Happy!

I've been wanting to be back in the work force for some time. I love being a mother, but I also love being a working mother. Today marks my second month of being back to work, and not just any work. A full-time extremely fast-paced and demanding job, and I'm loving it! I wasn't sure how my kids would feel about this, but they haven't complained. The few hours we spend together after I get back from a long day at work are more fulfilling than this last year I spent at home, when I wasn't at my happiest. I notice I tend to do more when I'm working, I get so much more done and I do it all wholeheartedly. Hey, I'm actually trying to be back to blogging! That is one thing I really miss doing!

Here's to new beginnings, and to blogging!

Being a Mother in the Amman of the 21st Century

As a Ammani mother of the 21^st Century, I was very reluctant to allow my kids to go off to the  ” 7ara”.

Our streets are not as safe as they used to be when we were little, and the cozy Ammani society we grew up in is nothing but fond memories.

Memories, of all the 7ara kids playing Shor6A/7aramieh in someone’s vast garden,  of boys kicking a ball around a dead-end street, and of girls playing 6ommayeh behind huge fig and berry trees. Memories of everyone rushing towards one’s mom who just made Zait and Za3tar sandwiches for everybody, and of a little boy of 5 at the neighbor’s door asking to borrow a couple of lemons for mom to finish off that Mlo5ieh dish.

That was the Amman of the Seventies and the Eighties that I grew up in; the small town where everybody knew who’s who and where the street and the pavement were an extension of everyone’s front yard.

But today, in the new, modern, vast and crowded Amman, that I love ever so dearly, how do I allow my kids to go off to the 7ara, when I don’t even know my next door neighbors? That was not a question I took lightly, because whether I liked it or not; I knew there would come a day when my kids wouldn't accept things to stay the way they are. I saw it in their eyes, in their eager gazes as they saw other kids playing in the parking lot, or chattering away on the building stairs. I saw it in their shy smiles at other kids who smiled at them, and in their readiness to go fetch anything we forgot in the car hoping they would bump into one of the other kids their age.

I was an overprotective mother, and I knew it. I was still not ready to change.

Then it happened. One of the building boys asked my son to come and play with them, and my son was reluctant to even reply with a yes or a no. He blushed before refusing politely, and my heart sank! I knew he wanted to, but he didn't find it in his heart to ask me in front of the other boys, knowing that I would probably say no. He knew where I stood on this, and was clever enough to keep face in front of his peers.

That night, I did not sleep!

I felt I was on a crossroads in my parenting strategy. I was either going to be the overprotective mom I have been so far, in my ten years of motherhood, and raise safe, but unexposed kids, or was going to loosen up my leash, to allow my kids company and experience they so eagerly craved, while working on relaxing my fears of the other. After all, these are just kids and this is only our neighborhood, it’s not like I’m allowing them to socialize with the Big Bad wolf or sending them to run errands in the woods. Chill, I told myself, as I fought the urge to wake up my husband to discuss my worries.

My husband did not give me a straight answer on this one, but he sort of played down my fears, and told me it was bound to happen. He was not sure whether this is the right time but he knew it was only that, a matter of time.

And a matter of time it was!

As we were coming home from a shopping trip a few days later, the neighbors’ kids were gathered in the empty corner of the parking floor. You could see cheerful happy faces, boys and girls very close to my kids age, giggling, screaming and, jumping with excitement, and I knew I would want to be there with them if I were their age.  My kids were shocked when I told them they could go and join, my daughter thought I might be kidding, but when I showered her with rules on how not to play on the street and how not to go further than the pavement in front of our building and how to take care of her younger brother and how not to be late….. that’s when she knew mom had come to her senses!

It goes without saying that I kept moving between the front window of my living room, that overlooks the street, to the kitchen balcony that overlooks the parking floor, for the next two hours. But my kids came back home, rosy cheeked, excited and full of life. They had just made new friends, and how easy that is when you’re young and innocent. Ever since that day, they have become great friends, they visit each other nearly every day to play with their Play Stations, they compete as to who is “al3ab” than the other, and boast of their achievements. When the weather is right, you can count on finding the whole pack outdoors playing about, teasing each other, and just being kids.

I did not send my kids off to the “7ara”. The “7ara” called for them, and when it did, they embraced it with open arms!

The Jordanian Dream, Only Better!

 

 

 

Warning:  Long post that took around a  month to write.

 

Turning down this job offer was not an easy thing to do.

 

In my husband's words, this offer was THE ultimate Jordanian dream; only better!

A government job, with pay from an international organization.

 

"Think about it," He said jokingly. "Isn't it every jordanian's dream? The stability of a government job, where no one can termintae your employment, where you can leave work on impulse, and get to be called 3otooftek?"

 

3otoofti did consider it very well indeed. It was a good job afterall. Very Interesting project, not your typical monochromatic government job, a really good salary, and short working hours. This could have been the perfect deal for me, BUT. I'd only started my new job exactly a week earlier. In one week, I had a sense of belonging to this new company, and I thought it would be a better atmosphere for me to work in. It was certainly more demanding than the government one, with longer hours, and a little less salary to start with, but very promising prospects for career and financial developments. I loved all the challenges that this job offered me, especially after the last two years I spent at my old job, which were too...mundane, to say the least. But, I hated working till five in the evening!

During this week, I felt I hardly saw my kids, and while I sympathize with all full time working mothers, I'm just not used to this. I have been working part time for the last eight years, and the increase in working hours was just too much to handle. Government offices work till three and everyone was telling me what a normal thing it is to take daily leaves whenever I needed, the government job paid me more, for the time being, and the project was quite interesting, so why wouldn't I accept? I thought about this for days. I did not sleep for two days in a row. I wanted the job I was in, with the working hours that the other one offered. This current job is in a new field to me; Project Management, I was already enjoying the work, and liked the people in the office, and felt that I fit in with the crowd much sooner than I expected, the pay will probably increase soon, and I felt appreciated, but most importantly, I now know what working here is all about, while the government job's atmosphere was too vague for me.

 

And I'm a person who hates change.

 

I hate change so much, that I spent 12 years in the same place. I'd been comfortable, work was convenient, and I had every reason to be content. Then came a time where I felt it's getting a bit too boring. I realized the later I stay, the harder it would get for me to quit. I toyed with the thought for a few months, and waited for the right moment to do it. The straw that cut the camels back did not take long to come, and I quit. It was much easier than I thought. My decision was well thought and happened at the right time, I did not feel the slightest bit of remorse.

 

Since then, my professional life has taken quite a few roller coaster rides and has cost me a lot of sleepless nights, over decisions that I could not make, none of which to compare with this huge dilemma that I found myself in last month.

 

Do I leave, do I stay? Do I choose a good job that offered me convenience, or a good job that offered me challenge? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, people would love to be in my shoes, with two good things to choose from, but I was really confused. It was no fun not knowing where I would be soon. Not having a schedule, not having a target, being restless, it was nerve wrecking, but my mind was set at last. I can not afford spending two extra hours away from the kids. It was too much for the whole family to deal with us and I decided: "Hello to the world of being a government employee!"

 

My husband thought it terribly amusing. Of all the people around me, Samer knows EXCATLY how I feel, and when I am weighing things in my mind, and give him a brief opinion, he knows how I reached this point, how my mind worked, and what sort of factors brought me to this decision. So he felt my confusion, and promised to be supportive in any decision I make. But he still found it amusing. 3otooftek was my new code name! He offered to buy me Cigars for those long field trips behind the driver in these big government cars. He teased me about the famous jordnaian angry-face (kashara), he wanted to know if it will be reserved for working hours or will it be my new trait!

 

Then came the day where I had to break the news to my new employers, that after one week of work, I was quitting. That was not funny. How do I do this? Yes, there was a three-month grace period, and yes it was only normal to leave during this time, but I felt so awkward doing that, when there was nothing I did not like about this place. Things started easing off the moment I spoke. The two people I had to talk with were extremely nice, which really helped me to think clearly. They understood why anyone in his right mind would go to that new job, and were truly genuine. Most importantly, they made me an offer of shorter work hours, and that did it for me. I immediately knew I wanted to stay. Shorter hours would make my life much easier. I did not negotiate the pay, since it really did not matter as much. Private sector salaries increase substantially more than government sector,at least I doubt they will do like the government person who made me the other offer, when he said: "Oh, you will have an annual increase of 20", and I was like: "That's good, 20% is good!" and he's like: " 20 jds!"

 

And so I stayed! It's been tiring and demanding, but also challenging and rewarding. I hope it stays like this, but if it doesn't; yeah well, it will only take me twelve more years to make up my mind and quit again!

June 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

On The Eloquence of Amin Maalouf

 

I'm reading Amin Maalouf's Ports Of Call, and while his books always prove to be a pleasure, this one seems to be even more captivating. If not for the great story and events,the personalized history telling and the depth of characters, which are common traits in all his books, then it's for the artistic way in which he uses his words, the way he expresses himself, and how touching his writings can be. I keep coming back to these couple of lines, in which he represents ever so eloquently, how a typical Arabian father figure, is looked at differently, according to whether you're a boy or a girl:

 

 

'It was as if for her, my father was a roof; for me, a ceiling. The same words, the same tone of voice that reassured her and gave her confidence, unsettled me and made me gasp for air"

 

Absolutely Brilliant!

April 2008

Never Again

Twenty minutes through my day, I'd already decided. I don't want to be home alone with my son: Never, Ever, Again!

It’s Saturday, and that's his day off from Nursery School. I'd just quit my job like three weeks ago, but haven't been staying home much since then. Apparently, this is my first Saturday at home, alone, with my four year old master. I'd made up my mind, that like last Sunday, when I finished all my chores early, and enjoyed the rest of my day with Raya, this Saturday would be Zaid's treat. We'd play and paint and watch TV, and not once will I ask for a break from Dexter, I will enjoy it when he cries at his sister " You Know what, you are stuuuuupid, and you know what, you are stuuuuupid" just as much as my kids do, and instead of lecturing what a bad thing to say to one's sister, I will admit to the humor in that and actually laugh! I will bring out the long-lost (or so they think) messy arts box, with the glue and the glitter, the water colours and the Guache Paint, and everything's gonna be ok -Just as long as we spread those disposable nylon sheets all over the place. I was geared up for a lovely morning, where I bond, with my only son, who is loads of fun, with his wit and big mouth and funny gestures..I promise you all, this was my plan, and it was aborted right away!

It was quite the scene, seeing Raya off at the door, with demands that she stays to share his fun. Needless to say, he hates her Sundays off just as much as the rest of us do, but Cbeebies was on, and Balamory saved the day once again. I left him to watch some of that while I started out in the kitchen. I was filling up the dishwasher when he sneaked up behind me and wanted to do it himself. His fingers hardly missed the sharp knife sticking its pointed tip out of the cutlery box, but he still insisted this was a job for him to do.

He had to remove the soap block I just put in the dishwasher, because he insisted the powdery one was better.. of course it is; since it gives him another job, to add rinse in the next container. .With an “Allah yjeebek ya tolet el ro7!” I had to succumb.

There were a few big items that did not fit in the dishwasher, and as soon as I stood in front of the sink, I found him, on a chair standing between me and the tap..it was either me  or him on that sink, and obviously..it was him. I left him to mess around with the water for a few minutes while I started on my lassagne..of course he was there to peel the onions, and he was there to grate the cheese, he was there to layer the lassagne sheets and he was there to spread the white sauce. Now I did not mind any of that as long he stayed away from the stove, and that he did. I assumed, that while I was cooking by the stove, he was happily playing with his Leap Frog magnets on the fridge since the only thing resonating through my ears was :”B says beh, B says beh, every letter makes a sound and B says beh!” I was even singing along, enjoying the fact that at last, the kid found something to distract him. The cooking was done, and it was time for a load of laundry. Zaid runs down and fetches the soap box from under the sink, opens the washing machine drawer and fills it with the right amount of soap. My son would make an ideal husband, I tell you..he is very helpful around the house, with the things he is NOT asked to do. So before I turn the dial to the required cycle, I realize the soap drawer is not closing very well. This is new I thought, how come? Not that it’s a big deal or anything, but I sort of smelled something fishy. After some inspection of the drawer and its compartment, I was able to fish out a nicely decorated pink Barbie room drawer, right at the tip of  that pipe behind the compartment. It MUST have been me who stuffed it in there because Zaid was terribly offended when I accused him, and denied it ever so innocently. So as long as that was out of the way, I started my washing cycle and left the kitchen. 

15 minutes later, Zaid was already demanding a snack. He’d had his breakfast earlier, but this boy is a nibbler, he has to be munching on something all day long. Luckily he likes vegetables and a snack of sliced peppers is more than welcome. Back to the kitchen, to find it flooded with soapy foamy water. It wasn’t that difficult to decide where the water was coming from, since the washing machine was throwing its guts out, from under the soap drawer and the timer knobs. OH MY GOD! My washing machine..my trusted washing machine that has never failed me in its seven years of service. Zaid stays at home ONE Saturday, and manages to ruin it. Being the disbeliever that I am, I had to check again that this was not really a disaster, probably a one time thing, that I really don’t want to know why and how it happened, so again, I rewind the cycle, and the machine starts filling up the water nicely. No signs of disaster…khalas! I can wipe that ugly image out of my mind. It’s like it never happened. I spent a few more minutes draining all that water from the floor, and watching the machine, begging it not to break down on me, not in the same month when we have to pay two huge payments for the current schools, and a third for Zaid’s new school. But my trusted washing machine seemed to be doing well and did not mind me taking Zaido’s snack and enjoying it with him over a game of  -dinosaurs go extinct- Again.

Blogging keeps me sane, I realized, a few minutes later.

The illusion of safety did not last long..soon, the kitchen was vibrating with loud thumping sounds, I went there to find my trusted –but now crazy-washing machine in the middle of the kitchen, with streams of water running down its front, heading towards the kitchen table, with steady steps like it was coming to get it.

I put it off, left it there, repeated my vows from a few hours ago, never to be home alone with Zaid ever again, and typed away! AH, THE RELIEF!

March 2008

18

I was asked to list 6 things one should do before turning 18. 

It took me forever to think of six, but here goes. 18 is basically end of school years, and I think very fondly of this time of my life. I think school years help shape up one’s personality more than we expect. Later on in life, one tends to change, to adapt to life around him, but as time goes by, you feel that you are rediscovering your true self. And to me, my true self is very similar to what made up that little girl, sitting on the church steps in her school, exchanging life experiences with a bunch of her girlfriends over zait w za3tar sandwiches.

So what ARE the six things I believe every person SHOULD do before turning 18?

-         Find your best friend;

School best friends ARE the best. No matter how far or how close you are, no matter how often or how rarely you communicate, and even after years of separation, you KNOW, you can just take your phone and call her , spill your heart out and she WILL understand!!

-         Learn a second language;

Not only because it’s much easier to learn when you’re younger, but also because you get exposed to a whole different culture at a very early age.

-         Climb a tree and stay there;

Spend an hour, think, meditate, ponder upon life. Forget about your spring allergies and your puffy eyes, once you’re older it won’t be that easy to find a tree that welcomes you..in fact it would be cruel to the trees!

-         Discipline yourself to sit down and read through a whole book;

While this seems to be taken for granted by some, reading does not come naturally to all, and as you grow older, you only get busier so if you’re not into reading at an early age, chances are you never will be.

-         Learn about Compassion;

Feel for others and help them. Give some of your time, effort and money to helping others and learn that it could feel just as good as receiving.

 -         Stand up for yourself;

And for others who you think are right and need your support. Learn to speak up your mind. Adopt a cause, even if it was pushing the math test till Monday, rally for support, and get things done your way. Be strong and in control.

There, this concludes my wisdom of the day.

February 2008

Local Media Misses the Point, Again!

When more than 20 people are lost in a horrific road accident;

When tens of families are grieving their own losses of deaths and permanent injuries;

When parents are trying to sniff deceased childrens' bodies to find their own kids' leftovers, because the bodies are totally deformed;

When other children are lying in the arms of total strangers, till they find out if their own parents made it or not;

When there are real faces behind the names;

When there are real lives behind the numbers;

Innocent people who were killed in a flash;

Leaving behind grief and sorrow;

You want your media to focus on the things that matter.

You want to know how the accident happened.

Why it happened.

How it could have been prevented.

How to make sure it doesn't happen again.

You want to meet the families and share their pain.

You want to know who X was and what kind of life he was living.

You want to hear about what  his hope and his dreams were.

You want to relate to his loved ones' loss.

You DO NOT want to hear about the great job that the Civil Defence people did.

You do not want  to hear about the great equipment they just added to their fleet that came in really handy in this situation.

Because if you just lost a loved one, you cant see how great their performance was.

I agree that 'Nashama al wa6an' did do a great job, and credit is well due.

But think of the families in grief.

Don't they deserve to see that something is being done to honor their losses.

Something is done to provide them and their country with a decent way to bid their loved ones farewell.

It's good to appreciate the efforts put in at the moment ,but Jordan Television and Radio Fann are missing the point. Instead of dedicating their time to praise of authorities,they should be allowing all of Jordan to grieve together over this horrible accident, for hope that we learn to be more careful, more attentive and more responsible.

With more than twenty deaths to mourn, I say the pat on the shoulder CAN wait.


January 2008

Waking Up to a Foggy Amman

There's something romantic about fog.

 Not sure what it is but keeps you wanting to be cuddled up with a warm cup of cocoa and a really thick blanket that you share with the ones you love,even if it wasn't that cold. It makes you want to bake, tasty fulfilling stuff that fill the house with the aromas of cinnamon, apples and brown sugar, regardless of all the guilt that comes with over consumption of that nasty white flour. It makes you want to rot in your flannel Pjs in front of the TV with reruns of old comedy shows that you know by heart, for some laughs and a lot of familiarity. Fog makes you want to do a lot of things..not one of them is coming to a lifeless job real early on a Saturday morning.

This coming from a person who detests winter, I must be REALLY fed up with my work.

January 2008

Domestic Struggle for Power

In a fierce struggle for power, I sat there at the edge of Zaido's bed waiting for him to fall asleep. 

He kept nagging he wanted to go sleep in our bed, and there was no way I was going to let that happen. I haven't had any real sleep in three days, because a mom makes one mistake, and it's fatal. You let your kid share your bed once, and that is it! The precedent is done, and it's a legal right for him ever since to creep next to you, hog your pillow, and push you in the waist over and over again, like he was in a tomato squashing fiesta. So I waited and waited, for his eyes to close so I can sneak back to my room, but like a lion pretending not to care, while waiting on his prey to make a wrong move, he slept with his eyes half shut..I admired his long lashes and  wide eyes, with sleepy eyes myself..it was after all three in the morning, and I'd hardly got any sleep yet. I was doing the impossible to prevent myself from resting my head on his bed, because I would certainly fall asleep, and he would have won. It was his plan B, as a way of compromise, if I did not let plan A go through, to have me sleep next to him..but again, this was a power struggle and I was not about to surrender..not just yet. Problem is, in this struggle, he did have the upper hand. He was lying in his bed, on his pillow, snuggled up with his favorite blankie..not like me sitting on the edge, half sleeping in an upright position on the edge of his bed, swinging back and forth , to the right and to the left, worried about the alarm that will go off in less than 3 hours, while I hadn't actually slept yet. But the thing he was extorting me with the most, was the fact that he'd just fell, and said I should only stay with him till the wawa was gone. Now whenever he sensed an unwanted movement on my side, he'd go: "Ay, ay, aaaay!" and touch the side of his head which he'd hit while falling..not like he doesn't fall around 12 times a day! then he goes back to sleep, and the next time I'd move the Ay ay would get louder and stronger. Maybe I was there for around an hour when I thought its's safe now..I'd better make my exit! I resisted the urge to kiss him and pull back his blankie to cover his shoulders, and just left as quietly as possible.

 I rested my head on my pillow and was about to declare victory when I felt his hand pushing my back to make room for himself..it did not take him a minute..not even 30 seconds..and I got up and went crazy."that's it "I said.."you're going back to you room.!"

"But I'm in pain!! and my bed's not that soft, and my blankie is cold, and my room is noisy!!"

"NO! back to your bed!!",and he just made himself comfortable, pulled up the duvet, and dug his feet in baba's back! 

I threatened to never talk to him again, since this seems to be the only thing that works nowadays, but he did not care.

So I left to his room, sat on his bed and waited for him to get some sense, and he did not..well not on his own at least, but when baba's had it with the pushing and screamed, he came back to mama..

"6ayyeb, I will sleep..but you have to stay here.."

"NO"

"6ab get me some water"

"get me some water shoo?"

"get me some water, please!"

"ok..just a little and you go to sleep!"

So I bring the water, and he's like: " Put it there, I don't want any right now!!!"

A three year old tyran!! mashi ya sidi..at least he seems to have given up, and I win.

Or do I?

In my bed, and about to sleep..

"Mama, soat el 3ammo kteer 3ali" el 3ammo is the moathen calling for prayer. The new mosque which was only opened beginning of Ramadan is so loud, no where else it's this loud..I'd think the speakers were on my bed side table..so we wait till 3ammo finishes and go back to bed.

Before my alarm rings at 5.45..Zaido calls me: "Mama , khalasty noam? Are you done sleeping?"

Am I done sleeping..did I sleep yet, you mean? I decide to keep it to myself..it's just not worth it..lets start a new day, and hope for better luck tonight!

September 2007

 

Old and Senile

The kids and I decided to walk to the City Mall. It's pretty close but the area is full of construction sites and new buildings, so there are hardly any pavements for most of our way.

While I was holding both their hands and heading there, trying to find the shortest path to follow, my daughter was trying to pull my hand and guide us towards the paths where there are pavements, and where she does not have to step on the asphalt or near those prickly thorns growing on the sides of roads.

First it was cute , but after a couple of minutes where we ended up going upwards instead of downwards, and where the five minute walk was going to turn into a half hour walk (which I don't mind, had it not been for the nagging three-year-old-son-of-mine), I started pulling them back to routes of my choice, when Raya asked why I won't let her guide the way.

I found myself saying something like: Well, you know what mommy? I would like it if you kept the decision making for me for some time. Ok? Since I'm the mother?

Raya:  Some time, like how long?
Me:     Like till I'm really old and senile and need someone to do all the decision making for me.

So, my daughter, who usually sees the irony in what I say immediately, and who would respond at once with a sharper answer, was silent for a few minutes.

Raya:   Then, would it be Zaido's turn after that?
Me:      Zaido's turn in what?
Raya:   In Decision making, will he be next in line, after me?
Me:     You really like this idea, of me being old and senile, and you deciding things for me,don't you?
Raya:   Can't wait!

September 2007

If Only it Was !

Today would have been my parents' 42nd wedding anniversary. 

Tomorrow, would have been my inlaws' 37th.

We would have spent the last two weeks looking around for special presents for both our parents.

We would have found it really easy to get our moms something nice, but would have been puzzled by the men's presents.

We would have considered all the options, and gone around from shop to shop, looking for something unique that they will like.

We would have ended up buying a bottle of Paco Rabanne and a silver decanter.

We would have gone and celebrated at my parents, with all the family.

My parents would have told us, why did you get the presents;

we are not kids to expect presents, but they would have been pleased by them anyway.

My dad would pretend he did not know what his present was.

He would pretend he's surprised it's a Paco.

He would be very pleased with it nevertheless.

He would never change that perfume, no matter how much we tried.

We would have sat on the terrace, and had dinner there.

There would have been a lovely August breeze.

The amazing scent of the colonia tree that my dad planted everywhere would be filling the
air as the breeze got stronger.

The kids would have been running in and out of the house, leaving the door open for the
mosquitoes to get in.

Me or one of my sisters would have scorned the kids.

One of them would have broken in tears.

Jiddo would have called him/her over and sat him on his knees.

Jiddo would have kissed him and pampered him.

Jiddo would have scolded us for being rough with the children.

We would have joked about how when WE were growing up our parents weren't as soft on us as they are on the grandchildren.

We would have  sat there all night, hearing  dad's stories.

He would have  told the story of how he lied to mom when they were first married and told her he loved mlookhieh because she did, when he actually could not tolerate it.

He would have let all the kids dip a finger in his scotch.

He would have laughed when one of the little ones came back for more,

or tried to dip his whole fist in jiddo's glass.

It would have been an awesome night.

We would have gone the next day to my inlaws.

There would be cake.

Jiddo would let the kids blow the candles and cut the cake.

I would have scolded the kids for picking the strawberries off the cake.

Ammo would have told me my rules don't apply in his place.

Jiddo would have carried Zaid around holding Raya's hand.

Jiddo would have given Zaid a ride on his back.

Maybe played a bit of accordion for Raya.

This jiddo would have also given them his glass for a quick finger dip.

He would have been very pleased by the new addition to his growing decanter collection.

He would have insisted they were not kids, either.

He would have asked us how our celebration at my parents went.

We would have sat there all night hearing ammo's stories.

He would have told us the story about his mom locking his dad up in the room while he was sleeping.

We would have laughed at it so much like it was the first time we heard it.

It would have been an awesome night.

But it's not!

August 2007

Alexander

I just had a meeting with a delegation from a Russian-speaking nation.

Translator,speaking in arabic :  
Hello, my name is Alexander and I am the translator.

Me:                                          
My name is Salam and I am the architect.

Translator:                              
This is Alexander, from the Cultural Department...
and this is  Alexander from the Ministry of Culture...
and Alexander from the Financial Department!

Me:                                           
Hello, Nice to meet you..( Alexander)!

Alexander from Cultural Department,in russian, followed by Alexander the translator: 
These are the things we need in the building ,these are the  approximate areas for each function, we want to do so and so,we want to build so and so...bla,bla,bla..end of meeting.                                                     

Translator, ( shouting out to man in street): 
Alexander!!something something something! (in Russian), and Alexander, the driver brings the car to the door!

August 2007

Too Heavy For My Heels

Picture this:  It's really dark, almost ten o'clock. You're going down the steps, leaving from a Circus show at the auditorium in King Hussain Park, holding your daughter's hand, trying to make an early departure. Kids are cold and tired, your son is actually sleeping in your husband's arms, and you decide it would be wiser to leave before the stampede begins. You're feeling your way around, being extra careful not to step on anyone, when you feel something under your foot, and fear to have crushed someone's hand bag. You pull yourself away, only to realize that this thing is moving with your foot, and it's nothing other than the platform of your 12 cm heel hanging by a thin line to the rest of the heel, and bending under your shoe. You did not know you were coming here, so did not wear practical shoes, and did not get jackets for kids. Your car is parked really really far away, people are walking around you in huge packs, and you can't even let go of your daughter's hand to try and fix things because you will certainly lose sight of her..there is no way you are walking barefoot, and also no way you limp your way to the car with that heavy chunk bending under your foot, so what do you do.....sticky one, no?

I was furious, but can't say surprised, because, well, I'm no stranger to shoe-catastrophe;

Flash Back to May 2007:

We're in Frankfurt Airport, waiting for our connection to Madrid. It's around 6 a.m, and between last minute packing and my permanent unease during flights, I haven't slept a wink. We were dragging ourselves around,fighting drowsiness and fatigue, when we came across these moving conveyor belts: Ya3ni, it's all so simple, why walk when you could be carried around? As soon as my foot touched the belt, it started moving, BACKWARDS..I stepped on the wrong one!!
Last May was a cold month, and I was still wearing boots then..9cm-heel boots to be specific! As expected, my heel got stuck in the conveyor belt edge and broke, in a split second. No big deal, I thought to myself, they WERE newish boots, but I wasn't going to destroy a long-awaited vacation lamenting over broken heels, I 'll just lean on my husband's shoulder and limp my way around the airport till I find a place to buy a new pair. Now, try walking on a 9cm heel in one foot, and a flat shoe with four nails sticking out of it in the other!  With every step I took, the nails stabbed a bit too deeper in my heel, but that's OK, I thought,I should be able to buy something in no time.

But shops are closed, and won't open till seven. And I had to find myself something soon because it was pretty tiring walking around, just trying to find a place to sit. I did not need anything fancy..This time, I had quite a bit of shoes in my bag, I just needed something to get me to Madrid, and it's not like I was going there on foot..A pair of hotel slippers could have been useful for me at this time, and yet, there was nothing around to help me. The only place that was open was the pharmacy, and we even tried there hoping to find a pair of Dr. Scholl's slippers or something, but they had none. My foot was getting swollen from all that pressure, so we sat down at the first restaurant and had a nice German breakfast that did compensate to my dismay. Finally, it was seven o'clock..but need I remind you we were in Frankfurt Airport..and what do you find in Frankfurt airport, being one of the world's richest cities? Escada, Boss, Bally? You name it, but certainly nothing you could buy just to make do!! Nothing bugged more than that pair of  black Bally ballerina flats that cost 350 euros, while being an exact copy of the flats I took off right before leaving to the airport when I decided I looked better in boots, and that I 'd bought in Amman for less than 20 euros. ..I decided if  I'm buying something from there, it had better be something that I will be wearing time and again, and not just for a two-hour flight. And it's then that I started getting picky..My husband was urging me to buy the first shoe that fit, and the problem is that my feet were already too swollen, and nothing would fit properly..I also found it absurd to be spending over 250 euros when I really did not need a new pair of shoes. In any other situation, I would be ecstatic to over indulge myself, but this was a necessity, and somehow did not have this thrill to it. After going around all the shops in the terminal, the wisest choice I was left with was either a pair of Marco Polo sandals, or a pair of Nike trainers for around 100 euros, but I am really not that sort of girl..they would be lying in my closet for ever!! Well, eventually , and not a minute too soon, a shop just opened that had a small selection of shoes, but one of them was a cute pair of bronze sandals that I could certainly make use of, and that were a bit more affordable than the rest..It's true my feet were flowing over the sides during that flight, but as soon as they went back to their normal size, the sandals fit perfectly, and that was a happy ending for my shoe catastrophe.

Another Flash Back to November 2005:

Rushing out of a nine o'clock meeting, and running down the stairs to get to my car and catch my eleven o'clock meeting , my foot sinks in the floor, and I assume I just stepped into a hole or something, only to realize that it's my heel. What do I do? I hate being late for meetings, but this one I had to be extra punctual, because we were designing a building for an ex- prime minister and I really did not want to look stupid coming in late to this meeting, but did I have a choice? My boss had arranged for the meeting, but wasn't going to come along, and I had no number to call and inform them that I would be late. What did I do? I had to take my chances, and stop at the first shoe shop, buy the first black shoe that seemed to match, ignore how loose it felt around the toes, and just rush to the meeting. Luckily enough, ex-prime ministers obviously don't really care about being punctual in their meetings with me as much as I do!! and His Excellency did not show up to his office till half an hour later. He did, however, call his secretary and ask her to inform me he was running late...I have never been this tolerant to being left to wait before.

So, what is it with me and shoes? I am really not sure..am I too heavy for my heels? I might be, but I don't think I'm ready to give up the high heel glory..not just yet!

Oh! And if you're wondering how I managed in the park? I just had my hair up in a pony tail, so I used the hair band to hold the platform in place for a while..a few steps along the way, I had to borrow my daughter's hairband too..but I made it eventually!


July 2007

In Sickness and In Health

 

         

 

My favorite definition of love, came from the priest who taught us Religion in school.

Aboona Bitar explained, in his quiet soft voice, how true love is that which endures the test of time, with its hardships and happiness, its pains and its comforts. He talked to young teenage girls, at the exact time of their lives when they needed such knowledge, about the test that could determine the strength of one's feelings. As he preached that love is not about the way one looks, or dresses, or talks or behaves, it is not about the amount of money one owns or one's social status, he gave us the guidelines to test one's love to the other, and how to determine whether these feelings one has are enough to take a person all the way to the alter. Aboona Bitar said: " If you have feelings towards a certain person, and are considering him as a potential spouse, ask yourself, how you will feel in years from now. After this person is old and not so handsome, will you like him just as much? Suppose this person loses all his belongings, will you still want to be with him? Suppose this person is in a car accident and gets crippled, will you still want to be the one who lovingly pushes him around in his wheelchair, talk to him and tolerate his mood swings? "

 

I can never forget these words, because at that time, being a teenager, with no worries or responsibilities, I thought of this as a burden. And bearing burdens on one's shoulders is not an easy decision to make, from that moment on, I knew that unless I am ready to do all necessary sacrifices to someone, then I would never have him as a husband. It was, of course, just as important to me to know that I can never take someone as a husband, if I did not feel that he is inclined to do the same for me.

 

Love involves a lot of sacrifices, but it does not flourish if sacrifices were-one sided.

Love involves a lot patience, hard work  dedication, sympathy, respect, tolerance, understanding and trust. And when all these qualities are found in a relationship, then it qualifies as good marriage material.

 

My husband and I were talking about this yesterday, and he gave me the perfect reason one should get married. He said, "It's all about good companionship", and he couldn't be more precise. There is nothing like growing old together, taking care of each other, talking, laughing, sharing experiences, sticking together as everyone else walks by. Even one's children, they get to a point where they move on, but a couple moves on, together.

Every time I see an old couple I feel a little envious, that my parents and my in-laws were deprived of such cosy, comforting relationships  so early, with my father and father-in-law both passing away last year, but I never forget to secretly  wish the couple I see many more years to come, Allah yekhaleehom la ba3ad, is the first phrase  that  comes to my mind. It sure is a blessing!

 

One of the things that delight me the most, as my  husband and I celebrate our eighth wedding anniversary next week, how we don't feel it's been this long! Every time we talk about this, I feel ecstatic that he too feels the same way. Eight years already and it really doesn't feel that long, I guess time does fly when you're having fun, and it's been a blast!!

 

Thanks Honey and Happy Anniversary!

July 2007

Turning Heads

What was the one sentence that turned me from just-another-vegetable-buying-customer, to a focal point for all the ladies at the green grocer's?

What were the five words, I ever so daringly pronounced,  that sentenced me to looks of despise and superiority, to up and down stares of disapproval ?

What was the question that made three female heads move in steady synchronized motions, away from the piles of fruits and vegetables they were filling bags from, to shameful old me?

I dared to ask :" Do you have PEELED garlic? "

Ah! The horror, the dismay, the disappointment in today's generation of lazy housewives, the fear their sons might end up with someone like me, who did not even peel her own garlic, the pride that their daughters are well trained,that they would never do such an atrocity, you could see all that in three pairs of scornful contemptuous eyes!!

"Well, Ladies!" I should have said: "YES, I do use peeled garlic, I hate the smell of garlic and can never get it out of my fingers if I peel it myself, I see no shame in buying it peeled and packed in small packages for my convenience, and I dont like it to compete with my perfume. Dear Ladies, especially you, whose make up took longer to wear than my mlookhieh took to cook, I buy my garlic peeled and am not ashamed of it. You are all actually welcome to snoop through my kitchen cabinets, except I am worried you girls might get a stroke or something: 

-For my tomatoe sauces, I use canned peeled and diced tomatoes.

-For white beans(fasoolia) I use canned ones instead of having to soak dried ones overnight, and they taste just as good.

-I occasionally use five minute pudding mixes for instant sweets for kids.

-Cake mixes are not uncommon in my kitchen, neither are ready frostings.

-For quiches and pies, I often use frozen doughs.

-For pizza, I often buy the dough from the bakery.

-I get my meats, chicken and fish fully cleaned and cut in the desired form for every meal.

-There's always a box or two of frozen Nabil Products for fast meals.

-I buy frozen fries and bake them in the oven instead of wasting an  hour peeling and frying.

-Macaroni and cheese is not a favorite of mine, but as long as kids like it, then with a side of vegetables, it qualifies as a meal each now and then.

-Shushbarak..one food I can never make myself. The Jordanian Women's Union make excellent ones, just boil the yoghurt, and Presto!

So ladies, you can look down on me all you want, but if you have this much time to balance the seven colors of the rainbow on your eyelids, ever-so-symmetrically, then you might as well peel your own garlic! I for one, don't!

( Same looks as I ask the guy not to put the sealed garlic bag inside the apricaot bag), well, Forgive me People, for I have sinned!

June 2007

The Ultimate Compliment. NOT.

   

 

 

 

 

When someone has dinner at your place and says: " Wow, that was super delicious!!

No wonder you guys gain so much weight!"

May 2007

 

 

 

 

 

 

في ذكرى مرور عام على رحيل بابا الحبيب

في القلب حزن لا ينضب و في العين دمع لا يجف

عام مضى بلمح البصر،و ما زال الواقع يختلط بالخيال...

اكان حلما أم أضغاث أحلام؟ ذلك اليوم الأليم

تلك الساعة الكئيبة التي تركت اثارها في قلوبنا الى الأبد

تلك اللحظة المفاجئة التي لم تفسح لنا المجال لنقول الوداع.

رحلت يا بابا ...و لم نزل حتى اللحظة عاجزين عن التصديق..

ما زلت يا بابا أمام ناظرينا على مدى الأيام.

نبحث في أعين بعضنا البعض عن نظرة تشبه نظرات عينيك الجميلتين

يبحث كل منا في وجوه الاخرين عن ملامح تشبه ملامحك الطيبة الحنونة،

فنجدك في المحبة العارمة التي غرستها قي قلوبنا

و في المبادىء الراسخة التي عودتنا عليها

لا نرثو غيابك عنا لأنك ما زلت حاضرا بيننا،

لكننا نشتاق الى قبلة و عناق أخيرين ،حرمنا منها جميعا.

لقد كنت يا جورج زوجا مثاليا،و كنت يا أبا يوسف أبا مثاليا،

و ابنا مثاليا، و أخا مثاليا و صديقا مثاليا.

كنت لنا الدنيا و رحلت تاركا فراغا لا يملأ و حنينا لا يطفأ

ليرحمك الله بواسع رحمته،و الى لقاء.

May 2007

I've Realized

 -Shawerma sandwiches are way better than plates (arabi style)..the meat soaks up the dressing and the bread isn't dry.

 -There's a clear connection between spring and testosterone;  as soon as the weather warms up, no girl can cross the street without a whistle, a flying kiss, a nasty remark, or all of  the above.

- I'd rather have my children watch western music videos on TV than Arabic ones..they're much more modest.....but in the car,  I'd rather have them listen to Arabic lyrics than English ones...especially rap.

-If  you say something nasty about someone in front of your children, they are BOUND to repeat it in front of the wrong people...and no matter how you try to polish it..it will still sound bad!

-It's much easier for you to pluck your eyebrows in a car going at 120 km an hour than at 60 kms/hour provided you're not driving...if you are ,odds are you might lose more than a couple of hairs...an eye, perhaps?

 -No matter how warm the week before Palm Sunday is, that specific day day will be cold and windy.

w bass!

March 2007

45 Minutes Later

 

I don't know whether I should be pleased or upset . I waited outside the English teacher's classroom for 45 minutes for my turn to see her in the Parent/Teacher meeting. Parents were taking so long inside. It was my turn at last, she saw me at the door and said: "Um Raya, what are you doing here? You shouldn't have come in the first place, I have nothing to tell you!" If only she saw me earlier..Yeah, I guess I'm pleased after all:)

March 2007

Meanwhile, in the House of X

Y had just finished cleansing her face, she used her daily toner and was gently rubbing her moisturizer over her face and neck. She was getting ready to reapply her make up even before deciding what she was doing for the night. Gazing at herself in the mirror she realized that her eye brows were not exactly symmetrical and she got very self conscious about it. She decided she would go heavy on her make up tonight so they won't be that noticeable till the next day when she can have them reshaped.

Meanwhile, in the house of X, X had just finished bathing the kids and put them to bed. She headed to the shower, tripped on a few cars and tiny doll furniture on the way, only to realize there was no more hot water left. She grabbed her moisturizer and used it to cleanse her eyes and face, the stinging in her eyes never stopped her from doing that night after night. She washed her face and wondered whose bottom did she dry with that towel before using it on her face! She went back to the living room, there was a nice lively song on TV, something that did not talk about the importance of vegetables in one's diet nor stressed the importance of saying please and thank you, so she stepped on the treadmill, "since I didn't take my shower yet," she thought "I might as well enjoy some me time.." She started out really slow, planning to gradually pick up the speed, hoping to do at least thirty minutes of exercise. Her husband was out for dinner with someone so she had enough time. Checking out the room around her she noticed the laundry basket which has been lying there since noon. She contemplated folding the laundry while doing her walk, "naah!" she concluded, "won't work". Just as she was getting
into the mood and beginning to feel the heat, her mobile rang. "Damn!! I swear I should never let this thing leave my pocket…" She stopped the machine and got the phone. It was Y, wondering if she's free for the evening. ."What is she thinking, this girl!! Surely she knows by now I can't just go out impromptu like this.." And then it hit her that maybe she was supposed to invite her over. She called Y again. Y did not need much convincing, and X was embarrassed that she did not ask her to come first time she called.

X and Y have been best friends for years, but the friendship has not been at its best ever since X got married. It's always the case, they both knew. When someone starts a family, it must take something out of the previous status. The single one doesn't feel comfortable being around the love birds all the time, the couple mingle with other couples which makes it hard for the odd one out to fit, they both knew it's inevitable and both still valued their friendship greatly, but that's the way it was.

X knew Y can never make it till at least one hour, but it was useless going back to her treadmill. There was no way she would let Y see her in such a mess. She tidied the room up as much as she could, took some pastries out of the freezer to have something to feed her extra skinny friend. She took a super short shower and pulled her hair up in a pony tail, she did not forget to try and dress up her skin with a few layers of stuff that she thought might be invisible, all in the attempt of faking a naturally beautiful and relaxed look. As she smoothed foundation around her eyes, she remembered Y's tip of always doing that upwards in an attempt to delay wrinkles. She took one last glance and liked what she saw, she wished there was some sort of concealer for all those extra kilos that she liked to attribute to child birth.. though they're not. X was trying hard,she knew that very well.. she had to, she could not live with the emotional pressure that Y would put her under if she found her in a petty shape. It has been the case time and over again, Y would go on and on about her work and friends, how busy her life was and how she can not imagine being stuck at home with kids all day. If it was a once or twice declaration, X might not have minded that much, but being a constant statement, every time they met, started getting to her. The way Y sympathized every time she found X busy doing her daily routine, the way she declared how she was not born for that sort of thing, like whoever does it is some sort
of underachiever, and the boredom she showed whenever she had to spend time with X and her kids were just too much.

X put up a great act given the short time she was granted, she nicely camouflaged the fact that –up to the last hour-her house was just a war zone, and that she herself was a victim of that war. Y came and did not hide how impressed she was. She looked immaculate, as usual in her jeans and fashionable top.. X was jealous, it was the good kind of jealousy but she did not know if she hid it well.. Y remarked how cute the children looked in a new picture that was added to the gallery on the book shelf. It was a thrill for X to hear her say something positive.. she longed for her friend's stamp of approval ..she did not want to feel ridiculed by her best friend and she found herself muttering : "I'm glad you like it, for a change!" 

Y laughed, she sensed there was something hidden in that phrase but did not feel offended. "And what's that supposed to mean?" Her laughter put X at ease, it allowed her to elaborate, "well, you know, you always disapprove of my life style, and with my daily struggle with kids.. I thought you never saw a bright side to this.."

"You're silly, don't you know? You haven't figured it out yet.. I'm jealous, should I say it out plain and simple? I'm jealous of what you have, and can't hide it..I think it's obvious from all these remarks I shoot in your face.."

"You, jealous?" X wondered? "I'm the one who's jealous.With all this freedom you have , all this flexibility? all this time you have for self worship? you want to give it up and start changing diapers and cooking meals for picky children? You want to give up your manicures and facials to spend time on the sand and swings?"

"Yeah why not? Though I will probably not let myself go the way you have, but why not?"

She was interrupted by a tea towel that flew right into her face, "You messed my hair you stupid!" she cried…

"You messed my hair you stupid!" X echoed…and they giggled the night away.

March 2007

Mirror mirror, on the wall

It is at that specific moment in time when I started to panic. My hair wrapped in a towel turban, taking my seat in front of the mirror at the hair dresser's shop. I had just received the terrible news that my hair dresser, who I have been going to religiously for the last four years, has rushed his father to the hospital and will not be there to do my hair. Terrible for the poor old man, I know, but this WAS my engagement day and poor old me was about to have her hair done by one of the "students"!  Selfish, isn't it? But I was only planning to get engaged ONCE, and it was supposed to be perfect.

I looked around for the make up artist and he was not there either. When I asked, someone went to call him and threw it at me, he did not even KNOW I had an appointment!

About to cry, my eyes were getting watery and you could feel the steam build up in my face. Everyone assured me that he WILL be here as soon as he's done with the client he has somewhere else. But this was not enough comforting to relieve my stressful day.

 It is as if these two unfortunate events made me rethink all my decisions. I sat there in front of the mirror, locks of hair lashing my eyes, while the "apprentice" blow dried it, and nothing really mattered since all I was thinking was ,what if this is a message from God that this is just the beginning of my misfortune. What if this relationship was not meant to be, what if the butterflies in my stomach are not just a side effect of the big leap I was taking, and were actually there to tell me something? Why did I feel that although I was 26 years old I was too young to be committing myself to making a home and starting a family? What if I was not up to the challenge? What if I could not live up to the image I have of the perfect wife and mother portrayed by my mom. Will I ever be able to offer my family the love and care I was offered growing up? What if, after I got engaged, I saw a different image of my fiancé other than the man I knew and loved? What if I did not feel I fit in with his family, or if we fought at stupid things like the date of the wedding or the color of living room curtains. Will I be wise enough to know my priorities and set my goals and work on them?

Thoughts roamed and raged in my head while brushes and hair rollers shaped my hair, and while my eyes gazed vaguely into the mirror in front of me, I realized that the tapping on my back was not the hairdresser wanting me to move my head, but the make up artist who had greeted me twice without me realizing he was already there.

After exchanging a few words, on what kind of make up I want ,and what color dress I was wearing, he proceeded with his magical touches, toning my skin, and covering the ugly zit that was about to pop on my cheek. I had to ask him for a minute to check the sms I just received. It was my fiancé checking on me. Weird how even before reading his sweet words, just seeing his name on my mobile made me smile, and forget all my fears and worries. His words that had nothing to do with what was alarming me, gave me so much comfort that I actually smiled as I looked in the mirror. The zit was already disguised, my face was a clear canvas on which make up was tastefully being applied and the day did not seem so gloomy afterall. As I looked in the mirror now, the vague reflection I saw earlier was gone. I actually saw my face in there, and it was the face of a woman in love. 

 

March 2007