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