The days devour my strength.
The nights consume my mind.
One day, the earth will eat me.
Before then, sickness does.
Blog
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Corporate Tips for Spiritual Wellbeing (lol)
So, I can’t remember exactly which colleague at which office recommended this to my husband, but I do remember which husband it was. It was you HF, don’t worry. (lol)
Whether you’re in a meeting, or meeting other Muslims, or debating whether to say salaam to a person of the opposite gender, or struggling with your intention in general, then W.A.I.T. Before you speak, ask yourself the following:
Why
Am
I
Talking?
What this does is allow you a quick audit of your intentions and thoughts, something that every adult knows that someone else in their life desperately needs. 😀
(It’s me. The person who needs this is me.)
As someone who has been somewhat public in my life for a long ole time (my blog is older than my marriage and I’ve been married for over 17 years), I find that I can overshare as well as overthink, and sometimes, both at the same time. Two for one, BOGO! Whether I’m about to overshare at another person’s speech, or talk about my experiences when coming to learn about someone else’s, WAIT has saved me from making a horse’s hind end out of myself on multiple occasions. Not because I’m a narcissist, but because I suffer from chronic verbal dysentery.
WAIT is a useful supplement to the three gates of speech: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary? The gates of speech have been attributed to Rumi, Buddha, and even Socrates, and I’m not paid enough to dig into who actually said it. Regardless of the source, the three gates are a great way to be a better person. I’ve tried teaching them to my kids, and I hope they stick.
For both of us, InshaAllah. Over & out.
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Man that was fun
Le Sigh.
We just got back from our vacation, and our house is not livable. Buuuut……. That’s not what I wanna write about. Change of topic. we just went on a 3-week vacay to dubai, oman, and turkey- and it was awesome. Key highlights- But first -dubai, then in other posts ill tell you more.
Dubai: Waterpark!!! Favorite ride: Jumeriah SCREAM!!! Picture this: you enter the waterpark (Wild Wadi) and the first sign is directly to the left of us and is for a slide is labeled “Jumeriah Scream!” Momma is helping Rigma find a place to sit, and Baba is looking at the sign and says “lets go on that one first!” “What about momma?” asks Iman. “She’ll catch up.” We start walking when i stop and glance at this HUGE tower of a slide to the right. I ask baba if we can go on that one next, and he says yes. We follow the sign and walk for around 10 minuits and finally we are there! My heart suddenly drops out of my chest when we are at the base of that huge tower i mentioned earlier. Oh no no no no. I hate heights. And this slide is the definition of heights. This. Slide. Is. Too. Tall. I silence my heart and we climb steps for around 5 more min. We get in the line, which was only like, 15 people, and wait. 2 min later, Momma comes up the steps. “You made it!” I say. She joins us in the line, and finally, FINALLY, its our turn. Lemme just give you a quick rundown. This is the new version of jumeriah scarea… THis ride is 32 meters high, and you go down at a whopping 80 kmph. Basically, you get in a tube, cross your arms and legs pray for your life that you don’t die, and then… The floor goes kaput. Here’s a video. (This is not ours.)
Yours truly,
Musfira
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The short version of the long story of how I broke my salah
Once upon a time a month ago, we begin the longest possible explanation of how I broke my Isha prayer last night.
It started with two friends of HusbandFriend, each of whom lost their fathers within a week of each other. Inna lillahi wa inna ileihi rajioon. Prior to that, HF and I had both been missing our respective families and parents, but we were wary of international travel in a pandemic. When his friends lost their fathers, one within short succession of another, HF and I both agreed that it was time to travel before it became too late. Loss of parents is a middle-age milestone that no one expects but everyone knows will come.
So HF booked the kids and I for a whirlwind, cross-continental tour of Dubai, Muscat, and Istanbul because why the heck not. We left before he did, since he had to get the time off from work, and went ahead expecting him in ten days or so.
Prior to that, we had been trying to get our wonky kitchen repaired. I spent the week before our flight in a whirlwind of tile selection, countertop warehouses, and contractor conversations whilst also attempting to buy gifts, pack, and empty a kitchen slated for renovation and its associated pre-destruction.
Prior to that, the contractor we had selected had some difficulties- some in translation, some in scheduling, all coming out at last minute, that resulted in the entire project being cancelled days after I had finished the work on my part, and hours before we were supposed to fly. That was ok. I needed a vacation from renovation at that point anyway. So we hopped on a plane, slept in our masks, and made our way to Dubai.
Prior to that though, thanks to global warming and the unstoppable juggernaut of policy choices that have lead to it, our flight from Dallas to Dubai was delayed for three hours while planes and runways were being de-iced. By the time we left, we knew that our connecting flight in Istanbul would either be missed, or very, very close to leaving.
Prior to that, in Dallas, while waiting out our 3-hour delay and attempting to not watch the Superbowl halftime show on EVERY POSSIBLE SCREEN, I watched people come and go. I have always been fascinated with people sprinting through terminals. There’s probably no other scenario in our otherwise mundane lives where we see people running for their lives, or at least for their flights. People lose all their cool, public, international traveler manners, and huff and puff and panic their way to their gates. I watched people running back and forth through Dallas airport and thought wow, I’ve never been one of those people before.
But then, I got to be one of those people in Istanbul. When the plane touched down and I was able to turn my phone on, I found out that our connecting flight hadn’t departed… yet. I usually wait for everyone else to get off the airplane before I do, not only because I have wheelchair assistance, but because I don’t like the politely awkward jostling of getting your carryons down from the overhead bins while also being in line with a hundred other people who are also trying to get their carryons down. This time though, I told the kids – grab your things and run.
So we ran – to the head of the line, off the plane, and out into the terminal where an airport employee was calling, “DUBAI?!” and we answered “DUBAI?!?” and he pointed vaguely into the distance and yelled “GO GO GO!”
We were not cool, but we made it. At one point, Musfira tripped and fell, but she stoically picked herself up and soldiered on. Thank God the gate was a short, 3 minute sprint. We arrived at the gate as the door were closed, hobbling and out breath, to be rushed inside the doors that were then immediately closed behind us. We were the only people to make the connecting flight to Dubai. I know this because we were the first ones off the plane and the only ones who made it in before the cabin crew closed the doors. Alhamdulillah, we made it. Our luggage, however, did not.
As such, we arrived in Dubai exhausted and without luggage. The Owliebird picked us up and took us home. We had pizza and fun and a month later, after a wonderful vacation seeing family in the UAE, Oman, and then Istanbul – it was time to go home.
Prior to this, we had a mad 48-hour holiday in Istanbul, which I will try to write more about later. It was amazing. It was delicious. It was… pedestrian. The roads in the old city were built before the invention of cars, and we travelled faster on foot than by taxi, even taking breaks in between for my wonky feet. We spent an exhilarating – and exhausting – two days shopping, eating, seeing, and marveling. Then, we put our tired selves on a plane back home.
It was during this flight that the kids were given free reign to eat their candy and watch the (thankfully!) censored selection of movies on Turkish Airlines. HF and I did the same, and eventually we landed in Dallas without further delays or adventures.
Prior to that though, it turns out that our house flooded. We know this, because HF secretly found a backup contractor to complete the kitchen renovation as a surprise for when we returned. They painted the cabinets, replaced the cracked old countertops, and were set to replace the floor tiles. They were in the home stretch of the secret renovation when water started coming up from below the floor.
(Prior to the that, we had a slab leak that had gone undetected for so long that there was mold growing under the floor.)
And that brings us to yesterday. We are staying in an AirBnB home about 25 minutes from our real home, where the floors are missing and the water has been turned off. We’ve had many adventures, a whole slew of insurance-related frustrations, and to put it plainly- we’re all tired and we want to go home. But we won’t be able to for a while, so we put a movie on for the kids.
Except Khalid didn’t want to watch it, which is fair. Going Red is very cringe, and not worth the time spent watching it. Khalid wanted to have gone to sleep, but given how small our temporary home is, there wasn’t anywhere quiet that he could find in the house until the movie was over.
It was 10:30 by the time we were ready to pray Isha and get to bed, and it was during this time that I overhead the following conversation.
Khalid: Aaargh, I’m so tired.
Musfira: Why didn’t you go to bed earlier?
Khalid: I couldn’t, the movie was too loud.
Musfira: Why didn’t you use your earplugs?
(Prior to this, we had been given earplugs and sleeping masks on our flight. They were small, red, and came in clear plastic packaging. Like…candy. )
Khalid: I don’t have any. I ate mine.
Musfira: … what?
Khalid: When we were flying back I ate some suspiciously rubbery candy.
Musfira: You ate your earplugs???
Khalid: I was tired. So I just went with it.
And that is the short version of the long story of how I burst out laughing in the middle of prayer after a month-long journey of family, fun, and flooding.
The End.
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Oh look, I have time to ramble again
Guess what, I retired. Officially, but somehow in my mind… temporarily?
Ok, I don’t think taking a temporary break from work is called retirement. Traditionally that’s a vacation. I really did retire though. I no longer work for Muslimmatters.org, and it’s purely because I didn’t have the energy to anymore. Chronic illness is no fun. I’m really not writing or making videos or recording podcasts anymore, and I’m not expected back any time soon. So why do I consider this temporary?
Maybe it’s because I have internalized the malignant capitalist mentality that not working is “doing nothing” or “wasting time.” I’m not wasting time though. In my case, not working means getting physical therapy, following up on medical appointments, and living in a way that preserves the functionality of my body and mind instead of burning both ends of my candle with a blow torch.
Nebula sez, everyone in this house needs therapy. Lol Besides, being chronically ill is a full time job almost. There are roughly 20 weekdays in a month, and I spent 15 of them at medical offices on average. Between my medical needs, the kids’, and physical therapy for everyone except the cat, I’m not home much.
My energy goes into driving, cooking, and existing. But you know what? It’s nice to be able to sleep when I’m tired. I finally feel like there is just enough on my plate to handle instead of too much for too long, Alhamdulillah.
Yes, it was hard to retire. I spent too many years believing my self-worth was tied directly to my utility. It’s been hard, but important for me, to accept that a person who sits at home existing in the worship of Allah – and nothing else – if they are doing their best, then they are not doing “nothing.” They are doing the best they are capable of, and that’s awesome.
Internalized ableism. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe the belief that someone who can’t work full time, or can’t earn an income, or can’t volunteer, or can’t donate money is pure, malicious ableism. Having a disability doesn’t make you useless, and people who are disabled don’t need to justify their existence through external productivity, not even tp themselves.
I tell myself I’ll be able to go back to work one day. That I’ll be stronger, smarter, healthier and totally full of ideas. I tell myself not because I believe it, but because I’d rather not believe that I can no longer be productive in traditionally professional capability.
Productivity is a false god. Allah is much kinder to us than that.
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I was going to write a blog…
But in the distance, I can hear HF (aka Husband Friend) brushing his teeth and the rules are, whoever brushes their teeth and gets into bed first is the winner.
And I know, that he knows, that I know what he’s doing, because he’s brushing his teeth with the door closed. To get ahead of me. Sneaky bum.
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Musfira’s log
Today is July 1st 2020. I am sitting on a VERY hard chair while typing this. I am wearing a shirt that says “Let’s Hug It Out”. No way. It’s a pandemic. Do you want to get sick? Well I don’t.
I’m gonna ask momma if I can play some nasheeds. This will take longer than expected. I have to negotiate. Update: I won! Update: I am now listening to Khaled Siddiq Ft. Lil Berete “Drama.”
Drama sings about racism in the Muslim community. People say to be kind while some men beat their wives up. Now what do I type about. Oh! Update: I am now listening to Khaled Siddiq “On Deen.”
On Deen sings about how Islam is the right religion. And converts have trouble learning because no one will teach them.
Cuz, I have no man to show me how to pray my Salah,
And I didn’t have no man to show me how to connect with Allah,
And I didn’t have no man to show me how to read the Quran,
This is the sad truth, Some Muslims are racist to the black people even if it doesn’t seem like it to them. They don’t even think they’re being racist. Some people might just not talk to the black people. It’s sad.
Racism is just plain cruel. Just because our skin colors are different, that doesn’t make it fair to torture people of color. That is racism. Now, The idea that people of color are lower beings than white people is horrible.
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Musfira’s Nasheed Recommendation
Today is June 29th 2020. I am sitting on the COMFY chair while typing this. We’re also listening to Native Deen My Faith, My Voice. (my faith.. My voice, don’t care what they say, my faith, my voice)
I like that nasheed. The lyrics speak up for Muslims.
I know what they call us
They try to blame all us
But I know how the Prophet lived like
I know what he taught us.
People think Muslims are terrorists but we’re not. Islam teaches kindness. Some people refuse to give money to homeless people but Islam teaches us to give. Islam teaches us that life is important, and every act of kindness is always counted no matter how small it is.
Now we are finishing the nasheed Rise Up. There are six people who sing it together. I don’t know all of their names. They’re speaking up for black people and justice. This is important because people can’t see beyond their skin color, and they treat black people horribly and unfairly. People should understand that the color of your skin doesn’t matter, your personality does. They don’t give black people their rights. I recommend people listen to this nasheed because it tells people about what’s happening.
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Iman : Quarantine Life Day 102
Hello peeps. It’s me, Iman. Life has been pretty crazy so far. Masks are now the new fashion, Bernie Sanders lost the democratic nomination (NOOOOOO), and the US is now the world’s hot spot for covid-19. THE END IS NEAR! It’s all I think about everytime I go to bed.
Yeah, my life has become pretty stressful. The world’s largest protests and civil unrest are happening right now because George Floyd, an innocent man, was killed over a $20 bill. Is that how much a black man’s life is worth? Twenty dollars? When is this world going to see the wrong of this world?
I really want to be in the protests, but I can’t. We have to stay home, doing nothing. Trump is currently doing dumb things. He is being racist, he is being rude, he is acting like a jerk who can just do what he wants, and he doesn’t even raise his FINGER after George Floyds death.
It must be awful for George Floyd’s family. Their president doesn’t care at all for their relative’s death. He just says what makes the people happy, and then NEVER EVEN DOES what he says.
ARRRRGH. Why did our community vote for an AWFUL PERSON like Trump? We could have gotten Bernie, the world’s greatest democratic contestant! But NOOOOOO, we got Joe Biden, and Trump. I hope that the US will get a better leader. I also wish that police would just stop killing Black people.
The police who killed George Floyd have been charged with murder. (YAY JUSTICE!) I am super angry that doctors and nurses are not getting the supplies that they need for helping covid-19 patients.
Some health care workers are even dying because they don’t have masks. Covid started out with doctors dressed up looking like trash bags, and now, the police are dressed like super suit Samus from Super Metroid! (Sigh) Good bye for now!
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Musfira’s Log: Day 1 – Two Movies and a Party
Today is June 22st 2020. As you might know, there is a pandemic of Covid-19 also known as CoronaVirus. We are currently in self-quarantine. Today is our 102th day. Two days ago we had a 100th day party (Alone,In our house, Family only) It was EPIC. We watched TWO WHOLE MOVIES! And got gifts 🙂 I got a card stock book and a sticker book. I also gave momma a cute card! She loved it 🙂
We watched Mirai and Okko’s Inn. Mirai was about a little boy who just got a baby sister but he did not accept it. Every time the little boy threw a fit he would go to magical memories of family members including: Mom, Mirai, Grandpa And Grandma, And Yuko.
Okko’s Inn was about a girl who lost her parents in a car crash and then went to go live at her grand-mothers Inn. She met a ghost and became junior innkeeper. The ghosts’ names were Uribo and Miyo. My personal preference for the movies was Okko’s Inn.
Iman made AN ICE CREAM CAKE! It was a chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream and whipped cream. It was so good! 🙂 It was served while watching Mirai. We also had cream soda while watching Mirai. I recommend Okko’s Inn. It’s better than Mirai.
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Khalid’s Coronavirus Log: Day 1
Oh, wow. A lot has happened since I last did this stuff. Let’s see…first of all, we’ve got a global pandemic that has EVERYBODY (everybody sane, that is) going into hiding due to how a vaccine has not yet been found.
What’s the virus behind this madness? Coronavirus, or as the fancy white coats like to call it, COVID-19. To put it very bluntly, this virus was first detected in Wuhan, Hubei Province, Central China, during Christmas Break. They were just the fellas who reported it- COVID might have begun spreading as early as October of last year.
Many nations have gone under lockdown. The thing is, for most of us fellas in the US, the lockdown was mild, and since Trump wants to claim a booming economy, he had the US end the lockdown last month.
Since then, the US has become the center of the epidemic, reporting a staggering 1.5 million cases, allowing it to claim the title of having 18% of all known Coronavirus cases so far. Why is that a big deal? Because right now, there’s about 8,000,000 cases of Coronavirus worldwide. A lot of the cases we know about in the US were in New York City. And Coronavirus hit New York LIKE A BOMB, and Coronavirus is pretty much THE BIGGEST disaster that the city suffered since 9/11, which seriously is saying something. But the thing is, Trump is claiming that the US has beat the Coronavirus, and not only that, he’s still being offensive – he held a rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on Juneteenth- On the site of the worst race riot in HISTORY.
Here’s something that Trump doesn’t know about pandemics. Usually, if a pandemic is global, like the Spanish Flu, then it usually runs its course for a few years, while everyone is freaking out. Thankfully, the Flu wasn’t immune to winter, and tempered down into your average seasonal flu. Sadly, we don’t know if Coronavirus is fully immunized against the cold of winter. If it was, then things would be easier.
The smart thing to do either way during a pandemic is to isolate yourself from any human beings who aren’t your family until a vaccine comes out. Even then, pandemics take a ridiculously high amount of human life. In conclusion, here’s a question for the humans out there- When do you think that the Coronavirus pandemic began?
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Quarantine Renaissance, Day 1
AssalamuAlaikum Blogistan!
Good news, we’re self-isolating due to the Coronavirus, aka COVID-19. It’s been well over a week since we’ve all been at home. HF is working from home, Khalid and Musfira’s school has been indefinitely postponed and Iman was already homeschooling so here we all are, home. Together. All of us. Plus my mom, who lives with us now. She just brought me a bowl of peanuts mixed with cheerios. She’s like our Quarantine snack stewardess. Khalid and Musfira are playing chess in the kitchen. I present to you, the live play by play.
Khalid: I see, so you are attempting totalitarian control.
Musfira: HORSEY!
Khalid: If you put your horse there then my queen can take it.
Musfira: No, because that’s not a horse it’s a NINJA!
Khalid: The tables are turned!
Musfira: I like the other one.
Khalid: Galileo?
Musfira: Galileo!
Together: GALILEO FIGARO! MAGNIFICOOOooOOOOooOOOOooo
Musfira is humming tunes from Frozen. Khalid is singing Queen. Together, their game of chess is a random assortment of joyful noise interspersed with periodic gasps and triumphant cackling. I’m coming to you live from the armchair in the living room, wishing I had recorded more from our amusing collective past, stressed over the global pandemic, but also newly committed to better blogging. I am going to write something every day from Quarantine, InshaAllah, even if it’s just randomness. I want to get back into the habit again, InshaAllah.
Hope you’re all safe and self-isolating!
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Once upon a time…
When dinosaurs roamed the earth, I wrote on this blog often. This blog had many purposes, one of which was to create something for my kids to read later.
Well, it’s later now.
I know this because over dinner last week, one of my kids said, “Momma, you wrote on your blog that baba asked for a milkshake. But he said he couldn’t do that because then the yard would be full of boys.”
Mere feet away in the kitchen, Husband stops in his tracks, finds my panicked expression, and fails to suppress the kind of grin that cheshire cat would have upon eating a particularly hilarious mouse.
“What does that mean momma?”
“Yes Momma,” he asks with extremely unconvincing mock-innocence. “What does that mean? Do explain.”
I laugh out loud. I can’t keep it to myself. When I’ve eventually caught my breath, I ask the kids to sit down and proceed to have one of those talks that – as a parent – no one could have predicted you would have. I had to explain why my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they all say it’s better than yours. And how did I do that? Honestly.
Long ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth, there was a popular but terribly inappropriate song (THAT NEITHER YOUR BABA NOR I LISTENED TO) that was basically a woman singing about how when she dances and shakes her body (specifically her chest?) men like to stare at her and there’s so many they fill the yard.
My kids looked at me blankly. A few seconds of silence passed.
I shrug.
They shrug. I’m sure they questioned my life choices. At that moment I did too, but then life went on. And while this awkward little vignette might never register a blip in the timeline of our family’s history, it did mark a personal milestone for me. I always wanted to be the kind of parent who could teach their children about things. That means – obviously enough – being able to talk about things, even when they’re weird. So my children know where babies come from. They know what sex is. They know what porn is and why porn is bad and Alhamdulillah, they are comfortable enough to ask me things about things. And that made me happy.
If you excuse me, I’m going to make a milkshake. Don’t worry, the gate outside is locked.
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My Life.
I just drew this for fun … but its true. Momma does this A LOT. Thats why I drew this comic strip.
– Musfira
Scene 1: Once Upon a Time
Musfira: Momma, I’m bored.
Momma: Hi Bored, I’m Momma! 😀
Scene 2: Me, Close Up.
Musfira: Not funny.
Scene 3: Then
Musfira: >:(
Momma: 😀
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Middle School: The Dangers it Brings to Your Beloved Me!💔
Hello everybody, it’s me, Iman! I recently tried out middle school, and I can tell you the awful time period it is, just getting out of elementary school. For all of those adults who JUST CAN’T remember being a sixth grader, I can tell you a thing or two about it.
Number one: Yes folks, I know that you’re probably thinking,” Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Well actually, it was awful. Middle school is the time to get your label at school, decide who are your true friends, and on top of all that, you’ll worry about if the popular kids will like you and let you join their clique.
Number two: Who to sit with at lunch? That is the hardest thing ever when you’re the new kid. Everybody at lunch seem like game bosses that you either battle or befriend. Actually, now that I think about it, the whole day at school seems like a video game level that you must beat in order to return to your base! Alright, that’s all I can think of – for now.
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Hijabi Expectations vs Reality – by Iman
PUTTING ON A HIJAB
E: There! one big swoop! all done! not a single hair showing!
R: Owww! get on you stupid hijab! AAARRRRGGGG!!!! STOP SLIPPING OF MAH HEAD!!!!!
BEING ASKED ABOUT WHY YOU WHERE HIJAB
E: I wear a scarf because my religion tells women to cover up for modesty.
R: uhhh, because…uhmmmmmmmmmmm………………………….. honestly I don’t fully know why….
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ROAD TRIP!
Tennessee was awesome! The seventeen hour road trip wasn’t too bad. Camp was awesome! {Except for the food}.
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how to make veggi boats – by Musfira
i just made veggi boats. They were delicious. Anyways… On to the recipe! You will need:
- 1 quart size ziploc bag,
- 3 tbsp of sour cream,
- 1 tsp of dill,
- 1 tsp of pepper
- 1 cucumber or 2 mini cucumbers
- half of a tomato
- a grater
- 2 plates
- a few tortilla scoops
- and last 1 pair of scissors
On to the steps! Step 1 open your ziploc bag and put the sour cream, dill, and pepper inside. Step 2 close the bag and massage it so it’s all mixed up. Step 3 cut a hole at the tip of the bag. step 4 use the greater to grind the cucumber into shreds . step 5 cut the tomato into small cubes. step 6 pipe sour cram into the chips then put some cucumber into the chip top it of with a bit of tomato .
step 7 EAT IT!
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what a week! ;}😅
We came back from Tennessee a couple of weeks ago, and boy, what an adventure! We had a few blooperz on our trip, like the horse that my mom rode for horseback riding. Its name is Lightning,[ mine was named Farty Marty 😅 ]and it did not want momma on him. So the solution? Ramming momma into Every single tree! . She was riding on Hard mode!
My horse was named Farty Marty, yet he did not live up to his name. The horse behind me peed and pooped before we had even left the stables! 💩 It was so gross! My horse stopped to eat Everything! He ate the leaves, grass, twigs, and flowers!🌸🌸☘🌿🍀🍀 My butt was so sore after we were done.
Another blooper was when Khalid and Baba when’t white water rafting, Khalid fell out of the boat while getting out! I couldn’t stop laughing when he told me! We went to lost sea adventures, the worlds second largest underground lake! There were fish in the water! They had teeth!🤯🤯😱 We got ice cream after that! It was Such good mint chocolate chip ice cream!
The food at camp had no seasoning, not even salt! So when we got home and had seasoned food, we were in heaven😇! when we go on the next road trip, I’m going to buy a buccees tee shirt and an ice, some pringles, and blue air heads gum! i got a camera with my eidi so i have pictures of the camp site! and some pics of flowers! Such pretty flowers. 🌸🌷🌼🌻🌺🌹 i had a lovely time at camp, even with all of these blooperz! bye bye lovely blog
In 9 days the girls shall be going to Houston! That feels like a tiny road trip after Tennessee, which is 17 hours long! Houston is only 4 hours long 😃😄😁🙌
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We’re taking this show on the road!
We are excited to announce that the House of Cupcakes (this house, these cupcakes) is embarking on an epic road trip to… the Smokey Mountains! I am not sure who is more excited, me or the kids. The girls bought digital cameras with their Eidhi and so I am appointing them official trip photographers
Khalid is on official barbecue-eating committee, because we’re making an important detour to a halal barbecue & brisket place on the way. It’s almost eight hours away, which is a pity because if it were closer we would be happier as well as more broke, As it is, we were last there two years ago and we’ve got lost time to make up. NOMNOMNOM
Other updates… let’s see. Yesterday Khalid almost beat me in chess. ALMOST. I don’t go easy on the kids, though I try not to crush them entirely without mercy. When things start going badly for my opponent, we’ll literally “turn the tables,’ and switch positions. I go from being the near-victorious conqueror to being the bafflingly outnumbered besieged.
The kids go from being sad and demoralized to being inexplicably reckless with their newly acquired (previously mine) army. Their goal is to put me in check with an overwhelming advantage. Mine is to evade capture for as long as possible and get as many chess moves out of them as I can.
I think it’s working out well, the kids all play chess and seem to enjoy the challenge. We’re thinking of starting a chess club over the summer when we get back from Tennessee InshaAllah. Stay posted for pictures. Also, happy 65th B-day to my Momma! Love you!
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WAKE UP IMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!! By Musfira.
Ok. A few nights ago I tried to wake Iman up for suhoor…but no. She wouldn’t wake up. I tried to wake her up. Here is a list of unsuccessful techniques I tried to use:
#1 Shaking her
#2 Yelling in her ear
#3 Robbing her of her blankie
#4 Ice in a bag on her face
#5 Ice outside of a big to paint her face. I literally took ice and put it in her face.
#6 Ice cream. I tried to feed her ice cream. She wouldn’t open her mouth. I ate it instead.
Finally I gave up and went to eat suhoor. The End.
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Ramadan Update
AssalamuAlaikum Internets!
It’s Ramadan again, the first year that all three of my awesome mini-humans are fasting. They’re super-stars at Suhoor, and they’ve collaboratively cooked eggs for themselves the past three in a row.
Khalid is 13. (OMG) Iman is 11, Musfira will be turning 8 next month. It baffles and delights me when they cook and work together. Also, they make me coffee, which is possibly one of my crowning achievements as a mother. Khalid brews black drip coffee. Iman makes me lattes. Musfira is the local expert on the Nespresso machine and make both cappuccino with frothed heavy cream, or espresso shots with a smidge of agave, just the way momma likes it.
Unexpectedly last week though, a cup of coffee tipped on the counter and Musfira got splashed by it. Alhamdulillah, it wasn’t scaldingly hot, and while she was crying and in pain, she had no real injury. It was a huge relief that she was ok, Alhamdulillah.
Sometimes I wonder how children graduate into knife-wielding, fire-starting, car-driving adults. I see my own kids handling responsibility, and I am proud of them but always slightly nervous. I suppose it comes with the parenting territory. If I wasn’t concerned for my kids’ safety there might be something wrong with me.
(Well, other than all the other stuff wrong with me. Ha!)
So yeah. My kids are awesome. (Hi kids!) They’re becoming more and more independent and more determined to fast and I am very proud of them. Even if in the last fifteen minutes before Iftar, certain children ask me what time it is EVERY SINGLE MINUTE.
(You know who you are. Look at the clock!)
The End.
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Looks like my blog is getting some guest writers. 🙂
I am sitting in my living room right now, surrounded by all three of my kids, on three laptops, all three of them giggling in glee and reading through their own category tabs.
It’s quite an amazing and lovely feeling, watching them interact with the previous versions of themselves and laughing at memories they’ve forgotten. I’m so glad I get to see them discover this. 🙂
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5 Silly facts about my family
Hello my name is Cupcake. Well, my real name is not Cupcake. I just don’t want to share my personal info. At only 7 years old I’m very blessed to have my own computer. Anyways… On to the real thing.
- When my mom forgets people’s names when she is tired she says “What’s his face?”
- Once when my big brother was little my mom told him to route the map to school but instead he took her to Wendy’s just to get french fries.
- Once last year I was calling my dad but instead of saying “Baba” i said “Maba”.
- My dad once called me my Iman instead of Musfira.
- When my sister was 1 she tried to eat a beetle.
Well that’s all I got! Bye Bye!
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Erm… this is silly. WHAT IS THIS?!
Wow. My first time here in 8 years! So much stuff in the beast that is known for some reason as memory lane. There even was that incident where I kicked Andre’s ***! And embarrassingly, there even are… tabs on me. COMEY! C’MERE! THAT’S IT! TIME TO FIRE YOU!
Editor’s note: Here is Khalid’s first blog, and here is the time Khalid kicked Andre’s butt.
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Eeeek! I have to write a speech in a week!
I have a speech at a conference in one week and I am nowhere near done. They assigned me the topic of maintaining faith despite failure. I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and not believe they consider me an expert in the topic of failure. >:/
I’ve spoke about disability and special needs awareness many, many times in many, many places. I could probably do that in my sleep if I don’t already do, but failure and frustration is a little new to me. It’s intimidating because it’s… real. It’s me.
And now, it’s writer’s block. I have piles of thoughts, jumbled into complex, tangled tangents that I somehow need to straighten out and line up neatly. Except pain and fear and failure aren’t neat- and explaining to how to survive in spite of them isn’t simple. Worst of all- I can’t explain anything without referring to my self as the point of reference for what’s I’m talking about.
Yes, I know I blog and I end up talking about myself more or less all of the time. This feels different though, more risky because it’s in real life, and my kids will be sitting in the audience. I don’t know where to start, or how to proceed in way that resonated with the audience without in some way confusing or scaring my kids.
But I have to try. Make dua for me. I need it.
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Humans
Human beings are complicated. In the last year of my life, I’ve observed more of them close-up, and in-depth for longer periods of time than usual. How? By volunteering on a committee.
I’ve learned that people who like to complain about things are usually less interested in solutions than they are in their own importance.
I’ve learned that people who are silent often have too much to say about things, and not knowing where to begin- will instead say nothing.
I’ve learned that people who talk too much can sometimes have the least to offer. Sometimes, they’re seeking, but they aren’t sure what questions to ask. So they ramble. I’ve learned to listen for questions that aren’t asked.
I’ve learned that perfectionism is a disease that causes people to shoot down the ideas of others – not maliciously – but from the overpowering concern that they’re not good enough. Consequently, no solutions pass muster.
I’ve learned that grownups never really grow up. They just grow bigger, and the same weird things kids do, grownups just do more tactfully.
I’ve learned that there are silent, generous, unassuming pillars of entire communities who drive used cars and donate hundreds of thousands of dollars to charitable causes without a fuss for recognition.
I’ve learned there are squeaky, un-greased wheels who donate a hundred dollars and think that makes them the CEO of the world.
Humans are complicated. May Allah forgive me for being one too.
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I’m freeeeee!
So Alhamdulillah, the long story of why my wrist hurt and typing became torture is summed up as thus:
I had torn cartilage in my wrist – not because I was out fist-fighting or getting injured in air-guitar championships, but because I have a connective tissue disorder and therefore wear, tear, and constant repair is the name of the long-term game.
I will kind of always be broken, and I have come to accept that even if I don’t love it. At all.
So I finally had surgery on my wrist this Aug 23rd, and they fixed the torn cartilage with stitches and then put me in a cast up to my bicep for six weeks. I used to think casts were cool and I always wanted one. Boy, was I wrong.
Not only was having my arm in a cast a constant source of pain, it also caused my arm to atrophy. I am told this is expected with immobilization. And then I go whaaaaaaaaa? because it doesn’t make all that much sense to me, fixing one problem by creating one and a half.
So my hand is in rehab, and the rest of me plays along. It is painful, learning how to re-use my left hand, asking things of my fingers whose flexor and extensor tendons seized up and shrunk weeks ago. My physiotherapist says ok, now make a fist! So my brain politely asks of my hand, fist? And my left hand says IN YOUR DREAMS BUDDY and the most I can manage is some sort of hard, small, claw-like posture.
We call it my monkey-hand. The kids and I, we know that my monkey hand’s not going to be making fists or high-fives any time in the next nine months or so, so we give my hand time and space.
My awesome little humans, Khalid, Iman, and Musfira- have grown to be so helpful, so considerate, and so independent that it breaks my heart, them taking care of me versus me of them. But it’s a happy sort of heartbreak I suppose. You always want your kids to learn empathy and compassion- though not necessary ON you, as FROM you.
I digress. Shaykh Abdul Naser Jandga made an awesome point in the last class of his I attended, and he said this:
Think of spiritual rehabilitation like your would physical rehabilitation. It will never feel good. It will always be hard work. You can go three times a week, 8 weeks straight and still take no joy – but at some point you’ll find that you can use your body again properly.
It’s the same with your soul- going through the motions of prayer – of your spiritual rehabilitation – will hurt, and it will be hard, and you may never find any joy in it. But you find, after some time, that your heart works properly again.
He’s right, physiotherapy is painful and awful but it’s pain with a purpose that I’m totally on board with. Already my monkey-hand can do more typing – two months post-surgery- than my old left hand could do in many years, Alhamdulillah.
May Allah make it easy for everyone putting in the pain to make things work properly again. Ameen.
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AAAAAAAAMEEEEEEEEEEEEEN
Of all the conversations I’ve had with my children about prayer, the reason we don’t say “Ameen” in Batman voice has been the most unexpected so far.
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Khalid has a dream
Khalid rather causally informed me that he once a had dream that he was the illegitimate heir of both Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos.
And I’m not sure what’s funnier, the biological impossibility or Khalid’s usage of the exact phrase “illegitimate heir” in describing it. And this from a kid who wasn’t promised to talk at all. Ha! SubhanAllah
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Hey, remember when I used to blog?
It was awesome. I loved it. I could just post stuff whenever I wanted to, and it served as an emotional catharsis, a spiritual brain-sorting, and a writerly exercise all in one.
I want to restart. Not because I don’t have enough stuff that needs done, but because I am – according to HF – trying to fill an emptiness with empty things. I find that the more I do socially, especially in the capacity of volunteering my time, the more drained I feel.
And that makes perfect sense, the more you drive the car, the more gas it needs, right? But when the kids go to bed (OMG Khalid is 12 now!) and the dishwasher is loaded and running, I feel like I only have enough brain power to play (minecraft) or watch (cartoons) but not enough to think or create or produce anything of value.
I am allowed to challenge my own assumptions though. I have given myself permission. 😉
I am going to try to write instead of game or watch stuff at the end of a long day. Because you can’t fill emptiness with more empty. And consuming digital entertainment is spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally empty, even if it is lots of fun.
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Are you my daughter-in-law?
A young woman with Down’s Syndrome (who has been baking for a long ole time already) gets rejected from too many bakery jobs. So she opens her own bakery.
This video made me cry for so many reasons. I’m scared of what my son’s future will hold. I know that him being rejected over and over and over again is not a possibility, it’s a given because he has autism.
We’ve been taking the rejections for him and until now they’ve always been from schools. Who rejects a child from a KG or a Hifz program? Lots of people, apparently. It’s a given because he has autism.
A time will come when we can no longer protect him from rejection. Already he struggles with school and with friends. Soon he will struggle with employment and – this hurts my heart most – loneliness.
My son will want to get married. He’s barely 11, but he’s already told my husband and I as much. And why shouldn’t he? He’s kind, he adores babies, he’s super-intelligent, and would make an affectionate, doting husband and father. A time will come when he will work the courage up to ask some sweet young girl to spend her life with him- and he will be rejected because he has autism.
Not because he will be too mean, or too uneducated, or too poor, or too ugly, or too anything at all- even if he is financially supported and gainfully employed, and surrounded by a family and safety net that any young married couple would be grateful to have, no- he will be rejected because he has autism.
I would like to believe that somewhere out there, there is a little girl currently growing up into the woman who will be my son’s partner, protector, and friend. I want to believe that she’s the bubbly, confident, and to-hell-with-the-rest-of-yall type when it comes to what’s cool and what’s not. She can see the system well enough to buck it and marry a young man who has so much going for him even though the whole system may be against him.
Wherever you are sweetheart, may Allah introduce us soon.
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Well, that escalated quickly…
When I dropped my children off to school this morning one of their little friends, who is six and in first grade, ran out of line to ask me a question.
“Hey! Iman’s mom!”
“Yes dear?” I answered.
“Are you leaving the United States of America?”
I blinked a few times. I must’ve blinked a few more. She asked again. “Are you leaving? Like, leaving the country?”
“Not, ummm…”
“Not now you mean?” she offered helpfully, “You mean like maybe you’re leaving in a month or so?”
My brain was forced into a gear not typical for 8am on a school morning. It went from 0-60, starting at He Can’t Do That and zooming towards People Thought Hitler Couldn’t Either.
I thought about the way people stare at my eight year old when she wears her favorite hijab, the pink one with the cat ears. I thought about the cashier who reminded me that I was in America, as if I could have possibly forgotten what country I was from or currently in.
I thought about my son, whose classmates tried to call him “Kevin” because Khalid, a name with two syllables and larger-than-life social media star to front it, was “too hard” to say.
I don’t know, to be honest, where my future will be. I had been living abroad for sixteen years before this previous one, and I was happy with the expat life. I came back for the same reason that many move here for in the first place- for opportunity. I have a child with special needs whose future depends on the kind of education and treatment not currently available where I was living. All three of my children have a rare disease whose specialists are concentrated in a handful of countries, and unsurprisingly, America is one of them. I turned back to our little friend.
“No dear. We’re here.”
She grinned and ran off the join her class, mingling with the rest of the six year olds sharing pencils and fears of deportation.
For now, we’re here.
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Emotional Brickmail #seewhatIdidthere
If I threw a brick through your window could I tell you it was an amanah?
Could I tape a little note to it that says “This brick is a sacred trust and by accepting this brick into your window you are now accountable, in the sight of Allah, for delivering this brick through the window of all your friends?”
Remember, an amanah is serious business, and the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said that Allah has said:“There are three people whom I shall be their opponent on the Day of Judgment: A man who was given something in My Name and then betrays; A man who sells-off a free man (as a slave) and consumes the price; and A man who hires a labourer, makes use of his service then does not give him his wages.” -Saheeh Al Bukhari
So if I lobbed a brick through your window in the name of Allah, and you betrayed the trust of putting it through all your friends’ windows, would you be making yourself an enemy of Allah?
It seems kind of silly and yet, how often have you seen this message:
A message from our sister; *name varies* from *location*. As Salaamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatu Lahie Wa Barakaatoe . I make an oath with you people in front of Allah and I leave this as amanah with you until the day of judgement. If you opened this message and read it that you have to send it to all your contacts. I want you to make dua for me that Allah(SWT) gives me shafa (quick healing). I have stage 4 form of breast cancer and it’s spread to my bone and body now. I ask you in the name of Allah(SWT) don’t close this message before you have sent it to all your contacts because one day you will need dua and an oath (amanah) makes the mountains shake….Forward as Received..
This emotional brick gets tossed through a window on your computer and because it invokes the name of Allah himself, we say Ameen, and maybe even forward it just to be on the safe side.
Here’s the thing though- you can’t throw amanaat at people and run the other way. A person must actually MAKE a promise before they are held accountable for it in the sight of Allah.
Fear of Allah is a good thing. It keeps us honest and in case we are neglected our promises, the thought of standing exposed on Qiyama with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and the Inescapable Justice of Allah himself filling the horizon is a good thing.
It would be even better if the people who wrote these emails feared Allah too, because the implied threat in the message is that “If you ignore my prayers, Allah will ignore yours too.”
Speaking on Allah’s behalf without His permission is a grave offense.
Making threats on his behalf?
Much, much worse.
Next time someone throws this brick through your window – out of fear of Allah – kindly and gently hand it back to them. Kindly inform them that they are not held to promises they never made and oaths invoked by people they never met. Mention as well that the mercy of Allah is limitless, and no one has the right to threaten or even imply that if you don’t do what they want you to, Allah won’t do what He promised to.
“And when My servants ask you, [O Muhammad], concerning Me – indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of the supplicant when he calls upon Me. So let them respond to Me [by obedience] and believe in Me that they may be [rightly] guided.”
Surah Al Baqarah ayah 186
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Kids Ask: What’s the point of Jummah?
A few minutes before Jummah today, my son came and sat down next to me in a grumpy huff. “Momma, I just don’t understand…”
He furrowed his lil brow angrily and said, “What’s the point of Jummah!”
I told him I had the answer. But first, we needed candy…
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Mister Flamey-Cheeks, Abu Lahab
You might know the *what* of Surah Lahab/Masad, but do you know the *why*?
Who was Abu Lahab, and why did he of all people get a Surah? And what’s up with his wife?
Learn this in the most non-scholarly of all explanations, the first of what shall henceforth be known as… Tafseriously? Yeah, tafseriously!
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I Love: False Dilemmas!
If they asked you what you wanted for Christmas and you said “OMG A LOGICAL FALLACY!” then this video is for you! In which I explain why I love the False Dilemma and how people – and shaitaan too- attempt to trick you with it.
Allah’s Messenger ﷺ said: “Beware of sins which are treated as being minor, just like a people who encamp in the centre of a valley, so someone brings a stick of firewood and someone else brings a stick until they are, therefore, able to bake their bread. Likewise, sins which are treated as being minor, and for which the person is taken to account, will destroy him.”
[Ahmad]
