I’m feeling better from yesterday bout of emotional vomit on here. Many thanks to those of you who stopped by and offered reassurance!

via mocoloco.com

I’m sure almost everyone knows about Pinterest by now, but if you don’t, consider yourself lucky. Although full of awesome creativity, it’s also an enormous waste of time. So naturally, I stopped by for a quick browse this morning (to my credit though, it’s been weeks since I last visited).

Although I live in sandals, flats, TOMS, and rarely sneakers, I do enjoy browsing, if not donning, heels from time to time. I own maybe one real pair of heels and they hardly see they light of day. There’s just no point in wearing heels when out with my very young and very active kiddos.

Anyway, during this quick escapade, I found three (many, really, but three really good ones) shoes that would undoubtedly kill me. And easily, I might add.

(all images were found on pinterest).

For lack of balance:

This pretty little ballet slippers almost seem comically photoshopped, but they’re an Alexander McQueen design –and real. I’m no ballerina and can hardly balance on my own two feet as they are, so if I ever tried these on for fun’s sake, I would need about three people on both sides to hold me upright. And then still horrifically fall.

For lack of sustainable height:

These are another Alexander McQueen design. They seem more sturdy that the ballet slippers because of the broad base at the bottom as opposed to the very small heel tip of the slippers. WRONG. The danger of these would be the insane height and even more so, the downward slant at the top. So it’s like you would have to balance tipped forward at two solid feet in the air. Personally, I’d ask if they come with a matching step stool to climb into the shoes and mattress pad to catch my inevitable fall.

For lack of enough bandages.

At first glance, these mamajamas appear benign compared to the first two, but they pose an entirely different threat –slicing. My skin, that is. Now, these heels don’t have the longest spikes, or even the sharpest, but they do have the better strategically placed ones. In addition to nicks and scratches on my feet and legs and perhaps even in other questionable places, I’m willing to bet that when I do trip (because tripping is one of my many talents), I’ll somehow slice my achilles tendon, falling to my doom. Unlike Achilles in the Greek mythology, I won’t have anatomical parts named after me.

So what about you? If you had to wear one of these, which would you fall for?

And I loath the days I feel like this.

——

I stay away from blogging on days I feel emotionally charged, which is the real reason I haven’t been blogging lately. Although I want to write something because writing makes me feel better, all that comes to mind and threatens to escape through my finger tips is the irritability, anger, guilt, and negativity that brews in my chest.

But maybe to not write about it isn’t making it right. And these two (w)rights are making a wrong.

So here it is..

The years of solo-parenting have been coming back with an ugly vengeance recently. When Saad was away for months at a time, things were undoubtedly difficult. With him back, things aren’t as better as I thought/hoped they would be.

My kids are not a problem.

But being with kids 24/7 for days that extend into weeks that extend into months at a time is a problem.

Not getting the break I need is a problem.

Not having an outlet when I can’t get a break is a problem.

Sleepless night after sleepless night followed by demanding days is a problem.

Being trapped in a cycle of frustration, outbursts, and guilt is a problem.

School (or lack there of), parental, and several other personal nuances add tons of shit to the problems.

And make me feel broken.

——–

Sometime last month I experienced one of the most intense breakdowns I’ve ever had. During one horrible week, I broke. Not broke down, but broke. Whatever was holding me together stopped working and the whole system came crashing down. The things I remember most vividly are this overbearing feeling of inadequacy on so many levels and going from dangerously enraged to heavily sobbing in a span of five minutes over triggers.

A few days after that breakdown, I had the first break I’ve had in months. What was this “glorious” break? Two solid hours to myself, which felt like nothing. What can I do in two hours that will alleviate the last few months? Nothing, that’s what. So I moseyed through a bookstore, bought two new books, and read the first two chapters of one of them. Then it was time for everyone to go to work, go study, go, go, go somewhere, anywhere from home and time for me to go back to hold down the home front.

I wasn’t ready to go back. I didn’t want to go back. In fact, running away sounded awesome.

I really missed my therapist that week.

———-

When I start feeling like the only purpose to my existence is to mother, it depresses me.

When a shower is the only “me time” I get, it’s pretty damn pathetic.

When even that shower is interrupted because I’m the only person the baby will calm down/got to sleep for, it’s so irritating.

When I think about how many times I’ve had to postpone my school/career plans, I feel hopeless about ever getting there.

When I’m too moody and stuck in ugly ruts, my relationship with my kids suffers.

When I know things are getting out of hand, but don’t have the resources to take care of them, it’s overwhelming.

———

I never expected or planned on being a stay at home mom. At some point, it just happened. Within months, I knew it wasn’t for me. When six months extended to a year, I really craved having other things to do. Then a year and now almost two years, it feels like I’ll never get out of this…experience, we’ll call it.

This morning I realized that what bothers me most about this experience is that you do so much –so damn much– yet it feels generally unproductive in the bigger picture. Maybe because the fruits of your labor don’t blossom until years, decades from now, or maybe because society doesn’t give the same value to child rearing as much as other “real” jobs, or maybe because child rearing in my personal case has been heavily laid on my shoulders and I’m starting to crumble under its pressure.

Or maybe nature is one seriously fucked up mechanism that makes me want to rip out my own ovaries, yet keep them in place because even under all of this headache, I still want more offspring.

———

Daily headaches. Occasional migraines. Random nausea. Cramping. Full-body aches. Those are the fun things happening to my body on a daily basis for the last two weeks. There is nothing inhabiting my uterus, so don’t tell me I’m pregnant.

I’ve also lost most of my appetite. That’s hardly worth a mention because it’s not so much a “bad thing” as it is a good one. Although my double-chin probably doesn’t think so. Mentioned it because I know it’s related to my nausea.

Passing out by 10pm is also a recent happening. I suddenly can’t stay awake past 10pm for anything, which is the complete opposite problem I’ve had all of my life. 10pm used to feel like noon; now it feels like too-late-pm.

———-

I’m tired of being moody. Tired of being tired. Tired of lashing out; feeling horrible; apologizing again; being riddled with guilt; fuming with resent and anger at/about things I can’t control or people.

A bad night, like last night, exaggerates crappy days. Every.single.time I finally fell asleep, I was woken up. This kind of constant interruption to my sleep gives me a migraine; I started the day with a headache and had a migraine by the time we dropped Saad off this morning.

I remind myself to change my attitude since I can’t change much of my situation. That works sometimes. Other times, I just tell that part of me to shut up and leave me the hell alone.

———

It’s not solely motherhood that’s bringing me down, but it’s the one thing that I can’t put aside like the other things I’m having trouble with. Until things are fixed –until I’m fixed– I just want to my kids to be happy and laugh more times in a day than cry.

I want that for myself too.

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.

Wait, are you even talking to me anymore?

I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. Not that I assume you care if I post or not because I know you probably have far more interesting things going on, so what’s in a blog update or lack thereof on my part. But it was nice hearing from visitors asking me to update.

Well, I’m here to update…and to confess.

Because really, my only reason for neglecting this space is because I’ve been cheating on it with an ancestral relative of it. And the old-school ancestral relative (ie. non- digital version).

I’ve been cheating on this blog with books.

That’s right. I LEFT IT FOR IT’S GREAT-GRANDPA.

WHAT OF IT.

And not even the smooth, stylish revamped version (ie: kindle, nook, any e-reader), but the old-school, dust(y) jacketed one. The kind that weighs your arm down and impossible to juggle more than three in one arm, a flailing infant in the other, an overactive three year old, and a heavy diaper bag all while trying to not make a scene at your favorite library. Hypothetically speaking, but not hypothetically speaking at all.

A little, relevant background to this scandalousness: I have not read books for leisure since maybe my freshman year of undergrad, which was well over five years ago. At least, I don’t remember reading any. Yeah, let that travesty sink in.

What a downright shameful thing to admit, isn’t it?

The only things I read were textbooks and blogs. As hectic as things were getting for me, blogs quickly become shots of leisure reading and I wholeheartedly accepted them.

But all of that changed recently. It started with the Hunger Games. As someone who has never been interested in popular book-to-movie phenomenons, I was strangely intrigued by the Hunger Games. And when my little sister-in-law lent me the first book, I thought “Eh, why not. It’s not like I’m doing anything like studying for the MCAT OR SOMETHING.”

And that was the beginning of the end.

I devoured the first book, staying up two whole nights and chugging back unhealthy levels of caffeine to function throughout the day. Saw the movie twice. Then absorbed the next two books into my being in a matter of four days.

This was followed by unnerving Hunger Games withdrawal that left me in a surreal alternate universe, much like being jacked up on tracker jacker venom (you’d have to have read the book to get that reference, but know that it aint pretty).

One of my many sins is not having read the Harry Potter series. I try not to admit that too often because the reactions I usually get are either genuine shock or utter horrified disgust. Then I’m shunned and lose any cool points I may have accumulated.

I’m definitely not into vampires and I think wizards are pretty cool, but apparently, something about a smartass, teen-aged, bow and arrow wielding, heroine beating the odds at life in not only a futuristic, antithetical society, but even more so in an arena in which she manages to fight for not only her life but her district-mate’s too in such a kickass manner all while to bringing sexy back to archery is totally my thing.

After recovering from the withdrawal, I got into the Black Falcon Nation trilogy and am currently waiting for the second book to come in the mail. It’s about a Native American tribe set in the 1400′s. In the meantime I’m reading The Clan of the Cave Bear which is an evolutionary novel. It’s also the first of about four books, I believe.

Incidentally, both novels make use of a bow and arrow in wilderness to some degree. So maybe that is my thing.

If it’s any consolation, it’s not just blogging and blogs I’ve ignored, but the internet as a whole. I check my email in less than 30 seconds just to make sure I don’t have anything important to do or reply to. I’ve lost track of what’s going on in the world via online news, and I don’t even want to know how many blogs/sites I haven’t caught up on.

Hell, even the house and kids have been overlooked. Semi-kidding. But I can not wait until I get uninterrupted reading time, which is usually after their bedtime. I find that trying to read when things are relaxed during the day is useless because they automatically assume its something I’m going to read out loud to them or they suddenly need my attention for anything/everything, much like when I get on the phone. I can hardly get through a paragraph.

Anyway, it’s like all of those years of not reading have erupted in neglectful urgency to inhale book after book.

This urgency has been mollified recently, hence this post.

So this is all to say that I’ve returned, not with exciting or even excusable reasons for not blogging –nay! –but with the incredibly boring details of my latest shenanigans.

In conclusion…I LEISURE READ AGAIN.

Take that very-expensive-piece-of-paper otherwise known as my degree. Take that.

P.S. I feel somewhat obligated to mention that after that not-so-hypothetical scene at the library I mentioned earlier, I had the chorus of a song stuck in my head all day. The song is from an episode of Arthur, you know that anteater and his other animal friends?

Anyway, in one musical episode they kept singing “Having fun isn’t hard, when you’ve got a library card!” over and over again. In the midst of the library chaos I was having, that song popped into my head and I felt like the Universe was making fun of me.

Touche, Universe, touche.

(Thank you for stopping by!)

It was news I prayed really hard I’d never have to hear. Prayed really hard that the agonizing ride she’s been on for the last two years would come to the stop she longed for –that her husband beats cancer and their family finally enjoy life without the bearing weight of the illness. For himself, herself, and their infant daughter.

It’s heartbreaking.

I’m astounded by the incredible grace, humility, and patience she shows in light of what’s happened.

She’s such a beautiful person, inside and out.

He leaves behind his wife of three years and their eight month old daughter. I’m glad that his daughter looks like him so that whenever Sabiha lays her down to sleep or makes her smile or watches her become an amazing young lady, she’ll have a very real and physical piece of her husband in her arms.

May God keep her steadfast, strong, and continuously shining like the true gem she is.

Her husband is laying in peace and I pray that Sabiha and their daughter have their peace too.

Three days ago I saw her again and this time, she came straight towards me. This is the part where I admit that I was tense and very nervous about A PUPPY coming at me. I was getting out of the car and getting ready to let Aiman out of his car seat when I see this little, yet pretty muscular, puppy coming right for me.

Background/Relevant Tangent: Once, my dad was dropping me off at school and let me start the car (I was in 9th grade or something so it was sort of a big deal). So I went out to do so while my dad put his shoes on. Just as I was turning the corner of the pathway to the driveway, I saw our neighbor’s crazy German Shepherd standing right there. Sweet mercy. That dog was NUTS. He’d randomly go wild barking at nothing in their backyard and would get out from time to time and then come back filthy. Occasionally he’d attack-play his owner, which the owner always laughed off as “that silly dog” and I nervous-laughed off  as “no, he’s just terrifying.”

They loved him. I did not.

Well that dog was less than three feet away from me when all of the blood drained from my face. He was so much bigger than I realized right at that moment. Well, let me tell you right now that the second he starting coming towards me, I completely lost my shit. I had absolutely zero composure or sensibility and RAN LIKE THE WIND down the street. Just dropped my stuff and took off.

Good thing I was a track runner and in great enough shape to feel like I could outrun him.

Bad thing he’s a GERMAN SHEPHERD and instinctively trained for running after criminals or something and can easily catch up to me because he’s running on four while I’m running on two.

So at 7am our neighbors were serenaded by my lovely ugly scream-cry for help. SWEET LAWD, SOMEONE HALP MEH!

I made it down the block and briefly thought about climbing a tree or something, but hearing his panting made me feel like he was RIGHT THERE and in another jolt of adrenaline and panic, I took off even faster back towards our house.

By this point, several of our neighbors were out leaving for work, so they noticed this rather loud and petrified girl zooming by, trying to keep her hijab/scarf from blinding her vision and a happy, crazy dog running along for fun or not for fun and maybe for duty.

I got to our house panting and hid behind my dad who, I kid you not, literally just stood there as the dog ran up to him and climbed him. He was easily almost as tall as my dad when he stood on his hind legs. I don’t even remember what my dad did, but the next moment I remember is sitting in the car trembling as involuntary tears streamed down my face.

So since then, my cardinal rule about dogs has generally been: If I can’t outrun it, then I can’t get comfortable with it. And let me tell you that I am no longer a track runner or in shape to run much, so …this means I usually stick to small dogs, short dogs.

And naturally, Saad, my loves-to-mess-with-me dear husband, really wants a Great Dane whenever we decide to get a dog.

Sure! Let’s all ride it to work and school! It’ll save us so much gas money if I ever get out of fetal position.

So back to the puppy trotting over to me. She was small, but she looked strong. I momentarily tensed and froze remembering the German Shepard incident, but aside from awkwardly clearing my throat, I didn’t run. Besides, I didn’t want to freak the kids out and then they be utterly embarrassed by their mother madly running away from an innocent puppy that she’s hallucinating is the German Shepard of many moons past.

She came up and enthusiastically licked my shoes and waged her tail so hard that her puppy-fat belly was swaying. She was practically dancing. I looked around for anyone who might be looking for her, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The next day I found her my car door and gently shooed her aside we got hurried out with our morning.

Two days ago she was there again and after I got back from grocery shopping, she was lying down in my parking spot.

This mysterious puppy was just undeniably different.

I got out and gave in to her sweetness and totally baby-talked her in that incredibly annoying high-pitched voice. After taking a bunch of pictures of her, I figured she’s be hungry so I gave her something to eat.

Worried something might happen to her, I put her in out backyard, but left the door open for her to leave (and return to her owner?) if she wanted to. Well, for the rest of the day, she didn’t budge. Aiman loves her. He calls her Annie, My Annie, and tells everyone who’ll listen that she’s his Annie, his new dog.

Long story short, as I’m in my parent’s house, whatever my mom decides ultimately goes. And she’s not too keen on taking in a puppy right now or any animal for that matter, which brings me to the litter of six kitten I found about 15 minutes after letting Annie into the backyard.

The mom cat is “our neighbor’s,” but only in that they leave food out for her and her many offspring, but the cats are pretty much exclusively outdoors. So she’s familiar with us and our backyard and this is about the third litter or so that she’s had and the first in our backyard that I know of.

She found a great spot for her litter and I decided against moving the kittens lest she rejects them or something. I was worried about Annie eventually finding them and possibly doing something not-so-nice to them, but thought “she’s just a puppy; is she already anti-cats?”

Well that was very clearly answered last night. After the mom cat stalked Annie all day, making sure she didn’t get too close to her litter, she had to nurse them eventually and slowly made her way to her the patch they were hidden in. Annie noticed and immediately starting crazy-barking and hopping all over the place. MomCat did that fur-raised, hissing stance and they had a serious showdown. I held Annie back and my sister cleared a space for MomCat to get to her litter.

The kittens are insanely, insanely adorable. Sooooooo itty-bitty-teeny-weeny and helpless and all sorts of pweshouuuus.

Saad suggested we let Annie go out in the front yard incase she’s eager to go back to where she came from; again, she may have just gotten out of her own backyard/someone may be looking for her. But she didn’t go anywhere. She trailed me down the block and back again. I tried to sneak away and she always found me. I ran into another neighbor who said that he’s pretty certain she doesn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood as it’s been weeks since he first saw her. He was going to take her in the other week himself for his nine year old son, but was waiting to see if she did belong to anyone.

The thing is that she’s pretty healthy and clean for a “stray”…even her all white coat wasn’t the least bit dingy, much less dirty. She’s a mystery

Eventually, I carried her back to the house and set her up in the garage. I was worried for the kittens and MomCat, but didn’t want to leave Annie out in the streets, so it seemed like a win-win for the night.

She was such a good puppy! She didn’t have one accident the whole night and did her business outside for a good while, which leads me to believe she’s been trained to a degree.

I want to keep her. My kids love her. I love her. After researching for hours, I found a way to take care of her medical expenses, so that’s not a huge hurdle anymore. Unfortunately, with Houston’s intense humidity and generally deplorable weather, I think she’d fare better as an indoor dog and that’s definitely not an option for my mom.

And the kittens, goodness, I want them all. Kittens and cats have been a part of my childhood and I haven’t had one since I was ten, so it’s tempting to keep them all and become that crazy cat lady.

But again, I’d like them to be indoor cats and that’s not an option.

So I’m asking friends, neighbors, and my friends to ask their friends and neighbors if anyone’s looking for a well-behaved, sweet puppy and tiny kittens.

The animal agencies I spent all morning calling either didn’t answer their phones; are at full capacity and no longer accepting animals; have a waiting list for appointment slots to drop off animals (which means it’ll be no less than a week before I find a slot); or generally route me to different numbers that lead ultimately lead to nowhere.

I found a shelter that’ll take Annie, but they euthanize after X amount of time. Thankfully, as a puppy, she’s got a decent chance. And with her personality, I think she’s got more than a decent chance. However, they said that they’d have to euthanize the kittens because they dont’ have the resources to care them as they’d still need either their mother’s milk or kitten formula.

There’s no way in hell I’m handing them over. At least Annie’s got a chance, but the kittens? They’d have to die before even getting a chance, so I’m going to let MomCat do their MomCat kitten rearing and try to give them out to friends and such when they’re older.

I’m going to hold out for a day or two and hope someone can take Annie in and others to take a kitten or two. At least the kittens have more time in that they still need to be with their mother, so they don’t need a home right away.

And THAT, kids, is how I became the carer of entirely too many animals. The animals in addition to my own children? Someone upstairs is trusting me way too much.

Howdy guys.

I had a proper beginning to this post in my head when I first thought about composing it, but it has completely escaped me so this is what I present you with. A nice Texan Howdy.

I believe a blog is sort of like a plant in that if you want it to grow and blossom, you need to water it with words and nurture it with content. Or at least water it from time to time with a check-in post or something.

This is that check-in post. Please, blog, don’t die on me.

Lately, I’ve had my youngest brother-in-law, whose only a few months older than Aiman, over and it’s been a very different ballpark to play in with three kids, three and under. Yesterday, I was brave/crazy enough to go out and run errands with all three and let’s just say that I’ve never slept as deeply as I did last night. I PASSED THE HELL OUT.

It’s heart warming to see Aiman and his playmate hang out and fight dragon-pirates together as firefighter/ninjas. The arguments aren’t as fun and I’m sure I’ve never repeated the same things over and over and over and infinity-over again in my entire life, but it’s nice seeing them together.

Today, currently, I’m at home with all three of them while I make all of the food for our week. Oh! Yes, “all of the food for our week” because I’m trying out “once a week cooking” in which –get this– I cook only once a week. Direct and genius, I know.

Today, because I like to complicate my life and grow out my grey hairs extra early, I’ve decided to cook a week’s worth of food while I have the maximum number of kids (kids shorter than me and not in school, at least) in my care. So this means right this second, I’m intermittently asking someone to stop it and please don’t; quelling fights; stopping the baby from climbing the stairs or eating god-knows-what; running all four stove tops; cleaning this disastrous kitchen; and running the laundry, all while perspiring to an extremely comfortable and gross degree.

For a second or two I stop and wonder who the hell I think I am cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing. How did I get to this point? Never saw this in my immediate future, at least not to this degree, but it’s here and it’s certainly AN EXPERIENCE, we’ll call it.

Rereading this post has made me realize that it’s probably really easy to tell when I ran off and had to come back to it.

Now! For two very unrelated things:

1) Starbucks and I have a strong love/hate relationship, but for tonight, I’m going to love it like nothing else when Saad brings me my Venti decaf Iced Caramel Macchiato.

via http://tikcufko.blogspot.com/

2) This kitty-litter-looking brownie display/dessert has been on my mind all week.

via pinterest.com

It’s brownie smooshed and molded to look like poop in a bed of crushed nuts. This is undoubtedly vile on many levels, but it does something very lovely to my soul to imagine the look on the kids’ faces when I present it to them. I’m debating whether I should tell anyone else besides Saad, but I think the adults will have funny reactions too.

I can not explain how eager I am to make this. Can not wait, can not wait.

And in conclusion…

I just want to enjoy my iced macchiato and read my book in a quiet house.

Send me help and a tranquilizing gun. I kid, I kid –which is a very real verb right now as there are kids I’m kidding (like a verb…do you get it? Am I making sense anymore? Sometime my word plays are a stretch and sometimes I’m just rambling and need to end a post but I end up doing this and erasing it, but I think you deserve to see this unseen side of me. Oh, you’ve seen it before? Okay, then, well, here’s more of it).

And now, in actual conclusion…

I’m going to go sit for a second and daydream about brownie kitty litter pranks bedtime.

via ICanHasCheesburger.com

This is a conversation I overheard between Elham, my 11-year-old sister who recently had her entire room made over (it’s pretty nice and she’s in love with her new room) and Aiman, her 3-year-old brother-like nephew (they have a unique relationship).

Aiman: Ooooooo! Elham, your new room is beautiful! I love the blue [walls]!

Elham: Thanks –NO! Wait, before you do anything, I have some rules for you.

Elham: Okay, rule #1, don’t touch my desk.

rule #2, don’t touch my shelf.

rule #3, don’t touch my wall art.

rule #4, don’t touch the bed — I just made it.

rule #5, don’t touch the walls.

rule #6, don’t touch my backpack/homework.

rule #7, don’t touch ANYTHING.

Aiman: Uh. Can I touch the floor?

Elham: Yeah, you can touch the floor.

I then had to interject and say that she was being a bit dictatorial and remind her that she freely goes into his room; lies around on his bed, and generally chills in there with him. So she let up a bit:

Elham: Okay, Aiman, I wasn’t being fair. You can touch the walls.

Me: Elham.

Elham: What?

Aiman: Elham (mostly mimicking me).

Elham: Ugh, okay, let’s just take it one thing at a time. Aiman you can touch my bed too.

——–

It’s a start…

via designrelated.com

Friday night I stayed up until 6AM reading The Hunger Games, but don’t worry, this isn’t a post about what a greatly addictive book it is or how I haven’t been this excited about a book and the movie that brings it to life in far too long (Yeah, this means I’ve never read Harry Potter, BUT I do plan to one day).

Anyway, the point is that I stayed up all night reading the book — something I wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of doing two to three months ago.

Not with my MCAT exam at 8am, sharp the next morning.

So instead of staying up all night trying to fall asleep the night before such an exam, I deliberately refused to go to bed until I finished the book or passed out on my own. Well, at 6am, an hour before Manaal would be up, I thought it would be slightly smarter to at least nap two hours before Saad heads out for the library.

I woke up around 8:45 and chuckled at the sheer panic and terror that would’ve course my veins if I had woken up at the time to take an exam that started 45 minutes earlier.

9:50 — “They’re (the test takers) either taking or just ending their first 10 minute break right now” I said nonchalantly as we drove to meet my dad for our family’s bimonthly breakfast out.

11: 30 –”I’d be half-way through the exam right about now.”

1:00 — “So close to the end!! I wonder how many have fallen over by now.”

3:30 — “Woohoo! They’re done! They’re probably driving back home and so relieved to have it behind them!”

Although the day was full enough to keep me busy, my mind was occasionally occupied with my ex-fellow test takers.

By 5pm, I imagined the simultaneous relief and worry I’d be riddled with had I taken the exam.

Instead I was riddled by a serious fit of laughter as Saad, my sisters, and I came up with ridiculous lyrics to songs we made up. And then tried make up lyrics in our Ethiopian dialects.

My husband’s got skillz.

Saturday, March 24th, was a highlighted, bolded, and underlined date in my calendar book. Bright yellow and red, glaring the time 8:00AM on it as a constant reminder to be ready, be rested, be confident, be proud to move forward with this particular goal.

As it became obvious that I wasn’t going to be ready, rested, confident, or proud by that date, I learned to ignore the ridges my pen made along the March 24th box in my calendar. The same ridges that made such deep grooves in the paper that I could feel its outline in the pages before and after the date, much like this test was making its mark on my plans in the months before and after my application.

Now I’ve simply ripped the page out because it’s ugly. And because the tinge of hesitation and frustration I used to feel looking at it are no longer there and ripping the page out has made my calendar more attractive, a little lighter just like my feelings about this magical date that was once do or die to me.

It’s still important, of course, but I accept that where I am in life and when I’ll get to cross things off in my career goals can’t be contained to one overbearing, colorful box on a page.

Now, flipping through the pages of my calendar, I welcome my new timeline.

I have no idea what we’re going to do today; probably go over to my in-laws or take the kids somewhere fun, which is really the same as taking them to my in-laws, thankfully.

But the day started off pretty nicely. Next I’m going to list the pleasant things that have happened so far and gloat in the glory of their bliss while the universe plots to strike down my good luck and leave me crying in fetal position because of the horrible luck I’ll probably have for the rest of the day.

In short, a) I haven’t learned my lesson to not state things in declarative sentences (ex. I’m having a great day), lest the universe strikes my good luck and b) now that I’m going to state a series of declarative sentences, the universe is probably going to strike my good luck.

Or perhaps I’m just bright ball of optimism coated in prickly paranoia and sprinkles of pessimism.

Or perhaps I’m just taking way too long to get on with this post.

Moving onward!

Last night, well really, this starts from yesterday evening when the kids took a late nap and woke up around an hour or two before their bedtime. This, of course, pushed back their bedtime by two hours. Which also means I was running on empty when their bedtime passed because I’m used to shutting down when they go to sleep, yet they were still awake and active at that time. Anyway, they went to bed late. After Saad came home, we ate and then went to bed because we’re really just old farts. As soon as 11pm hits we’re holding our backs, grabbing our canes,and yelling at someone to get us our dentures cream.

And then something magical happened. The kids? They slept mostly through the night. This proves Saad’s theory that they were just going to bed too early and were rested by they time they aroused  around 3 or 4am. But! We are a scientific family (not really) and know that one random night of data is nowhere near enough to conclude the husband was right, therefore I will say that last seemingly agrees with Saad’s theory, but that more nights are needed to ultimately prove that the wife (I) was conclusively correct (although I don’t really have a theory other than whatever’s the reason for their nightly wakings will be my theory).

There were minor hiccups, and a “medium-sized” hiccup around 3am, but it was an all around beautiful night. The best part was that Saad took Manaal downstairs and let me and Aiman sleep in until –wait for it — 9 AM. Sweet mercy, I haven’t opened my eyes to 9am in many suns. It’s times like this when I am extremely happy to have a “morning person” husband, especially after a good night’s sleep because I don’t feel bad about him getting up involuntarily (he can’t sleep past 7am) after a bad night.

Next fabulous thing: Last night I was clever enough to make a brinner (breakfast for dinner) that wasn’t too dinner-y or breakfast-y, and made lots of it so that –wait for it — I didn’t have to cook this morning. I may or may not have been really proud of this idea/happening and I may or may not have felt great in telling Saad that neither of us have to make anything this morning because look who’s thought of everything.

Next fabulous thing: Took a nice, long, hot shower. Dear god, you don’t appreciate such luxuries until you have to wait for someone to be available to watch the kids for you, even with a house full of people. All showers are timed and rushed, often jumping out still dripping wet to sooth a cranky baby from mid-nap or whatever the rascals need.

And now, it took me about two hours to write this measly post between lunch, broken devices, unexpected visitors, and phone calls, but I’m just waiting for Saad to get back from prayer before we head out.

A little engineer I know insisted we take the broken VCR/DVD player apart and see what's inside.

You guys enjoy your weekend!