Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Burrito Babies

I always swaddle my babies at night before sleeping. Very tightly. Until their eyes bulge out and they grunt from the pressure. It helps Baby Meem know that it's nighttime now and that she’d better not wake up until at least six hours have gone by. Supposedly it helps the baby feel cozy and secure, and prevents her from being startled by her own movements. I think it also works as some kind of cue if only used at nighttime. Even though she's an extremely light sleeper during the day, waking up if I so much as sneeze in the same room, when I swaddle her at bedtime, she sleeps long and sound alhamdulillah.

Moona and Buru love watching me swaddle the baby, and I show them how to do it with their dolls.

Yesterday as I was laying them down for their nap, Moona asks, "Can you wrap me like you wrap Baby Meem?"

And Buru seconds the request, “Mama, aa aa aa Ana Beebee?”

And so I wrap them one by one, rolling and kneading them as they giggle like they’re indulging in a guilty pleasure. Around their stomachs and onto their backs, one-two-three corners of the blanket come together until they are tightly wound up like a burrito. Arms bound to their sides, staring at the ceiling, they try very hard not to move so they don’t loosen Mama’s swaddle. It won't happen again tomorrow or the day after, so enjoy it while it lasts. I tried not to laugh at their looks of solemn reverence, as though swaddling children is the cleverest idea in the world.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Dreaming of Photography

Since college, I have planned on getting into photography. One day. Some day. When I had the money. Or the time. Or the courage.

This blog is about to get a lot more visual as I record my photographic dabblings here. Oh, and I'm going to be moving, again. No! Not in person, we're stuck in the hot, humid south for a while. Online I mean. Moonaburu, now with baby Meem, doesn't seem fair anymore, y'know? I can't just keep adding my kids' pseudonyms: Moonaburumeem.

(No, that's not it really. I'm undependable this way, it's like rearranging furniture. I get bored of the same thing. But I'll be sure to let you know where I go.)

So Blessed

I am so often overwhelmed by Allah's mercy. All of the blessings that He has granted me. So overwhelmed that my eyes brim with tears and my heart fills my throat, and I have to rush to do something tiny, insignificant, anything ... to show thanks to Him.

I am painfully aware that I cannot just sit back and enjoy those blessings until the end of my days. They are not for me, they are for me to thank Him and serve Him. For all of the blessings I have, for all of the joys and sweetness that fill my life, I should be at the forefront of those who are trading their time, their pleasure, their energy for Allah's cause. I am so scared that I will fall short.

Actually, I will most definitely fall short. And for that, I have to beg for forgiveness.

"Work, sons of David, with thanks," Allah (swt) says in Surah Saba'. I know I've written about this before here, but it is such a recurring theme in my life. Thanks is not something to be felt and spoken only--it has to be performed through action.

Saturday, June 6, 2009


I’ve been feeling optimistic about America lately. So used to the conspiracy-theory, all-going-down, corruption-everywhere thinking, it has been refreshing to feel some mainstream hope.

Obama is part of it—but more so it’s that a majority of voters chose someone like him. The fact that there is a black man leading America is grounds for rejoicing in itself. I am happy for minorities in this country, for Muslims, for Hispanics, for Blacks, for everyone. It is so revitalizing to hear someone talk and make an iota of sense, especially after hearing Bush for the last eight years. I agree with a lot of people that there is only so much one man can do, especially in a political system filled with landmines, but I like to think of Gladwell’s The Tipping Point at times like this.

Maybe Obama will not be the one to create the change, but he will create enough hope and excitement that Americans will know that principled stands and peace are within our reach. The hope will become mainstream. And there will be more indignation the next time someone like Bush or Cheney walks center stage. More anti-war activists. A movement starts.

One man would not be able to create a climate of hope and optimism unless there was a groundswell that came from the bottom up. Witnessing that surge is what makes me dare to hope.

Cynicism is so entrenched in the Muslim community, and I don’t blame us. We’re used to being under fire, accused, tried, vilified. The alienation is worsened when we see ourselves as a self-contained subset of America, neither part of it nor outside. But that cynicism and isolation actually give us an easy break. When we see nothing but a massive, sinking ship, it gives us an excuse to be paralyzed and contain our Islamic work to serve just the closest circles within the Muslim community.

Optimism, I think, may help change that. When we see good struggling to break free in front of our eyes, how is it that we can we just watch?