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!"

Sarcasm (orig. published May 2007)

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.**