!" shouts Ismail, "I'm a woman! I'm a woman! I quit!"
and he runs into my room and shuts the door behind him. "I won them
finally," he lies to my face.
"Yeah, I could tell by the wimpy 'I quit- I'm a woman' revelation
as you ran to hide behind my apron," I retort.
"Well, look at how sweaty I am! I just need to catch my breath, "
he announces as he flops down on MY CLEAN SHEETS! The hell you say!
"Go catch your breath in a shower. I've gotta sleep here tonight and
I don't wanna smell your funky ass all night! GET OUTTA HERE!" I throw
the door open and shove him into the general direction of the bathroom.
Oh, yeah. It's testosterone. THAT's the smell.
Finally, the three boys have each determined which one is a man and
which one is a girl. I don't care who wins....ultimately, if there's silence
I'LL be the winner.

The Legend in My Own Mind

2009-08-28T18:17:00.001-05:00

I was an army brat growing up. We moved every 1 to 3 years. I lived
in Alabama, Michigan, Texas, Germany and Maryland and traveled to
all different states and countries in between. For some kids, like my
sister, all this bouncing around was hard. We had to leave friends behind
and start all over in a new place, new house, new school, making new
friends. I'm an extrovert. I just thought of it as new signatures for my
"autograph book" (remember those? Like any of us would fall over some
famous person and we just so happened to have an autograph book in
our back pocket next to that long handled plastic pink and yellow marble
colored comb?)
I was great at making friends. I always had the quantity, even if I
didn't always have the quality of friends my parents preferred for me.
I always felt sorry for my sister. Just one good friend at any particular
place we lived...maybe two or three more that were close acquaintances.
Of course, MY friends were usually popular and loud and everyone knew
them so I must have been fairly popular, too. Right?
Reality check: Facebook is great for reconnecting with old high school
friends/acquaintances. I've reestablished communication with lots of
people I went to high school with in Germany the first three years and
with a bunch more that I knew my senior year in high school in Maryland.
(Damn Army....dragged me off before my last year in Stuttgart!) So, there
was this really good looking guy who I met in my drama class my junior
year in Germany. He was very nice and always talked to me whenever we
saw each other in the hallways. My sister had a massive crush on him and
begged me to introduce her to him. ..which I did....begrudgingly...after
hearing how it's so not fair that I know all the good-looking and cool guys
and jocks, etc. So, I introduced them. And they began to talk in the halls
between classes.
Twenty-five years later I open a Facebook account. While looking up
people from my two high schools, I ran across this guy's name. "Oh, wow,"
I thought to myself. "I always wondered what happened to him." So, I
sent a message and an add friend invite and then NOTHING. I figured
surely he MUST remember me. I hung with all the popular kids in my class
and even though I was a year behind him in school, he MUST know me.
I was so damn cute in high school. You know, despite the braces, freckles,
really curly hair when everyone else was wearing it straight and feathered
back....and blonde....except mine was reddish brown. But I stood out.
Among all the other popular kids while we were selling donuts for the
junior class formal. Yeah, he knew me. He HAD to remember me. Afterall,
I remembered him.
Two weeks went by and still no word. Well, until today. I got a Facebook
message that had my total reality check in just a couple of bland, ego shat-
tering sentences: I'm sorry. I'm old now. Help me remember....how did you
know me?
"How did YOU know ME?" Okay, that verifies that he didn't know me.
"I'm sorry" that's just common courtesy. "I'm old now" that's just crap. He's
41 maybe 42. "Help me remember" means, "all those conversations that we
had during drama class and in the hallways, and even meeting your sister
was all just time I passed nodding and smiling my dazzling, popular guy
smile while in my head I was thinking, "I wonder what's for lunch in the cafeteria
today" and "Who the hell is this dorky chick with the braces who keeps talking
to me all the time? Oh yeah. I think she sells donuts or something. I wonder if
she knows the girl with the big boobs in my calculus class. If she ever shuts up
I'll ask her. Oops there's the bell."
Yup. I apparently was a legend in my own mind. I must not have made an
impression on as many people as I thought I had. My sister will be relieved.
Perhaps I'm one of those "sympathy friend additions" on Facebook. You know,
where you feel a little guilty because you don't actually remember the person
who's friending you and you have to run to your yearbook and look them up and
you think, "Well, I saw her around. It's been 25 years. Maybe I WAS friends with
her and I just don't remember." Man. I think I'm going to go get the whole word
LOSER tattooed on my forehead, instead of just the letter L. At least then, I'll make
an impression on any future friends I make.

Teenagers, Lessons, and My Hellish Day

2009-08-25T15:13:00.000-05:00

My apologies if I sound like a broken record
with my needle stuck on the lyric "teens suck."
But it's true. This is absolutely the most horrible
experience I've ever gone through. (Mom, I'm so
sorry for any hair-pulling, anti-depressant down-
ing, top-of-your-lungs screaming I may have put
you through all those years ago.) Ismail has begun
his walk down The Teenage Turnpike a little
earlier than his older siblings. He's not even 11 yet.
Today I went on the balcony to bring in the dry
laundry off the line when some white stuff caught
my eye on my neighbor's balcony (down one floor
in the building next door to ours.) I managed to
focus my non-caffeine-jump-started eyes on the
white stuff and realized it was about 15 to 20
snot-filled tissues. "ISMAIL!" I shouted.
He came out onto the balcony with me and I
asked him about the mess littering my friend's
veranda. He answered with a flip "I dunno." But
I caught a quick glimmer in his eyes before he
looked away. (Tell number 1.) I asked him if he
blew his nose in the tissues and threw them down.
"No, I did NOT," he replied, corners of his mouth
turning up for a nanosecond before scowling again
to show he's shocked at my disbelief. (Tell number
2.) So I looked right in his amber colored eyes and
said, "So, you're telling me that if today was
Judgement Day and you were standing before God
and He asked you about those snotty tissues on
Hayba's balcony you would HONESTLY be able to
answer that you did not do that?" He looked right
at me and said, "Yes (eye shift to the right and down)
I'd be able to answer that I did NOT do it! (mouth
corners up, then down, then eyes up and to the left....
Tells numbered 3, 4, and 5.)
"Go get the broom, dustpan and an empty shopping
bag, NOW!" I got dressed and pushed him ahead of
me to my friend's house. My friend, Hayba, has three
daughters, ages 14, 9 and 5. The oldest has autistic
tendencies and keeps to herself. The two younger ones
are smart-mouthed girl versions of Ismail and LOVE
to antagonize him. In their defense, they did NOTHING
to him....today. I forced him to apologize to Hayba for
littering all over her balcony and then forced him to
go out and sweep it for her.
My brother-in-law saw this when he was coming in
from the street and yelled at him to put that broom
down and what was he? A street-sweeper? And why are
you embarrassing your father like this? Ismail explained
to him that Mom was punishing him because he threw
used tissues all over the neighbor's balcony and she said
that he wouldn't learn his lesson if she apologized for his
behavior and the neighbors don't deserve to touch his
germs. His uncle told him not to ever throw trash off the
balcony again and went upstairs. Ismail went home and
started fighting with his older brother and things just
sort of escalated from there. I'm really too tired and
emotionally drained to relive all of that today. So I won't.
In fact, I was feeling rather depressed about how everyone
around here is going to think I have such a bad son when
I know he's just the posterchild for ADHD and he really
is a good boy.
Then Hayba called me and said that the neighbors
upstairs from her and across the hall all asked why I made
him sweep her balcony. She explained that I force my kids
to be accountable for their mistakes and apologize to those
they wrong. The woman across the hall from Hayba totally
hates me. But even SHE said, "Wow. If all of us did that
with our kids when they are young they'd grow up and be
respectful adults and not throw trash out of their windows
like so many people on this block do." And the woman
upstairs who is really old and cranky said, "Good for her."
Hayba said that she was surprised at their responses because
they are two of the most judgemental people she knows.
That made me feel better.
Maybe I'll survive this ride yet.

2009-08-24T12:33:00.000-05:00

It's Ramadan again. Today is the third day of
twenty-nine days of fasting. Ramadan is the
holy month where Muslims all over the world
abstain from food, drink, smoking, sexual
relations, swearing or talking bad about others.
Well, the swearing or talking bad about others
is something we all strive to do every day. But
I think a more conscious effort is made to
refrain from those during the month of Ramadan.
We fast from just before sunrise until sunset.
Young children, elderly, sick, pregnant or men-
struating women are exempt, and can make
up for not fasting by feeding someone who is
poor.
Randa knows that it's Ramadan because
of the decorations and brightly colored lights
and lanterns everywhere. Autism gets in the
way sometimes when trying to explain the
intangible. But my other four children all fast.
The younger ones aren't really required to do
so. But they look at it as a challenge. In fact,
today Hamo forgot that he was fasting about
an hour before sunset and drank a big glass
of water. The ribbing he got from Aiman,
six years his junior, was unbelievable. "Ha ha
ha ha. I lasted alllllll daaayyyyyy and youuuuu
broke your fast early....You arrrreeee weeeakk."
It took three of us to hold him back so that
Aiman could get a head start.
May Allah bless and keep you and your
families during this blessed month and may He
guide us all to His path of righteousness. Amen.

Shopping with Five Kids is a Breeze

2009-08-20T05:48:00.000-05:00

It's hot. It's sweltering. It's liquid heat. In nearly
eight years of living in Alexandria, I've never been
this uncomfortable. Well, there was that time that
Samiya told her cousin to stay off of her bed
because her mommy told her that her cousins have
"hair bugs" (lice) and she didn't want to get them.
THAT was fairly uncomfortable. But as discomfort
relates to the weather, this summer's heat is by far
the winner.
Yesterday I lost my mind. I announced to the
kids that they should all get dressed quickly, put
shoes on, comb hair and pee. Then we all went
downstairs and caught a cab to Manshiya's clothing
district. Whoa, Nelly! If you think Christmas shopping
on Black Friday is bad, you should try it here during
the August sales month 3 days before Ramadan starts
in the hot afternoon sun. Oh, and then do it with five
kids. If that doesn't land you in the local sanitarium,
then I don't know what will.
Actually, it wasn't that bad. Except for crossing
the busy streets on the way there and on the way home,
it was pretty uneventful. What made me lose it and take
all of them with me? I guess I wanted to get them out of
the house as well as get each one a new shirt for 'Eid
al-Fitr (the celebration ending the month long fast of
Ramadan.) It's easier and cheaper this way.
I managed to get out of there with only having spent
180 pounds. Woohoo. I talked Ismail out of ever asking
me to buy him leather pants again for the rest of his life.
(Barf.) And I also started the brainwashing mantra
therapy, where I whisper to him over and over "If you
want a leather jacket, then save your own money." I'm
so not buying a child a leather jacket.
I convinced Randa that shopping was fun and that
screaming and belching in stores is not. Aiman stopped
asking for the Nike shoes, red sleeveless polyester shirt
with a black zipper up the front and the word Laguna
Beach misspelled (Lagnua Beach) after hearing the word
"No" 422 times after each begging session. He and Ismail
tag-teamed me though when it came to the blue and gray
backpacks with a picture of a skeleton flipping the bird
with his bony finger. That time they heard it clear enough
the first time, "Not 'no', but 'Hell no!"
I didn't find anything respectable for Randa. (What's
the deal with these clothing companies trying to dress
our little girls like common whores? I don't want to
ever be able to associate adjectives like "sexy" or "hot"
with my 13 year old. The creep factor is just too high.)
So I got Samiya a beautiful yellow blouse and a yellow and
purple paisley scarf to match it. Each boy got a polo-style
shirt of a different color. I'll pick up something for Randa
this week. Each of us got a soda and drank it on the
trolley ride home. Most of our shopping was completed
and the kids got a couple of hours out of the house.
Mission accomplished....but it's still hot.

Finding Ismail

2009-08-12T12:08:00.002-05:00

Everyone goes through that pre-teen/teenager
search time in his or her life. Some earlier than
others. My third child, Ismail, is ten years old. And
I'm a little confused as to why HE is hanging out
in the "personality fitting room" of life instead of
his 14 year old brother. I mean, I expect my teenager
to be trying on "the gangster" or "the emo" person-
alities right now. When I was his age, I wore "the
jock-ette" and "the sharp witted clown" suits quite
comfortably. In fact, I never took them off. But Hamo
seems to be content still in his "artist pajamas" from
way back in kindergarten. Ismail, on the other hand,
has a rotisserie style of personalities (from the sales
racks, I might add) that include ensembles from
"thug," "wannabe rap artist (hold the rhythm)," "bossy
McBosspants," "sweet, helper boy," "mean bully guy."
I don't understand the attraction to most of his favorite
designs. I REALLY like "sweet, helper boy." This is
the guy who does the dishes for me without being
asked, volunteers to take out the trash or pick up what
I need from the market. He defends his sisters, brothers,
neighbors and cousins and even picks up trash off of the
stairs when his slovenly cousins toss it from upper
floors.
"Bossy McBosspants" seems to be setting up coup
attempts daily in an effort to overthrow Hamo from his
current position as Oldest Brother. This guy jumps up and
yells out orders to the younger siblings and gets everyone
motivated to clean up their rooms and get dressed quickly
on days we're scheduled to go out on family field trips.
"Thug" gets on my LAST nerve. He has a fascination with
knives and swearing and fighting. He is not a welcome
personality in this house at all. In fact, he and "mean, bully
guy" have been the reason Ismail has lost computer
privileges so many times this summer alone.
"Wannabe rap artist" would be tolerable if only he could
keep a beat. Ever see that Steve Martin movie "The Jerk"?
You know, where they were dancing around on the front
porch and everyone was on time but him? Yeah...that's my
boy. He knows it, too. He's asked his eight year old brother,
Aiman, several times to teach him how to dance and Aiman
just looks at him and says, "I've tried. You just like to shake
your crotch. And that's NOT krumping." (Just a sidenote, I'd
like to thank stupid Nickelodeon and the show "Just Jordan"
for even adding KRUMPING to my little boy's dance moves
repetoire. As though "booty popping" wasn't enough.) Ismail
listens in awe anytime I'm going through my "oh I remember
THAT song" moments and has begged me to teach him the
lyrics to "The Rapper's Delight", "Parents Just Don't Understand"
and songs like "Freakazoid." (Yeah, I know I'm showing my age.)
I guess all I can really do is encourage him to tear off just
the positive pieces of each of these personality-suits and stitch
them into his own unique pattern to fit Ismail. All the rest of us
did it. And now it's my turn to just stand back like the changing
room attendants at Macy's and hope he opts for the classics
rather than the passing fads.

It Might Be About That Time

2009-08-10T08:33:00.000-05:00

I was standing in the kitchen making my awesome
Chicken and Vegetable Pasta with Bashamel Sauce
today when a rare breeze blew through the windows.
I felt something touching the back of my leg just
above my ankles. Fearing it was a red ant (our kitchen
is FULL of them this summer), I immediately dropped
my spoon and started smacking the back of my legs.
Nothing there. "That's odd," I thought. I wasn't
sweating. So it wasn't a drop of sweat rolling down
where you aren't sure if it's sweat or a bug. So I went
back to finishing dinner.
Another breeze blew through the windows and I
felt it again...only this time it was more like a tickling
sensation. I checked behind me to see if Ismail or Hamo
were playing tricks on me with a dry paintbrush. Nope.
I was all alone in the kitchen. That's when I noticed.
HOLY RAZOR BLADES, BATMAN! How long had it
been since I mowed those things? I mean, shaving my
legs is always one of the last things on my list of stuff
to do, ESPECIALLY when my husband is working
overseas. But DAMN! I could probably french braid
these puppies.
So, my list of stuff to do has one more job on it. Oh yay.
Now I need to make sure I've got at least 2 new razors,
just in case one breaks during the pending hackfest. I
don't think we own a machete. We live in the city, for
crying outloud. I may have to wait until the kids go to
sleep tonight. This looks like a 2-hour job. I know, I know.
TMI. But what's a girl to do? I'm really busy and I don't
have my man around right now to ask me why I'm wearing
legwarmers to bed in August to remind me to shave my
legs. I got the kids fed. What more do ya want from me?
So, I look a little "Sasquatch-y". It could be worse. At
least I remember to bathe!

Endorphins, Sore Muscles and No More Writer's Block

2009-08-09T14:42:00.000-05:00

Yes! Today is a good day. It didn't start out that way.
But it's ending up that way (God, I hope I didn't speak
to soon.) I forced myself to do another 50 minute aero-
bic workout today and 20 minutes of crunches. I NEED
my endorphins if I'm going to get these children fed and
grown and married off and the hell out of my house in
the next 20 years. Since I'm doing this whole childrearing
thing sans alcohol, drugs or anti-depressant medication
I really have to use any healthy outlet I can find in order
to stay off the crazy bus. If I don't exercise, write, blog or
swear like a merchant marine, I'd be DRIVING the crazy
bus...right off a damn cliff.
So, I was so excited to see that Shauna Glenn published
my "guest blog" on her site today. Now my head is all
swollen...I had to send the kids out to buy food for supper
as I could not fit my bloated cranium through the doorway.
So now I've got endorphins and a huge ego....kinda match
my huge butt....which won't be big for long if I keep up the
power aerobic workouts. I'm so stoked.
I so needed a good evening like this. My neighbor, Hayba,
came over last night and borrowed my scale. She is about 3
inches taller than I am and wears 3 pants sizes bigger than
I do....but I outweigh her by 5 kilos. My heart started to
sink and Ismail, my ten year old son noticed. He reminded
me that muscle is heavier than fat and encouraged me to
work out today. He was so right. (Maybe I'll cave and let his
father buy him that motorized scooter he wants so badly.
Right after my frontal lobotomy.)
So now I'm motivated to work out for an hour every day and
write for one hour every morning after my first cup of coffee...
pre-coffee would be total nonsense and perhaps not even in
English. As long as I have a pen, a notepad and boobs bigger
than my waistline, I shall be a happy camper. And as long as
I'm working out, I'll be happier. Yay. Good days rock the Casbah.

Success, Fail, Success, Fail

2009-08-03T16:01:00.000-05:00

We had a relatively good day, today. I slept until 11.
I got the laundry in before the lady upstairs beat the
dirt out of her rugs all over it. I sent Hamo and Samiya
to the supermarket to buy the stuff I needed from there
and at the same time, sent Ismail and Aiman to the
open market to buy the produce we needed. Randa and
I enjoyed about 30 minutes of quiet bliss! I had 2 great
cups of coffee and cut and cleaned 2 kilos of okra to
put in the freezer to save myself some work during the
month of Ramadan (starts in about 20 days or so.)
Then things started to go downhill.
The ceiling fan in my bedroom crapped out. Sound
the air-raid sirens...there is NO WAY I'm sleeping with-
out that thing. I can handle no air conditioning. I can
handle making my own ketchup. I can handle life
without Wal*Mart. BUT I NEED MY CEILING FAN!
So, I've planned to swipe the box fan we've been using
in the living room because that ceiling fan has been
running rather slowly. (And yes, I DO know that if I
wipe the 46 pounds of dust off the blades that it'd run
faster...but did YOU know that I'd have to do this
with the fan off and on top of a ladder and well, heat
rises, for crying out loud and I don't want to sweat
that much when I've already got prickly heat!)
Once the temperature goes down about 5 degrees,
I'll clean it off. I promise.
Anyway, I made the kids chicken nugget sandwiches
and chips. I had no intention of cooking today. It was
too hot. And I ate 2 pears instead of that. Come to
think of it, I've not eaten anything else today except
for 1 chicken nugget I tasted and oh yeah, 3 chocolate
chunk cookies that I made for the kids tonight. I know.
I'm just a walking contradiction. Too hot to cook a
nutritious meal but not too hot to bake cookies.
But Randa wanted cookies and just now came in to
tell me, "I'm STILL happy!" That's her way of thanking
me. I love her. She's a great kid. Always honest, too.
Like yesterday when she shouted at me, "EWWW!
Breath stinks!" as I was trying to tell her to please say
hello to her father when he called from overseas.
Well, excuuuuuuuse me. Gave her father a good laugh
anyway.
I didn't get to sew today. OBE once again. (That's
Overtaken By Events, for those of you who've never
worked for the gubmint.) One of these days I'll get to
sew. Maybe. If I could only get over my fear of my new
sewing machine. It scares me. It's got 60 different
stitch choices. And these things called cams so that
you can use the different stitches. But I read the
manual from cover to cover and there is no mention
of what to do with these cams. And I really want to
learn to use this machine. I've got lots of plans for it.
Other than just dusting it every day. Maybe I'll be
able to make myself another dress but in LESS than
a year this time.
Oh and I tried to upload about 60 photos onto
Facebook and it was taking forever. Then after
nearly an hour it only had three photos left. The
boys were outside playing and called me to the
window. Randa was in the shower. So, I ran to the
window to see what the deal was with them and
I swear I wasn't gone from the terminal longer than
four minutes when Randa's radar went off and she
knew I was away from the computer. She wrapped
herself in a towel and ran into my room and clicked
the X in the corner of my window and zapped my
wait time into an hour long waste of time. Oh well.
One more fail to add to my list of failures for the
day. Tomorrow will be better, God willing.
I'll cook. I'll clean...maybe even the ceiling fan
blades. And I won't be baking any cookies. And
perhaps I'll sew. And maybe, just maybe, my teenagers
will all come down with a big, fat case of laryngitis...
non-painful, non-infected of course. And maybe
my husband will hit the lottery and come home next
week. I won't hold my breath...but here's hoping.

This New Jacket is the Perfect Fit!

2009-07-31T07:56:00.000-05:00

So, it's 4 o'clock Friday afternoon and I'm STILL
waiting for Hamo to finish eating lunch so that I
can sit next to him and force him to study his
Islamic Studies books for his re-take test scheduled
for TOMORROW. He has the attention span of a
fruit fly on crystal meth.
I swear I'm losing it. Between fussing at Randa
every 5 minutes to turn down the t.v., at Samiya
to stop tattling non-stop, at Hamo to get back in
his room to study, at Ismail to stop teasing Hamo
to the point that he COMES out of his room to kill
him, at the people upstairs who decided to start
smashing their floors in with sledgehammers around
8 o'clock last night until 11:30 and then pick up up
this morning with their annual dwarf-tossing and
furniture juggling contests, I'm on the brink of
sanity.
I think I could've handled things a little better with his
failing his final back in June had I not been blamed for
it. I tried to reason with him and explain that he needs
to take responsibility for his own shortcomings and how
you only get out of things what you put into them, etc.
Then I remembered he's 14 and all he hears is the WAH
WAWAWAWAH sound of Charlie Brown's teacher's
voice when I talk to him. So I went back to the old
"Get your butt in your room and you're grounded
from computer until after you pass your exam with
an A," strategy. He's pissed off, of course. But you know,
when isn't he? He's a teenager. He's ALWAYS pissed
off.
I think the real trick is going to be coming up with
various errands to send Aiman and Ismail on today. If
I can just keep them busy enough, then they won't
fight or tease Hamo giving me just enough quiet to
stuff this vocabulary and memory work into his thick
little head. Don't get me wrong. He's not dumb and
this really isn't that hard. He's just bored of school,
lazy when it comes to study and blames me, the school,
the curriculum, me again, global warming, (fill in the
blank) for his shortcomings in this one subject.
I'm praying that I can make it through the next 24
hours without killing, maiming, or seriously hurting
the feelings of anyone I come across.
Oh, and did you see the picture of my new jacket?
It's just the right size, too!

Top Ten List of Things I Could Live Without

2009-07-26T18:33:00.000-05:00

There are a ton of things that I could live without. People
who spit on the street when they're walking and guys who
"adjust" themselves in public are things NO ONE should
have to endure. Those selfish younger and healthier people
who refuse to stand up and let an old man with a cane or
a pregnant woman have the seat on the subway or bus...
who couldn't live without them? And those really LOUD,
obnoxious, self-absorbed people who talk on their mobile
phones really loudly at the eatery in the mall.....we could go
years without another one of those, right? Oh, wait. I said
THINGS I could live without. I didn't say people. Crap. Well,
instead of editing the title, I suppose I'll just start a new
paragraph and get myself back on track.

Okay, back on track-- There are a lot things that I could
stand to do without. Humidity, high prices, bad manners,
rodents of ANY kind, household pests like ants, roaches and
sometimes my own offspring are things that I could haul off
to a lost and found....well, the kids they'd probably force me
to take back like the whole Ransom of Redchief thing. But
the following are things that I could definitely, absolutely
without a doubt live without ever having to deal with again:

10. Slow internet/No internet. I have grown tired of my kids
(and me) whining about how "the internet is down again!"
especially when I'm trying to do something important like
cook, use the bathroom, hang clothes, or break up a fight between
the older two boys and I need the other kids occupied. It's also
not very convenient when I'm trying to do something important
online like banking, blogging or Facebooking. (Is that an actual
verb now?) Personally, I blame the loser who runs our ISP. He is
a man who should be forever in my husband's debt and give us
FREE internet for life due to the fact that my husband will not
get me a taser.

9. The c-word. I had honestly forgotten all about the existence
of the c-word because living in Egypt, no one here knows it or
uses it. And although my kids swear a lot when they think I'm not
listening, they don't know this word because they've never heard
it. Then last night they showed Saturday Night Fever and I heard
it about 5 times in a row within a period of three minutes of
dialogue.

8. Liars. I have no respect for people who lie especially when they
are habitual liars. I feel as though my intelligence has been insulted
and just violated. I have a sister-in-law who I think needs psychiatric
help due to the amount of lying she does. It wouldn't be so bad, I
suppose, if she weren't so stupid on top of being Queen of Prevarication.
But this chick is such a moron she forgets what lies she's previously
told me (who forgets pretty much nothing when it comes to useless
trivial information) and changes her story later. Maybe she's got the
double whammy because I think I'm also prejudiced against stupid
people. I'll have to rethink #8 as it pertains to her. Maybe I'll just say
#8 is my stupid, lying sister-in-law. Yeah, that's better.

7. Canadian t.v. drama series. I just can't get into them. It's like
watching bad porn that has no actual porn in it. Bad
writing, bad acting, bad music. What's the point? Why not watch the
weather channel? At least you'll get the excitement of an occasional
hurricane.

6. Rodents. I have been known to actually pee my pants in fear when
a mouse gets into our house. Now that we live in the city, I see rats
on a weekly basis. No, no, no, not inside our flat! Outside near the
trash bins or in alleyways. I cannot stand them. Or guinea pigs or
gerbils or hamsters or even rabbits. Nope, sorry. I can't get behind the
whole "cuddly bunny" conga line, man. That's just a rat with really
long ears. Bugs bunny I can handle. But other than him, move over
Ozzie Fudd! I'm a Wabbit Swayaw...a guitaw pwayaw!

5. Yeast infections. Yeah, no reason to expound, right?

4. Prejudice of any kind (with the exception of my prejudice against
stupidity...it's colorblind, knows no borders, size, shape, religion or
creed.)

3. Mean people. You know those people who treat waitresses badly,
talk down to anyone not in a position to do anything for them, and
those who laugh at someone else's expense? Those people are all
mean. And well, the bumper sticker says it all: Mean people suck.

2. Global ANYTHING. I don't like global marketing, global economy,
global warming.....I don't even think I like globes anymore. Well, maybe
just snow globes. But anything global is just too big and screws the
little guy in a really GLOBAL way. Global marketing made a lot of
people rich (mostly those guys up there in #3) at the expense of the
smaller businesses. Global economy...well, that's just a cluster waiting
for Obama to fix. And Global warming.......the reason for this stifling
unbreathable heat we're suffering through. Damn, I hate it when Al
Gore is right. And globes are just really not that convenient when in
need of a map, in most cases.

And my number one thing that I could live without: Teenage attitudes.
Because you love your teenager because he's your kid...but the attitude
can just die a quick death and spare me my sanity. In fact, I'd be willing
to tolerate the other top 9 if we could just get rid of #1. But you know,
I'll probably never be Queen for a Day no matter how badly I want to be.
So the chances of me being able to rid myself of my top ten list of crap
I could live without are slim and none. Perhaps I'll just have to adjust
to Canadian tv drama series, my stupid, lying sister-in-law, slow internet
and useless attempts at folding globes. Yeast infections and rodents, NEVER.

A Moment of Booze-Free Clarity

2009-07-25T15:40:00.000-05:00

I was just sitting here going over a few issues in my mind when I
came to the brutal realization that I've become....a little insecure.
I know! ME? Insecure? Never. I'd have never thunk it either, but it
is true. And this is a first for me. So I may not be handling insecurity
all that well. I'll explain.

If you ask any of my friends, family, acquaintances, high school
pals, former work mates, "What is Nikki like?" I'd be willing to bet
that NONE of them would say I'm insecure. You'd be more apt to
hear words like loud, wild, uninhibited, funny, crazy, short, a legend
in her own mind, and creative. But insecure was something
I could never be. And then a few events in my life left me in a tail
spin. Marriage, children, becoming a Stay-at-Home-Mom.....nah, I
could handle those. My two oldest kids becoming teenagers, however,
has just about sucked the life out of me....and I still have 3 more
teetering on the brink of Teendom. (God help me!)

I've always been just one step shy of "cool." Not quite a dork with
pocket protector and elbow patches, but still acceptable enough to
sell donuts for the junior class during lunch breaks in high school,
and able to give the old "I'm really flattered that you like me" speech
to guys at work who wanted to date me but DID have pocket protectors
and elbow patches. I've always been able to do anything I've set my
mind to do. I wanted to learn to speak Arabic and I have. I always
wanted to travel the world and I have. I wanted to marry a great guy
and have a big family...boy, did I ever! So, what's with the insecurity?

Well, I want to write. I've been talking about writing a book now for
ten years and I just cannot seem to get the flow going. Yeah, I write
all the time on here....but I can't make a book out of a blog. And
then I meet people on the internet like Shauna Glenn and I think,
"Wow. She's younger than me and she's published and she's got
one fewer kids than I do. Why can't I get my stuff together? I should
have even MORE to write about than she does?" And damn if that
little bit of intimidation starts to expand into full blown discouragement.

I know I can write. I know I can make people laugh. And I don't mean
just my friend, LaRonda. Yeah, she has a great sense of humor but
she and her husband have a pest control business. So who knows
what she's been sniffing all day prior to reading my blogs. She may
laugh at anything now, for all I know! (Just kidding, LaRonda. I know
you keep your chem-sniffing to a minimum.) I guess I just had that
moment of clarity where you realize what's been holding you back
from your dreams. So I guess I'd better get my stuff together and
start writing for real.

HEAT is a Four-Letter Word

2009-07-22T16:54:00.000-05:00

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's HONKIN' HOT in Egypt
in the Summertime. But ohmigosh! It's hotter than it's ever ever ever
been in the nearly 8 years I've lived here. I swear, we sweat IN THE
SHOWER! I've had to send out my two oldest kids to get part-time jobs
JUST to afford the antiperspirant. Okay, not really. But it truly is
hotter than hot. And humid. It's so bloody humid that if it were just
one percent more humid, it would be raining. Damn the luck. If it WERE
raining in Egypt, it would be winter.

And do you wanna talk about thirst? I don't. I'm quite tired of talking
about it, frankly. I have saved up about 16 soda bottles that we refill
with water and keep in the freezer and refrigerator in order to help beat
the heat. I dutifully fill up allllllllllll the water bottles and re-arrange
the refrigerator (because ALL family members EXCEPT mothers pile
every damn thing in the kitchen onto the top shelf of the fridge as though
all other refrigerator shelves are just imaginary) and stock all the filled
bottles at night so that we can have cold water to drink during the
scorching heat of the day. Sounds like a plan, right? WRONG! I've got 5
little sponges running around behind me sucking down all the water
before it even chills 5 degrees! They get up to go to the bathroom in the
middle of the night and chug down an entire liter of cold water out of the
fridge. HELLO??? Why do you think you're peeing every 9.8 minutes???
Because everyone knows when you drink 1 liter of water, 2 liters comes
out! And since it takes me until around 3:30 am to get all of them in bed,
bladders drained and refilled several times over, they all get up before
I do. And of course, they start drinking all the water again. Does anyone
refill a bottle? Of course not. This would require at least 37 minutes of
the "It's not MY turn!" argument, followed by symptoms similar to the
D.W.C.'s (Dish Washing Cramps- the sudden urge to have to poop upon
being told it's your turn to wash the dishes.) And so around 11am after
I've had a couple of cups of coffee and decide I need a glass of water to
help get me through another flaming hot day in Egypt, I open the fridge
to find a plate of dried up cheese and a half-eaten apple (on the top shelf)
and NO WATER BOTTLES. Nope, they're all empty and piled in the sink.
Oh, and the ice cube tray? At least they stuck it back in the freezer, helpful
souls....EMPTY.

And the next person who asks me, "How about that heat?" is going to be
told: "HEAT YOU!"

Because I Said So...

2009-07-14T14:10:00.000-05:00

So, I've reached my limit of hearing the question whined at me, "But WHYYYY??"
every time I tell my kids to do or not do something. It is the reply to every request
from "Make your bed" to "Wash your hands" to "Stop giving your brother atomic
wedgies in public." I cannot for the life of me remember EVER asking my mother
WHY when she told me to do something. I had had the fear of God put into me at
a very young age, I suppose. And although we were always allowed to verbalize
our disagreements with their decisions with respect, we still almost 100% of the
time had to suck it up and do what they told us while our opinions were "duly
noted."

I guess therein lies the danger of our vowing to be "different from our parents."
We try to allow them to grow as little persons when they aren't capable of
handling that. I don't think my parents did anything really wrong with us. Oh,
don't get me wrong. I STILL have a few examples of what NOT to do when raising
kids that I learned from them. But all in all, I'm fine with the job that they did. None
of us did any real jailtime. (I'm not counting my brother's time in the brig when he
was in the Navy for peeing on his bunkmate while drunk because he was angry at the
dude for ratting him out when they went to Canada without permission.) Two of us
have college degrees (I'm NOT one of them) and one is a professional student. Three
of us are married and have kids and none of us has joined any wild cults like Hare
Krishna, the Branch Davidians, or Amway.

My kids are very polite for the most part. I'm rarely embarrassed by them in public
and I receive compliments all the time by relatives and strangers alike by how well-
mannered they are. Most of the sass I get from them is when no one else is around.
And of course, there is the whole "I'm a tough guy and can kick anyone's ass in the
whole school" crap that I have to endure with Ismail. Maybe it's my fault...okay. I'm
pretty sure it's my fault. I'm probably the most sarcastic, cynical and sassy mother
alive in Egypt. So admittedly I've brought a lot of this on myself. When I ask my kids
stuff like "DO YOU WANT ME TO BEAT THE HELL OUT OF YOU?" and they respond
with, "Sure. I'm free for an hour or so," I wonder what on Earth possessed me to keep
being the smart-mouth that I am after giving birth to the first one.

I've asked them, "What language do you speak?!" and I've been told, "Hindi." I've asked
what they're doing and been told, "Jumping up and down like an idiot." And I've even
been told, "Not mine," when I've asked, "Do you see how this behavior can be a problem?"
Grrrrr. Yes, it's true. They learn by example. Dammitman. I wish that they could actually
follow directions and do the whole "do as I say, not as I do" thing. But unfortunately, it
ain't happening. So, anyway, I'm going back to basics as of this morning and I've started
with the simple response my mother always had for the "But whyyyyyyyyyyy?" question
that we rarely dared ask when I was a kid, "BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT'S WHY!"

There's a Reason I'm Not a Seafood Chef

2009-07-02T10:51:00.000-05:00

So, I decided to make fish today and before I left (LATE) to the open market
Ismail yelled out behind me: "I want SQUID for dinner!" So Aiman and I
booked down to the SOUK (pronounced soook means Market in Arabic) and
stopped to buy him some grape gum with the squirty insides from a candy
man next to the guy who sells eggs and homemade farmer's cheese. I got to
the fish lady, Um Karima, but she said the sardines went fast today and I
should get up earlier. (Yeah, Rup Rours, Reorge! as Astro would say!)
Anyway, I got a kilo of squid and passed on everything else. No one has any
good fish after 3pm So I decided to make green bean stew with filet of beef
instead.

Still, what to do with this damn squid??! So I got out my B.A.S.F.C.B. (Big Ass
Seafood CookBook) that my sister, Denise, sent me for my birthday twelve
years late (NOPE! Swear to God she signed the inside cover and mistakenly
dated it before she put it aside and forgot to mail it for 12 years until she
cleaned out a closet or something.) So I quickly read the part about "How
to Clean a Squid." Sounded easy enough. SHUH-HUH! They neglected to
say that Squid-skin is really thick and clings to the meat tighter than a G.I.Joe
kung fu death grip! Also, I figured out why they tell you to cut the tentacles
off below the eyes. Because if you don't pay attention and cut in the wrong
place the little eyeballs kind of explode and you get this nasty black ooze
all over your clothes, the counter, and the clean dishes you just paid the
8-yr old to wash for you because your legs are tired from showing your
muscle-head husband that you CAN lift weights even though you're over-
weight and over forty! So I cleaned up that mess, threw away about half
of the tentacles due to impatience being my middle name and squeezed
lemons over the remaining 3/4 kilo of cleaned and cut squid, tossed it in
a bag and threw it in the freezer. We'll have it tomorrow, God willing, if I
can "get up earlier" and get to the fish market before noon. If not, cheese
sandwiches and watermelon may just have to do nicely.

THREE DOWN ONE TO GO!

2009-06-15T12:57:00.000-05:00

WOOHOO!!!! ISMAIL PASSED TO THE FIFTH GRADE!!!!
We were a little worried for a minute or two. But he did...
by the skin of his teeth! He only passed Arabic and Maths
and Islam with the equivalent of a D but he passed, nonetheless.
Aiman got A's in Arabic, Maths, English and only a B in Islam.
Samiya got straight A's. The only one left to find out about is
Hamo. I forgot that his grades were coming out today and
didn't bother to go to the school. But I'll go first thing in the
morning, God willing! Keep him in your prayers, All.

Thanks.

Life and Death Reasons to Fist Fight OR Why My Kids Woke Me Up Early Today

2009-06-14T10:34:00.000-05:00

**Due to over-the-shoulder-editing by one of my kids, I will refer to them in NO
PARTICULAR ORDER as Kid A, Kid 2, PITA, Brat and HeyYou. That way no one
will be able to identify which one irritated the crap out of me most today and Kid
A will get over his complex of having people know stuff about him.***

So I went to bed around 3am after staying up late with my hubby watching a really
lame movie (View From the Top with Gwyneth Paltrow, Christina Applegate,
Candace Bergin, Mark Ruffalo and a cross-eyed Mike Myer.) I got up around 9 to go
to the bathroom and was overjoyed to find the whole house still asleep. Happy, happy,
joy, joy! in the immortal words of Ren and Stimpy. For a brief second, Responsible Me
thought, "Hmmmm. Now would be a good time to get up and hit the vegetable market
with no one to whine "buy me some cookies while you're out" or "can I come????" or
"It's myyyyyyyyyy turn! You alwayyyyyyyyyyyss take PITA with you!" ResponsibleMe
also thought, "you can beat the scorching humid heat, too, if you go now." But then
SelfishNeverPassUpTwoMoreMinutesOfSnoozeTimeMe said, "EFFF THAT! Get your
arse back in bed!" And I did.

An hour and a half later, I heard a body slam against my bedroom door and PITA comes
flying in with a stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dog toy in hand and Kid A hot on his heels,
shrieking. PITA took a running leap across the footboard and bounced off my left ankle,
causing me to sit up in bed and yell, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING????!!!" Hubby
faked like he didn't hear anything and rolled over because...well, that's what husbands do,
isn't it?

Kid A started screaming, "HE TOOK MY CLIFFORD! It's MINE, I tell you. Baba bought it
for ME! And he TOOK IT right outta my hands!" PITA countered with, "THAT'S A LIE! I
had it first and HEEEE is not sharing with me!" After a few more exchanges like these and
decorated with various insults and bad words, I finally yelled, "GET OUTTA HERE YOU
FIGHTING FREAKS! One more fight over that stupid toy and I'll rip the stuffing out of it
and throw the shell away after burning it!" This, of course, was followed by screams and
wails of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Exit fighting boys.

Twenty minutes later, I heard another body slam against the door which then slammed
against the wall. Only this time PITA was chasing KidA and both were shouting insults
and bad words at one another and threatening to kill the other. HeyYou came in just as
I closed my eyes and asked for strength. KidA and PITA ran back out to finish brutalizing
one another in a different room. HeyYou climbed up between Hubby and me and I
smacked him on the back of the neck and said, "Look, if you're gonna tease your brother
go get the ass-kickin' you deserve and stay outta my bed!" He cried. It was then I realized
that I truly AM blind as a dingbat without my glasses. Poor HeyYou! He didn't do anything
to deserve that. So I let him cuddle with me and I apologized for smackin' him and then
excused myself to go beat the hell outta his brothers. I took the Clifford toy away from
whichever of the two had it (remember, I couldn't see still, no glasses) and hid it far away
from both of them. (Only HeyYou saw where it went and was sworn to secrecy!)

Then I realized no more sleep for me and both Brat and Kid 2 were on the couch watching
cartoons and waiting for breakfast. So, I got up, made breakfast, returned the toy 9mm
plastic gun with suction cup arrow-type bullets to HeyYou (he'd had that taken away from
him because he kept shooting the tv screen with it, as well as, PITA used the same gun to
shoot KidA in the face when KidA refused to give him a quarter they were fighting over.)
I am in search of vitamins that bring on maturity in teenagers. If anyone has any idea if
Flintstones makes a chewable vitamin that makes teens act their age and wards off tantrums
the likes of which would make 2-year olds shudder, PLEASE e-mail me fast! or leave me
the info in the comments block! Thanks!

What I WON'T Be Doing This Summer....

2009-06-11T10:05:00.000-05:00

THANK GOD AND GREYHOUND, THEY'RE DONE WITH THE FINAL EXAMS!!!!!!

Finally, I thought this school year would NEVER end. It was like one
of those horrible nightmares where you think you woke up but didn't...
like the dream sequence in An American Werewolf in London. At any
rate, I'm gonna give the kids a whole two days to live it up...I'm even
planning a trip to one of the national parks here (they have HOT DOG TREE
HERE!!! yeah, they're really IS such a thing.) tomorrow for a picnic and
soccer and running around and playing with some friends of ours. THEN, I am
going to blindside them with chores. See, I let them slide all academic year long.
But summertime is "help a mother out" time. I figure it this way, if I have to
endure your asses all summer long, complete with fighting, whining, spraying
each other by pointing the bidet spray out of the toilet when someone unlocks
the bathroom door with a spoon from the outside and walks in on the other for
taking too long....then dammit I'm getting some recompense outta the situation.

Each kid will have one day a week to do dishes. While ideally I should have had
7 kids so I'd never have to do dishes, the ole uterus crapped out on me after 5,
so we had it scrapped. And since Randa is autistic and has issues with bubbles
unless she's blowing them with gum or sitting in them in the tub, I'll still be doing
dishes 3 days outta the week. BUT 4 days outta 7 I'll NOT have dishpan hands.
Woohoo.

Also, since Hamo and Ismail like to beat the hell out of one another from the
time they get up in the morning (an hour or two before I do) until they go to
bed at night, I've decided that another thing I won't be doing this summer is
buying bread. No sirree, Bob! I'll get out of bed long enough to hand each one
a bread basket and a one-pound note and send they're argumentative behinds
down the road to go stand in the bread lines for me. I'll be under the ceiling fan
dreaming blissfully of childless days of yore on the beaches of Mykonos, when
my thighs were firm and my ass hadn't fallen and hit me in the back of the knees.

The third thing I'll NOT be doing this summer is "vacationing" at my sister-in-law's
beach villa on the northern shores of Egypt. I lost 4 kilos in 10 days working my
butt off there last year and left pissed off, sunburned and not speaking to any of my
husband's relatives for 6 months afterward. No reason to burn bridges again.
Besides, I swore to God Almighty that I'd never go back to that place again. We'll
just go to the local beaches or rent a place by ourselves and have fun the way we
want with no familial differences.

What I will be doing is finishing the mosaic table top that the kids and I started two
years ago, sewing, painting with the kids, and taking them on as many outings as I can
manage without losing my so-called mind. I'm thinking museums, beach, parks, maybe
a soccer game at the local stadium provided the visiting team is NOT from the UK!
I think we'll have a boatload of fun...Happy Summer.

p.s. Only 90 more days until school starts again.

Not Really a Post...But at Least It's an Update....

2009-06-03T12:46:00.000-05:00

We're in the middle of FINAL EXAMS....I've had diarrhea for nearly a week now
and haven't slept longer than 3 hours at a stretch in probably 2 weeks. Aiman
and Ismail have completed all of there testing (provided they pass. Otherwise
the studying will continue until the end of July when they give the last chance
retests.) Samiya finished day one today and tomorrow, God willing, she'll complete
her testing. Hamo starts on Saturday and finishes up on Wednesday. So, I'll try to
post sometime after that...you know, if I'm not comatose by then.

More drawings by the kids...

2009-06-03T12:33:00.000-05:00

Here is another drawing Hamo did from Spongebob Squarepants by using
the Paint program on Windows:

And this next one is by Aiman:

More of Hamo's Computer Artwork!

2009-05-25T12:54:00.000-05:00

This is Hamo's comic design....X vs. The Morph-Snake & his Morph-Minions.

Then of course we have his version of SpongeDork SquareAss....errrrrrrrrr, my

bad.......Spongebob Squarepants. (If you can't tell, I truly HATE Spongebob...

but my son is an artistic genius and drew him almost exactly as seen on tv using

only the paint program on the computer. Please ooh and aah all you like in the

comments section and I'll see that he receives your praise.)

Happiness is Regularity

2009-05-20T12:47:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of people in the world who measure happiness
by their financial successes. That may mean money or a powerful
and good-paying job or how many cars they have or how big their
houses are, etc. There are some not-so-materialistic folk who
measure happiness by the size of their families and how much love
they share. Personally, I'm with a third group of people who thinks
both of the first two groups are nuts. Happiness is found in regularity.

I pray regularly. I eat regularly. And when I poop regularly, you can
actually SEE the little cartoon birds chirping around my head as I
smile and sing through the daily "regularity" of my life. Pooping is
nature's way of helping you start anew each day. People who have
regular BMP (bowel movement patterns) are less likely to abuse
children and old people, less likely to suffer from road rage, and are
capable of more than a mere 35 minutes of shopping in the toy section
at Target on Black Friday before having an electonic-talking-doll-
shortage-induced-brawl with a housewife from Saginaw, TX who
drove all the way in to shop in Dallas-proper because she'd heard that
Dallas girls were wussies!

You NEVER see regular women plotting the deaths of their teenage
daughter's stiffest competition for cheerleading captain or bludgeoning
someone to death with the receiver of a pay phone for wearing white
shoes after Labor Day (like Kathleen Turner's role in Serial Mom...
I LOVED that movie!)

When I poop regularly, my family is happy. I get constipated and life
with me is miserable. So here are some suggestions to keep life with
Mother pleasant:
1. Do NOT knock on the bathroom door and ask the whereabouts of
your shoes, socks, backpack, cellphone or ask how much longer I'll
be. Considering my schedule and your inability to find anything not
attached to your shoulders without a compass and a roadmap, I'll
probably be out momentarily and if you knock again you may be
beaten senseless with a toilet brush.

2. When Mom says, "I need to use the bathroom," Do NOT race in
ahead of her, lock the door, and yell, "I won't be long!" This could be
detrimental, not only to her probably already impacted bowels, but
to your ability to chew solid foods without the aid of a blender and
a straw.

3. If Mom asks for a cup of coffee in the morning, GET IT FOR HER.
And make it per her specifications. Moms don't usually ask for stuff
unless they need help. So, if she's asking, she's needing. And if it's
coffee she's asking for- then get it double time. She's probably in need
of a good kick-start. It may be that her head is still cloudy and unfocused
even after a good solid 3.76 hours of much needed beauty sleep that she
got after a full day of housework, homework, chauffering kids 1-5 to
whatever the hell extra-curricular was scheduled at the same time as
ballet the day before. Then again, it MAY be that she was too busy to
poop yesterday and if she doesn't get the caffeine boost for the daily
cleanse, someone's head is going to roll....LITERALLY.

SO GO GET ME THAT DAMN CUP OF COFFEE AND GET IT NOW! I
HAVE THE COMBINATION TO THE GUN-SAFE AND I'M NOT AFRAID
TO USE IT!

The Cook Is ON STRIKE!

2009-05-19T13:56:00.000-05:00

About four days ago, Ismail asked me to make MAH-SHEE (stuffed vegetables)
for dinner. I told him I would but wasn't promising anything for that day. The more
I thought about it though, the more my mouth would water. So yesterday I went to
the farmer's market and bought tomatoes, zucchini, bell peppers, onions, garlic,
and grape leaves. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

So because this is a somewhat convoluted & time-consuming recipe, I don't make it
very often. The problem is that I always seem to forget WHY I don't make it very
often. My late mother-in-law used to tell me to prepare the vegetables and stuff
them at night and put them in the fridge and then all I have to do in the morning is
make the tomato sauce and put them on the stove to cook. In theory, this is a great
time-saver. In practice, ehhhhhhh, not so much.

I got the wise idea to scrub two area rugs last night that were full of dirt, dust and
who knows what else the kids dropped or ground into them. Of course, one of
my (not so) current favorite TV shows (The Wire) was on last night, so I had to
catch it first. That went off at 1am but at least the kids were asleep and Mohamed
was out and said he'd be late. Why not? It'll only take an hour or so, right? Then
I can stuff the vegetables and be in bed by 3am.

Exactly how wrong CAN I be? Lemme tell ya. My husband got home around 2 and
I still had another 8 inches of rug left to scrub on the FIRST one while the SECOND
one sat soaking in the tub. (Let me go off on a quick tangent about that. In an effort
to save a little on the water bill, I decided to just recycle if you will. Randa had taken
a bath around midnight (she's a nightowl) and didn't pull the plug out. So I just folded
up the rug that was second in line for scrubbing and shoved it under the remnants
of her bubblebath. Yay....Now back to our regularly scheduled whine-fest.) Hubby
comes in and starts telling me all about his meeting with some guy he had to give
bad news to and I'm trying real hard to look interested and interject the "yeahs" and
"uh-huhs" in the appropriate places without allowing the donut glaze to form over my
eyeballs due to the complete and total disinterest in the guy, the meeting, or the
story which I'd already heard from beginning to end BEFORE he met with the guy.
I have this big squeegee thing on a broomstick to pull water off the floor and push
into the open drain in the bathroom floor and I use it to pull the soapy water off the
rugs I'm washing/rinsing. Well, I was using this thing and my husband decides mid-
sentence to go to the bathroom....WHILE I'm pulling this ton of water I've just dumped
all over this soapy rug in an effort to rinse it.........and he closes the door. But...the drain...
it's in the bathroom.....and now my....house....flooding.....HEY! I banged on the door
before he could proceed with any ...ahem!....business......and quickly shoved all the
water in with him and reclosed the door. There.....YOU fight the tidal wave, baby.
I've got furniture and major appliances out here. Anyway, he finished in there and
offered to help me. Instead of grabbing a scrub brush he grabbed the steel wool pot
scrubber off the back of the kitchen sink and began to scrub the grout in the tiles on
the floor around the toilet. (Cool. Thanks. NOT the help I was expecting but okay....)
It wasn't until I was done cleaning rugs and mopping up the floor and finishing up the
last of the supper dishes around 4am (so much for the 1 hour of scrubbing and 1 hour
of veggie stuffing I'd planned on) that I realized, "HEY! You used my steel wool POT
scrubber to scrub the floor around the toilet!!!!!"
hubby: "Well, I needed to get the cement off the tiles from when the plumber was here
last week."
me: "But I keep a steel wool scrubber in the bathroom closet FOR use in the bath-
room...and in fact, there are TWO of them because of the LAST time you decided
to help me in the bathroom and stole the KITCHEN scrubber and cleaned under
the sink."
hubby: "How about "Thank you, Dear?"
me: "Thank you, Dear....but can I have it back now that you're done with the toilet so
I can clean your favorite coffee mug?????"
hubby: "Why do I bother to help you?"
me: "Beats me."

Oh, and what's the point of all this??? Well, since I didn't get in bed until 5 this morning,
I didn't have time to stuff the veggies last night and I ended up doing it all this afternoon.
My legs and feet are swollen from standing for 4 hours but it DAMN sure turned out good.
They'd better remember the taste, too, Baby! Because I'm not making it again for at
least another year!

When Did I Lose Control?

2009-05-15T11:47:00.000-05:00

I've always been sort of a drill sergeant with my kids. I make them line
up in front of the front door before we leave the house to make sure
all shoes are tied, shirts tucked in, noses wiped, hair combed, etc. (I
don't check for socks to match clothes...I couldn't care less. I figure
I'm lucky if the socks match each other.) My neighbors think I'm far
too strict with my kids. When Ismail threw scrambled eggs off the
balcony onto our neighbor's hair downstairs, it was HE who went down
to apologize with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge and an offer to
clean her balcony. When Hamo shouted, "IN YOUR EYE!" at the man
across the hall, it was HE who went to apologize for being rude, not I.
And when Aiman got yelled at in school for wearing a Scream mask in
class and had it taken away from him, it was HE who apologized to the
teacher for being disrespectful in class and not I. I try my best to make
them own their mistakes and be responsible for their actions. All their
teachers are most appreciative and actually think I'm full of crap when
I ever say anything about the orneriness I have to endure at home.
Apparently my kids are angelcakes outside of my supervision. At home...
let's just say that if hell hasn't broken loose yet, it's only a matter of time.

I woke to hammering and shouting this morning. At first I thought
Mohamed was up and fixing one of the perpetually broken chairs. Then
he snored next to me and rolled over in an attempt to drown out the
pounding going on in the boys' room. So I got up and found my glasses
and stumbled in the direction of the SMACK SMACK SMACK sound and
shouts of "You're so STUPID!" and "STOP STANDING ON MY BED!" and
"Shut up or I'll hit YOU with this hammer!" When I opened the door I found
Aiman's and Ismail's mattresses strewn across the floor and their pillows
and blankets thrown up on the study table. I thought at first glance that
Hamo's bed had been equally trashed but upon further scrutiny, I realized
that his bed ALWAYS looks trashed.

Ismail was on the top bunk hammering the slats that hold his mattress onto
the bedframe. Well, that's ONE way to stop the little ones from pushing the
mattress up with their feet while lying down on the bottom bunk. Why Aiman's
bed was trashed was not as easily explained. I started to ask why...and then
thought of much more important things like my toothbrush and a BIG FAT cup
of coffee. So I shuffled into the kitchen leaving them to their banging and
insult-fest. After about half a cup of coffee, I pried the hammer out of Ismail's
hand, forced all three of the boys into their flip-flops and sent them all down to
the mosque for noon prayers. Then I forced Samiya to help me get the boys'
room back to normal. After much whining, she pulled her weight.

I don't understand what has happened. Did I get lazy? old? tired? When did they
become so sassy? Where did I put my drill sergeant's whistle? Did all of this
happen since Hamo became a teenager? *sigh* I think I need a vacation...or a
creative teenage punishment course. The usual "SIT ON YOUR HANDS!" for
hitting others and "HOLD HANDS WITH YOUR SISTER AND SAY NICE THINGS
TO HER FOR THE NEXT 5 MINUTES!" for talking nasty aren't working anymore.
I've tried the write 10 things you love about (fill in the name of other party involved
in fight) and force each to read the others' list. Ultimately it's ME who gets punished.
"Mom, how do you spell 'less retarded'???"
me: "You can't say that being 'less retarded' is something you love about your
brother!"
kid: "What about something about him not being so stinky when he has gas? Can
I write that??"
me: "I suppose so...if that's something you LOVE about him."
kid: "I'd love him more if he were someone else's brother."
me: "You DEFINITELY cannot write that."
kid: "Awwwww, Mommy! You're making it too hard."
me: "And you're making dinner later and later by the minute. Now WRITE!"
kid: "I can't think of more than 4 things I love about him if I can't say he's less
retarded."
me: (giving up) "Screw it! Go scrub the bathroom!"

Fuscia Hair, Sinus Infections and Final Exams

2009-05-14T20:24:00.000-05:00

My hair is still fuscia...but it's growing out a little at the roots. I'm going to dye it
again probably next week. Fuscia...I'm starting to actually like it. And why the
hell not? Men have their mid-life crises at 40 and no one really questions it. I'm
entitled to mine. And since I am married I can't exactly run right out and find some
19 yr old idiot to hang off my arm ("Shut up, Darling. I'm not with you for your intel-
ligent conversation!") and it's more of a male trait to run out and buy a sports car,
I'll just settle for dyeing my hair some spectacularly bizarre color. So there!

Sinus infection.......actually, PRE-sinus infection.......both suck. But luckily I got to
the doctor before the full-blown infection and got wonderful drugs and now I'm
able to breathe and blink with the lights on in the room without blinding pain. Yay.
The week is beginning to improve. Well, it would were it not for final exams coming
up in the next 2 weeks. DAMN the teachers here in Egypt. I have to complete teach-
ing Samiya the last two entire UNITS in her math book. Do not even ask me why they
didn't finish the book before giving the kids the last month "off for final exams study"???
Who the hell sends an elementary student home to "study on his own?" Hello? Smoke
crack much? They don't study during the school year when you assign homework and
smack their hands for not writing it. WHY would they do it on their own? Whatever.
So, I have to force all 4 of them to study and that includes Hamo's French lessons.
I speak FIVE languages...and of course, FRENCH isn't one of them. Fortunately for me,
I'm good at faking it, speak Spanish and have a savant-like ability to memorize word
origins. So, my non-Frog-studying boy is in luck and I won't allow him to fail.
Ismail may be s.o.l. as to Egyptian social studies, though. There's just too much in there
I know nothing about. *sigh* God be with them all this year on their tests.

And just as long as I'm on a rambling tangent here, I must say that even with all of the above
crap going on this week, it's been fine. We only broke 3 dishes this week, lost one plant due
to overwatering by helpful children, got the damn sink in the kitchen fixed and stopped all
knock-down-drag out fights before any serious injuries could be caused...with the exception of
a nasty scratch on Samiya's chin. And I'm going to make fish for dinner tomorrow.
Yeah, okay, this is boring. No more blogs after 4am.

Why My Life is soooooo Expensive....THIS Week

2009-05-06T11:09:00.000-05:00

There is a direct correlation between my husband's business trips out
of the country and the general maintenance and upkeep of our flat! What
I mean to say is, THERE IS A FRIGGIN' CONSPIRACY GOING ON HERE!
No, really. I mean it. He left for Greece 10 days ago and 9 days ago, Randa
pulled the slide bolt lock off the front door...which I still haven't put back on.
I have to unscrew the entire mount off the door in order to get the slide bolt
back on it. So, of course, I've procrastinated.

The week before he left, I pointed out to Mohamed that the kitchen sink was
draining a little bit slowly. He told me to just run some hot water down the
drain and whatever was stuck would free itself up. So, I went ahead with my
life as usual and figured it'll just be a little slow, no big deal. Then Samiya and
Aiman got this bright idea to help me. They figured that something was stuck
in the drain and took one of the 20-inch skewers from my grill and jammed
it into the drain of the sink, attempting to knock whatever food particle down
and saving the plumbing day! Well, they were not aware that we removed the
metal pipes that we'd originally installed and replaced them with these little
plastic accordion type pipes. So when they jammed the skewer down, they
punctured 4 or 5 holes into it which did fix the water clogged in the sink....but
it all came out onto the kitchen floor. *sigh* I eventually had to get a plumber
to come and snake out the pipes in the wall (yay...it's fixed) and it cost me 10
pounds.

Today I tried to take a shower to wake myself up and discovered that while
there IS hot water in the hot water heater, it comes out in a trickle. So because
I was really funky and sweaty, I had to take the world's fastest freezing cold
shower. I couldn't even wash my hair because I couldn't stand how cold it was.
I don't even know how to go about fixing this.

Ismail broke his glasses fighting with Hamo and I put them on top of the fridge
to fix them later. I cannot find them anywhere. I am afraid Randa found them
and threw them in the trash. That's all we can figure...they still haven't turned
up. That's gonna cost me another 250 pounds.

Now before all of this damage (except the slide bolt lock) I went shopping for
underwear because all of us needed them. I only buy cotton underwear. It's
healthy and it breathes and it lasts. I spent 172 pounds on underwear for all
5 kids, me, three undershirts, and one bra! Just one pair of underwear for me
was 17 pounds! Can you imagine???? Would you spend 17 dollars on one pair
of cotton panties for yourself? Outrageous.

Also, some idiot in the Egyptian government has decided to pad his bank
account or that of his relatives by killing off all the chickens in the country.
I'm 100% convinced that someone in the govt has some sort of investment
in the frozen poultry business. Since no one ever buys frozen chicken because
the fresh is cheaper, they're slaughtering all the chickens to force us to buy frozen.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't care. However, Randa has quit eating anything in the
protein dept except for chicken. So I'm forced to spend 12 pounds for a chick-sized
chicken that wouldn't feed one of us, let alone all of us. I hate corruption.

Oh, and one last thing.....I have FUSCIA hair. I know this has nothing to do with
my expensive high-maintenance home or my kids or my husband working abroad.
But I have FUSCIA hair. I'm 40 yrs old and I dyed my hair FUSCIA....What the hell
is wrong with me? I'm an American with 5 kids (one of which is autistic and shouts
a lot to herself in public) living in Egypt...THE LAST THING I NEED IS TO
DRAW MORE ATTENTION TO MYSELF!

I wonder if I can afford a week inpatient at the local mental institution.

So, What's Up With This Damn Economy Anyway?

2009-04-08T12:30:00.000-05:00

So, I'm seeing that the whole "job thing" is desolate. My brother is
now heading out to California to work for a while and I've got friends worried about whether
or not they can hurry up and pay up their mortgage in order to only be one or two months
behind! It's not just in the US, either. Europe's job market can be described in a word: sucky.
Egypt has always had a fairly high unemployment rate....but now even Supermarket owners
are complaining that people are cutting back on food!!!! Now THAT is crazy. My question is
this: WHY is it that so many people are complaining about how broke they are and STILL
can afford cell phones, internet services, new clothes, shoes, Botox, new boobs, and fast food
meals each week?! Clearly, SOME of the people complaining about the economy are in fact
still living life as they have with little to no change. I'm one of those weirdos who can adapt to
any society (practically) and any situation. We moved to Egypt seven and a half years ago.
Having moved around all over the world my entire life, I never considered it to be more than
a slight headache or at most, a severe case of the hiccups. Most of my friends and family
thought that living overseas outside of the military or diplomatic community would bear to be
too much on us and the novelty would wear off and we'd be running back to the land of golden
arches, Wal*Mart (damn them all) and pantyhose sold in plastic eggs 24 hours a day. They
were wrong. While yes, I miss the hell out of most of the modern conveniences that I grew
to consider "normal", I have realized that I CAN live without them.
We have always lived "bare bones minimum" since we've been married. I think the only
extra we ever really had was a $24.00 a month satellite tv bill and an affection for flavored
fru-fru coffee beans. Still we always bought generic store brands vice Starbucks. Now that we
are in Egypt, we're even more skeletal in our purchasing. We own our flat outright. Paid for it
with cash in full 6 years ago. Great investment if you can pull it off. When we bought this place,
the price per square meter was a little under 1000 Egyptian Pounds. Today it's 3 times that!
Also, since we live in a city full of public transportation, we do not own a car. This saves a ton of
money on car payments, insurance, maintenance and gas. Of course, in the US, outside of New
York, downtown Baltimore, Boston or Chicago, this is not just an inconvenience. It's stupid.
Suburbia requires a vehicle. But NOT a Suburban or some other gas-guzzling SUV.
In Maryland, I bought ketchup on sale. In Egypt, I make my own. (Really easy, too. I mix equal parts of sugar and tomato paste, add a pinch of salt, pepper, cinnamon, ground cloves, cayenne pepper and 1 T of vinegar a little water to desired consistency and mix.) Now maybe
you're thinking, "How much can she possibly save making her own ketchup?" Well, here ketchup
is pretty pricey. So I can actually save quite a lot. One jar of tomato paste costs me the same as a small bottle of ketchup. That jar of tomato paste can make me the equivalent of 6 bottles of ketchup. I also have learned to make brown sugar (they don't sell it here) and clarified butter (just wanted to learn.) I bought a sewing machine and make my own bedsheets (fitted ones too)
and curtains and throw cushions and big cushions so the kids will stop fighting over "my seat"
when watching tv. And I'm no Martha Stewart, either. I did try to make a dress once. It took me
a year and a half and it came out really funky. Not bad on a first try but not anything I'm patient enough to try again anytime soon.
At the end of the day, I guess I probably average spending about 60 dollars a day here (if you look at the Egyptian Pound as equal to the US Dollar...which it isn't actually. That'd be 10 dollars
a day....but if you think of it this way...the amount of work to earn 1 dollar is the same as the amount of work to earn 1 pound.....it's all same.) That daily average covers food, bills, incidentals like dentist, medicines, stitches for the kid who refused to stop swinging like tarzan on his belt he'd attached to the hinge of his closet door, etc. Not bad, huh?
Granted I could quite easily return to the days of Sonic burger drive-thru trips once a week or pre-packaged shredded cheese from the grocery store and buying an automatic drip coffee pot with an alarm clock in it at 3 in the morning JUST BECAUSE I CAN.............but why? Why
not use the money for something better like spending a fun day at the zoo or the beach with my
kids and my husband. Really, it's all about prioritizing.

Just Shoot Me....please!

2009-03-29T13:20:00.000-05:00

I'm being murdered slowly today by my kids. No, really. They are
"LOUDing" me to death. I woke up today with an ass-kicking head
ache and four tylenols, food, 4 cups of coffee, water and a healthy
poop have done nothing to make it go away. The kids seem to talk
in higher pitched, louder voices, crank the tv up higher and find
any and all irritating noise makers to play with near me. My ears
are hyper-sensitive and the barbells are clanking, the wolf-whistling
rythmnless rap artist-wannabe is attempting to rhyme, the whining
9 yr old is tattling non-stop, Randa belching the alphabet to Q in
a volume and vibrato only matched by Barney, the drunk on the
Simpsons. Hamo is kinda quiet actually because he's too tired to be
loud after getting up at 6:30 and going to school and immediately to
private tutoring, coming home for a sandwich and then off to the
Nubian center for a math tutoring session. Of course, he's working
other aspects of "headache-dom" by telling me line by line the last
episode of Spongebob Squarepants or whatever other insipid cartoon
he just watched. I'm wondering if a harpoon to the temple would be
the way to go. It seems so much more merciful than having Aiman
"chop" his oreo cookies into the milk with his spoon to make "mud"
while my eyeballs begin to bleed and my brains start to leak out of
my ears and nostrils.
Come on, Time. Fly! Wudya??? Bedtime must come soon for my
very survival depends on it!

How Do YOU Spell Relief?

2009-03-24T18:33:00.000-05:00

Well, it has been some time since I put anything on here. I guess
I've been really busy, lately...what with the new weight bench and
free weights to protect the kids from (read: protect from the kids.)
And then with the internet service provider collecting our monthly
fee (pre-paid, I might add) and then promptly switching the cable off,
I've had very little time to be on here. Oh, and what's with this green
font, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. I'm quite gassy....and I am feeling a
little on the green side.
Yeah, ewwww gross! Well, there's no reason to pretend here. I come
from a long line of farters. I'll omit their names to protect the (not-so)
innocent. BUT I inherited the fart-gene, baby....from BOTH sides of
the family. Now I've not yet inherited the gaseous genetic trait where
I race to the bathroom with lower cheeks pinched tightly leaving a "pop-
pop-pop-pop" sound trail behind me. (Our family has actually named
this trait after one of the family elders, however, since I'm attempting to
protect the family fart tree, I guess I'll have to omit that too.)
Anyway, we've got 'em all in our family: the loud, the louder, the machine
gun, the "oh, hell, who stepped on the dog", the not-so smelly, the smelly,
the s.b.d. and the "WHAT crawled up your ass and died". ANY type of
fart ever known to man can be claimed by anyone (or several) in my family.
My brother recently chewed me out on facebook for discussing his "rancid
ass" on the internet. Hmmmmmm. Truth be told, HE brought it up when he
reminded me of a fart he "dropped in my ear" during a trip we took together
to Arizona. My husband has been known to hear my bom-booferous,
window shakers from over two window unit air-conditioners (with about 8
spoons shoved inside each....THAT is another story that I'll call Why My
Kids and Spoons Caused Me to Declare Bankruptcy), a ceiling fan, a
snoring congested 1 year old and the movie DIE HARD cranked up on the
tv. I lied in my room laughing for 15 minutes after my own fart only to finally
think, "He must not have heard me. Maybe it wasn't as loud as I thought."
Only to have him poke his head in the bedroom door about 30 seconds later
and ask, "Are you okay? Did the roof fall on you?" DAMN. How embarrassing.
Well...THAT was nothing.
TODAY I was peeling potatoes for dinner and the washing machine was
making it's usual jet engine noises in the spin cycle and I had a CD playing
in the kitchen. I looked around to make sure my husband wasn't around (kids
are fair game...I'll fart around them just to get even for them walking in on me
in the bathroom or only peeing on MY side of the bed!) and I let 'er rip.
Well, I don't know what a ripped spleen or ruptured small intestine actually
feel like but I imagined it today. OH MY WORD! I doubled over and cried
against the sink it hurt my abdomen so bad. I must have shrieked without
realizing it because Hamo and my husband came running in thinking that I must
have cut myself. Then through the tears I started laughing. My husband asked
what happened and I told him he didn't want to know. He looked puzzled. So
somewhat embarrassed I told him, "I farted so hard I hurt my intestines."
He just rolled his eyes and muttered something in Arabic about "giving him
strength."
At least my son felt for me. He hugged me and said, "I'm sorry your farts are
so strong they fight back." Little snot. He snickered as he walked out. Laugh
if they must. But I may be the first person in history to ever end up in traction
due to bad gas!

I Quit

2009-03-17T12:35:00.000-05:00

I quit. I resign. I'm outta here.

That is correctamundo, Fonzie. I have had just about enough of this.
I don't want to be mother, wife or any other friggin' thing anymore.
I just wanna go back to being a selfish, working slob who pays her rent
and car note and works the fulltime job for pension/insurance reasons
and a parttime job in the evening a few days a week for spending money
and play softball and go to movies and buy new shoes when I flipping
feel like it. No more being stuck 24/7 in the house helping ungrateful
brats with homework, sewing buttons on shirts, vacuuming the rugs just
so that they can walk around the house behind me eating breadsticks and
talking with their mouths open leaving no evidence of any housework to
be found. No more slaving over the hot stove making a completely delicious
and nutritious balanced meals just to have an 8 year old wearing a plastic
SCREAM mask announce to me, "I don't like carrots or zucchini and I also
won't eat noodles anymore! Make me a cheese and tomato sandwich."
Or to have the autistic 12 yr old scream, "THAT's DISGUSTING!"
No more dealing with helpful husband who brings home a complete weight
bench to our 3 bedroom, 1 bath APARTMENT with already too much CRAP
in it, including a broken washing machine in the corner of the dining room
that usually houses the two HUGE captains chairs that don't fit in the living
room and the extra coffee table whereas the dining room table is crammed
into the boys' bedroom with the only in-tact chair left after they wiggled,
wobbled and leaned on the other 5 until they smashed into toothpicks........
where was I? Oh, right...the "helpful husband".....then puts together said
weight bench, shows the 5 kids ages 8-13 how to use it and then says to me
while pulling on his jacket and running out the door to visit his sister across
town, "Keep the kids off of this thing, will you? It's dangerous for them to use
it on their own." Ya think?????????????!
Do I LOOK like I have nothing better to do? I mean, YES, I could benefit from
using a weight bench and I could get into shape and lose this extra 50 lbs I've
been lugging around off and on for the last 10 years. BUT...couldn't we look
at maybe getting a bigger house first? Or putting up a couple of the kids for
adoption??? WHY get it now? You KNOW they'll only break the damn thing
before I get to use it once. *sigh*
I need a job where I'm appreciated and this one just ain't it. At least not here
on Earth. Of course, it's not here where I truly want to be appreciated is it?
In the Quran, Heaven lays at the feet of the mothers. I guess God appreciates
how difficult our job really is....so maybe I'll stick it out afterall. I don't really
need to have a new dress every month or to get my nails done or to actually get
a vacation far away from the in-laws. I'll be rewarded one day...if not by my
kids here then definitely by God on Judgement Day. I pray He's merciful to me.

Monika-Inspired Blog....

2009-03-06T15:03:00.000-06:00

GROUP EFFORT TIME:

Due to Monika's pointing out the great one-liners that came out of the
movie Dodgeball (with Vince Vaughn, Ben Stiller, & Chuck Norris,)
I've decided to make this entire thing about great one-liners from movies.
Just throw out a one-liner and underneath it what movie it came from.

I'll start:
"Is it necessary to drink my own urine? NO! But it's sterile and I like the
way it tastes."
- Dodgeball

"If you can dodge traffic, you can dodge a ball!"
- Dodgeball

(Well, this one is actually a two-liner:)
One-armed vampire: "We're immortal, Buffy! We can do anything!"
Buffy: "Oh, yeah? Clap!"
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer

.....go ahead....it's your turn now.....I'll check back over the next few days.

X vs. the evil Morph-Snake

2009-03-06T14:37:00.000-06:00

So, this is Hamo's latest comic effort on the Paint program. And since my
stupid extra 40MB of memory AND the damn CD-drive are not being
recognized by my retarded computer, I decided to upload it here for safe
keeping and delete it out of my hard drive before it crashes due to too
many files. Hamo said that this guy, X, is about to fight the evil Morph-
Snake, who can transform into any monster he desires, and lives in a
cave on the edge of a volcano. (That's a volcano on the bottom right and
NOT a pizza, Hamo said.) X is the only warrior that can beat the Morph-
Snake and his ninja minions.
Don't forget to send us your comments on his artwork/story idea.

I Swear He Did It to Himself! and Other Truths CPS Won't Believe

2009-03-06T05:18:00.000-06:00

How soon is too soon to explain what a hickey is to your kids?
I'm guessing 8 is a little young, right? I used the term "painless
bruise" instead. I'm hoping that's acceptable for a while. What
am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you.
Last night just after dinner, Ismail came into the kitchen and
told me that I NEED to come look at Aiman's chin. Since I was
up to my armpits in dirty dishes and an argument with Hamo, I
opted to ask for a verbal description instead. He said, "It's got
a big red thing on it." HUH? What big red thing?
I blew it off as leftover meatsauce from pasta. Aiman has been
known to actually lick his dish clean if it's something he likes.
Oddly enough, it didn't really register with me that he doesn't
actually LIKE pasta or meatsauce. He only tolerates it because
I use green peppers in the sauce and to him this means "Fart
Power!"
So about an hour later Ismail came back to me and said, "Mom,
the red thing on Aiman's chin is getting WORSE!" So, I called
him into the kitchen, thinking it was just a red grease stain. He
walked in, looked up at me and said, "Ma'am?" and HOLY
SUCTION CUPS, BATMAN! He had this gigantic hickey covering
his ENTIRE chin.
I had to rule out bruising first, as a precaution. So I asked if Hamo
had pinched his face (he's known for this.) Aiman looked embar-
rassed and said, "No. I did it with my cup by sucking it up with my
mouth for a really long long time."
Once we determined that it didn't hurt and it was a "painless bruise"
(Hickey), I just put a little Hemoclar ointment on it (for hematomas)
and sent him on his way with a warning not to do it again.
*Sigh. I don't really beat my kids. It just looks like I do.

Steven Seagal...Hot Martial Artist? Or Fat Dude Caught in a Neverending Mid-Life Crisis?

2009-03-02T08:40:00.001-06:00

I saw an ad for yet ANOTHER Steven Seagal movie on the Action channel
on satellite tv last night. YAWN. I've questioned the popularity of this guy
among men (I know ZERO chicks that dig this clown) and I couldn't figure
out why he's still making movies after all these years. I mean, sure, back in
1990 he was okay in Hard to Kill but then came Out for Justice and then Under Siege. I realized back then that aside from a name change and maybe
a little scenery and verbage, Steven Seagal is making the same movie over and over and over. Why even name the characters? Why not some new movie ideas without naming the players? Here are some suggestions:
Island Icer
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a leather jacket kicks the
crap out of nameless villain with uzi and hawaiian print shirt fetish on a
Carribean island vacation resort.

Nut Cracking Nightshift
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a night guardsman's uniform
beats the snot out of some would-be burglars in all black catsuits at a Planter's
Peanut Warehouse somewhere in Georgia.

and maybe a love story:

Guarding Gilda
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a brown pinstriped suit, hired
as bodyguard to Gilda Glockensphincter, world renowned porn star, uses various
kitchen utensils to completely thrash 4 eastern-European attempted

kidnappers who somehow end up in the studio cafeteria while looking to score

some "easy ransom money" in Cleveland.

None of these film ideas cannot possibly be as lame as some of the crap he's

already starred in AND produced AND directed AND written.........oh, yeah!

He's his own biggest fan....check out his filmography on IMDB ( http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000219/ ) ! .....THAT explains so much
to the women of the world as to why our men can watch this aging talentless
hack. HE promotes himself. I wonder if he's his own agent, too? THAT would
certainly save 15% of all pay, wouldn't it?

Steve, for crying out loud, cut that damn ponytail off, retire and move to Florida.
Everyone else your age has.

All Hail the Blind Ding-bats, Part II

2009-02-28T14:39:00.000-06:00

Remember a few months back, when I shared how both Ismail and
Hamo had to be fitted for glasses? Ismail chose lovely small rectangular
pale blue frames and Hamo got some nice black sort of roundish-but-
kind-of-catlike spectacles. Hamo sort of looks like Harry Potter only
much more handsome (no, really! I'd mean that even if I wasn't his
mother.) Well, our inability to see is apparently an ongoing saga.

Hamo has a bad habit of removing his glasses and leaving them all
over the house. Granted he is MUCH better about wearing them most
of the time, unlike Ismail who just hates his glasses. Hamo takes them
off to wash his face and leaves them in the bathroom. Or he'll take them
off to keep them from breaking when he wrestles around with Aiman and
forget them on the study table in the boys' bedroom. Well, I don't know
where he forgot them today, but Miss Randa MUST have found them.
She decided that he should have sunglasses. So she went and dug around
in my cupboard where I hide things from her (obviously the hiding place
will change soon) and colored the lenses in with a PERMANENT BLACK
MARKER!!!! Thank God Ismail found them just after it happened and
brought them to me. I dumped vinegar on both sides of the glass and
rubbed like crazy with a damp t-shirt. YAY. Got it off before it stained
completely...it seems to be a little darker now.
SHEW. That was close.

Thus ends another typical rainy day in the House on Looney Bird Lane.

Why I'm in Knots

2009-02-24T11:36:00.000-06:00

Yeah, Randa has been spending the night in my bed since
Saturday night. Anytime her father is away on business she
just climbs right in bed with me and instead of taking his
side, she scootches right to the middle and snuggles up
against me and goes right to sleep. Unlike Samiya, Randa
is a fairly stationary sleeper. (Sleeping next to Samiya is like
being in a nighttime non-stop filming of a Jackie Chan movie.)
But Randa has her sleep-faults, too. Well, just one, really.
She's got to sleep with her hand under her face and her left
elbow jutting out right into my back between my shoulder
blades! OUCH. It doesn't matter how many times I roll her
over to her father's side or reposition her arm. She will turn
over just after I drift off to sleep and jam that joint right into
my spine again. I think I've developed a slight twitch in my
left shoulder. I fear it will turn into a full blown spasm if I
don't figure out what to do about this soon.
Is it not enough I only get 3-4 hours of sleep a night? Those
few precious hours have to be totally uncomfortable and
sometimes downright painful, too??? I suppose it could be
worse. It could be Aiman who believes it's his God-given
right to sleep next to me when Baba is out of town.
The child will not eat anything except chicken or fried (fill
in the blank) or pizza anymore....UNLESS I can guarantee
him that whatever other dinner item on the menu is full of
"fart power." Yes, he is 8. And unless whatever he doesn't
like has a fart power factor greater than 7 on a scale of 1-10,
he won't eat it. Could you imagine me having to sleep next
to THAT???? "Mom can we have lentils for dinner? They
have lots of fart power, right?"
OH THE HUMANITY!

Thanks, I'll stick with the back spasms. Leave Randa where
she is.

Our Latest COOL Science Poster

2009-02-22T09:28:00.000-06:00

I'll tell you right now that I forgot to take a picture of it.......but trust me...it
totally rocked! I'll have to go back to the school tomorrow and snap a digital
photo of Ismail's latest science poster so I can post it here. His teacher was
so impressed that she gave him extra credit points not only for February but
for March, too. How cool is that?

Ismail is in the 4th grade and is studying the digestive system in science. His
teacher, Miss Amal, asked kids to make posters of the digestive system and
color in each part by smearing playdough (tm) on it and then labeling it. Ismail
asked if he could do it a little differently and she said okay. So, we were brain-
storming and I thought maybe we should make it like a relief map, sort of a 3-d
version but without the playdough. (SIDENOTE: that stuff blows! yeah, it's a
great builder of hand muscles and creative outlet, especially for autistic creative
kids like Randa.......but then they decide to stomp on it in the rugs or make "fake"
poop but REALLY flush it, ya know.......as though I actually NEED more work to
do or something.....)

Ismail suggested fabric from the "rag bag" and I got excited because I've also saved
up all the polyester fiber stuffing from the various stuffed animals that have been
destroyed over the years due to the "It's MINE! Wars" over the course of raising
5 kids. God bless the inventer of the hot glue gun. We made Ismail lie down on his
back on the posterboard and traced his body from head to the tops of his thighs.
We cut out a burgundy denim liver and a red cotton stomach from old parachute pants and some dark green gabardine became a gall bladder. His pancreas was from
a lovely gold satin with flowers on it. The esophagus was half of a red broken zipper
and the small intestine was faded blue denim from old ripped jeans. The large in-
testine, colon and rectum were all from a beautiul autumnal print cotton fabric.
I cut out the body parts from the fabrics and showed Ismail how to lay them on the
poster. He glued them on and then I stuffed each one (sans small intestine) with
polyester fiber fill. He labeled each part in his best handwriting with black marker.
And THEN.....ta-da!........we gave it the final touch: We took an old school picture of
Ismail to a stationary store and had the guy xerox it (magnified 150%) till the photo
was life-size of just the face. We darkened it with the same black marker and pasted
it to the outline of his head. It really personalized the whole project!
And it was so damn cute. His teachers really dug it....AND he memorized the parts of
the digestive track in the process. DAMN. I should have been a teacher.

I'm currently preparing for my acceptance speech for my MOTY award. This, of
course, is not the final version. Just stuff I want to include:

****I would like to thank my mother for her "artsy-fartsy" genes and always encouraging us to use our creativity and do something different than the other
kids. She was a big fan of The Rainy Day Book (I have NO idea who wrote it...but
this isn't a recent one....I'm talking back in the late 60's/early 70's that she bought it
and it reallly was a fantastic project book.) Without my mother, I never would have
thought to save old socks and buttons for rainy days to make sock puppets when the
kids are running me nuts.
I would like to thank my father for his examples of creative uses of old pieces of
wood, nails, springs and other junk that most people toss out. Due to his helping me
in the 8th grade to make a solar-powered oven for a science fair project with mostly stuff we had "laying around the house," I was able to make a flashlight bulb work by
affixing a D-size battery to a board and running wires from positive to negative ends
of the battery. (Another 2 month extra credit grade for Ismail!)
I would like to thank KlineGlaxoWellcome for making a really great burn cream to
alleviate the pain in my fingers from where the glue gun "slipped" and scorched the
poop out of my hands. I think I may even be able to commit burglary without leaving fingerprints now as they've all been burned off now.
Thank you Mother Of The Year board and thanks to all my fans and oh yeah, my husband who insisted on keeping me pregnant for damn near 6 years straight that I
could BE in the running for MOTY and of course, thanks to my kids.

"Time in a Bottle" (orig. published in 2007)

2009-01-28T13:53:00.000-06:00

"If I could put time in bottle..." a novel idea by singer/songwriter Jim Croce. If time were something I could literally save, I wonder if I might be less frazzled and worn out than I am now. When running late, I could just shake well and pull out the cork adding the 5 minutes needed to my day in order to meet that particular appointment. Even if those 5 minutes were added via rewind or pause to all of life around me except me, I'd be able to get so much more accomplished. I'd get those last 5 minutes of desperately needed sleep or get that pan out of the oven before the smoke alarm goes off or to prevent whichever kid was about to fall down a flight of stairs or catch his brother's left hook to the head.
Of course, the danger in having a bottle of time would be in using it sparingly. With some of the hectic days that I have, I'd be pulling that cork out with my teeth and pouring out extra time left and right until I found that I'd aged two years in what everyone else thought was merely 24 hours. If that were to happen, I'd have to open up and pour on an extra hour every 6 real-time hours so that I could dye my hair to cover up the gray 4 times a real-life day.
Maybe time shouldn't be bottled, afterall. Maybe Jim Croce was an idiot, afterall. Or maybe he actually DID figure out how to bottle time and then couldn't handle it. He did end up committing suicide. Maybe I have too much time on my hands as it is. I seem to have time for this lame blog.

**(This post was originally published sometime back in 2007 on my old myspace acct.)

Infotainment (orig published after Heath Ledger's death)

2009-01-28T13:44:00.000-06:00

Okay, so living overseas has it's benefits. We don't have six pages of completely USELESS headlines and ghastly details every time some Hollywood dumbass overdoses or gets drunk and hauled off to 4 hours of jailtime in Los Angeles. Of course, thanks to satellite television and infotainment shows ready to peddle their Sin City drivel to the masses worldwide, crap tv such as The Insider, Inside Edition and Hollywood Uncensored are all on one right after the other even here in the Middle East where the average family has a plate of beans and bread and olives for dinner.
So, when I read on the internet that Heath Ledger had seemingly swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills and was found dead at age 28, the first thought that popped into my head was, "That's one less sold soul I'll be seeing on TV two weeks from now!" Isn't that sad? A young father, probably kills himself and I'm thinking that after two weeks the tabloid shows will make a fortune off of it and then once the dead horse has been thoroughly bludgeoned, they'll go back to Paris' picture perfect representation of how NOT to raise your children or some other Hollywood whore and her baby-bump.
Back to Heath Ledger, the second pathetic thought that popped into my mind was "Why? Did someone mail him a copy of 'Brokeback Mountain' on dvd and he watched it by himself at home, depressed because his wife left him with their baby and he realized what a sell-out he'd become? That he'd left his manhood with his agent when he signed on for the role that got 'rave reviews' from the Academy but left the real men of our country scratching their heads (or other parts) thinking, "Is NOTHING sacred anymore? Not even the COWBOYS are safe these days? What's this world coming to? Faggotry is everywhere!" Maybe Heath realized that one day his little girl would grow up and SEE this film and ask him, "Daddy, why don't you smooch Mommy like you did Aunt Jake in the movie??"
It's pathetic and hateful, I know. But I can't help but wonder why so many people flock to read about these moron celebrities, their empty lives and their even emptier deaths. And why on earth it's not just one more blurb in the obits instead of making the front page when there are REAL people with REAL problems in the world that need to be heard (like the Palestinians or the Iraqis). Instead what sells is a self-inflicted death on a person who did self-degrading things causing self-inflicted problems in a very selfish world.

**(this post was originally published by me on my old myspace acct just after Heath Ledger's death, 2008, whenever THAT was....it wasn't a real freeze-frame in time for me so I don't recall the actual date!)

5 Reasons for Hearing Loss (May 2007)

2009-01-28T13:07:00.000-06:00

In the beginning my children were quiet and relatively well-behaved. Yes, all five of them were relatively QUIET. Since two of them have arrived at the "tweens" stage with a third one close on their heels, the noise level in my life has increased by at least 40 decibels. If it isn't the 12-yr old boy erupting into an explosive temper tantrum after being told NO to computer priveleges until all homework and studies are complete, then it's the 11-yr old having an autistic meltdown because the 9-yr old is hell-bent on bullying her into handing over the remote control. The "DestructoTwins," ages 8 and nearly 7, have only two volumes ever: LOUD and LOUDER. (Well, three if you count ASLEEP.)
When I was still working outside the home, in an environment prone to loud noise, I was required to take a hearing test by my employer every few years. Certainly, it was only to document my hearing loss in case I ever got litigious. The nurse who administered the test noted that while my noise levels at work had gotten lower since I'd changed offices, my hearing loss had increased. When I explained that my hearing loss was probably due to the 5 screaming kids at home, ages 1-6 at the time, she laughed.
I find very little funny about a little boy who answers the phone with a lion's roar instead of hello like a normal person. Parents of autistic children can attest to "loud" being a part of the child's daily routine. While our daughter tends to have her "freak out shriek fest" when she is really tired or upset, her high-pitched screams are actually more welcome than Ismail's rhythm-less attempts at non-rhyming gangster rap at the top of his lungs. This is a relatively new stage for him. It follows his last stage of LOUD closely, when he taught himself to whistle with two fingers jammed into his mouth. His practice sessions usually coincided with my franctic attempts to get dinner ready by sunset during Ramadan. ((Ramadan is the month of fasting for muslims, where we do not eat, drink, smoke or have sexual relations from just before sunrise until sunset.)) Now when someone who normally totes a coffee in each hand for several hours a day suddenly gives up caffeine cold turkey for a 14 hour fast daily for 30 days, headaches can be pretty wicked. Throw a wolf-whistling, gangsta-rap wannabe with NO rhythm into the mix and you are talking HATEFUL pain. I have been known to break my fasts by chewing through the childproof cap on the extra-strength tylenol bottle.
I don't know that they'll ever learn the meaning of the "inside voice" but I'm sure that by the time they do the damage will have already been done. I'll be the hearing impaired lunatic screaming in the movie theater, "WHY'S HE DOING THAT? WHAT DID SHE SAY TO HIM???" And if I ever go to a quiet restaurant with my husband for a romantic dinner (shu-uh, like THAT will happen in the next 10 years!) they'll be forced to ask me to leave because my shouting, "Huh???? WHAT?? The special is WHAT??" will ruin the mood for everyone else in the restaurant. But who cares, really? They probably won't end up having five really loud children and may still be able to hear when they reach 40!

Sarcasm (orig. published May 2007)

2009-01-28T12:45:00.000-06:00

Well, yeah, it's been a while since I've put anything on here. But not from a lack of subject material. I've just been pretty busy helping the kids get ready for their final exams. OMG. It's been unreal. We got back Aiman and Samiya's results-----YAY. Both got perfect scores in Arabic, English, Math and Religious Studies. Ismail finished his exams yesterday, but we won't know his results for another week or so. Mohamed begins his exams tomorrow. I'm beyond worried. He's in 6th grade and how well he does on these exams will determine which middle school he gets into.
Well, Wednesday morning I walked Ismail and his best friend to the school for their exams. I waited for them to go upstairs and then excused myself from the group of worried mothers so that I could beat feet over to the bread ovens and pick up some bread. My mind was still doing the usual balancing act at test time of worrying about whether or not Ismail will remember the ins and outs of long division, could I make it to the ovens before the line was a mile long, and whether or not my nervous energy would turn from the current mild anxiety to a full-blown case of the runs. I guess in all the excitement my brain couldn't handle the usually rote process of putting one foot in front of the other as the next thing I knew, my foot had twisted up underneath me and I was sprawled out face first on the street unable to breathe as I'd managed to knock the wind out of myself when I landed on my big fat honkin' purse. So, I just laid there for about half a minute before deciding to get up. I sat back down on the curb to pick the gravel out of my palms, brush off my dress and catch my breath. A woman across the street saw it happen, and came over to see if I was okay. Also, the waiter at the coffee shop came running over carrying a chair for me to sit on and then ran back inside to get me a glass of water. (This is typical Egyptian courtesy/concern. They are helpful people...almost to a fault.)
I started to laugh when I realized that although a little bit scratched up, I'd really only broken my dignity and that'll mend in no time. The woman looked at me like I was a little crazy. Then she asked me if I fell because I was dizzy or what. So I told her, "Nope. It was my plan. I was a little thirsty so I fell here because I knew the waiter would bring me a glass of water." Then I cracked up laughing at how clever I am. She looked at me then like I was REALLY crazy and walked off in a hurry. What?! No kiss for my skinned knee? Chickenshit.
It's sometimes hard for me living here. The Egyptian people just don't seem to get my sense of humor sometimes. I was once chided by a nurse at the hospital just after Ismail had had his lip and chin stitched up (he'd decided to play Tarzan by swinging on a belt that he'd hooked to the top hinge of his bedroom closet and fell on his face.) I only asked if since this was the 4th time I'd been there for stitches in the last 2 years, would the next round of stitches be "on the house" since we were "frequent flyers," if you will. She turned red in the face and yelled at me about testing fate. My brother-in-law, however, was laughing. He knows my garanimal-kids.
Yesterday I had to take Aiman to the hospital because he couldn't open his left eye for about 14 hours. This is a pretty normal response when one's older sister pokes her finger into one's open eyeball by mistake. It turned out that he had a tiny scratch from her fingernail and the doctor gave him some drops and a really cool white cotton eyepatch. Aiman looked a little worried still and asked me, "So, what's going to happen?" I didn't know the doctor spoke English as well as she does until she laughed out loud when I replied in all seriousness, "Well, we're going to let you keep the eye. It's only a little scratched and not worth trying to find you a new one." He just rolled his good eye and said, "Well, THAT's good news," while Dr. Amina giggled. I guess sarcasm just isn't their thing here.

**This was originally published by me on my old myspace acct last May.**

Nikki Mohamed-Ali

2009-01-21T11:26:00.000-06:00

Well, I have to start my "how long since my last fist fight" count AGAIN! Yes, it happened yesterday. DAMMITMAN! I was doing soooo well, too. I hadn't hit anybody in more than 5 years. And then some dumb woman had to go and hit my kid! Well, I don't think anyone blames me....at least not anyone I give a hoot about, anyway.

So, I was walking Ismail to school and trying to calm him down. He had a Science mid-year exam yesterday and he was extremely anxious about it. We got to the gate and this woman was blocking the entrance. She started yelling at me and screaming that Ismail is a bully and he's always beating up her son who is skinny and short and a sweet, loving boy. I didn't even know which of the usual 8 kids Ismail fights with on a daily basis belonged to her so I just said, "Look, this isn't the time. Ismail, you go on inside and take your science test..." Just then Demon-Woman screams in my son's face, "YOU WILL NOT GO INSIDE! YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME!" Then she slammed both of her palms as hard as she could into his chest and knocked him backwards. I looked at him for a split second to see that he was okay and saw the fear on his face and lost it. I grabbed her by her blouse and slammed her into the iron gate of the school and told her, "You EVER put your hands on my son again, I swear to God I will break your nose." That's when she hit me in the nose and grabbed my glasses (breaking the arm off of them.) And I think my next words were something like, "Oh, no you didn't, Bitch!" which of course, was in English as opposed to the Arabic exchange before. At any rate, I couldn't "lead with my left" like my dad always tells me to do (it catches people off guard) because Demon-Woman had already started clawing at the left side of my head, ripping my scarf off and eventually hooking her left fingers into my watch band and broke it. (By the way, Denise, remember that beautiful Gucci watch you bought me about 23 years ago that I love because it's a timeless fashion piece that still works after all these years? Well, Demon-Woman broke it off my arm and then someone in the crowd found it and stole it.) So, I gave her a good right jab in the face and she fell back and I fell on top of her. A well-meaning acquaintance of mine grabbed my right arm in an attempt to break up the fight, not knowing my left arm was pinned under Demon-Woman. So, Demon-Woman had a full 30 seconds of free-for-all clawing fun on my face, where she managed to shred the skin under both eyes, dig her nails deeply into my cheeks and rip off about a 4 cm hunk of skin that also included part of my upper lip. Then she made a terrible mistake. She stuck her
hand inside my mouth and start shredding the inside of my lips. You know how the Colgate (TM) commercials show how strong your teeth are when you brush at least twice daily with their toothpaste? Well, it's true. Demon-Woman can probably verify
it. Since both my arms were trapped and I was completely incapable of getting up and/or defending myself, I did the only thing I could do. I chomped down on her pinky finger and clamped until I heard bone crunching. Then I immediately let go because I got soooooooo grossed out (all in a flash) at the thought of breaking someone's finger with my teeth. At that instant, Souhaila's mother gave me just enough slack in my right arm that I could elbow her in the chest and make her let go. Then Demon-Woman got 3 more jabs in the mouth and she rolled off of my left arm so that I could get up and stop fighting.
Of course, when I got up my glasses were nowhere to be found...at least not by this blind lunatic....and I realized my scarf was completely off my head which is totally immodest as a Muslima (yeah, like I could REALLY care at this point since I was just brawling in the street like a hooligan) and I tried to spot the scarf but realized I CAN'T FRIGGIN' SEE!!!! Then I reached up and touched my now "on fire" face and saw the blood on my hands from her artwork and I just got pissed off all over again. I looked over to my right and saw Demon-Woman trying to pull her scarf from over her face where it had risen up in the front. And I did a really bad thing. I backhanded the dog-snot out of her. I know. It was a cheap shot. But I was so mad at her for even starting all of this when all she had to do in the beginning was let the boy in to take his exams and talk to me about the problem. Anyway, her "innocent, well-behaved boy" was transferred by his parents from another school due to bullying problems last year by ALL the boys in his class. She complained that ALL the boys in THIS class were beating him up this year and especially Ismail. She also said that her son is late coming home from school everyday because Ismail beats him up en route and so the boy takes a really long way home to avoid Ismail. That's when I told her that her son was basically full of shit and she was an idiot to believe him. And ALL the other mothers vouched for me. In the 4 years that Ismail has gone to this school he has NEVER EVER been allowed to walk to or from school by himself. I walk all of my kids to school every day and I walk them home from school every day. I asked her if the thought had entered her brain that since the problems followed him from the other school to this school that maybe her son was the problem and NOT alllll of the kids in two entire schools.
I know her kid (I just didn't know she was his mother because she only shows up about once every month or so.) He is a foul-mouthed pain in the butt. He calls Ismail "son of ....(pick whatever insult)...." daily and has grabbed his crotch in the past. Ismail tells the teacher when he can but on "grab a dude's crotch day" he opted to just skip the middle step and kick the kid's ass. I don't blame him. I'd have done the same (obviously.) At any rate, Demon-Woman kept yelling that she was going to swear out a police complaint against me (apparently I'd knocked her two front teeth loose) and I offered to pay the cab fare for her. Then I added unintentional truthful insult to injury when I informed her that the Egyptian govt is very protective of foreigners over their own. This is the truth. If she swore out a complaint against me, all I'd have to do is flash my American passport and sit in a chair with my legs crossed drinking tea while the cops beat the hell out of her and possibly detain her until I insist that I was not going to press charges against her. Several of the women there told me that I should press charges against her since she attacked my child and me, broke my 350 EgyptianPounds glasses and broke and caused the loss of a watch that cost around 200 USD more than 20 years ago. Just those damages alone would cost her 2 months in jail. But I am not the brute that my physicality makes me out to be.
No matter how stupid, rude, or hateful this woman is....she is still a mother. And I will not be responsible for her kid (no matter how big a pain in the ass he is) to go to sleep crying because his mom isn't there at the end of the day. THAT is uncool.
Besides, I think I beat the damages out of her and my scratches will heal.
And now the principal calls me Um Mohamed Ali.

IT'S ANOTHER BOY!!

2009-01-18T10:36:00.000-06:00

Well, we've got another new addition to our extended family. Denise had her baby
boy, Thomas, on Tuesday and today my brother-in-law, Fawzy, and his wife, Zeinab,
had their baby boy, Mohamed! Photos and more to come as soon as I get my husband out the door armed with a camera phone.

About Kids and Cleaning House...

2009-01-15T14:14:00.000-06:00

Cleaning up after your family is tough. It's tougher when you've got kids....especially
the busload that I have (and I thank God for them.) But when you've allowed yourself to become the cook, maid, shopper, bather, errand runner, computer help desk technician, telephone guru, laundry washer/hanger/folderupper and putter awayer,
homework helper, finder of all things lost, human alarm clock, doorman, medicine dispenser, dragger of ill to the doctor/dentist, child drop off/pick up pointman, sex slave and coffee/tea maker..............(shew) you kinda get a case of the ass when you see your 13-yr old drink his third cup of water from a different cup and drop it into the soapy water and walk away.
So, I'm following through with my threat the other day. One of 'em screws up, that's the one that's gonna get stuck cleaning that nasty ole bathroom! The next one that screws up gets to make all the beds in the house. Samiya and Aiman didn't want to study tonight after being told to 47 times...so I made them fold up the two loads of clothes on the couch. I'm LIKING this.
I can get dishes done, rugs vacuumed, walls scrubbed and shoes put away, trash emptied and potatoes peeled and hell, I could just make the new curtains I've been putting off or work out or blog. Yeah......I'm down with this idea.
As often as Ismail and Mohamed fight per day, I should be able to get bedroom closets organized by the end of the week!
Right on for free child labor..........errrrr........constructive punitive ideas.

Welcome to This Crazy Thing Called the Family, Thomas!

2009-01-13T18:14:00.000-06:00

This is my new nephew, Thomas Edward Lane! He was born today at 7:52am (CDT)

and was 8lbs5ozs and 20.25 inches long. What a beaut! He is sooooo lovely and loved. The kids were quite excited to know they have a new cousin. Welcome to the crazies, Kid. Congratulations Denise, David, Jason, Juliana and Meka! Your new baby has arrived!

WHAT'S WITH ALL THE MOSQUITOES???

2009-01-11T18:15:00.000-06:00

Okay, so it's January and it's relativelly cold here in Egypt. We don't have snow here but we get a huge amount of rain here in the winter. Alexandria is known for it's high humidity year round. But generally the mosquito population goes DOWN in the winter.....or at least it used to.
This summer we had only a few mosquitoes. I thought maybe the kids were just getting really good at closing the screen doors on the balcony behind them. Silly me. I now know that the mosquitoes just decided to take a summer vacation elsewhere and make Alexandria their new winter home. I'm telling you, I've killed about 5 just sitting here in front of the computer for the last 30 minutes. Ismail and Samiya got yelled at today for their "mosquito hunting expedition" where they killed 16 blood-suckers in the boys' bedroom earlier this afternoon. No, I don't have a problem with them killing insects. My problem is their choice of weaponry. They each had a size 9 men's flip-flop in hand and were climbing around on the furniture swatting at bugs, real or imagined, and leaving gigantic shoe-prints all over the walls.
For the really high ones, they were holding the flip-flops parallel to the floor and flinging them upward with hopes of squishing their targets. Kids, while I appreciate your ingenuity, WHO IN THE HELL WANTS TO STAND ON A LADDER AND SCRUB FOOTPRINTS AND BUG GUTS OFF OF THE CEILINGS??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plus it gives guests the wrong idea about your true level of activity when they see evidence that you really CAN walk on the ceiling.

I don't know what the deal is but I've researched the mosquito. Apparently, they aren't "feeding" on us. Mosquitoes actually thrive on juice or nectar from fruits or other foods, which is why they tend to be around trash cans and picnic areas. It is actually only the female of the species that "bites" people. From what I've read on various entomology websites, the female needs blood in order to procreate. No, this does not solve my problem but it does explain why I feel no remorse from yelling, "Blood-sucking bitch" at the little critters sucking my fingers and earlobes dry all night long. No, really. I am suffering from fatigue due to my inability to sleep at night....between the 5 kids, vampire-like scheduled husband, and insomniac autistic 12-yr old, I could honestly do without the addition of miniature wings buzzing past my head in the middle of the night.

Oh, and those bug-zapper things? These damn mosquitoes use it like a sun-bathing lamp. They fly just close enough to enjoy it's warmth and fall asleep on the wall next to it. I think only about 5 have been zapped by it in the last 3 days. Total waste of money and electricity. Maybe I should just hand each kid a flip-flop and turn them loose. Anyone who gets into trouble after we're finished the mosquito massacre will of course be put on sponge duty scrubbing footprints off the walls. Hmmmmmmmmm. Win-win-win situation afterall.

The War in Occupied Palestine as It Pertains to Us

2009-01-05T17:33:00.000-06:00

Due to the fact that most of the people I know attended U.S. public schools and therefore are quite limited geographically, I thought I'd let you all know that YES, Israel is bombing the crap out of Rafah which is located in Gaza and is on the border of Egypt. Some of the firing has come across the border and in fact, there was an Egyptian soldier wounded yesterday. However, Rafah, Egypt is located on the Sinai

peninsula which is about a two day drive from here in Alexandria. SO....we are safe.

I wish I could say the same for the poor Palestinians. Last I saw on the news there were close to 600 Palestinians dead, about 1/3 of which are kids. I don't know exactly what the Israeli mission is this time, but it certainly isn't an attempt to get Hamas to stop firing rockets into Ashkelon. This is an election week for Israel and a good old-
fashioned "Arab-Ass-Kicking" is sure to score the hard-liners some points in the voting booths. We'll see if they win come Thursday. They've sealed the Gaza borders for the last two years and prevented any gas, fuel, food, medical supplies or even residents from going in or coming out. Now that they've begun the ground initiatives,
and more and more children are getting killed or seriously injured, I am beginning to get ulcers every time I watch the news. The US Administration and the Israeli govt placing the responsibility on the Palestinian people to "make Hamas stop firing rockets into Israel" is equivalent to the mayor of Chicago asking its citizens to "make crooked cops stop taking bribes." It's a ridiculous request that is impossible for the average citizen to carry out. If the US govt would STOP sending the more than 15 million dollars daily that Israel is using for it's airstrikes on the civilian Palestinian population, perhaps that money could be better spent on our OWN military or used toward education or buying back defaulted loans, etc, then maybe the rest of the world wouldn't hate our government so much...and then I wouldn't have to worry as to whether or not Israel was going to try to steal the Sinai from Egypt again, and jeopardizing the safety that we so far enjoy.

Death Warmed Up

2009-01-01T11:54:00.000-06:00

I know that I am not the first, nor will I be the last woman to ask this question. Why is it that when MEN get sick, the world stops turning and when we get sick, it's "Suck it up. It's just a cold."?????!!!!!

Men are given their usual 8-10 hours of sleep, cold meds served with a glass of water, a hot cup of lemon tea, citrus fruits and homemade chicken soup, and various loving gestures, like a kiss on the forehead to see if the temperature has gone down, etc. All this love and concern is usually followed by several 2 or 3 hour naps throughout the day. The dutiful wife endures the illness and caters to his needs and whims, all the while, carrying out her usual job requirements of 'EVERYTHING ELSE' in the household (e.g., getting up bleary-eyed after 2 and half full hours of restless sleep because of sick man-child in her bed coughing and tossing and turning and yanking the blankets off of her all night, getting 4 of the 5 children up and dressed for school while dressing herself and fixing ponytails and pulling the teenager and the tweenager off of one another in an effort to keep their noise levels and swearing from waking the man-child, aka their father, and the also sick autistic 12-year old who just went to sleep 2 hours prior to the alarm clock going off, walking the kids to two different schools, racing to the local bread ovens to buy fresh bread, walking the mile back home as quickly as possible to keep from burning her arms with hot bread, collapsing into bed only to have to immediately get up and answer the door and take a message from man-child's idiot cousin who finds it necessary to blather on for 15 minutes about how important it is for man-child to receive this message, eventually shuts the door and crawl back into bed for all of 15 minutes before the phone rings and it's a wrong number, FINALLY gets about 2 hours of sleep before the autistic 12-year old wakes up and decides she wants to play computer and crack up laughing while she watches YouTube'd episodes of Tom and Jerry...oh,yeah, did I mention the computer is in the parents' bedroom?...the alarm sounds off at 12:30pm and she drags herself out of bed again to dress and dress the sick, autistic 12-year old who keeps clearing her sore throat and screaming in a broken voice, 'MY SQUEAKER'S BROKE!" then racing down to the open air market to buy fresh chicken and vegetables to make soup for the sick masses and drops her beautiful red, Italian leather purse right in the mud, drags the kid back home and tosses the groceries onto the counter, busies the now pissed off, sick, autistic 12-year old with broken squeaker in front of the tv with remote in hand and a juice box in the other, races back down the stairs to the school to pick up 3 of the4 kids (one has an afternoon math tutoring session) brings them home, finishes plucking the chicken because the poultry guy did a half-ass job, throws the chicken back in the collander in the sink, leaves the 13-yr old in charge of everyone, races back to the school to get the 10-yr old and brings him home, finishes the soup and the rice and the chicken, serves the family dinner and THEN man-child decides that it's a waste of electricity to run the deep freezer with only one package of meat in it and unplugs it, to which wife replies, 'Hey, that's going to defrost all over the place and ruin the rug in that room and I don't have time to wash the 9 towels it'll take to soak up all the water damage,' so man-child drags the deep freezer into the bathroom so that the already lousy-aiming boys will now have to straddle the toilet in order to hit their target and announces, 'It can defrost in here. What's the big deal?', makes a phone call and dashes out the door to help his brother fix a closet that his nieces broke and leaves one of the nieces with the already wound up ornery 5 kids he helped to procreate and then has the audacity to ask the wife, who has now contracted his bitchin' cold due to his much-needed booty call right after the sick autistic 12-yr old finally went to sleep, and REALLY needs to go to bed but instead is stuck in the now-flooded bathroom cleaning a deep freezer, "Why are you so upset?!"
Maybe I should look into mail-ordering that damn Taser!!!!

World Leaders and Others I'd Like to Throw Shoes At...

2008-12-22T09:18:00.000-06:00

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.

Public Announcement...

2008-12-13T11:07:00.000-06:00

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

my book when it finally is published. THANKS!

Why My Husband Refuses to Buy Me a Taser

2008-12-09T12:35:00.000-06:00

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.

كل عام وأنتم بخير

2008-12-09T11:14:00.000-06:00

Happy Eid Al-Adha! (Festival of the Sacrifice!)

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!

Memories of December

2008-12-03T12:19:00.000-06:00

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.

All Hail the Blind Ding-Bats!

2008-11-28T09:57:00.000-06:00

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 me bang 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!

Happy Birthday, Turkeys!

2008-11-27T15:36:00.000-06:00

That's right! Happy birthday, you TURKEYS!

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'm SO Ready for a Career Change

2008-11-04T11:20:00.000-06:00

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.

Bi-Partisan Special on "Dancing with the Stars"

2008-10-31T15:08:00.000-05:00

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

their homes.

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

worst nightmare!)

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

time of campaigning! Go Barack.

The Genes Show Through

2008-10-20T16:25:00.001-05:00

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!

2008-10-14T15:28:00.000-05:00

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!

Re-runs (0ct 9, 2007) The Wedgie Fascination

2008-10-01T14:36:00.000-05:00

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.

Have I Mentioned 'I HATE people'?

2008-09-10T07:09:00.000-05:00

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.

Ramadan Mubarak!

2008-09-04T21:59:00.000-05:00

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!

If I Were Queen for a Day

2008-08-07T15:17:00.000-05:00

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.

My Camera-Related Tirade

2008-08-01T13:14:00.000-05:00

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....

Confronting Asshats in Public...

2008-07-29T14:10:00.000-05:00

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!

What Wives Should Remember about In-Laws...

2008-07-23T11:18:00.000-05:00

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.

More photos from our vacation...

2008-07-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

Here are a few more photos from our trip. Below is the sunsetting on the Meditteranean Sea.

And a REALLY REALLY close up of Ismail and one of Mohamed. I can't figure out how to make

these pictures plop into different places in the text yet and far be it from me to read the damn

directions.....so I'll just be "a man" about it and figure it out as I go along. Lemme try one more

that has the girls in it and then call this a "blog".

Yeah, okay...it's a blog all right....with a funky

arrangement of photos. WHATEVER.

Beggars can't be choosers........be happy that you can see 'em at all.

MAN.....it'd be so much easier to figure this out if Ismail wasn't in here bugging me as I type

about WHY motorcycles are dangerous for 9 year old kids to ride. GRRRRRR!

Later.

Well, not just yet. I just realized that I forgot to put one in of Aiman, so here goes:

Hopefully, this will turn out okay. If not, just

chalk it up to my computer-illiteracy and hope

I improve with time. This silly blogger site doesn't really LIKE the multiple photo upload

option. Whatever.....here are some pictures of

my young'uns. Enjoy!