I went to get something from the kitchen when this conversation took place:

Saad: Babe?

Me: Yeah?

Saad: This is chicken or pigeon?

That’s right, folks, he asked me –in all seriousness– if what he was eating was pigeon. PIGEON.

Knowing my husband was being genuine about his question, I stifled my laugh and with as straight of a face as I could manage, “Actually, I’m glad you noticed. You know how there are those pigeons around the duck pond from time to time? And how they keep taking the bread we give out to the ducks? Well, I got really tired of their thievery.”

He looked at me, staring right into my eyes.

Me: “I took care of them, if you know what I mean.” I couldn’t hold it together anymore and erupted in a fit of giggles.

Saad:”For a really brief moment, I almost believed you. But this chicken tastes just like pigeon; just as tender and juicy.”

Credit: Google images/Care2.com

——

You should know that I married a guy who spent his childhood on a farm in rural Ethiopia and lived out his boyish adventures in jungles. He had a pet camel he rode and used a spear and other weapons HE MADE to hunt animals for the skill/fun of it. He once went on a camping trip with his buddies and when they were stranded, he kept them fed as the only person who could find and kill game. He’s what you’d call A HUNTER.

So he’s had a few pigeons in his day.

Seven years ago, his “this is chicken or pigeon” question would’ve shocked me, but now, I know he’s being dead-serious.

And you know what? I can’t tell you how much I love it.

And then after the person slowly backs away from me, I’ll yell at them to know what they’re talking about before making such comments because by saying they “slept like a baby” to imply they slept really well they’re a) lying, as babies don’t sleep well at all. In fact they’re probably the worst sleepers of the human species. B) they’re perpetuating the lie, which is just even more lying; and c) making parents, perhaps namely mothers, all over the planet laugh-cry in resentment because SHUT-UP, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT SLEEPING LIKE A BABY.

2) My loathing for cooking is well documented here, and then in my total flip-flop fashion, my ill perceived confidence in the kitchen, here. When I’m not thinking they’re crazy, I admire people who love to cook and are good at it. After all, the world would be one boring peanut butter-and-jelly-all-the-time place if chefs/cooks didn’t exist. Somehow, I’ve totally missed this particular gene in the evolution of man (notice there, I didn’t say woman) and find a part of my soul erupting in annoyance whenever this necessity of life is, well, necessary.

However, please don’t confuse my disdain for cooking with disdain for eating of the cooked food. I don’t have an iota of disdain anywhere in my jiggly body for that.

I’ll admit though, that watching shows like America’s Worst Cooks does wonders for my ego and that using intagram to take pictures of my culinary happenings have made cooking slightly less annoying.

Behold!:

Homemade stir fry noodles

Meatball army, forward march to the oven!

3) Last night Aiman said “Hey mom, come here; I need your help with something.” Because I often find the most inane things amusing, I was amused by this statement. It wasn’t long ago (a little over a year ago to be exact) that he was only saying “come” as a toddler. I distinctly remember the time I was standing next to the stairs as he sat on the steps, calling my sister to “come here.” Just like that, he added “here” to “come”. Just like that, he added direction and magnitude (a vector! physics!) to his plain, vague, scalar (physics again!) command.

BOOM. Language development just happened in front of me.

And now, he’s added more elements to his language than I know how to translate into physics terms.

4) Something indescribable happens to my spirit whenever I see the amount of laundry haunting our room. And by haunting I mean unmercifully taking over. I’ve given up folding long ago. Home clothes, PJs, the kid’s stuff, and most of Saad and my clothes are usually (always) tossed in drawers or lightly folded to be put onto the closet shelves; the rest is hung.

Just thought you should know the extent of my domestic apathy/rebellion. Thank goodness I have a husband who’s neater, but also tolerant of my shenanigans. Also, it helps that our clothes don’t end up wrinkled much; it’s like the universe is encouraging me to never fold again!

5) After staring at these curtains for a long, long time, wondering what else the flowers looked like aside from bunnies in a fancy collar from afar, I find that I’m taken by them. Granted, this is my parent’s home and my mother’s taste to have these particular curtains hanging on her backyard glass door, I still say “nice curtains, Mom.”

And in a particular light (thanks instagram; I’m obsessed!), they have a timeless look to them. I imagine I could find these hanging in someone’s backyard glass door early last century and now, in the new millennium  (because, duh, they already are –PAY ATTENTION).

* I lied, there are six.

6) Thank you for stopping by to read my ramblings. You guys are like the sisters (and brothers?) who I pretend to not know read my diary — just like I always imagined this experience to be.

And I love it/you all!

I bet you can tell when Saad is back (hint: some virtual space of mine gets neglected).

He came back almost three weeks ago for what was supposed to be a week’s visit, but it turned into nearly three weeks. He left yesterday morning and we’ve been chugging along business as usual since.

In unrelated news, I’ve decided to give up sugar, salt, and to an extend, caffeine. Saad has been encouraging me to do so, just for general health, for the entirety of our marriage. He doesn’t add salt to anything he eats, drinks his tea and coffee plain (this is all sorts of gross to me), considerably limits his sugar intake in general, and rarely has caffeine. For the most part, his motto is “everything in moderation,” which I believe in as well, but please don’t ever give me plain tea or coffee. In the last few years, we’ve deceased or eliminated salt/ sugar in almost everything we purchase or make, but there’s room for improvement on my part, we’ll say.

Nonetheless, he’s been a big advocate for giving up both as completely as possible and encouraging me to join him in this regard.

Well, there’s been a breakthrough; this is the conversation that occurred this past weekend.

Me: Babe! So, guess what? (I never really wait for him to answer) I read an article on how sugar becomes an addictive, silent killer and linked to [this disorder and that syndrome blah blah blah], and so I think I’m going to try giving it up.

Saad: You don’t say…

Me: While I’m at it, I read a few tweets from this doctor about blood pressure and salt intake. So I think I should give salt up too.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: Also, I don’t like the way caffeine completely annihilates my sleeping pattern. A cup of coffee or too many cups of tea keep me up and I’m a little grouchy and moody the next day (read: become medusa). I kind of feel like everyone suffers when that happens.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: So I should probably give up caffeine, or at least tone it down to decaf (which still has traces of caffeine and differs from caffeine -free) to wean myself off.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: HEY! We can do this together. Maybe you can teach me your ways Oh, Wise and Bland One. I just wish I had come to these realizations a little sooner.

Saad: *head bang to wall*

The first test was my breakfast this morning — tea and a bagel. Plain bagel and god-help-me, plain tea. I doubt I have ever had a more punishing cup of tea in my life.

So then I cheated and added honey.

But I rebounded and ignored the glorious slices of cheesecake left over from Saad’s birthday. I longingly gazed at them, maybe mouthed I Love You’s to them, but I was a big girl and said No, not this time. Instead I had fabulously thick and creamy greek yogurt with fruit.

We’ll see how long this lasts, but I figure better health is worth a shot.

And now that I’ve committed blogging sin and talked about what I ate instead of something interesting, I will conclude this post with these sugar monsters:

via lifewithcake.com

P.S. If the “old” sugar-loving me were eating these deliciously scary little critters, I’d have to eat their eye first so that my food isn’t look at me as I eat the rest of its cakey body. I’d spare it the gore and eliminate its sight first, you know? Have a little kindness in my devouring ways sort of thing.

CAN YOU HEAR ME  ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

As I clean off the cobwebs and dust all over this blog, I notice it reeks of abandonment and neglect.

But fear not, for I am here to tidy up this mess!

Where should I start? Should this be one long (long, long, long) update post in which I tell you more than you care to know? Or should I only highlight the important aspects of the last ten or so days? Should I , oxymoronically, shut-up and talk the talk already?

I’LL DO ALL THREE without knocking you over, hopefully.

The important part(s)

Since the last post:

• We are still fighting THRUSH! Oh my sweet God of mercy and sanity, WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THRUSH. We completed the entire treatment course and were good to go for about a day or two until I noticed the white spots in the back of her throat again, after which I may or may not have sat there cursing the overgrown yeast partying it up in my baby’s throat. I so want to call the cops and complain of disturbance of population control on their ass and squash their party. Just as I figured, it’s probably because of one thing that I forgot to boil or sanitize that reinfected her/us. So anyway, we’re halfway through round two of treatment for this forsaken THRUSH!
  

  Baby girl is clearly SUFFERING. Good thing I bribe her with sweet potatoes -- that she inevitably gets all over her face.

• Saad was here for two whole months and like all good things, it came to an end last Thursday. That’s also partly the reason this blog has withered away. You see, his departure date sneaks up on us –here we are just minding our own business and soaking up his presence when BAM! There’s only a week left until he goes back. We try to do all sorts of family fun stuff/ lounging around in each others’ company during that time, which also means little to no distractions, ie news reading (for him) and self-delcared important internet browsing (for me), including blogging. So essentially, YOU CAN BLAME SAAD and his cruel, cruel departure date attacking us like that.
  • It’s always the worst part of the year whenever he has to go back, but hopefully we’ll be smelling each other’s morning breath in two (if we’re lucky) to 10 week’s time. (You can thank Aiman for this morning breath reference since we’ve watched the Shrek trilogy umpteen +1 times in the last few weeks. He LOVES the movies and we are all completely Team Ogre, so morning breath is the Ogre way to express that sentiment. Just FYI, is all.)
  • It’s been hard playing catch up since he left. In the previous post I mentioned he would come home for dinner and bedtime every night, so going through the bedtime routine along for both kids literally left me out of breath the first night after he left, although it could have something to do with those demonic cookies (scroll down).
• Another excuse legitimate reason this blog was thrown to the curb is that there was a bigger bully on the block who goes by the name, Medical School Personal Statement. He was fierce and totally kicked my butt. I had him under control at first, back in November, and had him all written beaten up. Then! Then that jerk came back with a vengeance and a low blow — my pride. Yeah! He took my pride and spat on it as he said “THIS ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH” and then ran away to the desktop trash can. So I worked out (my only “workout”) and battled him in the last few days, ending this feud once and for all last night. So you see, I had to invest what little writing fighting power I have and get this little “problem” taken care of.

The Extraneous Part(s):

• We rung in the new year with a late night barbecue and our good family friend, Bukky, over. We’ve known Bukky and her family since our Sunday School years and she’s essentially my sister, Sieda’s, “Summer.” We love that girl and we love her in-law-school-brain, which came in handy because (next point):

• Someone drove into our backyard on new year’s day. Sieda, Bukky, and I were on our way to go paintballing (OMG! NEXT POINT!) with a group of girls, and right as we were leaving, we heard a crash in the backyard. My mom looked out the back door and screamed my name — a scream that still makes my blood stop and my heart pound right through my chest. That’s when I knew something serious just happened. When we got to the site, we were all like, “Well, look at that. There’s a freakin’ car in the backyard” and the driver was unnaturally calm about it. My guess is that she was exhausted from work and simply dozed off because no one ran into her and it’s unlikely to just lose control of your vehicle unless it’s possessed, but then who keeps/drives a possessed car, you know?

• Paintballing. I love it. Wait, no I LOVE IT. That’s more like it. Now, you have to understand that I take it very seriously. The group I went with were all newbies, including myself, but it was obvious none of them had ever prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse and were far too forgiving to the other team. Also, you have to respect the fact that once you’re out of ammo, you’re vulnerable, and effectively OUTof the apocalypse. Would you forgive a zombie? I DIDN’T THINK SO. STAY LOW AND RESERVE YOUR AMMO.
  • Paint ball shots hurt so much, I just can’t describe it. My sister and I were on opposite teams, so you know we had to get each other first. It was mutually a personal objective and just plain personal. Well, she got me in my right arm while someone else shot at my left. She doesn’t know it, but in the midst of fire, I played mean, but behind the barrels? After she and someone paintballed me in the arms? I nearly cried in pain, hugging myself as I waited for the adrenaline to numb the pain. Paint balls hurt so much, people. So much.
  • The next day, I was not only branded in six solid bruises, but sore beyond my mind. Because I play hardcore? Perhaps. Because it was the only thing close to a workout I had in a very long time? Perhaps-Perhaps.
  • We went to Ci-Ci’s for a quick and easy dinner afterwards and I was leaking breast milk through my shirt, visible for all the restaurant to see. Did I care? Covered in dirt, paint, and god knows what that giant smudge of green-ish brown gunk on my thigh is? NO, BECAUSE I JUST SURVIVED A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. I sure will have an entire pizza and all of my dessert because I earned it, thankyouverymuch.

That concludes the update blabber, but wait THERE’S MORE.

More of my cynical conspiracy-theory wrapped rambling, that is. What did you expect, now?

So in an explanation worthy of another post, I’ve laid of coffee for a few weeks. I’ll go ahead and admit there are personal benefits so far, one of which is the ability to Just Say No. Like the way they teach you in school to Just Say No to drugs, only I’m not addicted, but I won’t refuse a good cup done right and fancy –perfect blend of creamer, sugar, and whipped cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon or chocolate. Who says no to that?

Luckily, only Starbucks does it as fancy as I’d like or care to do myself, so it’s been easy to refuse the “plain” variety, without any of the above.

But I cheat. I’ll drive up to Starbucks and ask for a DECAF something or another and feel so clever. I just enjoy the taste! It’s only for the taste! And maybe the placebo effect, even if I know it’s decaf.

credit via jasonlove.com

So anyway, I always have a secret fear that they forget to make it decaf and I chug back a fully-caffeinated beverage, which will make me stay up to odd hours of the night and between the kids’ sleeping patterns and my accidental caffeination, I’ll never experience sleep EVER AGAIN.

Today I got a venti iced coffee with the works –whipped cream and all that jazz — in decaf, of course. But it’s 3am and I am WIDE AWAKE (when I drafted this post, at least). Totally wired, even. I mean, I could even work out or something right now, but I’m not fooling anyone; I definitely won’t workout.

No, I’m not obsessing over the possible caffeine coursing my veins, fueling my insomnia. It wouldn’t be that venti iced coffee with the works. No. NO. The barista wouldn’t do that to me.

It could be PMS-induced insomnia, which I will gladly take because at least my PMS comes in a grande or less*.

*That’s a lie; my PMS totally comes in a trenta (Starbucks largest, ginormously gross-sized 31-oz size). That was the part you’d probably not care to know, but welcome to the risk of reading my blog.

*****

Saad has been back home for nearly two whole months, something unprecedented and unexpected in a semester, so that has been a seriously thanked for and savored treat. It’s been surprisingly impossible to coordinate our schedules mainly due to having only one car. I either have to drop him off as soon as the kids wake up and the library opens or he takes the car while we’re sleeping. There are obvious pros and cons either way, but he’s been back for dinner and to help me tuck the kids in every night and there isn’t a con that could ever out-do that.

*******

Aiman is officially in potty training mode and I’d like to point that we’re both still alive. We waited until he was officially three to actively start this certain growing pain if he didn’t train before then. He’s been aware of the concept for a long time, but had zero interest of actually using the toilet, neither were we pushing him to do so. It’s getting better and easier and hopefully we’ll have it down completely by the end of the year, otherwise known as THE NEXT THREE DAYS.

But to note, nothing will really happen if he’s not trained by then. I’ll just have to accept the potty-training-induced influx of laundry, something I might add, I was not anticipating and not thrilled about.

Wish I had some elves to help with THAT.

********

Manaal and I have been on THRUSH! treatment for about a week or so now and let me just tell you it is a pain. The suspension she’s taking smells bitter and she absolutely hates the taste, understandably. After a few doses and her negative/distressed reaction to it every single time, I called her doctor for an alternative or if I could mix it with milk or baby food and he agreed it would be a good idea. So that’s exactly what we’ve been doing and it’s been easier for her to take it.

I have to apply miconazole after every nursing and boil/sterilize anything that she might’ve put in her mouth. So far, so good. Goodness, I’m really hoping this is the last time we deal with THRUSH!

********

My mom, Saad, the kids, and I spent a quiet Christmas together. We don’t celebrate it for obvious reasons, but it would be a lie if I didn’t admit that I love this time of year. From Fall onwards is my favorite part of the year, and something about seeing the houses lit up on our street and the cheery atmosphere of The Holidays just makes it extra pleasant. My two younger sisters and my dad took a trip up to Seattle for a mini vacation/adventurous exploring and that was pretty neat for them. Hopefully we’ll have a big family trip somewhere sometime in the coming Spring or Summer.

********

MCAT studying has officially been halted until the Spring semester when there will be, hopefully, more stability in everyone’s schedule. I say “everyone” because I’m fortunate enough to have my sister adjust her work and school schedule, and then Saad to come back and finish up his semester here, and maybe even my mom-in-law if either of them can’t make it….all for me to get at least 4 straight hours to study.

That’s the plan, at least.

The only thing that’s been consistent with studying is how consistently it’s been a crapshoot. At one point I was even going to bed at 8pm, waking up at 2am and then studying until the kids got up. As you can imagine, this didn’t last long as it’s a crime against your body’s natural rhythm to wake up at that time and then force your brain to focus on equilibrium constants and nephrons, etc. rather than passing out at the table. Or it is against mine.

Personally, I’ve done some impressive eating-my-face-off in the past week or two. One example of this talent of mine is buying this case of soft chocolate chunk cookies from the grocery bakery. There were two rows of big, decadent chocolate-y cookies in each package and I thought Aiman, Saad and I would really enjoy them later that day. Well, after grocery shopping (alone with both kids) I was so freakin’ hungry and tired and thought “Gee! One of those cookies would be a great sugar/energy burst until I can get my hands on real food.”

Let’s just say that the same time the following day, there weren’t even crumbs left in the package.

At first I was simultaneously disgusted and impressed with myself, but now I’m mostly just trying to ignore the extra chine looking back at me in the mirror and denying that my belt latches into one hole over from the one it used to.

image credit: delish-blog.com

Chewy, chocolate chunk cookies are basically the devil.

• Wife: On menses (sry, tmi?). Unreasonably emotional about everything and nothing because thank you Uterus and your bleeding tendencies.
• Husband: Say the wrong thing at the wrong time because you just can’t win.

Instructions:

1. Wife, have a difficult day with the kids on the worst day of your period and compound the stress with the studying you haven’t done because your life is dependent on a silly, little test called THE -I-WILL-EFF-YOU-UP-MCAT.
2. Wife, have attacks of irrational guilt and emotional constipation misdirected at unrelated/ inanimate objects. Ex: Good God, why is it taking forever for this water to boil. *cry* obviously, everything’s just so wrong.
3. Husband, come home with wife’s favorite dessert to cheer her up.
4. Wife, take his good intension to heart as you lovingly pat the padding of fat around your belly you’re about to add to.
5. Husband, make Wife tea and set study table up for “couple study time”, which isn’t a sexual innuendo, just the unsexy-like studying we do of our books, together.
6. Wife, bring up an incident that happened earlier that day and want to talk about.
7. Husband, listen and try to alleviate Wife’s worries by making a joke of the incident.
8. Wife, genuinely laugh at joke. Tell herself she’s so lucky to have such a great husband.
9. Both, get back to studying.
10. Wife, slowly but surely become obsessed with what Husband might’ve meant by joke.
11. Wife, begin to seethe over Husband’s possible implied judgement. Totally lose focus of study material and plot attack of “Exactly what did you MEAN by your little joke, HUSBAND OF MINE.”
12. Husband, confused ask for clarification.
13. Wife, erupt in rant of unrelated things, but are related in that they’re making you lose any sense of composure and sensibility and coming out in a volcanic eruption of emotional vomit.
14. Husband, explains what he meant and references something similar you both laughed at a few days earlier.
15. Wife, have lightbulb moment and feel embarrassed. Realize she does have a great husband.
16. Wife, feel guilty and cry.
17. Husband, pat Wife’s back and ask if she’s okay.
18. Wife, say yes and get up to wash your face. Also, get your shit together.
19. Both, get back to studying and have a productive night, which again, is not an innuendo.

Until next month, Happy-Being-A-Cliche!

Sometimes, when the kids are finally sleeping and Saad and I are having dinner via Skype, I feel like I have a personal relationship with my computer. That my computer is Saad because it has his face on my screen and the closest I’ll have him near me. So I hug the computer, I hug Saad.

Sometimes, we’re on the phone for much longer than intended and our studying plans are thrown off for the night. Because so much has happened in the last 10 or more hours that he was in class or I was out with the kids and I relay story after story, thought after thought. And he patiently listens to every story, every thought.

Sometimes, he tells me a joke or riddle that cracks us up endlessly.

Sometimes, he’s exhausted from spending all day in a classroom and then in the library. Then spends the rest of the day at his study table in his quiet apartment. Very lonely.

Sometimes, it’s hard for him to see his friends with their wife and kids because he misses his own.

Sometime, it’s hard for me to see a dad with his kids at story time or the grocery store because we miss him too.

Sometimes, whenever the phone rings Aiman jumps up saying “It’s my dad! It’s my dad!”

Sometimes, it’s just gets plain hard to solo parent.

Sometimes, Saad won’t be back until the Winter Holidays and we’re all counting down until then. September, October, November, and then finally, finally, finally, December. Then we’re counting down days, which sometimes feel even longer than the months that have passed.

Sometimes, Saad will schedule a quick trip back to see us. After planning everything we’ll be freakin’ excited out of our minds for him to return earlier than expected.

Sometimes, we get beyond disappointed that our plans fall through and that he won’t be able to make it. That the quick trip back will be far more destructive for our overall schedule and semesters if he returns. It would be easier (in every sense other than emotional), especially financially, for him to return on his scheduled date. So we get bummed about it and I’m relieved I didn’t tell Aiman about Saad coming home early. Explaining he couldn’t would’ve been hard.

Sometimes, after I put the kids down on Friday night, I get a call from Saad’s local number. Huh?

Sometimes, I answer it and he replies “Hey babe” as usual.

Sometimes, I’m confused and excited to hear his voice coming from his Houston-area number.

Sometimes, he tells me he’ll be home from the airport in an hour and will see me soon.

Sometimes, I laugh uncontrollably because he totally pranked me by setting up his “I won’t be able to make it this weekend after all” etc. and while he was telling me how depressed he felt about not making it, he was actually packing to leave for the airport.

Sometimes, I get intense butterflies knowing that he’s coming home right now.

Sometimes, when he gets home I don’t ever want to let him go.

Sometimes, it feels like he never left because having him back feels stable and peaceful and natural.

Sometimes, we’ll have a whirlwind weekend and we wake up on Monday morning, look over at each other and the kids, and realize that yes, whew, this past weekend wasn’t a dream and that he’s still here. We’re all here.

All of the time, I love him that man (sometimes, too much).

Someone’s earning himself some serious, serious brownie points. This is what happens when you train them well, ladies (JK x’s a million). Here’s Saad being himself and surprising the heck out of me yet again this past weekend and doing it very well as evidence by my blubbering “Uh…who? what? What’s happening?”  to the delivery man.

 (Thank you babe <3)

As vague as that might sound, you do not understand what a milestone it is for him to a) even mention he’s coming earlier and b) to give me an estimated time in the month.

This requires an explanation. Which I’m going to give you.

Saad, you see, likes to surprise you so much that you’re a gasp away from a heart attack. One time I was five months pregnant with Aiman and home alone, making lasagna in the kitchen. I didn’t really hear the door open, but I had this strange feeling someone was either coming in or already in the house.

Again, I’m pregnant and alone, and yet I strolled into the living room all I-have-an-uncomfortable-feeling-about-something-happening-but-I’m-going-to-check-it-out-anyway! To my utter shock and flabbergasted confusion, there was my husband, who I wasn’t expecting for another month or so, walking up to me for a hug.

I was brain-numb and very emotionally volatile in all the right and pregnant ways.

He later told me that if things had gone exactly the way he had planned it, he was just going to go wait for me in our room until I got up there. And you know, catch me as I faint in sheer fright and shock.

So the man likes doing this sort of stuff, and I honestly love it, yet for him to tell me, but not really tell me in advance is pretty special. After living in what you might call a state of hyper-sensitive premonition-ing by stopping what I was doing to look up and say/think “He’s going to walk in right….right….RIGHT NOW!” and he not walk in at all, I made him tell me which weekend he was coming. Because you know what? It is too energy zapping to premonition like that all weekend, not to mention it totally shatters your confidence in seeing seeing/feeling the future.

So by last Wednesday night I knew he’d be home that Friday evening.

And then Friday came and all was divine.

We had dinner at his favorite diner and checked into our hotel for the weekend. Although we were still in the same city, it was neat to have the space and time to ourselves (for those of you who don’t know, I/we live with my family while he’s away).

Saturday, we went to Moody Gardens for the new exhibits and then had dinner on the beach, after which Saad and Aiman run along the shore while I nursed Manaal in the soft sand.

Sunday, after breakfast we spent some time with Saad’s family, who either of us hadn’t seen in a while. Later that day my sister, who has this fancy camera I don’t even know the name of other than it being a Canon, took some fun, impromptu family pictures for us.

If Aiman and Manaal look tired it’s because they were. Manaal woke up from an unfinished nap and it was Aiman’s dinner time, but they were good sports about the nonsense we put them through for these pictures. 

That same night my sister babysat for us after we put the kids down to bed, and Saad and I went out for dinner and hung out in our car. I swear we’re not peculiar people, but our car is pretty much our treehouse. We’ve had our best conversations, ideas, plans, moments, etc., in that little ol’ Corolla. It’s become our escape.

Monday was supposed to be his last day with us, but a hiccup at the airport meant his flight would be delayed until noon the next day and really, we were not complaining. No siree bob. We thoroughly absorbed the extra hours we got with him.

And then Tuesday came along and it was time for him catch his flight. It was hard, as usual, but it’s part of the deal. But you know what? That weekend was such a boost in spirits for all of us. Before he told me he was coming back, I was slowly sinking in my troubles, but having had the time we had together, IT FEELS DAMN GOOD AGAIN.

So other than the weekend Manaal was born, last weekend was the best ever this year.

It gets to me every.single.time.

It needs to be blown up, framed, and hung up on my wall somewhere.

Isn’t it just gut-wrentchingly beautiful?

What’s their story? Is one sick?

How many years have they been together?

Or where they reunited after a life time separated/having been with the wrong person/ lost?

Their life, their history, their love, their sorrows?…SO MANY QUESTIONS.

I want to talk to them.

I bet their fragile limbs and bodies hold each other with the same strength and fragility as the love their heart bears for the other.

Every wrinkle and white hair, the mark of a memory or story shared.

It speaks volumes to me and albeit being a little sorrowful, this is where I want Saad and I to be a lifetime from now.

(GAH. WHAT A GORGEOUS PHOTO.)

(I have to stop looking at it now. I feel the stink in my nose and waterworks coming on.)