Shattered Thoughts on Gaza

You have to hold your kids closer, smell their scent for a few seconds longer, let your fingers linger in their hair. Thinking of a place where life is cheap and frail souls are extinguished every minute. Thinking of what it must be like for everyone there, but especially the mothers.

To see your child suffer while you watch hands at your sides, powerless to relieve their pain or hunger, is something most of us have never experienced. I go about my comfortable life knowing out there in the expanse of human consciousness are people, mothers, children crying out in terrified agony on amidst the bombing, trembling earth, and stray bullets. These soul-shaking cries call out everyday, and in many places of the world, but I am more aware of it today. The silence of my living room echoes with their voices.

I try to patch the ripped consciousness of my lazy day, to look away, to forget. The humiliation of having nothing to give them is too much. Shame. Weakness. I cannot bear to watch the dehumanization of a people but I also must not look away.

I can think of only feeble gestures to help—donating to relief organizations that give aid indirectly for fear of being branded terrorists, standing at demonstrations that no one sees or hears, appealing to representatives who do not care, writing to a media that propagates a language that does not recognize innocent casualties, talking to people with a collective memory so short that they are like babies spoon-fed poisoned information. It feels better to do nothing than to do something, satan whispers in my heart. He soothes the disgrace with indifference and gives me a counterfeit license to feel good again.

Although we grapple with the indifference, the shame, the powerlessness, we cannot allow every last battle to be lost, even the ones in our hearts. Edmund Burke said, “Nobody makes a greater mistake than he who does nothing because he could only do a little.” And we know that even if our efforts counted for nothing in the scope of world events, Allah is the witness and allows no deed to go uncounted.

If anything, I must continue to work and fight for Gaza to save my own soul, to forbid myself from being comfortable with apathy and to keep my heart tender before Allah. I’ll stand in the rain at those sparse, Houston demonstrations in front of an empty consulate. I will write a letter that I know will never be read. In every prayer, raise my hands for a few seconds before the last sujood in supplication to ease the pain and end the suffering of Gaza. Maybe if every Muslim takes those sad, small, useless steps, Allah will raise our ranks, cleanse our sins, and open for us the door to more.

After all, whoever said victory would come at our hands? Our job is to get to work in the best way we can muster. Relief will come only from the skies.

Good to Be Back

It's been a long time since the last post here! My husband and I went for Hajj alhamdulillah and we left the girls with our families. We're now recovering from the exhaustion, the long sequence of plane rides, bus rides, and walking from place to place, and the inevitable Hajjitis--an assortment of super-resistant viral bugs and infections (part of the Hajj package) that have since spread to our kids. There is also wistfulness-once you have experienced being the guest of the Most Merciful, living with no obligations and no appointments except with Him, nothing to fill your hours but prostration, praise, and circling His House, I think you will always ache to return to those few dreamlike days.

Our next big life transition is due with Allah's permission in mid-March. I have plenty of time until then to act pregnant, sore, and hungry after sucking it up and subsisting on apples, processed cheese, and bread for several days at a time. Meanwhile, I have so much to write about, including the sequel to the I Am Flying post for friends awaiting a secret formula to a clean, organized home (more or less). As for Hajj reflections, I think those will come slowly, unworldly memories surfacing now and then. The hajj experience is too enormous to be captured in a few words, a half-hour conversation, or a single essay.

I hope all dear friends and their families are in the best state of health, faith, and happiness. I tried to make dua for many of you by name, and all of you in spirit.

Vote!

I'm FLYing

My life is transformed. I dare not breathe too much lest it prove to be just one of my ups, a phase, or some weird hormonal surge. But I’ve been going steady for three weeks, so I can allow some of my exhilaration to escape.

My house is CLEAN! I am getting ORGANIZED! I have a ROUTINE! Alhamdulillah!

Housework has always been this horrible, dreaded noose around my neck, the bane of my marriage and motherhood. It is a mindset--something in my mind feels humiliated and frustrated to have a job description of such menial, boring, and never-ending tasks. My house has been so dirty at times that I won’t even attempt to describe it out of embarrassment. Let’s just say if you dropped by for an unexpected visit, I might have put a plastic bag over your head before walked in. The guilt, depression, and listlessness that a messy, out-of-control home can create puts a damper on everything, including the quality of time you spend with your kids.

On Friday, when I reach the 28 day mark, I will share this journey with you. I am not exaggerating one bit the impact that this process has had on my home atmosphere, mothering abilities, moods, family, and personal peace of mind.

I called a friend (who is my role model in cleanliness, among many other things) about two weeks into the program to gush my excitement at having a house that is staying clean and getting cleaner by the day. I confided I was worried that maybe I had an overactive thyroid that was cleaning my house instead of me.

I hope my friends who are disorganized, lazy, sloppy perfectionists like me can get some hope out of my experience. A well-oiled, consistently and comfortably clean household (but not spotless) can be ours by following a program that dismantles perfectionist and internal negative attitudes towards housework and helps you build small habits and routines over the course of several weeks. It’s no big effort—between 20 minutes to 90 minutes a day is all it takes.

And I will stop here because I am now sounding like an advertisement.

I pray to Allah that He helps me to maintain my gains, continues to provide my family with a clean, warm, comfortable home, and grants me the sincerity to make all of my actions and habits for His sake. All thanks is to Him.

How to Get Your Kid to Stop Nagging You for Sweets

Moona and Buru know there is a bowl filled with Skittles and Smarties on top of the refrigerator, leftover candy from yesterday in case our neighbors' children came to our door. Today, there is incessant nagging, searching, trying out different stools and chairs to see if they are high enough, and racing to the kitchen, falling over each other, every time they hear the crinkle of a wrapper (and a mom secretly getting her sugar fix).

I need to get these dye-filled, chemically spiked, artificially flavored sugar cubes out of our house somehow. In the meantime, I gave Moona an illuminating lesson on what candy will do to her teeth and her gums if she eats too much of it. She learns well through experience and demonstration, and often becomes a more fervent and disciplined believer than I after a revelation.

"Come, Moona, let's look at what too much candy does to little kid's teeth."

We went on google and searched for images of decaying teeth. Ewwww, I could barely look, and squinted through one eye. Moona was transfixed.

"More, Umee, I want to see more."

So we looked at a few more pictures and talked about how we should only eat a little bit of sugar, and always brush our teeth very well. Moona jumped off my lap and ran to the bathroom. I heard the faucet turn on, and then rigorous brushing.

She came back and asked, "Is there any black on my teeth?"

"No, very white."

"Umee, make sure Buru doesn't eat any candy. You too. No candy for you too."

Score for Healthy, Crunchy Momma-side. Hopefully, Moona's policing will help keep the Junk-Food, Indulgent, Craving side of me in check.