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Monthly Archives: October 2006

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Eid Mubarak! Here’s a Husbandfile

Me: Waleed, – (mumble mumble mumble) –

HF: What? I can’t hear what you said so I’m just going to make something up. No Abez, I don‘t believe you can talk to dolphins.

Me: Oh boy…

😀

Fresh from the Poultry Farm

Carseat Lullabye

Cuts and bruises, bruises and scars
That we got from toying with other cars
When the road was more than enough to share
And really, they could have gone anywhere
Rather than both try to fill the same spot
On a Tuesday so tired when the road was so hot
And the glass was all glittery there on the street
And the witnesses helpful and caring a sweet
And the sky sunny blue and your cheeks teary pink
And the spots on my skirt rather fetching, I think
And the wail of the sirens not louder than yours
That rang from the hospital’s ceilings and floors
Bruises and cuts and thank God nothing bad
(Not like the man in the other room had)
Cuts and bruises, bruises and scars
Can you keep a secret about other cars?
I can see as they speed up to pass from the side
That they’ve hit us again and someone has died
The emergency room is now miles away
And the scream on your face will not go away
Cuts and bruises, bruises and more
The hot on my hands is smeared on the door
Cuts and bruises, bruises and God-
Cuts and bruises, bones and blood
The screech and the crash and the pain and then
The car finally stops and we’re home safe again
And I, for the hundredth time, happen to find
That we’ve died just a little, just in my mind.

There are some hills over there…

Excuse me while I build my ark,
I haven’t got much time.
Fast the flooding waters rise,
Go find a hill to climb.
Do you mind not standing in my light?
Hey, give me back my tools!
Must you insist on sabotage?
Keep away, you fools!
The hand you lend, it hardly helps.
I need no Three-Piece Messiah
All I need is One Good Lord
For when the waves get higher.
Don’t preach vicarious atonement
For when this day is through
I highly doubt you will have found
Someone else to drown for you.

The Mouse is in da HOUSE!

The Mouse is in Da House!

And apparently it enjoys playing with Bebeface’s toys

The Husbandfiles: I married a tech guy?

We interrupt this Ramadan introspection with a late-breaking Husbandfile.

Me: We need to do something about the front gate, there’s no way to see behind it when somone rings the bell. I could be opening the door for anyone. We need to put one of those little peep-hole thingies in.

HF: No, all we need is some electrical wiring and a switch.

Me: Oh? (For a security camera? she wonders)

HF: We could run the wire under the gate and plug one end into a socket and leave one end on the ground outside.

Me: Ok.

HF: And when someone rings the bell, you go outside and turn the power on.

Me: Then what?

HF: Then when they get electrocuted you identify them by the sound of their screaming.

Ramadan or the Lack Thereof, Part I

Once upon a time, Ramadan was really, really sacred. Owlie and I read Qur’an aloud each night, broke our fast on as little food possible, had reasonably small dinners and felt light and alive and grateful. This Ramadan is hugely disappointing, I feel like a Ramadan Failure.

I’m not fasting because I need to nurse bebeface. That in itself does not at all make me a failure. Alhamdulillah, Allah knows His creations well, and allows certain exceptions to the fast, nursing mothers included. I will make the entire month of fasts up when I can, but as the days pass one after the other, I feel more and more as if I’m missing something that I can never get back. I feel, well… almost sore about it. I feel left out at Iftar time; me munching on dates then is not what it used to be. The first date at Iftar, the first bit of sweet, soft fruit that you put in your mouth is better than a hundred dates in any other month. That warm little cup of tea used to make up for hours of self-denial in its first sip. Iftar was quiet and contemplative and, for lack of a better word, magical.

It used to be that Ramadan passed slowly. The first few days were agonizing, of course, but after a week or so, they had a certain, gradual sweetness to them. You counted the days of Ramadan not as being closer to the end of deprivation, but as being nearer to the happiness of Eid. I remember an Eid spent in Islamabad when it was just Owlie and me praying Eid Salah at Faisal Masjid. Now, we come from a very ‘Suck it in, Walk it off, If you lose you leg, don’t come crying to me’ kind of family, but we let all the force fields down after Eid prayer and give each other happy, sincere hugs. I remember that hug, I miss it.

I used to read Qur’an. I used to open its pages and read and re-read the lines until I registered them, understood them, thought about them. It was slow going, but speed was not the issue, comprehension was.

I used to pray Fajr. Now, a combination of odd baby-related sleep habits plus laziness and growing spiritual apathy on my part mean I pray a handful of Fajrs a month. It’s embarrassing to say, but what purpose would it be to hide it? Everything I do, and don’t do, will come out before every human ever born on the Day of Judgment. Blogistan, compared to All of Humanity, is peanuts, and compared to God, Humanity is dust.

-to be continued-