BFF

Ggffd

This is NOT what our meals look like.

Okay, I admit it. There is too much to do in one day. I could use like four extra hours to get everything done.  But those hours have to come at night, when the girls are asleep so I can actually be productive.  Of course, knowing myself, I will choose those hours to sleep. Wouldn't you?

I am a editor/contributor over at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/growmama. I hope you will check it out! It's reminiscent of my favorite blog of all time, NY Times' Motherlode, Adventures in Parenting. It's clear that my tastes in literature have changed in the past few years, thanks to having kids. Motherlode has been a welcome change. I always leave the blog feeling informed and for a moment, a bit smarter. 

GrowMama is like Motherlode with an Islamic spin on it. I've loved reading it for years and jumped at the chance to become involved with it last year. 

So here I am sharing with you my latest GrowMama post. I wish I had more time to write unique posts on  both GrowMama and my own blog here. One day...

A Beautiful Moment

November 30, 2013

My husband and I had a beautiful moment the other day, thanks to the kindness of a stranger. An event which at once beckoned us to remember Allah and His infinite blessings on us, amidst the madness that is often mealtime with kids. Those with children know exactly what I am talking about.

We sat waiting for our breakfast at a favorite brunch spot, when suddenly our two girls became nostalgic for their beloved children’s song, one they ask for constantly and can never get enough of. As they belted it out in unison, my husband and I looked down, embarrassed that our firm commands to “zip it” were ignored. It was a family restaurant, but still, this level of noise could not be acceptable. Nearby sat an older gentleman, perhaps someone with his own gaggle of grandkids off at school. But today he dined alone (and I envied his solitude at that moment.) As he ate, he glared at our loud chorus, while we gave him looks of apology.

When our food arrived, the girls were finally distracted from their performance and shifted their focus to the table.

About 15 minutes later, the gentleman stood up and gathered his things to leave. As he neared our table he stopped and looked at us both before he spoke. He didn’t look so pleased, so we braced ourselves. We knew what was coming. We had thunk it ourselves before having our own kids.

“I want to tell you…About your kids…”

Oh boy, here it comes.

“You two are so fortunate.”

And with that he walked away. Maybe he said something else, but my mind was frozen in time, mulling over his words.

What a wonderful surprise. Often in the day to day drama of child rearing, we forget that we have been given this insane privilege, this tremendous gift. And instead of embracing our offspring as they are, sometimes we are caught up fighting inane battles with them, trying to shape, bend, and fit them into a mold that is not realistic. Struggling to force our will above theirs, and not respecting them as individuals, in spite of their tender age.

Today, let’s all step back for a moment. And vow not to constantly tell our kids to “Stop!” Give them back their right to be young. And reconsider your reactions when dealing with the crazy that comes with part of the territory as a parent. Take a deep breath and pull back when;

-You feel the urge to yell at your toddler for accidentally drawing off the paper with crayons. Their mechanical skills are still in development.

-You send your child to his room because he too slow in cleaning up his toys. Kids don’t yet have the speed cleaning skills we moms are blessed with or have developed over the years. Let him do it at his own pace, and be grateful he’s at least trying.

-You start to lose your mind because your four-year-old shoved her little sister to the floor. She doesn’t always know her own strength.

-You son breaks a plate helping you put away the dishes. Just accept it- little kids have butterfingers. What a blessing to have him at your side for a routine chore.

-You want to bury your head in your pillow and scream because the kids woke up before the sun is even out.  Be thankful you are waking up and facing another day together.

Just please, let kids be kids. And learn from them. Live in the moment, and be forever thankful to Allah.

Sameera Iqbal

Sameera is a newly minted part-time working mom. Every day is a party in her house, thanks to her two toddler girls. She occasionally blogs at sameeraiqbal.blogspot.com, and hopes to home school one day in the near future.

The Best Public Service Announcement

No, really. You will find that you agree with me when you click on this.
And if you find yourself an offender, don't worry, this article will help you get back on track with it's clear, simple instructions.

http://www.bridgetteraes.com/2013/10/30/tights-pants-ya-hear/

Change is ...

You know the old adage "Change is good"? I've always believed in it, and would always support and encourage my friends and family towards it. Some would even call it "pushing." 

News about my homecoming to news

I'm back. Yes, it's been a very long hiatus. But here I am again, mostly because of Dalal Kanan, who has always genuinely and lovingly encouraged my blogging. So this is for you, Dalal. And for me too.  I want to know if I remember how to write or use the English language. Or if my brain has really turned to mush. You'll tell me then?

I have some news: I've started working! Don't worry friends, I am not going to change my blog title (again). Because although my employment status has changed, my status as a Stay at Home Superhero has not. And I am very grateful for that.

For months I have been perusing job listings and media websites, hoping for the perfect part time or stay at home position. For the record, neither exist in my field. I considered freelancing, but being at the whim and mercy of the broadcast news machine does not pair well with two young kids.

I applied to countless 9-5 jobs, all the while knowing that I would go crazy if I had to spend all that time out of the house. I hoped if I was applying to jobs outside of television, I could maybe come home at a decent time. But is coming home at six'o clock really good enough? Would the one or two hours before bedtime with the girls make up for an entire day away from them? It was a sacrifice I did not want to make. But I submitted my resume anyways, knowing that if it was meant to be then Allah would push the door open for me.

It does not happen very often that one is fortunate enough to have something perfect, something you couldn't even imagine would be such a great fit, fall right into your lap. For me, Allah guided me in the best of ways back home, to NBC, where I started my career many years ago.

When I tell someone that I go to work in the middle of the night, they look at me like I'm crazy. But you know what? It just fits me and my family. It's different, and different feels good. When I get out of work, I have my entire day ahead of me. As I walk through Manhattan in the early morning, while most of the residents and tourists are still sleeping in I.OWN.THE.CITY.

All praise is due to Allah for this opportunity.

For a Proper Prayer, Lock the Kids Up

Don't worry, I'm just kidding. Could I be the only one who has not had a proper prayer, full of reverence and connection to God, since the birth of my first daughter?

Obviously we all know kids are distracting. When it was just my now two year old, I would try to pray while she napped, or sat with someone else. But now she is napping less, and often wants to be around me, interacting and playing. So my prayer has become hurried, and I usually do not have time for extra prayers, or anything beyond the basic requirements. Even though she has developed an interest in praying with us, it's not so easy to concentrate with her standing next to me, reciting her makeshift Arabic supplications.

But that's not my only problem now.  Since her sister came into our lives 7 months ago, prayer has become more of an exercise. One moment, I am stretching my arm as far as possible to snatch something out of her mouth that should not be eaten.  Another moment, I am kicking out a leg to block her from a pile of wires to the left of me or trying to uncurl her hands from a swatch of her sister's hair. All while trying to maintain my position in prayer.

Last night, our evening prayer was an absolute circus. While the two year loves to model us, don a scarf and lay her prayer mat down next to us, her sister has her own plans. Those plans include trying to eat the prayer mat, going after our heads in prostration, and generally chasing her down as her sister as she tried to get away from her.  My husband and I were on the verge of laughter the entire prayer, and broke out laughing as soon as it was over.

It made for a fun evening, but now I wonder, did we miss out on that prayer?

Please share your advice be on how to pray with kids around.  I look forward to hearing it.

Mothers and Ramadan

So I tried to partake in Ramadan a few days ago. The hubby went to pray the first half of the night pray at the masjid, and then came home to stay with the sleeping kids while I went to the masjid.

It was not so successful. Rather than feeling a spiritual rush for being in a masjid packed with people praying, I had to fight hard to keep myself awake during the prayer. At first it was hard to keep my mind from wandering with a million different thoughts. So I closed my eyes, and instead I felt as if I would fall asleep standing in that moment. So I open my eyes. Mind wanders again. Close my eyes. I feel a sudden urge to lay down in the middle of the row I was praying in.

There have been a few articles out recently regarding mothers and ramadan, reassuring us that we would be rewarded as much, although we may be missing out on fasting or extra prayers. Thank you, but your words were unneccesary. In fact, it almost felt as if I was being patronized, with male authors telling us how much reward there is in motherhood.

No kidding! Motherhood is hard and rewarding? Tell me more I about something I have been going through for over two years.  Allah will reward us for raising our children? Was there even any doubt of His generosity and mercy, especially towards mothers, the stewards of the Ummah?

And I know a lot of men say with their words how hard motherhood is and how grateful they are to mothers. Well, words do not mean enough. In fact mothers have something kin to a 30 hour workday, while a husband may come home from an 8 hour workday. So stop sympathizing with your words alone, and help out. Pick up a load of laundry, cook a meal, or change a diaper. By the way, this is not a criticism to my own husband, he has been wonderful, despite being in law school. But there's always room for improvement ;)

And one more important fact. When you do that load of laundry, or change a smelly diaper, do it without being asked. Without me dropping a fairly obvious hint. Or even a subtle one, though subtlety has never been my strong point.  Without any mention of it. That will bump you up from 1 point to 100 points for the same act.

How far does a mother's love go?

Lately I have been plagued with a thought that scares me: what If I don't like my kids as they get older?

I love and adore them right now, and the icing on the cake is the added cuteness of their age, Iman being six months, Noor being 2 years old. I realize now that this is the age I LOVE. I cannot imagine a day without their endless (and in Iman's case, toothless) smiles and unconditional love. The tears at the drop of a hat, followed by incessant laughter and giggles. Most of all what I enjoy is their interaction with each other, watching them in complete adoration of one another. I am not looking forward to the day they fight over each other's clothes.

Recently at a gathering, certain friends were saying how they were glad to be done with diapers, baby food, and strollers. But I LOVE this stuff. I revel in it. I cannot imagine a time when it all becomes obsolete. I still have not even thrown away Noor's old pacifiers, not that I am reusing them or anything. I won't part with these teeny, tiny baby blankets, even though Iman rolls around so much they are useless. And I can't stop buying baby clothes. Even though there is literally nowhere to put any more clothes.

My dear friend M.Y. told me her husband always wants more children because he loves the infant age so much.  I never understood that. Until now.

So mothers with older children, I ask you, does a mother's love ever run out? Or does it morph and continue to grow with your child?

The other side

I should have known that my feelings would change in a second.
I wish I was working in television right now, covering the Olympic Games. *sigh*

Just as I thought to myself last week about how happy I was with my current occupation, as a stay at home mom to two girls. And then *poof*; just like that I am wondering about the other side.

Allah knows best.

Ramadan 2012

This is my fourth year of not fasting during the month of Ramadan.  Year 1- pregnant. Year 2-nursing. Year 3-pregnant. Year 4- nursing. My poor husband has been eating suhoor alone for years, waking up alone in the middle of the night to have this early meal and get ready for his day of fasting. It's hard enough getting up, I imagine it's much harder getting up alone.

I am scared of what it will be like for me when I do start fasting again. But for now I am trying my best to come up with ways to absorb the blessings of this month.

I don't have too many ideas, so I welcome your ideas. For now I am sharing daily goals with a friend who recently moved to Europe.

Today's goal was not to get cross with the kids. ALL day. It was not easy, in fact, I failed. I will try again tomorrow, along with the next day's goal: put away my cell phone from 6 pm until kids are asleep.  I hope to not just to accomplish these two things on this one day, but hopefully long term.

I am also trying to keep up with my extra night prayers.  I miss the years before the kids, going to the mosque every night, praying amidst the crowds, but mentally focused on the Quran in my hands, imagining myself in the masjid in Medina.  It was a different time. I miss thinking about prayer during prayer, and not worrying about which one of the babies may wake up, crying or hungry, or worse, wake the other one up. Being able to sleep in without a toddler jumping on my bed was an added luxury at the time.

Over the past few years, I have felt the hole left in my faith by not fasting. I felt deficient, but too tired to do anything about. I tried to read a lot of Quran, but my eyes would close a few minutes into it.

This year I am trying not to focus on fasting(rather not fasting), but instead revel in worshipping Allah through my children. I know it's not the same, but I know it's accepted just the same. Allah will reward whatever I can muster up the strength to do at the end of the day, as long as I make my intention solely to please Him.

Inshalah.

Who would have thunk it

Ironing tiny little ruffles, on tiny little blouses is a BIG pain in the butt. Ironically I only iron my own clothes on special occasions, such as weddings and Eid.

The grass is always greener on the other side

I have several circles of friends, and all kinds of friends, and the one thing that predominates my conversations everywhere I go is our happiness as mothers.

Sometimes, we sit and vent; we have to in order to feel sane and know that what we are going through will not kill us. There are things in our lives we love and hate, and things we hate but can't live without.

And then there is motherhood.  From the outside, one side always seems to have it better.  The mommies who are stay at home, like myself, often wonder if we are missing out on the outside world. Why do the moms who work seem to have more fun with their kids on weekends and when they come home? What is their secret? Why aren't they fighting with their two year old like I am?

And then the mommies who work are sitting at their job missing their kids, sometimes in tears. They come home in time to put them to sleep. They may miss the first time the baby sat up, the baby's first steps. "Is it worth it?" they wonder day in and out.

I always thought working part time would be a happy medium, but I find the mothers who do so are also not content.

So there it is. In case you were wondering, no one is 100% pleased with their situation. You think you can always do more, spend more time, feel more fulfilled. But that may never happen. So it's time to go back to the old adage that YOU control YOUR happiness. So be happy with that two hours a day, even if you are rolling around on the sofa having a tickle fight. The dishes can wait (or start using paper plates, sorry if I am not being an environmentalist).

Stop comparing yourself to the single woman at work who's been on the job for 15 years and be proud of what you have accomplished. If you want to do more, then go for it and be proactive.

And if you miss your kids, go home to them. You can't have it both ways moms. I pray that Allah gives us the means to be able to choose what makes us happy.

So whatever you select, be happy with it now AND later; do not turn it into something you regret a few years down the line.  Have faith that Allah put you where you are for a reason, and that's what you are supposed to be doing, at least at this point in your life.

As for myself, after two years of complaining, I am 98% content in being a stay at home mom to two beautiful, amazing challenging girls. The 2% is for those days they drive me nuts :)

Announcement: blog title change

I have been desiring to start blogging again for a while now. The real reason I have not been blogging is not because my hands are full (which they are, with two kids), but because I felt I had nothing to blog about. So here I am, my first blog in several months. I may have nothing great to say, but
at least I can use my blog as a way to get my thoughts written out and organized, for whatever purpose.

I have also changed the title from "A Fly on the Wall" to the new title, so I can focus on my adventures in motherhood.  I have no right to call myself a superhero, but I thought it fit into the title so I went with it.

So stay tuned. Also I welcome your guests posts, so send them over.

Sameera

She's Here!

Alhamdulilah my second daughter has entered this world, healthy and beautiful beyond the scope of my own limited duas. It's incredible to know that my own mother loves me so much to make these incredible duas for me. How else could I blessed in so many ways?



It's been quite the week. On Sunday, we thought perhaps I was in labor, feeling what I thought was contractions, so we went to the hospital to get checked out. It turns out I was not, but from the moment we got into the labor triage room, I felt annoyed, especially because the biggest football game was on in a few hours, and I really wanted my husband to be able to watch it at home, especially if we did not really have to be at the hospital. (I know, how selfless of me; actually I did not want to fight with him during labor for ignoring me)


After being okay'ed by my doctor to leave, they decided only moments later to keep me for a few more hours and put me on an IV because the baby's heartbeat was high. Stupid, stupid coke zero. Why did I drink you on the way to the hospital? After arguing with the nurse and the doctor I gave in, mostly because Moustafa convinced me to go with it, since we were there already. I lay on the bed another two hours until they finally allowed us to go home. I was praying for this the whole time, but really did not expect it to happen, as I know how hospitals like to control the situation, and in almost every situation, the patient is kept and induced (and I was a mere 24 hours overdue).  Luckily Moustafa was able to catch most of the game at home, but heartbroken when his team lost.


The next day, I moved up my doctors appointment because I wanted an update on what was going on with this baby and to make sure my doctor knew about the false alarm.  While I was there, she did something known as stripping of the membranes (I will leave you to google that).  I read that it works for some, but usually makes little difference.  It did however cause me to cramp and spot, which was expected.


So the day went on, I continued to have cramping and spotting. Around 8 pm, I asked my sister to come to Target with me; I just had to have hand soap refill before this baby came. Funny how trivial things can weigh you down like it's the end of the world. As we were walking through Target, I was in so much pain at times, I wanted to lay on the floor. Darn cramping, I thought.


So we didn't stay long. Came home and the "cramping" got progressively worse and more painful until 9:30 when I called my doctor.  I don't expect her to remember every detail about every patient, so I didn't blame her when she said I didn't sound like I was in labor on the phone or in crazy pain. I am just not that kind of person (until later). So she said hang out at home another hour or so, see how it goes. I decided to take a bath, hoping to ease the pain, forgetting that my pseudo ob/gyn (Dr. Mona) told me that warm baths can also help relax and body and bring on labor. By the time I got out at 10:30 the pain had only gotten worse. This whole time, Moustafa is as doubtful as I am that this was worth a hospital trip.  But by now I was red and sweaty from the pain I was in. Pretty soon, I begged to go to the hospital.


We got to the hospital and the guard at the labor triage room showed us to the waiting room, to wait for a nurse. As I am waiting, I can barely breath, in excruciating pain and pacing and panting.


Finally a nurse grabbed me coming out of the bathroom. This whole time I am going to the bathroom every 15 seconds, thinking I had to.  She started to take me to an evaluation room, thought the better of it, and took me straight to a labor and delivery room.  After some yelling, at the nurses, at my husband, at anything in front of me, I demanded the in house doctor. My doctor had been informed at this point, but I could not wait any longer..

The on call doctor delivered me at 1:06 am. No waiting. No medicine. No epidural. Somehow, the nurse managed to get an IV in me.

Aside from my sister, we spoke to no one as we left for the hospital.  The next time they heard from us the baby was already here. My mother thought it was a joke, as she did not even know we left for the hospital.  Welcome Iman Badreldin. 7 pounds, 11 ounces. 20.5 inches tall.

We're home now, just a few days later, in the same week. Still in disbelief.

The final countdown

Somehow, by the mercy of Allah nearly ten months have passed, and I am possibly days, or less than two weeks from my due date. I am anxious to know more about and meet my second child.

The past few months have been uneventful, and for once I am grateful for that, Alhamdulilah. Of course barring the birth of my beautiful nephew, Hamza, not much else has happened.

Except that every morning I wake up with a different toddler. Every morning, Noor, who is nearing two years old, does/says/learns something new. And while I bask in the beauty of her rapid growth, I feel sadness underneath and miss the Noor from the day before. She is growing up entirely too fast. Should I listen to my sisters, and record every cute thing she says and does? If I do will I miss out what is happening in front of me? Forget wielding a camera, even if I blink I know I've fallen behind.

I fear I have already missed too much.

What happened to my resolution to read?

Remember way back when I said I would do more reading, and briefly review the books I read for you, my lone blog audience member?

The last book I read was The Hunger Games, and it was fantastic. How fantastic? Well you can go back and read the review. What happened then? It took a few more days to get my hands on the two sequels to The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and The Mockingjay and each one I read in a day. I should also mention that my husband was also unable to put these books down.

And that is the last I read. In fact, since then other books I had ordered through the library, The Immortal Life ofmHenrietta Lachs and Clockwork Angel, came in. But I have no desire to read them. Suzanne Collins, your books have ruined reading for me. Ok just kidding. But it will take me some time. I just renewed Henrietta Lachs for the third time, partly because I hope to still read it, and partly because I am too lazy to go to the library and return it.

The Hunger Games

A friend recently invited me to a new Meetup group for Muslim families in Bergen County.  I know my husband will have little interest in this, as it is another social media network, and he says he hates social media (or at least pretends to, while he does have a Facebook, LInked In & Twitter account).

So I am attending their first book club meeting next weekend.  Husbands are invited, but I won't extend this to my husband as I know he has too much on his plate for me to even ask.  On the other hand,  I have been overjoyed to start picking up books again. I am loving reading again, and while the baby does not make it easy, there are those rare moments where she grabs a book of her own and joins me on the sofa. Plus she has recently started "reading" out loud herself, which is a series of words she knows, intertwined with babble.  But to my ears, it is music.

The first choice of the book club is "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins.  I have to admit a while back I read a quick summary of this book on Wikipedia and it did not interest me.  In fact I would not have read it now, except that my friend Maleeha handed me her copy, so I had no reason not to.  That was yesterday. Less than 24 hours and 374 pages later, I am done. Perhaps this is a recurring theme with me, but I could not put it down.  Now that I think about it, it is recurring, but often has little to do with the quality of the book, just my need to know the ending NOW.

But in this case, I loved the book.  I believe this book is aimed at an audience at least a decade younger than me, but since I've never really grown up, I really enjoyed reading it.

I really don't want to give much away as it is a long story, and shocking story at times.  However the author has done a great job of making it real; I feel like it can happen, must happen in some part of the world.  Not in my neighborhood, where survival means driving to the closest supermarket, and turning up the thermostat. But I know in other parts of the world people have to do whatever they can do to ward off starvation, a major part of this book.  Could I do the same, where I pushed to struggle for my own existence? I pray to Allah that I never have to find out. 

The Screwtape Letters/ The Help

Next up on my reading list was C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters."  I read the first chapter, and about half of the second, and felt I was done, I had read the whole book.

The book consists of chapters, which are actually letters written from the Devil to his "henchmen" on how to deceive and mislead men. An interesting point was made in the first chapter, and that was not to allow man think or reason, to keep his distracted and focused on trivial, worldly matters.  That way there would be no room in his head for the constant reminder of God.  I liked the chapter well enough.

The first half of the second chapter seemed practically identical, the same tone, the same vocabulary.  That's what I decided to move on to the next book.

The next book recommended to me was "The Help" by Katheryn Stockett.  I could not put this book down.  It was written very well, flowing between the viewpoints of different characters, so you could almost imagine what each person went through. And that made it hard to hate anyone. Well almost anyone. 


It's the story of a white woman working with the African American help in well to do white houses in Jackson, Mississippi, telling their stories.  Among them are bad ones and good ones, stories where the help is treated with kindness and generosity, yet all the while maintaining their position as the help.  Never ever really on the same field as their employers. 


As you can imagine, the characters trying to tell these stories were at great danger of being found out,  though it wasn't something stressed in the book.  As I read, my heart was constantly on edge, praying for them to succeed without being caught in the act. 


I'd like to be more in depth with my review, but it's been a few weeks since I finished it.  I loved it, and now that I have read the book, I want to watch the movie.  I am sure it will pale in comparison, but I still expect to be entertained.

More book reviews on the way

I got around to reading a few more books recommended to me, The Screwtape Letters and The Help. I will review them in further detail later.

For now I have picked up what I beleive is the latest installment in the Shopaholic series, Mini Shopaholic. Thought it has not been over two or three years since I read the earlier books, I am already annoyed with the main character, Becky. I have become a mother, as had she, but she has not grown up one bit. Ugh.