dinosaurs!
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tough Decisions
It took a long time, and he changed his mind twice, but eventually he settled on...
dinosaurs!
dinosaurs!
Broken
On Friday, I took our three year old son to the mosque for Friday prayers, the weekly compulsory religious service for Muslims. Our local mosque holds a lot of different prayers at various locations in the metro area, and I usually bounce around, picking our weekly location by the scheduled speaker. Sometimes, when I have no preference between speakers, I'll pick whichever one Mian is going to (his is always the same location, the closest one to his office, though he chooses between two times.)
Last Friday, Mian was out of town for work so I used the next factor in my list of choices: which prayer location and timing fits best with the baby's naptime? Closest and earliest, of course.
How exactly did that once small choice end up breaking the baby's foot? I'll get to that.
So we park in the mosque parking lot, and I'm hurrying the baby because I don't want to be late. We had to backtrack to the car after a few feet because he'd forgotten his snack in the car. A baggie full of raw broccoli. But I can see some of the leadership of our mosque at the top of the stairs, welcoming a well-dressed man as I walk into the building. So I know we've just made it before the sermon (or khutbah) was going to start. I took off my shoes and the baby's shoes - no shoes allowed in the prayer hall - and we walked into the women's section and found an open space to pray. I began to make my initial two rounds of prayer that you're supposed to do when you walk into a mosque; a greeting to the mosque, if you will.
The baby? Well, he loves to make prayers with me. He stands next to me, bows next to me, gets down on his hands and knees and presses his forehead and nose to the ground next to me. He loves it mostly because of how much we praise him for it, and how much all the people around us praise him too. I've been praying with him underfoot since before he could crawl away. Back then he would laugh out loud every time I bent down over him, like it was a game. Now he gets big hugs and kisses and words of amazement afterward when I loudly tell his father or aunts or grandmother that "The baby did such a good job! He made ALL his prayers and was still and quiet for the entire khutbah!"
In anticipation of those accolades, he was standing next to me as I cycled through the various motions of the Islamic prayer as we stood in the first row of the women's section. He was distracted a bit, as was I, when right in front of us in the last row of the men's section - only a wooden fence-like barrier between us - a man making the same prayer began to cause some congestion. Muslims generally try not to walk in front of someone praying, so a small line of men were waiting for him to finish so they could then squeeze past him into the already-fully-occupied space just past him. I looked up a bit and, I'll admit, inwardly shook my head at these men who would not just go to the upstairs or downstairs areas instead of disrupting their fellow worshipers. Then I tried to steel myself against this distraction and re-focus on my prayer.
So I didn't see when one of the men waiting tried to push his way behind the praying man. I didn't see the wooden barrier wobble. I only noticed when I heard the women behind me shout, and I saw the hands of men dart into my field of vision, trying to grab onto so many pounds of wood; falling so fast yet seemingly in slow motion.
I couldn't move fast enough. I instinctively hopped back a few inches. I reached out for the baby. My hands wouldn't get to his shoulders as I pleaded with the air in between us. I was once hit by a truck when I was eleven years old, and I remember time slowing down as I saw the truck headed for me on my bicycle. Each pedal pedal pedal accompanied by my plea to go faster, please faster, just a little bit faster, it's almost here.
I hadn't seen it quickly enough, but I saw it afterwards. The pain in his eyes. His shoulders shaking. My baby boy, who never took an unsure step, who almost never fell even when he was learning to walk, who has always been cautious, certain, careful. Nobody moved. The imam didn't even stop talking over my baby's cries. The impatient man just stared at me, terrified by the look in my eyes as I glared at him while removing the baby's socks. Not even a sorry. No offer to help, not from him or any other man or even any woman. Just one woman coming up behind me to say "They have some ice in the kitchen."
I scooped him up, still wailing. Finally someone from the mosque came to ask me if I needed anything and I asked for some ice. He took me into the kitchen and gave me some ice on a paper towel. I asked for a bag, but he just stared at me blankly and pointed to the baby's fist clutched tight with broccoli. I dumped out his before lunch snack and put the ice inside. A older Pakistani lady preparing lunch to be sold to the prayer goers asked me what happened and then smiled at me, "InshaAllah, I'm sure he will be fine!" I left the kitchen after that. These people didn't know my baby. The didn't know that his shoulders were still shaking. His shoulders never shake. A firm squeeze, a kiss for a boo-boo, that's all it takes. He recovers very fast, and cries about almost nothing. His shoulders never shake.
I sat in the lobby for five or ten minutes. No one offered us a chair, so I propped him up on a table. The very table that would hold the lunches being sold in a few minutes - holding the ice on his foot and watching his shoulders. He never stopped crying. The only person from the mosque I'd seen - the one who'd given us the ice - stood a few feet from me but didn't approach me again. I scooped up my baby again and marched over to him and spat out my words at him as I left "I'm going to take him to see if it's BROKEN or not."
I called the pediatrician, who could see the baby in 30 minutes. I called my husband, who asked to speak to the baby. When I offered the phone to him in the backseat, he cried so hard saying "No, NO! I don't want to talk!" For any of you who know my son, you know how serious that is. For my son, the world begins and ends with his father. He has never chosen ANYthing over a bit of time or affection from his father. He has never refused anything from his beloved Abbu. For me, it was the shoulders. For Mian, it was the phone call. He knew then that this injury must be serious.
The doctor was not convinced. He wouldn't stand on it at all, not even for a second to be weighed, but she said it wasn't in a place you generally see a break and by that time he was coherent enough to tell her that his foot didn't feel good. Plus, perhaps she'd never been in a mosque to know, and I'd forgotten to say, that he hadn't been wearing shoes. She sent us to another office for an x-ray anyway though, "just to be certain."
Two hours later, sitting on the couch at home with his foot propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on his foot, I got the phone call. Broken. First metatarsal non-displaced fracture, possibly second metatarsal as well. Too late on a Friday to see anyone. She suggested we just wait at home all weekend until he could be seen Monday. The bone hadn't moved out of alignment, so it didn't need to be set in the interim. I couldn't do it though - how would he sleep at night? So we went off to the urgent care center to have his foot and leg put in a temporary splint. Our third doctor's office of the day and yet the problem still hadn't begun to be fixed.
He's been fine since then. (I'm a wreck, though.) Very regular doses of over the counter pain medication. Keeping his leg propped up as much as possible. Copious amounts of children's movies and television programming. He never gets to watch TV or movies - we don't even have cable or television service in our home. And now he's spent the better part of three days watching things he didn't even know existed. Dora the Explorer. He already knows the theme song. Dinosaur Train. In a moment of desperation, Angelina Ballerina. Whatever I could find in the "Watch Instantly" section of Netflix.
We also took him out shopping once he started going stir crazy from the couch time. I had to track down the stroller for the first time in two years, but it was a great way to keep him sedentary. Somehow he ended up with a lot of new toys, too. Sympathy from Chachoo and his father, mostly. An entire box full of Legos - wheels and axles only. Chachoo has spent a few hours building Lego cars and helicopters with him so far. Mian bought an RC helicopter and we propped the baby up between two lawn chairs this morning (one for his bottom and one for his leg) while they tried to learn how to fly it. I cannot tell you how much candy and bubblegum he's been able to get from these guys either.
When people ask about our living arrangement I always say that the benefits outweigh any costs. Let me tell you about benefits in an emergency. When you have someone waiting at home to entertain your son with a broken foot while you run out for ice and pain medication. When someone helps you give him his last bath in perhaps the next 6-8 weeks. When there's someone there to carry him between the house and the car when your arms feel like they're about to fall off. I haven't carried this kid around in two years, and he's grown a whole lot since then; my arm muscles haven't kept up.
Somehow the family, toys, TV and candy got us through the weekend. Mian left again for work tonight, he's 7 hours away until next Saturday when he'll be back for little more than 24 hours. I'm manning the ship by myself again. Tomorrow morning I'll start calling around to find a doctor for the baby and hopefully he'll get a cast as soon as possible. I pray his fracture is the simple kind, not in the growth plate and please God don't let it have to be set. I can't imagine how I could be next to him by myself while he has a bone set. I barely survived when he had to have a tick removed once.
I'm so sad and angry. I'm unreasonably upset about his swimming lessons. He was doing so well that he was bumped up to the next level and now he'll have to drop out. One day when he's all grown up and I tell someone that he broke his leg when he was only three, I'll hear something about how "boys will be boys" and it will make me angry all over again. I've had people tell me that my son is the calmest kid they've ever met - boy OR girl. My kid is not the "boys will be boys" type. He doesn't jump off high things, he doesn't run into things or crash into people. He is careful and considering of his actions. You might think it's stupid for me to say that of a three year old but it's true. I doubt he would have ever inflicted something like this on himself.
No, no, someone ELSE went and broke his bones for him. At the mosque, of all places. And now he - we - have to deal with the aftermath.
Last Friday, Mian was out of town for work so I used the next factor in my list of choices: which prayer location and timing fits best with the baby's naptime? Closest and earliest, of course.
How exactly did that once small choice end up breaking the baby's foot? I'll get to that.
So we park in the mosque parking lot, and I'm hurrying the baby because I don't want to be late. We had to backtrack to the car after a few feet because he'd forgotten his snack in the car. A baggie full of raw broccoli. But I can see some of the leadership of our mosque at the top of the stairs, welcoming a well-dressed man as I walk into the building. So I know we've just made it before the sermon (or khutbah) was going to start. I took off my shoes and the baby's shoes - no shoes allowed in the prayer hall - and we walked into the women's section and found an open space to pray. I began to make my initial two rounds of prayer that you're supposed to do when you walk into a mosque; a greeting to the mosque, if you will.
The baby? Well, he loves to make prayers with me. He stands next to me, bows next to me, gets down on his hands and knees and presses his forehead and nose to the ground next to me. He loves it mostly because of how much we praise him for it, and how much all the people around us praise him too. I've been praying with him underfoot since before he could crawl away. Back then he would laugh out loud every time I bent down over him, like it was a game. Now he gets big hugs and kisses and words of amazement afterward when I loudly tell his father or aunts or grandmother that "The baby did such a good job! He made ALL his prayers and was still and quiet for the entire khutbah!"
In anticipation of those accolades, he was standing next to me as I cycled through the various motions of the Islamic prayer as we stood in the first row of the women's section. He was distracted a bit, as was I, when right in front of us in the last row of the men's section - only a wooden fence-like barrier between us - a man making the same prayer began to cause some congestion. Muslims generally try not to walk in front of someone praying, so a small line of men were waiting for him to finish so they could then squeeze past him into the already-fully-occupied space just past him. I looked up a bit and, I'll admit, inwardly shook my head at these men who would not just go to the upstairs or downstairs areas instead of disrupting their fellow worshipers. Then I tried to steel myself against this distraction and re-focus on my prayer.
So I didn't see when one of the men waiting tried to push his way behind the praying man. I didn't see the wooden barrier wobble. I only noticed when I heard the women behind me shout, and I saw the hands of men dart into my field of vision, trying to grab onto so many pounds of wood; falling so fast yet seemingly in slow motion.
I couldn't move fast enough. I instinctively hopped back a few inches. I reached out for the baby. My hands wouldn't get to his shoulders as I pleaded with the air in between us. I was once hit by a truck when I was eleven years old, and I remember time slowing down as I saw the truck headed for me on my bicycle. Each pedal pedal pedal accompanied by my plea to go faster, please faster, just a little bit faster, it's almost here.
I hadn't seen it quickly enough, but I saw it afterwards. The pain in his eyes. His shoulders shaking. My baby boy, who never took an unsure step, who almost never fell even when he was learning to walk, who has always been cautious, certain, careful. Nobody moved. The imam didn't even stop talking over my baby's cries. The impatient man just stared at me, terrified by the look in my eyes as I glared at him while removing the baby's socks. Not even a sorry. No offer to help, not from him or any other man or even any woman. Just one woman coming up behind me to say "They have some ice in the kitchen."
I scooped him up, still wailing. Finally someone from the mosque came to ask me if I needed anything and I asked for some ice. He took me into the kitchen and gave me some ice on a paper towel. I asked for a bag, but he just stared at me blankly and pointed to the baby's fist clutched tight with broccoli. I dumped out his before lunch snack and put the ice inside. A older Pakistani lady preparing lunch to be sold to the prayer goers asked me what happened and then smiled at me, "InshaAllah, I'm sure he will be fine!" I left the kitchen after that. These people didn't know my baby. The didn't know that his shoulders were still shaking. His shoulders never shake. A firm squeeze, a kiss for a boo-boo, that's all it takes. He recovers very fast, and cries about almost nothing. His shoulders never shake.
I sat in the lobby for five or ten minutes. No one offered us a chair, so I propped him up on a table. The very table that would hold the lunches being sold in a few minutes - holding the ice on his foot and watching his shoulders. He never stopped crying. The only person from the mosque I'd seen - the one who'd given us the ice - stood a few feet from me but didn't approach me again. I scooped up my baby again and marched over to him and spat out my words at him as I left "I'm going to take him to see if it's BROKEN or not."
I called the pediatrician, who could see the baby in 30 minutes. I called my husband, who asked to speak to the baby. When I offered the phone to him in the backseat, he cried so hard saying "No, NO! I don't want to talk!" For any of you who know my son, you know how serious that is. For my son, the world begins and ends with his father. He has never chosen ANYthing over a bit of time or affection from his father. He has never refused anything from his beloved Abbu. For me, it was the shoulders. For Mian, it was the phone call. He knew then that this injury must be serious.
The doctor was not convinced. He wouldn't stand on it at all, not even for a second to be weighed, but she said it wasn't in a place you generally see a break and by that time he was coherent enough to tell her that his foot didn't feel good. Plus, perhaps she'd never been in a mosque to know, and I'd forgotten to say, that he hadn't been wearing shoes. She sent us to another office for an x-ray anyway though, "just to be certain."
Two hours later, sitting on the couch at home with his foot propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on his foot, I got the phone call. Broken. First metatarsal non-displaced fracture, possibly second metatarsal as well. Too late on a Friday to see anyone. She suggested we just wait at home all weekend until he could be seen Monday. The bone hadn't moved out of alignment, so it didn't need to be set in the interim. I couldn't do it though - how would he sleep at night? So we went off to the urgent care center to have his foot and leg put in a temporary splint. Our third doctor's office of the day and yet the problem still hadn't begun to be fixed.
He's been fine since then. (I'm a wreck, though.) Very regular doses of over the counter pain medication. Keeping his leg propped up as much as possible. Copious amounts of children's movies and television programming. He never gets to watch TV or movies - we don't even have cable or television service in our home. And now he's spent the better part of three days watching things he didn't even know existed. Dora the Explorer. He already knows the theme song. Dinosaur Train. In a moment of desperation, Angelina Ballerina. Whatever I could find in the "Watch Instantly" section of Netflix.
We also took him out shopping once he started going stir crazy from the couch time. I had to track down the stroller for the first time in two years, but it was a great way to keep him sedentary. Somehow he ended up with a lot of new toys, too. Sympathy from Chachoo and his father, mostly. An entire box full of Legos - wheels and axles only. Chachoo has spent a few hours building Lego cars and helicopters with him so far. Mian bought an RC helicopter and we propped the baby up between two lawn chairs this morning (one for his bottom and one for his leg) while they tried to learn how to fly it. I cannot tell you how much candy and bubblegum he's been able to get from these guys either.
When people ask about our living arrangement I always say that the benefits outweigh any costs. Let me tell you about benefits in an emergency. When you have someone waiting at home to entertain your son with a broken foot while you run out for ice and pain medication. When someone helps you give him his last bath in perhaps the next 6-8 weeks. When there's someone there to carry him between the house and the car when your arms feel like they're about to fall off. I haven't carried this kid around in two years, and he's grown a whole lot since then; my arm muscles haven't kept up.
Somehow the family, toys, TV and candy got us through the weekend. Mian left again for work tonight, he's 7 hours away until next Saturday when he'll be back for little more than 24 hours. I'm manning the ship by myself again. Tomorrow morning I'll start calling around to find a doctor for the baby and hopefully he'll get a cast as soon as possible. I pray his fracture is the simple kind, not in the growth plate and please God don't let it have to be set. I can't imagine how I could be next to him by myself while he has a bone set. I barely survived when he had to have a tick removed once.
I'm so sad and angry. I'm unreasonably upset about his swimming lessons. He was doing so well that he was bumped up to the next level and now he'll have to drop out. One day when he's all grown up and I tell someone that he broke his leg when he was only three, I'll hear something about how "boys will be boys" and it will make me angry all over again. I've had people tell me that my son is the calmest kid they've ever met - boy OR girl. My kid is not the "boys will be boys" type. He doesn't jump off high things, he doesn't run into things or crash into people. He is careful and considering of his actions. You might think it's stupid for me to say that of a three year old but it's true. I doubt he would have ever inflicted something like this on himself.
No, no, someone ELSE went and broke his bones for him. At the mosque, of all places. And now he - we - have to deal with the aftermath.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Eid Retrospective
So, Ramadan ended. Last weekend. I just can't keep up these days! The day after the month of Ramadan is one of two celebration days in the Islamic calendar. This one is called Eid-ul-Fitr.
The day started with a special occasion morning religious service. Our was held at a local conference center so that we could all join in one big group celebration. Even then, they held five different sessions and each was full. Maybe tens of thousands of Muslims passed through the doors that day. Hectic, but nice. A local politician came out to address the crowd. As a US tax-exempt organization, our mosque can't endorse any political candidates, and if they invite one they have to invite them all (or they risk losing their tax-exempt status.) I always take note of who shows up, who thinks it's important to talk to Muslims too. This guy - Mark Herring - did a nice job, and even mentioned that he "will stand by your community." And it's not an election year for him, but he still came. Bonus points.
After the prayers, we stopped by the little carnival our mosque held in the same location. Moonbounce, cotton candy and a toy for the baby from one of the vendors. The baby chose a bubble-shooting gun thing that the vendor guy was holding in his had to display. The one he sold us worked for exactly NOT EVEN THE FIRST SECOND. Seriously, not a single bubble was shot. But triumphant Mian to the rescue, he was able to Macguyver-style fix it with the tube from a ballpoint refill later in the afternoon. Even then it worked only for about 15 minutes, but the holiday was saved!
A big part of Eid celebrations is about new clothes. I had three new saris I'd brought back with me from Pakistan last time, but it's hard to pray in a sari. I didn't think I had anything else new, but at the last minute I found one un-worn shalwar kameez. It was very plain though, not shiny enough for such a celebratory day, so I only wore it to the morning prayers. We had invitations to two parties on the Eid day, so after we came home and ate some brunch, I changed into one of the glittery sarees. A red & orange benarsi silk number. We went to a friend's house, his family is Bengali and I hear Bengali women wear a lot of saris, so it turned out to be a good choice and his mother complimented me a lot :)
In the evening, I changed clothes again! My sister-in-law had brought me a new saree when she came to live with us and she had a matching one. They were different colors; mine was greenish-grey and hers was blueish-grey, but they had the same borders and embroidery, so you could tell they matched. We wanted to wear them together, and the Eid party was the first opportunity.
We'd bought new clothes for M and the baby from Karachi when we were there. Both wore blue Junaid Jamshed shalwar kameez and M had a waistcoat. I'm telling you, I love the way a waistcoat looks! I wish I could have found a matching one for the baby, but I've only ever found those chamak-y, mirror-worked waistcoats for kids. This one was a formal, pinstriped number. The boys all of course wore the same outfits all day. Boys! My sister-in-law had been saving her favorite not-yet-worn outfit for Eid, a red shalwar kameez.
On the second day of Eid - celebrations last for three days, did I forget to mention that? - we hosted a barbeque at our home. Mian is known for his Bihari kabab skeellzzz. We invited 40 people and Chachoo spent 2 hours painstakingly threading thin strips of meat onto skewers. Mian spent three hours grilling them! I spent those three hours running back and forth between my kitchen and the backyard getting all the other supplies. Onions must be sliced, ice refilled. The four cakes our guests brought must be set up on the dessert table. Still, a barbeque is a relatively less stress party to have, so it was very nice. We did it last Eid and I think we'll make Eid barbeques our tradition from now on.
On the third day of Eid, we went to the closest cousins' house, about two hours away. M has a small contingent of cousins between us and New Jersey, so most of them all congregate at this one middle cousin's home. I wore an old shalwar kameez, one from Chachoo's mehendi. (The green one from this post.) Everyone else re-wore their Eid clothes. The party was nice, and it was nice to have so many things to do all Eid weekend. But it ended on a bit of a sour note when one of M's cousins who was there said something that upset me. There was some discussion going on and I had lost track of the conversation, so I looked to my Mian for some translation and the cousin said something like "Look how much pain he's in, he has to make his wife understand." And he's freaking right, because I didn't even understand that part and M had to tell me about it later. He told me just a few minutes before we were leaving, we'd already packed up, and it upset me so badly I had to go to the bathroom because I was starting to cry. I'm a source of PAIN? And calling me that on Eid, and then I don't even understand it. I just felt like such a huge idiot, being talked about behind my back but I'm RIGHT THERE, and too stupid to even get it. And this is supposed to be my FAMILY. I cried a bit on the way back home too, and everyone tried to make me feel better. (But that made it worse, since I'm generally a closet crier and hate to be emotional in public and I was trying to hide it as much as I could. But failing.)
I feel so incredibly lucky to have been so welcomed by M's family, it stings to think that's not always the case. To feel judged. And I know a lot of people in my situation have dealt with serious issues - this is not serious. But it still really hurt my feelings. Anyway, it was a great, great Eid for 2.85 of the 3 days, with just a bit of a sour ending.
What about you all - how did you spend your Eid?
The day started with a special occasion morning religious service. Our was held at a local conference center so that we could all join in one big group celebration. Even then, they held five different sessions and each was full. Maybe tens of thousands of Muslims passed through the doors that day. Hectic, but nice. A local politician came out to address the crowd. As a US tax-exempt organization, our mosque can't endorse any political candidates, and if they invite one they have to invite them all (or they risk losing their tax-exempt status.) I always take note of who shows up, who thinks it's important to talk to Muslims too. This guy - Mark Herring - did a nice job, and even mentioned that he "will stand by your community." And it's not an election year for him, but he still came. Bonus points.
After the prayers, we stopped by the little carnival our mosque held in the same location. Moonbounce, cotton candy and a toy for the baby from one of the vendors. The baby chose a bubble-shooting gun thing that the vendor guy was holding in his had to display. The one he sold us worked for exactly NOT EVEN THE FIRST SECOND. Seriously, not a single bubble was shot. But triumphant Mian to the rescue, he was able to Macguyver-style fix it with the tube from a ballpoint refill later in the afternoon. Even then it worked only for about 15 minutes, but the holiday was saved!
A big part of Eid celebrations is about new clothes. I had three new saris I'd brought back with me from Pakistan last time, but it's hard to pray in a sari. I didn't think I had anything else new, but at the last minute I found one un-worn shalwar kameez. It was very plain though, not shiny enough for such a celebratory day, so I only wore it to the morning prayers. We had invitations to two parties on the Eid day, so after we came home and ate some brunch, I changed into one of the glittery sarees. A red & orange benarsi silk number. We went to a friend's house, his family is Bengali and I hear Bengali women wear a lot of saris, so it turned out to be a good choice and his mother complimented me a lot :)
In the evening, I changed clothes again! My sister-in-law had brought me a new saree when she came to live with us and she had a matching one. They were different colors; mine was greenish-grey and hers was blueish-grey, but they had the same borders and embroidery, so you could tell they matched. We wanted to wear them together, and the Eid party was the first opportunity.
We'd bought new clothes for M and the baby from Karachi when we were there. Both wore blue Junaid Jamshed shalwar kameez and M had a waistcoat. I'm telling you, I love the way a waistcoat looks! I wish I could have found a matching one for the baby, but I've only ever found those chamak-y, mirror-worked waistcoats for kids. This one was a formal, pinstriped number. The boys all of course wore the same outfits all day. Boys! My sister-in-law had been saving her favorite not-yet-worn outfit for Eid, a red shalwar kameez.
On the second day of Eid - celebrations last for three days, did I forget to mention that? - we hosted a barbeque at our home. Mian is known for his Bihari kabab skeellzzz. We invited 40 people and Chachoo spent 2 hours painstakingly threading thin strips of meat onto skewers. Mian spent three hours grilling them! I spent those three hours running back and forth between my kitchen and the backyard getting all the other supplies. Onions must be sliced, ice refilled. The four cakes our guests brought must be set up on the dessert table. Still, a barbeque is a relatively less stress party to have, so it was very nice. We did it last Eid and I think we'll make Eid barbeques our tradition from now on.
On the third day of Eid, we went to the closest cousins' house, about two hours away. M has a small contingent of cousins between us and New Jersey, so most of them all congregate at this one middle cousin's home. I wore an old shalwar kameez, one from Chachoo's mehendi. (The green one from this post.) Everyone else re-wore their Eid clothes. The party was nice, and it was nice to have so many things to do all Eid weekend. But it ended on a bit of a sour note when one of M's cousins who was there said something that upset me. There was some discussion going on and I had lost track of the conversation, so I looked to my Mian for some translation and the cousin said something like "Look how much pain he's in, he has to make his wife understand." And he's freaking right, because I didn't even understand that part and M had to tell me about it later. He told me just a few minutes before we were leaving, we'd already packed up, and it upset me so badly I had to go to the bathroom because I was starting to cry. I'm a source of PAIN? And calling me that on Eid, and then I don't even understand it. I just felt like such a huge idiot, being talked about behind my back but I'm RIGHT THERE, and too stupid to even get it. And this is supposed to be my FAMILY. I cried a bit on the way back home too, and everyone tried to make me feel better. (But that made it worse, since I'm generally a closet crier and hate to be emotional in public and I was trying to hide it as much as I could. But failing.)
I feel so incredibly lucky to have been so welcomed by M's family, it stings to think that's not always the case. To feel judged. And I know a lot of people in my situation have dealt with serious issues - this is not serious. But it still really hurt my feelings. Anyway, it was a great, great Eid for 2.85 of the 3 days, with just a bit of a sour ending.
What about you all - how did you spend your Eid?
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| Chicken & Beef, spiced & threaded onto skewers. |
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| Mian at work. We brought this barbeque grill from Pakistan so we could make bihari kabob even more authentically. It took almost an entire suitcase. |
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| Overstocked dessert table. |
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| My boys in their Eid finery, on their way to Party #2 |
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Strapping In Around The World
Okay, so I know I said we were done with the almost a year old Pakistan Travel Diary posts, but I got a question from a reader. And as always, I took pictures of the darn thing, I'd just forgotten to include it in any of the previous posts. So I'll just briefly cover it and then hopefully, possibly, maybe we'll be done.
Okay, first some history. I've been to Pakistan 3 times. The first (in 2004) we didn't have a kid so I didn't think about this at all. The second time (in 2007) we traveled when our son was 14 months old. I fretted about the car seat issue for months in advance. At home, here in America, both M and I are pretty crazy about car seat safety. I'm the type to research for days and spare no expense - and he's even worse because he's the type to actually stop strangers (and worse, family members) to tell them their kid's car seat straps are too loose. So, I fretted. He fretted. I spent some time on a car seat forum even. We didn't think we could bring a car seat with us because of baggage limits, and I didn't think car seats would be available for sale in Pakistan. Even if we did bring a car seat, where would we put it? M's family car had no seat belts in the back seat at all. In the end, we decided to try and buy something while there, but then we couldn't find anything. They had things that looked like infant car seats, but were just "baby seats" without any harness or way to latch it to the car. I felt incredibly pressured while I was there that "this is the way babies travel here" and not to worry because "driving is so much slower in Pakistan."
Well, it turned out to be my biggest regret and I hated every second of riding in a car with my son on my lap. I held him so tightly my knuckles were white. It was very stressful. Hey, I'm not judging anyone - every single other person I've seen in Karachi holds their kids in their laps. I have never ever not one time never seen a car seat in Pakistan. We all have to do what we think is best. I, personally, just didn't want to do that again.
For one I am very risk averse, and I have been in cars that go plenty fast in Karachi. Secondly, on our 3rd trip the baby was going to be 3 years old - plenty old enough to enjoy riding in a car without being strapped in and old enough to make it difficult to get him re--adjusted when we got back home. Third, I didn't want glorified peer pressure to be the reason I took chances with my kid's safety. You just never know, y'know?
So I decided that this was among the battles worth picking, and we set out to find a solution. We decided to take a car seat with us. I bought a convertible (from infant-toddler stage) car seat to take with me to Pakistan and leave there for future use. I found out that bringing a car seat with us would not count against our baggage limits (at least as far as Etihad Airlines was concerned as of December 2009.) We made arrangements to borrow a new car with seat belts. I looked around at various ways to rent cars in Karachi without a driver. And as a final backup idea, we bought a set of heavy-duty tie-down straps from Home Depot.
When the family met us at the airport - there was no rental car. We'd arranged rental through a friend of Chachoo's and that night they said it wouldn't be available until the next day. Chachoo's soon-to-be-wife's family was at the airport to receive us as well, though, and they have a shiny new car. We checked out the backseat and saw no seat belts, though. Turns out that even when there ARE seat belts in newer cars, they stuff them way down behind the seats because they're not used anyway. So M - in the parking lot of the Karachi Airport - took out the back seat of his brother's fiance's brother's new car to find the seat belts. ALL the while people kept telling us that a car seat wasn't necessary in Karachi, they don't drive very fast there, this kid and that kid and the neighbor's kid did just fine in the lap. We just tried to tune them out and some time later, our car seat was installed for the 30 minute ride home. It felt like a small miracle, a triumph of my principles.
The borrowed car came the next day and all was right with the world. Until like, three days later when it fell through and the friend came calling, asking for his car back. Literally MINUTES before we had to leave the house for I-can't-remember-what function.
At that moment, we decided to break out the tie-down straps. M is quite a handy guy to have around, so I'm not sure exactly how he did it, but he got that car seat strapped in there so securely it felt just as tight - if not tighter - than the LATCH car seat setup we have at home in America. And in our own car, too. It was so great that we were satisfied with it and that's how we rode around the city for the rest of our trip. And I left both the car seat and the tie-downs in my in-law's house for whenever we go back.
There was just a little tension about the car seat setup. Not really from my in-laws, they're very respectful and respected our wishes even though it meant we'd have to take two cars all the time. But I did hear bits and pieces of talk about our car seat and how unnecessary it was. I heard that it might even lead to our car being burglarized since it stood out as a symbol of expatriate-ism Even when we weren't in the car and it was parked on the street, it could be broken into because of the car seat. I also heard that the baby must be very unhappy/uncomfortable/sad in the car seat since he was all alone in the back seat tied up like a prisoner. I worried that my friends and family might think our insistence on using a car seat meant we thought we were better than or that Pakistan was inferior in general or something. Which, I don't know - I certainly think that the child restraint safety standards from where I come from are, in fact, superior because they save kids lives. But it's not a judgment of a whole people or a whole nation or anything.
Anyway, I stopped hearing anything about our car seat after 2 days, so it died down really quickly. (Relatively speaking, I mean - I STILL sometimes get questioned about my name!)
Here are some pictures of our car seat in Pakistan:
The only real problem we had was on the airport ride back. We left the car seat and took a cab, so I did one last white-knuckle carseat-less ride. And it was the most insane driver I'd ever encounter, of course. The universe's way of telling me not to do that again, I thought. I almost kissed the ground when we got to the airport safely, he was such a bad driver. Next time, I'll have the in-laws bring it with them to the airport when they pick us up.
Okay, first some history. I've been to Pakistan 3 times. The first (in 2004) we didn't have a kid so I didn't think about this at all. The second time (in 2007) we traveled when our son was 14 months old. I fretted about the car seat issue for months in advance. At home, here in America, both M and I are pretty crazy about car seat safety. I'm the type to research for days and spare no expense - and he's even worse because he's the type to actually stop strangers (and worse, family members) to tell them their kid's car seat straps are too loose. So, I fretted. He fretted. I spent some time on a car seat forum even. We didn't think we could bring a car seat with us because of baggage limits, and I didn't think car seats would be available for sale in Pakistan. Even if we did bring a car seat, where would we put it? M's family car had no seat belts in the back seat at all. In the end, we decided to try and buy something while there, but then we couldn't find anything. They had things that looked like infant car seats, but were just "baby seats" without any harness or way to latch it to the car. I felt incredibly pressured while I was there that "this is the way babies travel here" and not to worry because "driving is so much slower in Pakistan."
Well, it turned out to be my biggest regret and I hated every second of riding in a car with my son on my lap. I held him so tightly my knuckles were white. It was very stressful. Hey, I'm not judging anyone - every single other person I've seen in Karachi holds their kids in their laps. I have never ever not one time never seen a car seat in Pakistan. We all have to do what we think is best. I, personally, just didn't want to do that again.
For one I am very risk averse, and I have been in cars that go plenty fast in Karachi. Secondly, on our 3rd trip the baby was going to be 3 years old - plenty old enough to enjoy riding in a car without being strapped in and old enough to make it difficult to get him re--adjusted when we got back home. Third, I didn't want glorified peer pressure to be the reason I took chances with my kid's safety. You just never know, y'know?
So I decided that this was among the battles worth picking, and we set out to find a solution. We decided to take a car seat with us. I bought a convertible (from infant-toddler stage) car seat to take with me to Pakistan and leave there for future use. I found out that bringing a car seat with us would not count against our baggage limits (at least as far as Etihad Airlines was concerned as of December 2009.) We made arrangements to borrow a new car with seat belts. I looked around at various ways to rent cars in Karachi without a driver. And as a final backup idea, we bought a set of heavy-duty tie-down straps from Home Depot.
When the family met us at the airport - there was no rental car. We'd arranged rental through a friend of Chachoo's and that night they said it wouldn't be available until the next day. Chachoo's soon-to-be-wife's family was at the airport to receive us as well, though, and they have a shiny new car. We checked out the backseat and saw no seat belts, though. Turns out that even when there ARE seat belts in newer cars, they stuff them way down behind the seats because they're not used anyway. So M - in the parking lot of the Karachi Airport - took out the back seat of his brother's fiance's brother's new car to find the seat belts. ALL the while people kept telling us that a car seat wasn't necessary in Karachi, they don't drive very fast there, this kid and that kid and the neighbor's kid did just fine in the lap. We just tried to tune them out and some time later, our car seat was installed for the 30 minute ride home. It felt like a small miracle, a triumph of my principles.
The borrowed car came the next day and all was right with the world. Until like, three days later when it fell through and the friend came calling, asking for his car back. Literally MINUTES before we had to leave the house for I-can't-remember-what function.
At that moment, we decided to break out the tie-down straps. M is quite a handy guy to have around, so I'm not sure exactly how he did it, but he got that car seat strapped in there so securely it felt just as tight - if not tighter - than the LATCH car seat setup we have at home in America. And in our own car, too. It was so great that we were satisfied with it and that's how we rode around the city for the rest of our trip. And I left both the car seat and the tie-downs in my in-law's house for whenever we go back.
There was just a little tension about the car seat setup. Not really from my in-laws, they're very respectful and respected our wishes even though it meant we'd have to take two cars all the time. But I did hear bits and pieces of talk about our car seat and how unnecessary it was. I heard that it might even lead to our car being burglarized since it stood out as a symbol of expatriate-ism Even when we weren't in the car and it was parked on the street, it could be broken into because of the car seat. I also heard that the baby must be very unhappy/uncomfortable/sad in the car seat since he was all alone in the back seat tied up like a prisoner. I worried that my friends and family might think our insistence on using a car seat meant we thought we were better than or that Pakistan was inferior in general or something. Which, I don't know - I certainly think that the child restraint safety standards from where I come from are, in fact, superior because they save kids lives. But it's not a judgment of a whole people or a whole nation or anything.
Anyway, I stopped hearing anything about our car seat after 2 days, so it died down really quickly. (Relatively speaking, I mean - I STILL sometimes get questioned about my name!)
Here are some pictures of our car seat in Pakistan:
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| Back seat - the safest place for kids. |
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| Close up - the view from the trunk/hatchback. Here you can see M's handiwork, trying to turn some tie-downs into a LATCH system. |
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| You can see the blue strap peeking out in the back where the LATCH straps normally go. |
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Summing Up. Finally.
This is going to be a long one folks, but if you're very, very patient, and you promise to look through far too many of my probably not very interesting navel-gaving pictures, it seems like this will be the very last post about my family's recent (not recent. not at all recent. almost ten months ago) trip to Pakistan. And then we can be DONE with that topic officially. And then you can all collectively breathe a sigh of relief that we don't have plans to visit Pakistan again this year because MY GOD WOMAN, HOW LONG IS THE NEXT ONE GOING TO TAKE?!?!
Okay then. So after all the wedding hullabaloo (which I'm not even going to link to because I'm sure we are all so over it, but if you want to refresh you memories the archives are over there to the right -->) Chachoo's new bride actually went back to her mother's house for a few mornings. Apparently this is something her community does, they send the bride back to her old house every morning for, I think, a week. Chachoo, though, was to ship off back to Saudi Arabia a mere five days after his marriage, so they only did it three mornings. Otherwise they would have spent a good chunk of their very limited time together apart, and since they were going to be not-apart for such a short time, they dispensed with more than half of her cultural tradition. This three days, though, was a little boring back at M's family home because this is not his community's tradition at all, so after she left every morning, my in-laws all just sat around together thinking, "Well, what do we do now, then?"
There was one thing the new bride had to do at home, though. In M's family, the new bride gets a repreive from housework for some time but then, when it comes time for her to begin helping out, the first thing she should do it cook kheer, Pakistani rice pudding. So a few days after the wedding (again, a bit early because of how rushed the newlywed's time was) Chachoo's new wife headed into her new MIL's kitchen to cook her first official dish for her new family.
One funny thing about looking through Chachoo's in-law's family pictures though. I may not have mentioned it, but Chachoo and his wife have known each other since they were in Kindergarten. Both of their families sent all their kids to the same school from kindergarten until they finished matric (like high school.) In my in-law's case, it's because Abbu was (and still is) a teacher there; In my sister-in-law's case it's because her father was on the foudning board of the school. In any event, Chachoo and his wife have been friends forever, but their families didn't know each other until their engagement. While looking through very old pictures of school events and awards ceremonies, though, I found a picture of an audience and there was a picture of my mother-in-law sitting right next to my sister-in-law's mother. So many years ago, they could have looked at each other and said "Hey, we're going to be family one day!"
There were a few things we wanted to do besides family gatherings while we were still in Pakistan, though. Shopping was one of them! I've never been shopping at any of the higher-end stores and malls, save for one trip to Naheed market in 2007 and once prior in the most recent trip. But I've heard a lot about really nice malls and I asked M to take me to a few of them. People are always asking me how I like these malls, and then they're surprised when I tell them I'd never been there but I cannot count the times I've walked through Lalukhait. First, we went to Makro - a big warehouse store kind of like Costco in America. But time ran out though, so after that I got only two hours to see only the most important things; I chose a jaunt through Park Towers mall and a drive through the Zamzama shopping district.
Okay then. So after all the wedding hullabaloo (which I'm not even going to link to because I'm sure we are all so over it, but if you want to refresh you memories the archives are over there to the right -->) Chachoo's new bride actually went back to her mother's house for a few mornings. Apparently this is something her community does, they send the bride back to her old house every morning for, I think, a week. Chachoo, though, was to ship off back to Saudi Arabia a mere five days after his marriage, so they only did it three mornings. Otherwise they would have spent a good chunk of their very limited time together apart, and since they were going to be not-apart for such a short time, they dispensed with more than half of her cultural tradition. This three days, though, was a little boring back at M's family home because this is not his community's tradition at all, so after she left every morning, my in-laws all just sat around together thinking, "Well, what do we do now, then?"
There was one thing the new bride had to do at home, though. In M's family, the new bride gets a repreive from housework for some time but then, when it comes time for her to begin helping out, the first thing she should do it cook kheer, Pakistani rice pudding. So a few days after the wedding (again, a bit early because of how rushed the newlywed's time was) Chachoo's new wife headed into her new MIL's kitchen to cook her first official dish for her new family.
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| Cooking, with a watchful eye from the MIL. |
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| It was yummy - she passed the test! |
Every afternoon or evening the new bride would come back home, though, and we'd head off to some family gathering to have dinner. A lot of post-wedding functions include traipsing all over the city to present your new family aquisition to the family-at-large. It's nice for the new bride because she often gets gifts and/or money upon arrival at another one of her new family's homes. There were too many of these family dinners to chronicle them all, but one of my favorites was when the bride's family invited all of US over. They made far, far too much food and it was all so delicious. Then I very obtusely forced them to take out all of their family pictures and we looked through them all until my father-in-law had fallen asleep on their floor. Then we looked some more, actually, and wound up heading home after 2am. On the way home there was a bit of a scary situation where our car (which included M and Chachoo and us two wives, the baby and a large percentage of Chachoo's wife's gold which we'd stupidly thought we should transport to her new home at 2am) came upon a few motorcyles on either end of the alleyway leading to M's house. It was pretty obviously a trap so that these men on the motorcyclists could rob the cars that passed by. We were circled by one of the motorcycles twice and then Chachoo - sweet little Chachoo who I always think of as a little boy - somehow turned out to be the one guy you want with you in a crisis situation! He is unendingly level-headed and he and M conferred for just a few seconds and hatched a plan to get us out of there that included some savy driving, a quick left, a few circles around the closest brightly-lit and well-attended intersection, and sneaking back home through a side-alley One of the few times I've been frightened in Karachi and it lasted not more than 10 minutes. No pictures of that, though.
One funny thing about looking through Chachoo's in-law's family pictures though. I may not have mentioned it, but Chachoo and his wife have known each other since they were in Kindergarten. Both of their families sent all their kids to the same school from kindergarten until they finished matric (like high school.) In my in-law's case, it's because Abbu was (and still is) a teacher there; In my sister-in-law's case it's because her father was on the foudning board of the school. In any event, Chachoo and his wife have been friends forever, but their families didn't know each other until their engagement. While looking through very old pictures of school events and awards ceremonies, though, I found a picture of an audience and there was a picture of my mother-in-law sitting right next to my sister-in-law's mother. So many years ago, they could have looked at each other and said "Hey, we're going to be family one day!"
There were a few things we wanted to do besides family gatherings while we were still in Pakistan, though. Shopping was one of them! I've never been shopping at any of the higher-end stores and malls, save for one trip to Naheed market in 2007 and once prior in the most recent trip. But I've heard a lot about really nice malls and I asked M to take me to a few of them. People are always asking me how I like these malls, and then they're surprised when I tell them I'd never been there but I cannot count the times I've walked through Lalukhait. First, we went to Makro - a big warehouse store kind of like Costco in America. But time ran out though, so after that I got only two hours to see only the most important things; I chose a jaunt through Park Towers mall and a drive through the Zamzama shopping district.
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| Makro's huge underground parking lot. |
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| Going up an uphill escalator that would somehow grab hold of the shopping cart too. |
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| Inside Costco - uh, I mean Makro. |
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| Well, you can't buy a motorcycle inside a Costco store. |
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| "Loose spices" |
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| This was their achaar counter - spicy pickled vegetables of every variety, even mango which isn't a vegetable at all! |
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| M liked their ginger and garlic achaars that we bought extra to bring back to America with us, then he asked Chachoo's wife to bring even more when she came four months later and he'd run out by then. |
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| I took this picture only because my father used to work for this company when I was a kid and it was a very "the two sides of my life meeting" kind of moment for me. |
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| The Park Towers mall |
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| Inside the 3 story Park Towers. We had to show IDs to get inside the parking lot. But M didn't have his and they let him in anyway, so whatevs. |
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| Fancy store that every was talking about. I preferred the Junaid Jamshed store, I just love their stuff. |
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| Eating at the food court. I really wanted some American food by then, so I ordered a kid's chicken nugget meal, but it was still Pakistani-fied chicken nuggets so it didn't hit the spot. The chocolate cake we got at this place was also just okay - the frosting was really good but the cake was that very Pakistani, light and airy kind of cake. |
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| Junaid Jamshed for little boys. LOVE. |
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| Later, we drove through the Zamzama shopping area and this was about the only picture I took. We drove by a Subway sandwich shop though, and I was disappointed I hadn't know about it before because that sounded WAY better than masala chicken nuggets. |
Another thing that we'd planned was to stay in the house at least one evening. It was a surprisingly difficult thing to do, actually, because so many people are jockeying for your time and it can be an insult if you go to one person's house but not another's. When we would apologize and say that we just didn't have time to go to a cousin's or uncle's house for dinner, they would ask us for details: "But what about Monday, what about Tuesday?" and then when they found out we were dedicating one day to just hang around the house, they were adamant we should fit them in on that day. I think some people's feelings got hurt, but M and I had talked about it way in advance, back in America when we were just starting to plan our trip. I said that since the family was now fully complete - everyone was married and everyone was in Pakistan at the same time - it would be nice if we dedicated some time to bonding as a family. We bought a dart board and I put the other sister-in-law in charge of another game. After her marriage to my other BIL, he'd gone tot their house for dinner one night and they'd played a "Getting to Know You" game kind of like that Newlywed Game. (Except no risque questions at all - this was extended family, very proper, and in Pakistan, after all!)
I think it's pretty unanimous that the night we stayed home and played these stupid games was THE BEST NIGHT EVER in Pakistan. It was so, so much fun. Even the stupid $5 dart board we'd bought on a whim at a Wal-mart pre-Christmas sale turned into a major tournament, and the questions game was VERY revealing and very bonding. Poor newlyweds knew almost nothing about each other though!! Ha ha!
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| M and Chachoo installing the dart board. |
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| Installed! |
After that evening, family started leaving. Chachoo left first, then M's sister and her family left for America, I think. Then it was almost time for us to pack up and head back too. So then the family procession began in reverse, with all the people whose homes we'd just eaten dinner at coming by OUR house to bid us a proper farewell over the last two days of our trip. Mostly there wasn't even a place for them to be recieved because we'd taken over most spaces with our belongings and lugggae in an attempt to fit all the things we wanted to bring back with us into the airline's baggage limits.
And that was all - time to head to the airport. I'd brought a car seat and used it the whole time we were in Karachi, but I wanted to leave it in Pakistan for future use so the ride back to the airport was sans carseat and of course the craziest taxi driver ever showed up. I don't think I breathed at all on the adrenaline filled trip to the airport and I still thank God we made it there safely!
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| Bags packed, ready to go home. |
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| At the airport, trying to take a farewell picture of my in-laws, but these guys kept getting in my way. I have like, six of them walking back and forth until the black jacket guy realize I was getting annoyed and pulled his sweater-vested friend out of my way. |
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| Final farewell shot of Pakistan - the crowd at the airport. |
Thursday, September 2, 2010
More About The Floods
Because it seems like you won't hear much about it in the regular news. It's still a terrible, terrible situation and they need help. The US State Department is even trying to educate Americans about this crisis and giving us easy and trusted ways to donate to help the more than 20 million people homeless and hungry because of flooding. Over at Sepia Mutiny there's a discussion titled "Why is no one donating?" about why the response has been so lax for this natural disaster compared to other recent outpourings of support for similar travesties, even though its bigger in scale and has affected many more innocent lives. I saw more heartbreaking pictures on NPR today. One of the best things I've read recently, the one that makes me most hopeful, is a committment by TED's Chris to report "The stories from Pakistan you're not being told." The stories of hope and human triumph, the stories that will hopefully soon show a sea change in these people's lives. Last but not least, UN Ambassador Angelina Jolie also implores you to help.
Please. Give what you can. Until September 12th, the Canadian Federal Government will match your donations here: http://www.cbc.ca/pakistanrelief/
Please. Give what you can. Until September 12th, the Canadian Federal Government will match your donations here: http://www.cbc.ca/pakistanrelief/
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
What I Love About Ramadan
I sometimes get wierd reactions when I mention that we fast for the month of Ramadan. Actually, I have been continually suprised by how many people actually know about it beforehand, and most of the good friends and family in my life are very accepting and even encouraging - even when it's not a part of their own lives. But still a lot of people assume that it must be incredibly difficult, torture, or unhealthy at the very least. I don't often get a chance to explain why it's not any of these things, thanks in no small part to my own incredible discomfort discussing religion in public, but I'll give it a shot.
Ramadan is actually one of my favorite times of year. It's like a big de-cluttering project except instead of cleaning out a closet, you're making much bigger "Toss, Keep or Donate" decisions. The nighttime - when you have to fit in a day's worth of eating, hours and hours of extra prayers, and oh yeah - sleeping and spending time with your family - are pretty slim. We only have about eight hours for that these days. It makes you seriously prioritize in a way that you're usually not able to the rest of the year.
Maybe most of the year you think "Oh, I should really go to the mosque more often." But you can never find the time, even for this thing that's really important to you. Then Ramadan rolls around and you're suddenly able to find the time. Maybe you get bogged down sometimes, visiting friends your don't like all that much or reading crap on the internet you're not even all that interested in. (uh...hypothetically speaking, of course...) The great big life cleanup that is the month of Ramadan helps you focus all that energy into something that is more important to you - perhaps the most important thing to you - your spirutal life. It can feel very cleansing and carthatic, like riding a wave back to a place where you know all things operate better from. You become a better organized person, a better friend, spouse, employee - even during the day.
The day is also good. Sure, you're hungry. It is difficult, it's meant to be. It started out really hard, but you get to used to it after some time. But then a day will come where the second you wake up to start your day your mouth feels glued shut and all you can think about for the next 12 hours is a cool glass of water. Or my poor Mian, who will still have to mow the lawn for almost two hours in the heat and amond all that dust and stirred up grass clippings, all without a drink of water. Because even though you're hungry, even though you can't drink anything, you still have to go about your daily life. (Well, that's not actually true in many countries where the whole place seems to shut down during the fasting hours, but here in America you still have to go to work if you want to be able to afford the ingredients to make pakoras.) Being hungry and thirsty all day can teach you a lot of things, not the least of which is how terrible it is that plenty of people the world over have this kind of hunger and thirst and thankfulness for even then simplest of things - that first sip of water. I'm just doing it because I WANT to, but I still, all day long, still have access to clean water and plenty of food.
It's nice, is all I'm saying. And it's not unhealthy. Most people go 12-14 hours all night without food while they're sleeping at night and we're just doing the opposite and cramming all the same amount of food and drink (and sometimes more!) into the night hours. And of course, if you have some good reason you can't fast then there's no problem forgoing it. It's just between God and you, afterall. And if my husband passed out or has some other medical difficulty after mowing the grass you can bet I'll be the first person trying to help him out and force him to drink a glass of water. It's not about depriving yourself at all costs, it's just about trying to do what we believe is a religous requirement and reaping all the benefits from it, those that we can see and those we might not even understand.
It really is one of my favorite times of year. Some years are been better as far as spiritual upliftment (if that even a word?) and some are more like going through the motions, but even when that happens it tells me that I needto focus my efforts in some aspect of my life. Ramadan is like a diagnostic tool - taking my personal engine to the mechanic to make sure everything's the way it's supposed to be. Making sure everything's in good working order for the journey ahead.
Ramadan is actually one of my favorite times of year. It's like a big de-cluttering project except instead of cleaning out a closet, you're making much bigger "Toss, Keep or Donate" decisions. The nighttime - when you have to fit in a day's worth of eating, hours and hours of extra prayers, and oh yeah - sleeping and spending time with your family - are pretty slim. We only have about eight hours for that these days. It makes you seriously prioritize in a way that you're usually not able to the rest of the year.
Maybe most of the year you think "Oh, I should really go to the mosque more often." But you can never find the time, even for this thing that's really important to you. Then Ramadan rolls around and you're suddenly able to find the time. Maybe you get bogged down sometimes, visiting friends your don't like all that much or reading crap on the internet you're not even all that interested in. (uh...hypothetically speaking, of course...) The great big life cleanup that is the month of Ramadan helps you focus all that energy into something that is more important to you - perhaps the most important thing to you - your spirutal life. It can feel very cleansing and carthatic, like riding a wave back to a place where you know all things operate better from. You become a better organized person, a better friend, spouse, employee - even during the day.
The day is also good. Sure, you're hungry. It is difficult, it's meant to be. It started out really hard, but you get to used to it after some time. But then a day will come where the second you wake up to start your day your mouth feels glued shut and all you can think about for the next 12 hours is a cool glass of water. Or my poor Mian, who will still have to mow the lawn for almost two hours in the heat and amond all that dust and stirred up grass clippings, all without a drink of water. Because even though you're hungry, even though you can't drink anything, you still have to go about your daily life. (Well, that's not actually true in many countries where the whole place seems to shut down during the fasting hours, but here in America you still have to go to work if you want to be able to afford the ingredients to make pakoras.) Being hungry and thirsty all day can teach you a lot of things, not the least of which is how terrible it is that plenty of people the world over have this kind of hunger and thirst and thankfulness for even then simplest of things - that first sip of water. I'm just doing it because I WANT to, but I still, all day long, still have access to clean water and plenty of food.
It's nice, is all I'm saying. And it's not unhealthy. Most people go 12-14 hours all night without food while they're sleeping at night and we're just doing the opposite and cramming all the same amount of food and drink (and sometimes more!) into the night hours. And of course, if you have some good reason you can't fast then there's no problem forgoing it. It's just between God and you, afterall. And if my husband passed out or has some other medical difficulty after mowing the grass you can bet I'll be the first person trying to help him out and force him to drink a glass of water. It's not about depriving yourself at all costs, it's just about trying to do what we believe is a religous requirement and reaping all the benefits from it, those that we can see and those we might not even understand.
It really is one of my favorite times of year. Some years are been better as far as spiritual upliftment (if that even a word?) and some are more like going through the motions, but even when that happens it tells me that I needto focus my efforts in some aspect of my life. Ramadan is like a diagnostic tool - taking my personal engine to the mechanic to make sure everything's the way it's supposed to be. Making sure everything's in good working order for the journey ahead.
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