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Monthly Archives: March 2009

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Wow.

Because this is the Best. Email. Ever. Received just a few minutes ago. From my beloved. God Bless.

—-

Dear Beloved,

I apologize if the contents in this mail are contrary to your moral ethics which I feel may be of great disturbance to your personal life, but I feel quite safe dealing with you. Though this medium (Internet) has been greatly abused, I choose to reach you through it because it remains the fastest, surest and most secured medium of communication. However, this correspondence is purely private, and it should be treated as such. I am contacting you based on trust and confidentiality. I have reposed higher confidence in your ability to handle this matter perfectly for my sake. I am serious minded person. I am Mrs. Judith Shumejda, I am 51 years old, a widow to late Mr.John Shumejda who was the President of agricultural equipment giant AGCO Corp, who perished on the 4th of January 2002 in a plane crash in Birmingham.

After going through some files of my late husband, I discovered a Deposit Certificate of (£15Million) (Fifteen Million Pounds) with a Bank in London. But due my sickness, I have not been able to claim this fund from the Bank, as I have been in the hospital in Liverpool and my sickness continue getting worst. I am suffering from a protracted cancer of the lungs which has affected my brain. From all indication my condition is really deteriorating, and my doctors have courageously advised me that I may not live beyond the next Six months to eight months, this is because the cancer stage has reached a critical stage.

Please View the Website below:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/1742404.stm
http://edition.cnn.com/2002/WORLD/europe/01/04/england.plane/

Please in your response, send me the following information to enable me validate you as the legal beneficiary of this funds:

1) Your full names:
2) Mobile phone number/home phone number/office phone number:
3) Age:
4) Address and Marital status:
5) Company’s name & address:
6) Precent Country:
7) Name of your next of kin:

These whole information is what I need from you so that I can present a Letter of Authorisation to the Bank where the money is deposited to contact you as the beneficiary for this funds transfer. Send your urgent response to (helpmrsJudithshumejda@gmail.com)

Your assistant will be highly appreciated.

Thanks and God bless.

Mrs. Judith Shumejda

Hat? Okay!

 

Iman Helping Mar 2009

Iman is helping. Thanks kid.

I never thought I’d be so happy to report that my son will just NOT stop babbling. Although his vocabulary has yet to cross the ten-word mark, he has begun to mimic sounds and start conversations with people other than me- the most amusing of which is generally Iman. Khalid will grin excitedly at her, and say ‘Okay?’ and Iman will beam and reply ‘Hat!’ Of course, it’s much more than just ‘hat,’ to Iman, it’s a prolonged, ecstatic exclamation of haaaaAAAAAAt! in a high-pitched squeak bordering on baby giddiness.

Admiring the handsome little boy in the mirror.

Admiring the handsome little boy in the mirror.

Yes, Iman says hat, and she says it loud, and she says it clear, and it is as meaningful to her as ‘Okay’ is to Khalid. They had a three-way conversation yesterday with the Imam of the masjid during Isha prayer. It went like this.

 

Imam: (over loud speaker) Allahu Akbar

Khalid: Okay?

Iman: Haaaaaaaat!

Imam: Sami’Allahu liman Hamida

Khalid: Okay!

Iman: haaaaAAAAAAAAAAT!

Imam: Allu Akbar

Iman: HAAAAAAT! HAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

Khalid: Okay!

Iman: haaaaaAAAAAAAAT!

 

Of course, right after the jamaat finished, someone came over and banged angrily on the divider between the men’s and women’s sections, and frankly speaking, I was seriously offended. Yes, my kids were making noise, but children make noise in the masjid all the time. I was still praying though, and so my kids continued to fill the large, echoing dome of the masjid with hats and okays until the Imam came and knocked on the door (gently) of the women’s section and asked Ruth (who opened the door) to please bring the children outside.

When I finished praying I walked out and outside the women’s side entrance, saw HF talking to two men, presumably the Imam and one other local. Khalid, upon seeing HF, ran and flung himself into his arms and unleashed a series of happy Okays! According to HF, as soon as Khalid did this, both the men changed their stances from stern to understanding. It’s easier to be mad about someone’s bratty kids when 1. you can’t see them and 2. they’re not autistic.

Ruth and the kids & I waited in the car while HF talked with the Imam & Co for about ten minutes. Alhamdulillah, this is one wonderful thing about HF, if a situation gets tense, he doesn’t get mad, he gets charming. I told this to Ruth, and she laughed. “You’ll see,” I said, “By the time he finishes talking to them he’ll have made some new friends.”

And of course, he had. After an explanation of autism and Khalid’s understanding (or the lack thereof) the Imam invited him over for tea repeatedly and was disappointed when HF politely deferred. The second man then plied HF for his life story and then asked him to come over and fix his computer. Numbers were exchanged. We went back home.

Ruth took the kids in and threw them into their respective tubs, and then I had a good cry about things with HF outside.  True, the matter isn’t black and white- kids need to be taught how to behave in a place of worship, adults need to manage their problems more tactfully than by banging on the walls of the woman’s section- but it all boiled down to this- I’m not allowed to complain about having an autistic child, so neither is anyone else.
I went to the salon last week for a quick trim, and Khalid, misunderstanding the situation and thinking it was his head on the chopping block, went into red-alert tantrum mode and ended up crammed under a chair while kicking the wall and screaming. Calming him down failed, and so I told the woman to just finish as soon as possible so I could pay and take Khalid home.
The sweet receptionist tried (to no avail) to distract Khalid- to offer him sweets, to engage him while he was busy screaming.  This lasted around ten minutes.  The other ladies stared disapprovingly at me while Khalid raged and the hairdresser snipped.  When it was done and I had paid,  I collected Khalid from his well-kicked corner, and said to one of the other hairdressers, “Sorry about the noise, he thought he was going to have his hair cut, and he doesn’t understand.”
They stared blankly and I told them he was autistic.  They didn’t know what that meant, I told them he was mentally around 1 years old and had little idea what was going on.  Ooooooh….now they got it, he had some problem with his brain?  They asked polite nervous questions and the air changed from frigid to embarrassed.
I don’t know whether there’s a crash course somewhere for being a ‘special needs mom,’ but I think I’m doing as well I can with the amount of training I got. :p  I adore Khalid, he is the most beautiful, crazy, energetic, loving little man, and that other people don’t understand him is not his fault.  Nor is it theirs, but I’m not about to start apologizing for him being the way he is.  Allah allows everything to happen for a reason, and even if it’s just to teach everyone around him a little more patience, that’s a good enough reason for me.

Because Iman deserves a post too, gosh darnit!

Photobucket

Iman is 30% pouffy hair and 70% attitude. At 11 months, MashaAllah, she takes herself on high-speed crawling tours of the house, following me, Ruth, or the vacuum cleaner. She also ventures out on her own for daring expeditions under the dining table, behind the curtains, and occasionally into a tangle of computer wires where she will become stuck and then cry to be rescued.

Iman is an optimist. She will crawl over to Khalid and try to take what he’s playing with. Then she’ll get pushed over, not maliciously, but in a matter-of-fact sort of “You, down.” from Khalid, who isn’t hitting her, but moving her out of his way. The point is though, she tries, and repeatedly tries, and above all, believes that one day she will win the car/block/bottle/sock/cracker that her bigger, stronger, faster brother exercises eminent domain over.

Iman is willful and stubborn and aggressive in a way that is unbecoming for a little girl the size of a house cat. As Khalid was big, Iman is small, and her last visit to the pediatrician reported that she is underweight, but healthy, active, and a little on the shrimpy side for a big-haired diva.

Iman is generous, and will share whatever she is licking/sucking/gnawing on with a person half-way across the room by holding it at arm’s length and grinning happily at the person. The person is then expected to smile, close their eyes and say ‘num num num num!’ while air-munching the proffered cracker/ball/key chain.

Iman is quick. Not just on her little hands and knees, but on the uptake. She sings along with ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’ signs for Hat, Dog, Clap, and Duck, and even says Ruth. Yes, she says Ruth. Not Momma, but Ruth, and while it cut my heart to pieces to hear that, I can’t beat myself up too badly- Ruth takes care of Iman while I take Khalid to therapy, and she does a wonderful job playing with, singing to, caring for, and feeding Iman while Khalid and I are out from when we leave in the morning until we get home late in the afternoon, or evening if I stop to buy groceries or run errands. Ruth is a godsend, and leaving Iman in her care for most of the day is necessary in order to get Khalid the help he needs.

Iman is growing. way. too. fast. It seems like yesterday she was born and today she’s moving rapidly from baby-ness to toddler-hood. She’s started to pull herself up to standing position using the legs of the dining chairs, and soon she’ll be cruising around the furniture, she is- Up! Gtg!