HEAT is a Four-Letter Word

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...

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

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!

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

**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....

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....

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.