Have you heard of Sid the Science Kid? It's a great show with these cute characters drawn in funny colors and they have these mini science lessons. Last fall, they even had an episode that addressed H1N1.
They also sing these really catchy songs:
I couldn't resist another one
(My blog is turning into an advertisement for children's shows... just another way that my siblings have taken over my life ;)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Maybe too much Disney
It used to be just me, but that didn’t even last for two years so I’ve long since accustomed myself to being the oldest child and not the only child. Eventually, it was my brother, my sister, and me. The three of us were born within three years of one another so we grew up together. It never occurred to us that we wouldn’t be the only ones and that after ten years we would be followed by three more girls and a boy. The four have changed our lives in a lot of ways – a lot of unexpected ways.
I am not a religious follower of any particular TV show, but if there is a show that I watch more regularly than any other it’d probably be Sonny with a chance or another Disney channel show (except for Hannah Montana). Also, if there’s a Disney channel movie, I’ve seen it. We didn’t have Disney channel when I was a child – God, I sound old – so maybe I’m making up for something I missed out on… nah, my brother, sister, and I enjoyed watching Arthur, Gargoyles, and Power Rangers. Good memories. No, the reason my entire family is so familiar with Disney channel is that it’s usually safer and easier for all of us to watch their show than vice versa.
There was the brief period of time that I followed the series Bones. If my little sisters were in the room, more often than not I had to change the channel at least a couple times because it was too gory for them. And when I watch Say Yes to the Dress, I get suckered into switching to something not as ‘boring’ by my sisters’ begging. Seriously though, I don’t mind watching Sonny and Chad Dillon Cooper, they’re quite entertaining; you should try it sometime. I have made references to Disney characters and shows that I found particularly humorous or applicable to my friends. Funny thing is, they don’t usually get my very intelligent references, and it’s probably because they don’t have younger siblings at home.
Sigh…the sacrifices I make.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
"We Are Family"
I haven't heard this song in forever. Does anybody else recognize nearly every character that comes up in the vid? Except for the huge grizzly, I don't know who he is.
Monday, June 21, 2010
"How You Say It Matters!"
How You Say It Matters! by Amal Killawi
I found this article about relationships interesting. It relates to my previous discussion of my relationship with my parents, but the suggestions are applicable to all relationships.
For those of you who don't get a chance to visit the link, I'd like to share with you the 'magic equation' from the following excerpt:
I found this article about relationships interesting. It relates to my previous discussion of my relationship with my parents, but the suggestions are applicable to all relationships.
For those of you who don't get a chance to visit the link, I'd like to share with you the 'magic equation' from the following excerpt:
Research studies actually reveal that in order to maintain a happy
marriage, couples need to engage in 5 to 20 positive interactions for
every negative one. (Gottman, 1993; Notarius and Markman, 1993)
One negative = five to twenty positives.
This magical equation is not just for couples. It can be applied in our
relationships with family members, friends, classmates, colleagues, and
others.
Killawi, Amal. "How You Say It Matters!." Suhaib Webb. Suhaib Webb, 7 May 2010. Web. 22 Jun 2010.
Islam & My Parents
This post is prompted by something that happened this evening. My mom and I were in the kitchen this evening when my baby brother, who is in his crib, starts to cry. He had a doctor’s appointment today and the two shots he got put him in an irritable mood all day. He was tired and supposed to be asleep so for a few moments, nobody moves to retrieve him. I can tell that my mom is tired after dealing with a cranky baby and the rest of the kids all day; I know that she’d love nothing better than for me to go to the baby and calm him into sleep. I didn’t go. The baby’s cries got louder and with a sigh of frustration my mom left the kitchen to tend to the baby. I feel both guilt and shame. It would have taken me barely five minutes; instead, I ignored my mother and her needs. Moreover, I think I added to her burden by the lack of consideration and caring reflected in my actions.
And your Lord has decreed that you worship none but Him and [that you show] kindness to parents. If one or both of them attain old age in your life, say not to them a word of disrespect, nor repel them but address them in terms of honor.
(Quran, 17:23)
I believe in God’s command to worship none but Him and to treat one’s parents with kindness. Note that belief in one God is the foundation of Islamic belief. The Muslim declaration of faith states, “There is no deity worthy of worship but Allah and Prophet Muhammad is His messenger.” (Allah is the Arabic term for God). Now, notice that the command to worship Him alone (the basis of Islam) is immediately followed by the command to treat parents well. The two are inseparable and this reflects the value Islam places on parents.
Once again, I am reminded of Robert Munsch’s book Love You Forever because it highlights the compassion, patience, and love of a mother for her child – things that can be appreciated but never repaid in full.
In my Islamic studies, I learned stories and sayings that demonstrate how good treatment of parents is rewarded with God’s blessing. Prophet Muhammad said, “May he perish… He whose parents (one or both) attain old age in his life and he does not enter Paradise because of his goodness towards them.” Among the prayers that God is sure to accept, according to Islamic teachings, is that of a parent for their child.
Thus, I believe that my relationship with my parents can place me in either heaven or hell. More than kindness, it is also gentleness, honor, and consideration with which I must treat them. When in spite of my deep love and respect for them, I am tempted to lash out at my parents (whether I am in the right or wrong) or ignore their needs, it is this belief that serves as a reminder to me and keeps me in check. For all the other times, I hope that my parents forgive me.
And your Lord has decreed that you worship none but Him and [that you show] kindness to parents. If one or both of them attain old age in your life, say not to them a word of disrespect, nor repel them but address them in terms of honor.
(Quran, 17:23)
I believe in God’s command to worship none but Him and to treat one’s parents with kindness. Note that belief in one God is the foundation of Islamic belief. The Muslim declaration of faith states, “There is no deity worthy of worship but Allah and Prophet Muhammad is His messenger.” (Allah is the Arabic term for God). Now, notice that the command to worship Him alone (the basis of Islam) is immediately followed by the command to treat parents well. The two are inseparable and this reflects the value Islam places on parents.
Once again, I am reminded of Robert Munsch’s book Love You Forever because it highlights the compassion, patience, and love of a mother for her child – things that can be appreciated but never repaid in full.
In my Islamic studies, I learned stories and sayings that demonstrate how good treatment of parents is rewarded with God’s blessing. Prophet Muhammad said, “May he perish… He whose parents (one or both) attain old age in his life and he does not enter Paradise because of his goodness towards them.” Among the prayers that God is sure to accept, according to Islamic teachings, is that of a parent for their child.
Thus, I believe that my relationship with my parents can place me in either heaven or hell. More than kindness, it is also gentleness, honor, and consideration with which I must treat them. When in spite of my deep love and respect for them, I am tempted to lash out at my parents (whether I am in the right or wrong) or ignore their needs, it is this belief that serves as a reminder to me and keeps me in check. For all the other times, I hope that my parents forgive me.
Friday, June 18, 2010
a family that prays together stays together
I pray five times a day. Prayer is the second pillar of Islam, I am Muslim and – at the risk of sounding redundant – so I pray.
The five prayers are dispersed throughout the day at dawn, noon, afternoon, sunset, and late evening. Salah, the Arabic term for prayer, literally comes from the root word meaning connection. Our prayers are our direct connection to God; there is no intermediary and it maintains a constant connection between Him and myself. Life is interspersed with distractions in the form of work, stress, happiness, sadness, family, etc. My prayers place God into the equation of life in case I’ve forgotten; my prayer is a fixed opportunity for me to attribute my blessings to Him, thank Him for my source of happiness, ask Him to help me overcome a difficult situation, and so on.
“Leilaa, we’re about to start.”
I’m being called down to pray with my family. I could finish the chapter I’m reading, the post I’m typing for my blog, the show I’m watching, etc. I could finish whatever it is I’m doing and later, pray on my own. But in my house, that constitutes as a no-no. If my mom and I, for example, are both home during prayer time, it is expected that we pray together. Of course it would be easier for each of us to pray when it is most convenient for our separate schedules, but that’s not the way things work. We both accommodate each other so that we can pray together.
Understand that my Muslim duty to pray five times a day would be fulfilled whether I pray alone or with my family. However, the reward is multiplied 27x if I pray in a group (I’m going to investigate why 27). As a child, I would sometimes take the opportunity of a commercial break to complete my prayer. When I told my dad, “I already prayed by myself,” he would ask, “Did you pray 27 times so that you can get the same reward?” Of course I hadn’t; I had finished my prayer as fast as possible so that I could quickly return to my show without being interrupted later on at a crucial part of the episode.
I realize now why my parents always stressed the importance of praying in a group. When I pray with somebody else, I can’t rush the prayer and I am forced to be more conscious of what I am saying/doing. The fact that I may be forced to interrupt my schedule to pray fulfills, in my opinion, part of the purpose of our five daily prayers. There is also the idea that whatever it is I am doing, God comes first. In my home, prayer brings my family together; it’s one of the places where our lives intersect. It’s something we share, we worship God together, and He bestows His mercy upon us as a family. It’s a blessing.
I’m reminded of something I once heard: A family that prays together stays together.
The five prayers are dispersed throughout the day at dawn, noon, afternoon, sunset, and late evening. Salah, the Arabic term for prayer, literally comes from the root word meaning connection. Our prayers are our direct connection to God; there is no intermediary and it maintains a constant connection between Him and myself. Life is interspersed with distractions in the form of work, stress, happiness, sadness, family, etc. My prayers place God into the equation of life in case I’ve forgotten; my prayer is a fixed opportunity for me to attribute my blessings to Him, thank Him for my source of happiness, ask Him to help me overcome a difficult situation, and so on.
“Leilaa, we’re about to start.”
I’m being called down to pray with my family. I could finish the chapter I’m reading, the post I’m typing for my blog, the show I’m watching, etc. I could finish whatever it is I’m doing and later, pray on my own. But in my house, that constitutes as a no-no. If my mom and I, for example, are both home during prayer time, it is expected that we pray together. Of course it would be easier for each of us to pray when it is most convenient for our separate schedules, but that’s not the way things work. We both accommodate each other so that we can pray together.
Understand that my Muslim duty to pray five times a day would be fulfilled whether I pray alone or with my family. However, the reward is multiplied 27x if I pray in a group (I’m going to investigate why 27). As a child, I would sometimes take the opportunity of a commercial break to complete my prayer. When I told my dad, “I already prayed by myself,” he would ask, “Did you pray 27 times so that you can get the same reward?” Of course I hadn’t; I had finished my prayer as fast as possible so that I could quickly return to my show without being interrupted later on at a crucial part of the episode.
I realize now why my parents always stressed the importance of praying in a group. When I pray with somebody else, I can’t rush the prayer and I am forced to be more conscious of what I am saying/doing. The fact that I may be forced to interrupt my schedule to pray fulfills, in my opinion, part of the purpose of our five daily prayers. There is also the idea that whatever it is I am doing, God comes first. In my home, prayer brings my family together; it’s one of the places where our lives intersect. It’s something we share, we worship God together, and He bestows His mercy upon us as a family. It’s a blessing.
I’m reminded of something I once heard: A family that prays together stays together.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Default Setting
I was this close to studying dentistry. I am working on a master’s degree in English. Allow me to explain:
When I graduated from high school and registered for courses at the university, I had no ideas for my future career but I knew I was going to be a biology major. I was a bio major by default; I didn’t even have to think about it much, what else would I be? Perhaps I am exaggerating a bit and doing an injustice to myself. I’ve always been intrigued by biology, the study of life. In high school, I took more than the required number of science courses, really cool courses like Genetics and Microbiology. And it’s not as if I wasn’t good at biology. Then again I was a 4.0 student, school was my priority and I did good in all my classes. Moreover, I enjoyed most of them; my favorite high school classes in high school were Genetics, English, F.S.T (Functions, Statistics, and Trigonometry) and Humanities. A blessing and a curse.
So why did I register and begin fall semester as a Biology major? I already mentioned that it interested me, but no more than other subjects. I attribute the fact that biology was my default setting to my Syrian roots. At the end of their 9th grade year, Syrian students choose to continue their studies with a primary focus in either the sciences (chemistry, calculus, physics, etc) or the arts (history, geography, etc). How can a 15-year old possibly decide the focus of his future education and career? Generally, it’s not very difficult because the ‘smart’ kids are expected to pursue the sciences. Ironically, these students who follow the science route 10-12th grade may choose to get a degree in the arts, but ultimately they have more choices. Also, at the end of 12th grade, there is a major exam, the scores of which determine what field a student can study in university. Students spend two years stressing and preparing for this exam. I believe the exam is out of 240 points and each field is assigned a minimum score, the fields are basically ranked. The number one field that requires a nearly perfect score (seriously, usually something like 238!) is medicine, which is closely followed by pharmacy, dental school, and so on.
It’s a completely different system and I’ve left out a lot of details, but you get the idea: smarts equals sciences and the best possible career equals medicine. Period. In my home, it’s difficult to escape this mentality. My father is a physician and it’s hard for him to grasp the concept of a smart student not pursuing a career in the medical field? If I can do it, why wouldn’t I?
And so, I became a biology major, but I still didn’t know what I wanted to do. For a while, I seriously considered becoming a physician. It’s an extremely rewarding profession that helps countless people in life-altering ways. And it definitely has its advantages – financial security, social prestige, etc. But, I saw how being a doctor can take over your life and I didn’t want that. (Plus, I wasn’t prepared to commit myself to something like ten years of medical school). What’s second best to medicine? I decided it was dentistry.
I didn’t have a deep passion for any specific subject, I couldn’t imagine myself in any one profession, and so I settled for dentistry. But why couldn’t I give myself the time to determine what it is I would do? The sense that the medical field – if not a doctor then a dentist – overshadowed most other professions, definitely existed in my subconscious. It was surprising for me to see things in a different light. All the while, I was also an English major, but I didn’t know until after I’d gotten quite far in the application process for dentistry that English was something I could and would further pursue, an idea that hadn’t occurred to me before. Don’t think that I consciously ignored a love for English language and writing because when I realized it, that is when my plans changed. I know that whatever smarts I have can be put to good use as much in English as any other profession, and the more time I spend with language, the more I realize it’s an art that requires a sharp mind.
Don’t get me wrong, my dad supports my decision to study English, but I’m quite sure that my shift away from dentistry is not exactly his favorite subject.
:)
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Proud Moment
“I don’t care what color I am!! As long as I’m not purple or pink or something not normal.”
~ my 7-year old sister
hurt people, hurt people
Yesterday night, my dad and I were having a heated discussion, when my 7-year old sister walked into the room. We weren’t actually saying anything at that point, but she must have sensed some lingering tension because she sat beside me and with a smiling face whispered to me that age-old golden rule, “If you can’t say something nice then don’t say anything at all.” It’s amazing how children can sense things while we continue to assume that they are too young to understand.
At the family camp I attended last weekend, one of the speakers said something that has been floating around in my mind all week, “Hurt people, hurt people.” People who are hurt, hurt other people with their words and actions. How much more peaceful would life be if we kept this in mind? And it’s a two-way street. When I am hurt, I have to be careful not to project this hurt towards others, and if someone hurts me, I must keep in mind that they may be hurt. The fact that I am hurt is no excuse for me to lash out towards someone else (most likely someone I care about), but it might help that person to understand my behavior.
Naturally, this is easier said than done. A hurt person is vulnerable and their self-control is reduced, it takes discipline to restrain one’s self from hurting others. Further, knowing that a person is hurt doesn’t diminish the effect of being hurt. It’s difficult to not take things personally. Just because I realize that the person facing me is under stress, going through difficulties, etc, it doesn’t mean that this person can’t still cause me pain. I suppose this is why “Hurt people, hurt people” is stated as a given, almost like a rule. The worst part of the situation is that if I am hurt and if I lash at out somebody, more than likely I am going to target this hurt towards people that I feel comfortable with, the people I care about, my family.
Well, it’s definitely something to keep in mind, and as long as it’s a rule, there is room for exceptions.
At the family camp I attended last weekend, one of the speakers said something that has been floating around in my mind all week, “Hurt people, hurt people.” People who are hurt, hurt other people with their words and actions. How much more peaceful would life be if we kept this in mind? And it’s a two-way street. When I am hurt, I have to be careful not to project this hurt towards others, and if someone hurts me, I must keep in mind that they may be hurt. The fact that I am hurt is no excuse for me to lash out towards someone else (most likely someone I care about), but it might help that person to understand my behavior.
Naturally, this is easier said than done. A hurt person is vulnerable and their self-control is reduced, it takes discipline to restrain one’s self from hurting others. Further, knowing that a person is hurt doesn’t diminish the effect of being hurt. It’s difficult to not take things personally. Just because I realize that the person facing me is under stress, going through difficulties, etc, it doesn’t mean that this person can’t still cause me pain. I suppose this is why “Hurt people, hurt people” is stated as a given, almost like a rule. The worst part of the situation is that if I am hurt and if I lash at out somebody, more than likely I am going to target this hurt towards people that I feel comfortable with, the people I care about, my family.
Well, it’s definitely something to keep in mind, and as long as it’s a rule, there is room for exceptions.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Baby Shower Thoughts
There's definitely an advantage to having younger siblings. Well, there's a lot, but one of them is that when I have my own kids, I won't be one of those new mothers who are always stressing out about their babies, overprotective, smothering, and really irritating. God, I hope I'm not like that! When I see these types of mothers, I feel sorry for mother, child, and father. My friend's sister-in-law recently had her first baby and she made everybody crazy with her notes and tables that kept record of when her baby last ate, from which side (sorry, TMI), what time he slept, how long, and so on. That's too intense for me, plus too much tension in the house. It can't be good for the baby if the mom is constantly stressing about all these technicalities. Motherhood is a natural thing and babies shouldn't have to deal with such a stressful environment.
To a certain extent, I understand the obsessiveness of some parents. Babies are a huge responsibility, they're fragile and precious, which makes them quite scary. I suppose some parents deal with this by trying to enforce control on the situation, but sometimes you just can't force things.
I was at a baby shower today and an older friend of mine told me that she was in a similar situation as mine - when she was 16, her mother had a baby boy. So when this friend of mine had her first baby, she wasn't one of those stressful moms because she was familiar with having a baby in the house. "When you get married though," she says, "make sure you tell your husband that you want to wait a while before you have kids." I totally agree. As much as I love my siblings and as much as I want kids of my own someday, I'd like to enjoy a quiet household with no babies for awhile. Apparently, my friend waited five years after her marriage before she had her first child. She only had one baby brother, I have four!
Anyways, at the baby shower, one of the gifts was a box of 96 newborn-sized diapers. One of the guests comments, "Only someone with no kids would buy such a thing. Your baby's going to come out weighing 8lb..." (Basically, the baby will grow out of the newborn size diapers/clothes before the box of diaper finishes). I later commented to my mom that the thing I noticed is that the diapers didn't have the dip in the front. (Explanation: Newborns' belly buttons have to stay dry so that the umbilical chord can fall off. My mom always bought these special diapers that had a dip in the front so that the belly button doesn't come in contact with the diaper and any dampness.... I told you - I know these random but useful tidbits.) My mom laughed and laughed at my observation, and she said, "It's going to take you at least five years to forget this stuff." :) I don't want to forget the information I have, I just want to keep it stored in my mind for some time before I have to use it.
To a certain extent, I understand the obsessiveness of some parents. Babies are a huge responsibility, they're fragile and precious, which makes them quite scary. I suppose some parents deal with this by trying to enforce control on the situation, but sometimes you just can't force things.
I was at a baby shower today and an older friend of mine told me that she was in a similar situation as mine - when she was 16, her mother had a baby boy. So when this friend of mine had her first baby, she wasn't one of those stressful moms because she was familiar with having a baby in the house. "When you get married though," she says, "make sure you tell your husband that you want to wait a while before you have kids." I totally agree. As much as I love my siblings and as much as I want kids of my own someday, I'd like to enjoy a quiet household with no babies for awhile. Apparently, my friend waited five years after her marriage before she had her first child. She only had one baby brother, I have four!
Anyways, at the baby shower, one of the gifts was a box of 96 newborn-sized diapers. One of the guests comments, "Only someone with no kids would buy such a thing. Your baby's going to come out weighing 8lb..." (Basically, the baby will grow out of the newborn size diapers/clothes before the box of diaper finishes). I later commented to my mom that the thing I noticed is that the diapers didn't have the dip in the front. (Explanation: Newborns' belly buttons have to stay dry so that the umbilical chord can fall off. My mom always bought these special diapers that had a dip in the front so that the belly button doesn't come in contact with the diaper and any dampness.... I told you - I know these random but useful tidbits.) My mom laughed and laughed at my observation, and she said, "It's going to take you at least five years to forget this stuff." :) I don't want to forget the information I have, I just want to keep it stored in my mind for some time before I have to use it.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Love you forever, by Robert Munsch
I love this book! I thought about it as I was writing my last post. It was my favorite story as a child and I remember begging my mom to read it to me. (Mind you the sound of the reader grates on my ears, but it was the best version I could find.)
miles & miles away
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my roots. My parents were both born and raised in the Middle East, but have lived in the states for 23 years. No, that's not right. They've been married for 23 years and that's how long my mom's been here, but my dad came here way before that.. I'm not even sure exactly when. Anyways, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins -- except for a few that are scattered across the world -- are all in the Middle East.
This means that if my grandma's not feeling very well, God forbid, it would take my dad minimum 24 hours to reach her side. It means that my mom couldn't sit in the hospital with her mother when my grandfather was in surgery. We don't even hear about half their pains and worries because they don't want to worry us when we're thousands of miles away, where our knowledge of the situation won't make a difference. It's not just the painful times that we miss, but the joyful moments as well. I can't count the number of weddings, birthdays, graduations, and other celebrations that we've missed. Sometimes I'm so out of the loop that I might hear that a cousin has just given birth and in absolute bewilderment I'll ask, "She was pregnant?!" (It's a good thing I've kept up with who's married)
They miss out on our good times too. Imagine that the next time my grandparents see their daughter, my mother, she will be holding in her hands a 7-month old baby that they've never seen except in a couple of pictures. I find that to be extremely sad. We love them, we worry about them, we think about them, but it's all from afar. And sad as it sounds let's be real, as the saying goes, Out of sight, out of mind.
This all sounds melodramatic, but in reality, we've all adjusted to this way of life. As much as my parents love their parents and wish that they could be there for them all the time, they have become accustomed to a completely different way of life and it would be extremely difficult to pack up and leave. With our home, school, work, friends, society, etc., we are completely settled in our current way of life and we're happy.
I just don't think it's right for parents to be separated from their children, particularly in their old age. I can't imagine being in my parents' situation, being so far from my mom and dad, unable to reach them when they need me or I need them or if I simply want to see them. The thing is that in the Middle East, my grandparents have family to distract them (sadly) from our absence. Here, our family is my parents and us kids. I don't think either of us could stand to lose our connection. It makes me wonder where my fate lies...
This means that if my grandma's not feeling very well, God forbid, it would take my dad minimum 24 hours to reach her side. It means that my mom couldn't sit in the hospital with her mother when my grandfather was in surgery. We don't even hear about half their pains and worries because they don't want to worry us when we're thousands of miles away, where our knowledge of the situation won't make a difference. It's not just the painful times that we miss, but the joyful moments as well. I can't count the number of weddings, birthdays, graduations, and other celebrations that we've missed. Sometimes I'm so out of the loop that I might hear that a cousin has just given birth and in absolute bewilderment I'll ask, "She was pregnant?!" (It's a good thing I've kept up with who's married)
They miss out on our good times too. Imagine that the next time my grandparents see their daughter, my mother, she will be holding in her hands a 7-month old baby that they've never seen except in a couple of pictures. I find that to be extremely sad. We love them, we worry about them, we think about them, but it's all from afar. And sad as it sounds let's be real, as the saying goes, Out of sight, out of mind.
This all sounds melodramatic, but in reality, we've all adjusted to this way of life. As much as my parents love their parents and wish that they could be there for them all the time, they have become accustomed to a completely different way of life and it would be extremely difficult to pack up and leave. With our home, school, work, friends, society, etc., we are completely settled in our current way of life and we're happy.
I just don't think it's right for parents to be separated from their children, particularly in their old age. I can't imagine being in my parents' situation, being so far from my mom and dad, unable to reach them when they need me or I need them or if I simply want to see them. The thing is that in the Middle East, my grandparents have family to distract them (sadly) from our absence. Here, our family is my parents and us kids. I don't think either of us could stand to lose our connection. It makes me wonder where my fate lies...
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Leila, Leila, Leila
Ooh, like the song “Layla”? The first time I heard this was in high school and I was confused. The only songs I knew with my name in them were in Arabic, so I think to myself, No way, I’m definitely missing something. Finally, somebody elaborated and mentioned “Layla” by Eric Clapton. Mind you, I had never heard of Eric Clapton (I grew up in the 90’s) so that didn’t shed much light except that I could now look up the song. I didn’t even bother to listen to the song until people kept making the reference and I was tired of being out of the loop. Well, I’m not much of a rock fan and it didn’t really make a difference; if somebody refers to a song called “Layla,” I immediately think of the Arabic version, which is really a lot more fun in my opinion:
When I was a fetus in my mother’s womb, my mother dreamt that she was holding a baby girl named Leila. So my parents named me Leila. I have always loved my name. When people say, “Oh, what a pretty name,” my internal response is I know, I love it. But I don’t like to gloat – I really had nothing to do with my name – so I merely reply with a demure ‘Thank You’.
I’ve seen my name spelled a lot of different ways: Leila (that’s me), Layla, Lila, Lela, Laila, and (I was recently surprised to see) Leighla. I suppose ‘Layla’ makes the most sense because that’s how my name is pronounced – people tend to pronounce ‘Leila’ as Lee-la or Lie-la. Even Arabs can mispronounce my name by saying Leh-la, which I don’t like it because it’s said in what I can best describe as a Syrian drawl. The proper way is Lay-la and Arabs have no excuse butchering it. Also, the Arabic ‘L’ is pronounced much lighter than it is in English (I don’t know how I can explain this any further).
Enough about pronunciation, the good stuff is always in the meaning. When my mom had my younger siblings, picking out a name was always a very big deal. My mom is vey picky about the names and she thinks of how the name sounds, the meaning, how it fits with the rest of our names, possible nicknames (if the kid's going to be teased), etc. Thank God my mom is so picky because I think we all ended up with nice names.
Back to my name :) Leila originates from the word layl, which means ‘night’ in Arabic. (Cute sidenote: my sister Sana’s name means light. One day she tells me, “You’re night and I’m light.” Rhyming opposites... interesting.) In Ancient Arab traditions, it is known that something of great value is given many names. One of those names was Leila. So my name was used in poetry to refer to things that were precious to the Arabs like the Ka’bah (a sacred site for Muslims). There is also a famous story about two lovers, Qays and Leila. Qays is nicknamed Majnoon Leila, literally Crazy-about Leila. Before I was aware of any of these references, I knew that I was famous because in the Arabic version of "Little Red Riding Hood," the little girl’s name is Leila. The story is called "Leila and the Wolf." You can guess my favorite childhood story.
When I was a fetus in my mother’s womb, my mother dreamt that she was holding a baby girl named Leila. So my parents named me Leila. I have always loved my name. When people say, “Oh, what a pretty name,” my internal response is I know, I love it. But I don’t like to gloat – I really had nothing to do with my name – so I merely reply with a demure ‘Thank You’.
I’ve seen my name spelled a lot of different ways: Leila (that’s me), Layla, Lila, Lela, Laila, and (I was recently surprised to see) Leighla. I suppose ‘Layla’ makes the most sense because that’s how my name is pronounced – people tend to pronounce ‘Leila’ as Lee-la or Lie-la. Even Arabs can mispronounce my name by saying Leh-la, which I don’t like it because it’s said in what I can best describe as a Syrian drawl. The proper way is Lay-la and Arabs have no excuse butchering it. Also, the Arabic ‘L’ is pronounced much lighter than it is in English (I don’t know how I can explain this any further).
Enough about pronunciation, the good stuff is always in the meaning. When my mom had my younger siblings, picking out a name was always a very big deal. My mom is vey picky about the names and she thinks of how the name sounds, the meaning, how it fits with the rest of our names, possible nicknames (if the kid's going to be teased), etc. Thank God my mom is so picky because I think we all ended up with nice names.
Back to my name :) Leila originates from the word layl, which means ‘night’ in Arabic. (Cute sidenote: my sister Sana’s name means light. One day she tells me, “You’re night and I’m light.” Rhyming opposites... interesting.) In Ancient Arab traditions, it is known that something of great value is given many names. One of those names was Leila. So my name was used in poetry to refer to things that were precious to the Arabs like the Ka’bah (a sacred site for Muslims). There is also a famous story about two lovers, Qays and Leila. Qays is nicknamed Majnoon Leila, literally Crazy-about Leila. Before I was aware of any of these references, I knew that I was famous because in the Arabic version of "Little Red Riding Hood," the little girl’s name is Leila. The story is called "Leila and the Wolf." You can guess my favorite childhood story.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Pre-Vacation Race
It’s been a while, but I’ve been out of town. This Memorial weekend, my family and I were at the 5th annual Flint Muslim Family Camp in Thompsonville, Michigan. We look forward to this camp every year. Most of our friends from our mosque attend and we all have a fun, relaxing, and spiritual weekend.
Rewind to the chaos that resided under our roof Friday morning. I wake up to discover that we are in fact leaving at noon, not at 4 pm as per the plan. I still had to pack my clothes, shower, pack my younger sisters’ clothes, get an oil change and fill up gas so that we could take my car for the trip, go to the mall and get a birthday present for my sister (18), buy a bike rack because every year we say we are going to take our bikes, assemble the bike rack, pack snacks for the car ride, and pick up my sisters from school because we were leaving early.
Did I knowingly leave everything to the last possible second? No. The plan was to get most of these things done Thursday. I spent the morning completing work for my classes and my plan was to run errands in the afternoon. Little did I know I would be babysitting for much of Thursday. My sister graduates from high school this year and there was a reception that recognized honors students for their achievements. My parents and sister went, they were supposed to be back in max an hour and a half. It took them four hours. It was not a big deal – I watched my three sisters and baby brother. They really are good kids and not a lot of trouble. We went outside to enjoy the weather. I sat with textbook and highlighter in my hand (didn’t get much highlighting done), my three sisters alternated between drawing and fighting over the purple chalk or concrete space, and baby brother sat beside me in his bouncer playing with his toys and watching everybody around him. It got dark out and my two younger sisters were covered in chalk so we went inside, they had their baths and I prepared them ready for bed. Eventually, my parents came home. By then, everything was closed and it was too late for me to go anywhere.
Back to Friday morning. I wake up, discover I am four hours behind schedule, quickly resign myself to the situation, and begin running around. I helped pack my younger siblings’ clothes, pack my clothes, and shower. My brother and I then take my car and he drops me off at the mall while he gets an oil change and fills up gas. Everybody is running around, but I of course must ask my mom’s opinion on what color scarf I should get for my sister as part of her gift.
Leila: I’m going to send you a pic message so you can tell me which one I should get.
Mama: LEILA!! Don’t send anything. Just hurry up and come home.
I decide on the yellow one, check out, and walk out just as my brother is pulling up to the mall entrance. I’ve come to realize that I do my best shopping under pressure. Anyways, my brother and I go to Dunham’s, pick out a bike rack, which we are assured is very simple and easy to assemble, and we return home. My sister had picked up the kids from school and was packing snacks for the trip. I had exactly ten minutes – before my dad arrived and we had to go – to put together the bike rack and attach it to the car. Yeah right. First, the instructions are ridiculously vague. Second, it appears that I can’t assemble parts as well as I can shop under pressure. I had to put it down.
My brother says that it has to get loud in house before we leave for a trip. Even if we had been prepared, something would have provoked somebody. Enough said. Finally, the kids and the bags are all packed into the cars and we begin the road trip.
In all the chaos of Friday morning, we had very minor casualties. The bag of snacks ended up in my dad’s car (no car will fit the nine of us and two car seats), but thankfully we had a pastry that my brother, two sisters, and I (all starving) shared. Also, we forgot to pack a just-in-case-it-gets-chilly sweater (which we didn’t need) for my sister. And to my unending disappointment, the parts of the bike rack still lie in their cardboard box in the middle of the garage. After this initial dose of chaos, everything ran smoothly and it was a beautiful weekend.
Rewind to the chaos that resided under our roof Friday morning. I wake up to discover that we are in fact leaving at noon, not at 4 pm as per the plan. I still had to pack my clothes, shower, pack my younger sisters’ clothes, get an oil change and fill up gas so that we could take my car for the trip, go to the mall and get a birthday present for my sister (18), buy a bike rack because every year we say we are going to take our bikes, assemble the bike rack, pack snacks for the car ride, and pick up my sisters from school because we were leaving early.
Did I knowingly leave everything to the last possible second? No. The plan was to get most of these things done Thursday. I spent the morning completing work for my classes and my plan was to run errands in the afternoon. Little did I know I would be babysitting for much of Thursday. My sister graduates from high school this year and there was a reception that recognized honors students for their achievements. My parents and sister went, they were supposed to be back in max an hour and a half. It took them four hours. It was not a big deal – I watched my three sisters and baby brother. They really are good kids and not a lot of trouble. We went outside to enjoy the weather. I sat with textbook and highlighter in my hand (didn’t get much highlighting done), my three sisters alternated between drawing and fighting over the purple chalk or concrete space, and baby brother sat beside me in his bouncer playing with his toys and watching everybody around him. It got dark out and my two younger sisters were covered in chalk so we went inside, they had their baths and I prepared them ready for bed. Eventually, my parents came home. By then, everything was closed and it was too late for me to go anywhere.
Back to Friday morning. I wake up, discover I am four hours behind schedule, quickly resign myself to the situation, and begin running around. I helped pack my younger siblings’ clothes, pack my clothes, and shower. My brother and I then take my car and he drops me off at the mall while he gets an oil change and fills up gas. Everybody is running around, but I of course must ask my mom’s opinion on what color scarf I should get for my sister as part of her gift.
Leila: I’m going to send you a pic message so you can tell me which one I should get.
Mama: LEILA!! Don’t send anything. Just hurry up and come home.
I decide on the yellow one, check out, and walk out just as my brother is pulling up to the mall entrance. I’ve come to realize that I do my best shopping under pressure. Anyways, my brother and I go to Dunham’s, pick out a bike rack, which we are assured is very simple and easy to assemble, and we return home. My sister had picked up the kids from school and was packing snacks for the trip. I had exactly ten minutes – before my dad arrived and we had to go – to put together the bike rack and attach it to the car. Yeah right. First, the instructions are ridiculously vague. Second, it appears that I can’t assemble parts as well as I can shop under pressure. I had to put it down.
My brother says that it has to get loud in house before we leave for a trip. Even if we had been prepared, something would have provoked somebody. Enough said. Finally, the kids and the bags are all packed into the cars and we begin the road trip.
In all the chaos of Friday morning, we had very minor casualties. The bag of snacks ended up in my dad’s car (no car will fit the nine of us and two car seats), but thankfully we had a pastry that my brother, two sisters, and I (all starving) shared. Also, we forgot to pack a just-in-case-it-gets-chilly sweater (which we didn’t need) for my sister. And to my unending disappointment, the parts of the bike rack still lie in their cardboard box in the middle of the garage. After this initial dose of chaos, everything ran smoothly and it was a beautiful weekend.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wisdom & Responsibility Beyond My Years
I was on the phone with my cousin, mother of a seven-month old baby, and I found myself advising her to add salt and pepper to her son’s baby food to make it more palatable. Half of our conversation consists of her talking about her baby and me responding with similar information about my baby brother. I know, it’s not particularly thrilling, but there’s always some tidbit that I have to offer whether it’s about baby eating, crawling, walking, talking, potty training, and a lot of random things. These are things I’ve learned in the past seven years, since the first of the second set of us kids was born.
My mom’s friends always say, “You’re so lucky. When you have your own children, you’ll have so much experience.” My response: smile and nod. Is there any other response? Sometimes I wonder if by the time I am a mother, I will be over the whole experience before it begins. I doubt it.
My maternal grandmother was also the oldest of seven children and she always tells me how she was truly like a mother to her younger siblings, particularly her youngest brother. She fed him, bathed him, did everything for him, and when he woke up in the middle of the night crying, he would call for her. It got the point where he was calling her “mama”. This story always gets me thinking. First, kudos to my grandma for being such a big help to her mom and for taking responsibility of her baby brother. Then, of course, there’s the guilt: am I supposed to be more like that?? Sure, I help my mom. I change diapers, drive them to their activities, dress them for bed, and babysit. And at night, when somebody needs to use the bathroom, wakes up from a nightmare, or forgets to wake up to use the bathroom (sigh), I take care of business. As much as I help however, I have not assumed full responsibility of them. They’re not my kids and when my sister accidentally addresses me as “mama,” it makes me uncomfortable. My mom loves her children and she enjoys being a mom (most of the time). Honestly, I don’t think my mom would want me to become mother to her kids like my grandma was for her brother. This is my consolation and this is what eases part of my guilt when I see her busy with the little ones while I’m busy with schoolwork, an activity, or just lazing about. This doesn’t mean my mom would refuse my help so there’s always going to be some guilt.
My mom’s friends always say, “You’re so lucky. When you have your own children, you’ll have so much experience.” My response: smile and nod. Is there any other response? Sometimes I wonder if by the time I am a mother, I will be over the whole experience before it begins. I doubt it.
My maternal grandmother was also the oldest of seven children and she always tells me how she was truly like a mother to her younger siblings, particularly her youngest brother. She fed him, bathed him, did everything for him, and when he woke up in the middle of the night crying, he would call for her. It got the point where he was calling her “mama”. This story always gets me thinking. First, kudos to my grandma for being such a big help to her mom and for taking responsibility of her baby brother. Then, of course, there’s the guilt: am I supposed to be more like that?? Sure, I help my mom. I change diapers, drive them to their activities, dress them for bed, and babysit. And at night, when somebody needs to use the bathroom, wakes up from a nightmare, or forgets to wake up to use the bathroom (sigh), I take care of business. As much as I help however, I have not assumed full responsibility of them. They’re not my kids and when my sister accidentally addresses me as “mama,” it makes me uncomfortable. My mom loves her children and she enjoys being a mom (most of the time). Honestly, I don’t think my mom would want me to become mother to her kids like my grandma was for her brother. This is my consolation and this is what eases part of my guilt when I see her busy with the little ones while I’m busy with schoolwork, an activity, or just lazing about. This doesn’t mean my mom would refuse my help so there’s always going to be some guilt.
Friday, May 21, 2010
she's my SISTER!!
My friends and I were out together having breakfast – we were celebrating our graduation from high school (this was four years ago). I had brought my sister Sana with me because my mom was busy and needed me to babysit. Sana was three years old at the time. I can still picture the scene of me walking across the restaurant, hand in hand with Sana, who had syrup all over her face, fingers, and clothes. I smiled at the nice people having breakfast in the restaurant and I could see it in their eyes: Aaw, the little girl is so cute, but that poor mom – she’s too young! Lord! Once again, my response: smile and nod. What rattles me is that if I saw an average-looking, 17-year old American girl walking with a 3 year old, I would not automatically assume a parent-child relationship. Actually, I would probably assume that they are sisters. In my case, when people see me – a Muslim girl – my hijab (headscarf) often automatically triggers negative impressions of oppression and ignorance. For reasons I will ascribe to media focus and an unfortunate ignorance, people see me with my sister and envision an uneducated girl at the mercy of her male relatives, forced by her father to dress in a certain way as well as enter an oppressive marriage, in which her sole purpose is to birth children and assume the role of slave to her master. Bleh. All I can think right now is if Sana really were my daughter, I’d have been pregnant at 12!
How am I so sure that this is what occurs in the minds of too many people when they see me? Besides that it gives me mixed feelings of aggravation, frustration, and amusement, how do I react? More about that later.
How am I so sure that this is what occurs in the minds of too many people when they see me? Besides that it gives me mixed feelings of aggravation, frustration, and amusement, how do I react? More about that later.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
"You're an oozer"
I feel old saying this, but really, where do kids today find the nerve to say some of the things they say? Today, my almost 4-year old sister, Bayan, called Salaam, 17, a loser. Well, actually she called her an “Oozer.” Speaking of which, when do you stop kids from saying things in that cute way of theirs by giving them the correct pronunciation. Even if I told her, “Honey, it’s pronounced loser,” do you think it would matter? Most assuredly, no. She would stare me down as if I had committed some great offense and likely stomp off – perhaps to tattle on me to our mom!!!
Of course, that is what happens when you live in a house with younger children – there is always someone to tattle on you…. That’s not to say that there isn’t tattling amongst us ‘older siblings’ – however minimal, but that’s a different story.
Now, the members of my family are not in the habit of calling each other “losers” or “oozers” for that matter. Outside of a friendly but competitive game of taboo or scrabble with my friends, I can’t even recall ever using the term in reference to someone. So where do you suppose Bayan, my innocent little angel of a sister, learned to label someone as an “oozer”? From the other 3 and 4-year olds in her PreK but of course! In all seriousness, parents, older siblings, and adults in general need to be cautious of the language they use in front of children. When somebody called another human being a ‘loser’ in front of my sister, she didn’t only pick up the phrase but the condescension and superciliousness that is inherent in the word/phrase. She doesn’t comprehend the meanings, yet they are implied in her words. Something needs to change because 3-year old little girls are not supposed to sound mean and condescending!
Of course, that is what happens when you live in a house with younger children – there is always someone to tattle on you…. That’s not to say that there isn’t tattling amongst us ‘older siblings’ – however minimal, but that’s a different story.
Now, the members of my family are not in the habit of calling each other “losers” or “oozers” for that matter. Outside of a friendly but competitive game of taboo or scrabble with my friends, I can’t even recall ever using the term in reference to someone. So where do you suppose Bayan, my innocent little angel of a sister, learned to label someone as an “oozer”? From the other 3 and 4-year olds in her PreK but of course! In all seriousness, parents, older siblings, and adults in general need to be cautious of the language they use in front of children. When somebody called another human being a ‘loser’ in front of my sister, she didn’t only pick up the phrase but the condescension and superciliousness that is inherent in the word/phrase. She doesn’t comprehend the meanings, yet they are implied in her words. Something needs to change because 3-year old little girls are not supposed to sound mean and condescending!
My Family
This is a new experience for me. I have never kept a diary or a journal, and I don’t have myspace, facebook, or twitter accounts. If I wish to share something with someone, I do so directly by phone, text, or email – if not in person. I find no reason or purpose in flaunting my life publicly. That sounds kind of harsh so I will admit that talking about myself does not come natural to me.
Here, I have chosen to discuss my favorite topic … my family.
I am the daughter and sister in a family of nine. I am my parents’ first child, which means of course that the feelings of being a guinea pig are not foreign to me. Being the eldest child also means that I automatically assume the role of being the eldest sibling as well. I realize that this is common sense, but I feel the need to distinguish between them because the two roles are quite different with only some overlaps. I have six siblings, my brother who is 19 and my four sisters who are 17, 7, 3, and 2. That makes five… oh yeah, I also have a baby brother who was born last November, which makes him 6 months now. As you can tell, there is a large (ten-year) difference between two of my sisters, splitting the seven of us into two generations. My brother likes to call us three oldest, “the originals.” Even though it has been more than seven years since it was just the three of us, when I think of how many we are, I still start from three and count up – first it was to 4, then 5, 6, and now 7.
My four youngest siblings have added so much to our home. When I picture life as it was before them, I see naked rooms filled with silence. I love being a part of my big family.
Here, I have chosen to discuss my favorite topic … my family.
I am the daughter and sister in a family of nine. I am my parents’ first child, which means of course that the feelings of being a guinea pig are not foreign to me. Being the eldest child also means that I automatically assume the role of being the eldest sibling as well. I realize that this is common sense, but I feel the need to distinguish between them because the two roles are quite different with only some overlaps. I have six siblings, my brother who is 19 and my four sisters who are 17, 7, 3, and 2. That makes five… oh yeah, I also have a baby brother who was born last November, which makes him 6 months now. As you can tell, there is a large (ten-year) difference between two of my sisters, splitting the seven of us into two generations. My brother likes to call us three oldest, “the originals.” Even though it has been more than seven years since it was just the three of us, when I think of how many we are, I still start from three and count up – first it was to 4, then 5, 6, and now 7.
My four youngest siblings have added so much to our home. When I picture life as it was before them, I see naked rooms filled with silence. I love being a part of my big family.
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