Whew, but yesterday was hot!!
Which meant that we ended up at our usual river spot. The temperature in that part of the world had soared beyond 38 degrees Celsius.
However, the temperature of the water was- perfect.
The place was uncharacteristically busy, which made our peaceful and tranquil retreat somewhat more vibey. But it didn't matter; we just clamoured further upstream where the water was shallower (no higher than knee-depth) but excitingly flowed more rapidly and forcefully. One's powerlessness against the sheer force of the water was thoroughly exhilarating.
The arrangement of the rocks created mini-rapids and we derived much pleasure and excitement from trying to prevent ourselves from being washed downstream. Mo held 2 year old Aisha at a section where the water was moving slightly less forcefully, but strongly enough to provide a thrilling experience for her as it gushed against her body.
"Oooh I shower!!" she yelled elatedly.
But eventually the excitement became a bit too much so, giggling hysterically, she urged her dad to switch off the tap.
The intense heat meant that one had to remain submerged in the water all the time. Especially in my case since I was wearing my Billabong second-skin type top. Which was black. With long sleeves. (The memory alone makes me perspire).
As usual, I ran after the children- sunscreen bottle in hand- slathering the thick creamy liquid liberally over every exposed part of their bodies. Repeatedly.
"This is my favourite place to swim," one of the kids declared. They then each shouted out their preferences- pools, beaches, rivers.
"What is your favourite place to swim, Mommy?"
Before I could answer, 7 year old Nuha interjected shyly. "Mommy's favourite place FOR US to swim would be a pool filled with sunscreen instead of water. Then she won't have to worry about us being protected from the sun".
How did she know?
As usual, we had an amazing time. Instead of barbequing/braaing (which would most likely have caused Mo to suffer from a heat stroke), we enjoyed a yummy, greasy, artery-clogging KFC family meal.
On the walk back to the car we became drenched with perspiration once again. If only we didn't have to leave!! Ten year old Tharaa and I settled for cooling off by running through the sprinklers instead.
As unbearable as the February heat has been, I still felt sad when I popped in at Woolworths on Saturday and saw all the Autumn/Winter clothes already on display. What were they doing? I'm not ready for winter yet. Despite the uncomfortable heat (and the fact that our car's air-conditioning has been broken since last year) summer is still my happy time. I'm not ready for it to end yet!
Oh well, I suppose that all I need is a mindset change. I need to start thinking about interesting and exciting family time which can be shared in winter.
Right now though, I'm taking Aisha outside to enjoy splashing in the plastic pool. I plan to glean every last second of fun from what's left of our magnificent Cape Town summer.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Tharaa? Who's Tharaa?
About 7 years ago I was forced to endure the wretched queues at the Department of Home Affairs to register Nuha. Accompanied by my mum and newborn Nuha we sat (thankfully) in a long winding queue in a really hot weird-smelling Home Affairs office.
Upon eventually reaching the counter I submitted all the necessary forms and then turned to my mum and said, "I'd better find a safe place for the three kids' birth certificates".
"What you mean three kids?" interrupted the woman behind the counter rudely. "According to our system you only have two children- it's this one and another one, er Shakeel".
"No," I argued. Now, normally I am not the argumentative type- I usually just accept that I'm wrong, but not this time.. Nobody was going to deny the 14 hours of labour and countless sleepless nights I had endured with Tharaa by denying her existence. "I also have another 3 year old daughter," I explained, providing Tharaa's details. I was sure that it was just a misunderstanding which would be resolved in a minute.
Not so.
"Uh uh," she argued. "You only have Shakeel and then there's this baby. There is no other child- I would have seen it on this computer".
I whipped out Tharaa's birth certificate feeling victorious and clever. Read it and weep, I silently taunted her.
"Er...oh" (silence). Then, "It doesn't matter. She is not on the system. You must re-register her".
Wwhaaat!!! "But, but ..this" I said waving Tharaa's birth certificate at her, feeling less confident now. She was not supposed to have argued back. She was supposed to have taken one look at the certificate- my trump card- and apologised profusely, perhaps saying how stupid she was feeling.
"That means nothing, "she said definitively. "You must re-register her."
Nothing would change her mind. I asked her how she thought I had managed to get hold of the birth certificate if my child did not exist. Eventually she was forced to concede that sometimes people got lost in the system.
She had acknowledged that they were at fault. But it didn't matter. I still had to re-register Tharaa and apply for a new birth certificate.
That was seven years ago.
This morning I once again found myself at the counter of a Home Affairs office. This time though I marvelled at the improvements which had been implemented. Queues were shorter. There was a very very efficient person at the Information Desk, providing people with the correct forms and directing them to the correct counters. There was a woman walking around the office addressing people's queries, probably to prevent them from having to stand in unnecessary queues. I was suitably impressed.
At the counter I explained that my bag containing Shakeel and Tharaa's birth certificates had been stolen. I wanted to apply for new certificates. No problem- the young lady behind the counter checked the system for the details of their existing certificates. And then..
"There is a Shakeel on our system. But no Tharaa- this child has never been registered under your, the mom's ID number".
I thought I was about to explode. Into fits of laughter.
It didn't matter that I didn't have a certificate to prove her existence. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. She would have to be re-registered. I asked how to re-register her.
"Oh, you can't," she replied, very very abruptly.
We stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She didn't.
"What do you mean?"asked Mo, clearly confused. "What is the next step to obtaining a new certificate?"
"You can't," repeated the young lady, becoming increasingly impatient. "You have to find the original certificate".
Oh, now why hadn't we thought of that? Come to think of it, it was starting to appear that we stood a better chance of tracking down the thief who took my bag two years ago and retrieving the original certificate, than obtaining a new certificate through official channels.
"If you can't give me the certificate number on the original certificate, I can't help you. You must find the original. Or don't you keep copies? You should always keep copies", she kindly shared her wisdom with us, the clueless couple in front of her.
You are right, I felt like saying. I should have foreseen that you'd lose my child in your system for the second time. So I should most definitely have made copies. I should also apologise on behalf of my troublesome daughter- for her mischievous tendency to lose herself in your system.
But obviously I said nothing.
Mo looked incredulous. He did not understand how something so basic could not be accomplished. Mr Problem-solver Business Analyst looked about ready to leap over the counter to conduct the search through their primitive IT system himself.
"Can't you search under the mother's ID number?" he suggested again.
"I told you- no". Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Mo requested to see the supervisor who told him that it was possible to have a new certificate re-issued, but this would entail a three month wait.
We shrugged. What choice did we have, really?
On the bright side, we are actually quite lucky that the need arose to have a new certificate reissued or we would never have known that Tharaa was still not on their system. What would then have happened had we needed to apply for a passport for our officially non-existent child?
After our entertaining morning at Home Affairs, we headed off to Biesmiellah Take Aways in Bo-Kaap, where we sat in the car snacking on yummy freshly-fried samoosas and bollas.
"Ow!!" I shrieked after burning my fingers on a scorching hot samoosa. Two year old Aisha giggled and giggled.
"Mommy said 'ow!!'. Mommy's Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson says 'ow!!'
All traces of post-Home Affairs annoyance melted away.
Upon eventually reaching the counter I submitted all the necessary forms and then turned to my mum and said, "I'd better find a safe place for the three kids' birth certificates".
"What you mean three kids?" interrupted the woman behind the counter rudely. "According to our system you only have two children- it's this one and another one, er Shakeel".
"No," I argued. Now, normally I am not the argumentative type- I usually just accept that I'm wrong, but not this time.. Nobody was going to deny the 14 hours of labour and countless sleepless nights I had endured with Tharaa by denying her existence. "I also have another 3 year old daughter," I explained, providing Tharaa's details. I was sure that it was just a misunderstanding which would be resolved in a minute.
Not so.
"Uh uh," she argued. "You only have Shakeel and then there's this baby. There is no other child- I would have seen it on this computer".
I whipped out Tharaa's birth certificate feeling victorious and clever. Read it and weep, I silently taunted her.
"Er...oh" (silence). Then, "It doesn't matter. She is not on the system. You must re-register her".
Wwhaaat!!! "But, but ..this" I said waving Tharaa's birth certificate at her, feeling less confident now. She was not supposed to have argued back. She was supposed to have taken one look at the certificate- my trump card- and apologised profusely, perhaps saying how stupid she was feeling.
"That means nothing, "she said definitively. "You must re-register her."
Nothing would change her mind. I asked her how she thought I had managed to get hold of the birth certificate if my child did not exist. Eventually she was forced to concede that sometimes people got lost in the system.
She had acknowledged that they were at fault. But it didn't matter. I still had to re-register Tharaa and apply for a new birth certificate.
That was seven years ago.
This morning I once again found myself at the counter of a Home Affairs office. This time though I marvelled at the improvements which had been implemented. Queues were shorter. There was a very very efficient person at the Information Desk, providing people with the correct forms and directing them to the correct counters. There was a woman walking around the office addressing people's queries, probably to prevent them from having to stand in unnecessary queues. I was suitably impressed.
At the counter I explained that my bag containing Shakeel and Tharaa's birth certificates had been stolen. I wanted to apply for new certificates. No problem- the young lady behind the counter checked the system for the details of their existing certificates. And then..
"There is a Shakeel on our system. But no Tharaa- this child has never been registered under your, the mom's ID number".
I thought I was about to explode. Into fits of laughter.
It didn't matter that I didn't have a certificate to prove her existence. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. She would have to be re-registered. I asked how to re-register her.
"Oh, you can't," she replied, very very abruptly.
We stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She didn't.
"What do you mean?"asked Mo, clearly confused. "What is the next step to obtaining a new certificate?"
"You can't," repeated the young lady, becoming increasingly impatient. "You have to find the original certificate".
Oh, now why hadn't we thought of that? Come to think of it, it was starting to appear that we stood a better chance of tracking down the thief who took my bag two years ago and retrieving the original certificate, than obtaining a new certificate through official channels.
"If you can't give me the certificate number on the original certificate, I can't help you. You must find the original. Or don't you keep copies? You should always keep copies", she kindly shared her wisdom with us, the clueless couple in front of her.
You are right, I felt like saying. I should have foreseen that you'd lose my child in your system for the second time. So I should most definitely have made copies. I should also apologise on behalf of my troublesome daughter- for her mischievous tendency to lose herself in your system.
But obviously I said nothing.
Mo looked incredulous. He did not understand how something so basic could not be accomplished. Mr Problem-solver Business Analyst looked about ready to leap over the counter to conduct the search through their primitive IT system himself.
"Can't you search under the mother's ID number?" he suggested again.
"I told you- no". Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Mo requested to see the supervisor who told him that it was possible to have a new certificate re-issued, but this would entail a three month wait.
We shrugged. What choice did we have, really?
On the bright side, we are actually quite lucky that the need arose to have a new certificate reissued or we would never have known that Tharaa was still not on their system. What would then have happened had we needed to apply for a passport for our officially non-existent child?
After our entertaining morning at Home Affairs, we headed off to Biesmiellah Take Aways in Bo-Kaap, where we sat in the car snacking on yummy freshly-fried samoosas and bollas.
"Ow!!" I shrieked after burning my fingers on a scorching hot samoosa. Two year old Aisha giggled and giggled.
"Mommy said 'ow!!'. Mommy's Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson says 'ow!!'
All traces of post-Home Affairs annoyance melted away.
Thursday, 2 February 2012
The kids make a comeback- and mom dances a jig
This morning I awoke to birds chirping more happily, the sun shining more brightly and the blue sky looking more radiant. Even Shakeel (12)'s grumpy morning face looked adorable.
It seems that the tides have turned. The winds of positive change are finally breezing through our household, hopefully cleansing it of all last week's negativity, stress and drama (as described here)
Yesterday afternoon I summoned each one to bring me their homework diaries and messages/letters sent from school. I braced myself- I just didn't know what to expect these days.
Furtive glances among the three older kids made my heart sink. What the heck now? But wait- they were smiling; happily excited. I was suspicious.
"What's going on?" I asked apprehensively, already working out what punishment I would be meting out to each respective child.
More furtive glances.
Then...
"Ta daaah!!" they all shouted in unison, each pulling out an item which they had been hiding behind their backs.
Shakeel had been presented with both his Library monitor and Playground Monitor badges. He can now boss everyone around the way he loves to do- but only now it is official.
I congratulated, gushed and hugged. Nobody deserved to be awarded this honour more than he did- nobody is as bossy as he is. This role suits him perfectly. I was proud and happy.
"And, that's not all," sang Tharaa (10), sounding like the guy on the Verimark infomercial about to announce a product's additional features. She pulled out her Homework Book.
I broke out in a cold sweat. The dreaded Homework Book. The cause of all last week's trouble. I readied myself to attack.
She flipped to the last page of her completed homework. At the bottom were the words "Lovely work. Keep it up" accompanied by a sticker of a smiling heart surrounded by bright yellow stars.
Now I'm aware that at schools these days, kids are routinely awarded smiley faces, hearts and kisses and the words "Well done, sweetheart" or "Good work little genius", so it really doesn't carry as much weight as say, when I was at school. But coming from this teacher this was really quite a vote of approval, as this woman is known to have high standards and to be intolerant of mediocre slapdash work (which is the reason she and Tharaa had gotten off to a rocky start in the first place).
I whooped, danced a jig, hugged and whooped some more. I sighed a happy sigh of relief. This motivation from an authority figure whom Tharaa admires and respects, is exactly the encouragement this child needs to continue on this path. (Yes, I do realise the implication- that I am not an authority figure she admires and respects, but hey, right now I'm just happy to have the teacher's help- I'll save my tears for therapy).
"And, that's not all," sang Tharaa in her Verimark infomercial voice. She yanked a green card from Nuha (7)'s hand.
"No, I want to show Mommy. It's my card!" wailed Nuha.
"Okay then" said Tharaa tossing the card onto the floor. I felt my earlier pride slowly start to dissipate.
Nuha picked it up and showed it to me proudly. "Look Mommy. I got a green card today!" Oh, more relief! Green cards signify good behaviour in class; an indication that the child has worked and behaved well for the day.
Now the fact that there had been a few orange cards (signifying that the child needs to work harder at being attentive in class) interspersed among the green cards over the past two weeks, would not have bothered me too much in the past. Nuha was quite a chatterbox, I know. She has a very loud husky voice, which inevitably stands out and is always heard by the teacher when the class becomes chatty.
But I had been in a fragile state due to the antics of the older two, so the orange cards, to me, started to signify my failure as a parent. Was I raising delinquent children? How had I gone so terribly wrong?
Once again I hugged, danced and became teary-eyed- maybe I wasn't a complete loser as a mother after all.
So this morning I could overlook Shakeel's moods and the fact that 2 year old Aisha had kept me up for much of the night. There was hope once again. My kids were emerging from their brush with near-delinquency; and were once again showing me how amazing they can be if they try.
It seems that the tides have turned. The winds of positive change are finally breezing through our household, hopefully cleansing it of all last week's negativity, stress and drama (as described here)
Yesterday afternoon I summoned each one to bring me their homework diaries and messages/letters sent from school. I braced myself- I just didn't know what to expect these days.
Furtive glances among the three older kids made my heart sink. What the heck now? But wait- they were smiling; happily excited. I was suspicious.
"What's going on?" I asked apprehensively, already working out what punishment I would be meting out to each respective child.
More furtive glances.
Then...
"Ta daaah!!" they all shouted in unison, each pulling out an item which they had been hiding behind their backs.
Shakeel had been presented with both his Library monitor and Playground Monitor badges. He can now boss everyone around the way he loves to do- but only now it is official.
I congratulated, gushed and hugged. Nobody deserved to be awarded this honour more than he did- nobody is as bossy as he is. This role suits him perfectly. I was proud and happy.
 |
| Shakeel shyly, but proudly posing with his two monitor badges |
"And, that's not all," sang Tharaa (10), sounding like the guy on the Verimark infomercial about to announce a product's additional features. She pulled out her Homework Book.
I broke out in a cold sweat. The dreaded Homework Book. The cause of all last week's trouble. I readied myself to attack.
She flipped to the last page of her completed homework. At the bottom were the words "Lovely work. Keep it up" accompanied by a sticker of a smiling heart surrounded by bright yellow stars.
Now I'm aware that at schools these days, kids are routinely awarded smiley faces, hearts and kisses and the words "Well done, sweetheart" or "Good work little genius", so it really doesn't carry as much weight as say, when I was at school. But coming from this teacher this was really quite a vote of approval, as this woman is known to have high standards and to be intolerant of mediocre slapdash work (which is the reason she and Tharaa had gotten off to a rocky start in the first place).
I whooped, danced a jig, hugged and whooped some more. I sighed a happy sigh of relief. This motivation from an authority figure whom Tharaa admires and respects, is exactly the encouragement this child needs to continue on this path. (Yes, I do realise the implication- that I am not an authority figure she admires and respects, but hey, right now I'm just happy to have the teacher's help- I'll save my tears for therapy).
"And, that's not all," sang Tharaa in her Verimark infomercial voice. She yanked a green card from Nuha (7)'s hand.
"No, I want to show Mommy. It's my card!" wailed Nuha.
"Okay then" said Tharaa tossing the card onto the floor. I felt my earlier pride slowly start to dissipate.
Nuha picked it up and showed it to me proudly. "Look Mommy. I got a green card today!" Oh, more relief! Green cards signify good behaviour in class; an indication that the child has worked and behaved well for the day.
Now the fact that there had been a few orange cards (signifying that the child needs to work harder at being attentive in class) interspersed among the green cards over the past two weeks, would not have bothered me too much in the past. Nuha was quite a chatterbox, I know. She has a very loud husky voice, which inevitably stands out and is always heard by the teacher when the class becomes chatty.
But I had been in a fragile state due to the antics of the older two, so the orange cards, to me, started to signify my failure as a parent. Was I raising delinquent children? How had I gone so terribly wrong?
Once again I hugged, danced and became teary-eyed- maybe I wasn't a complete loser as a mother after all.
So this morning I could overlook Shakeel's moods and the fact that 2 year old Aisha had kept me up for much of the night. There was hope once again. My kids were emerging from their brush with near-delinquency; and were once again showing me how amazing they can be if they try.
Trying to make sense of intense loss- a prayer for my cousin and his wife
This post is being written through blinding tears, so may not be too coherent.
Earlier this week at about midnight my cousin and his wife found that their darling 3 month old baby girl had passed away in her cot- suddenly and inexpicably.
When I saw them later that day I found myself unable to approach them. What did one say in the face of such overwhelming gut-wrenching grief?
I only saw my cousin's wife (the baby's mother) briefly. I was in awe of her composure at that moment (although I realise I was only seeing her for a brief moment). I was pushed by my aunt to greet my cousin. His face revealed his shock and anguish. I hugged him and babbled, "I don't know what to say" repeatedly, inadequately- but truthfully. I didn't know what to say in the face of such intense agony.
Actually, I knew all the right things to say. I know everything which THEORETICALLY should grant one comfort. But nothing I could say could take away their pain. I wished so much that there was a way to relieve their pain.
Yesterday his Facebook status read: "
I pray that Allah/God eases their pain (and that of the baby's sister, grandparents and others who had been close to her) and grants them the strength to get through this period of sorrow and bereavement, Insha-Allah (God-willing)
Earlier this week at about midnight my cousin and his wife found that their darling 3 month old baby girl had passed away in her cot- suddenly and inexpicably.
When I saw them later that day I found myself unable to approach them. What did one say in the face of such overwhelming gut-wrenching grief?
I only saw my cousin's wife (the baby's mother) briefly. I was in awe of her composure at that moment (although I realise I was only seeing her for a brief moment). I was pushed by my aunt to greet my cousin. His face revealed his shock and anguish. I hugged him and babbled, "I don't know what to say" repeatedly, inadequately- but truthfully. I didn't know what to say in the face of such intense agony.
Actually, I knew all the right things to say. I know everything which THEORETICALLY should grant one comfort. But nothing I could say could take away their pain. I wished so much that there was a way to relieve their pain.
Yesterday his Facebook status read: "
I pray that Allah/God eases their pain (and that of the baby's sister, grandparents and others who had been close to her) and grants them the strength to get through this period of sorrow and bereavement, Insha-Allah (God-willing)
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Would I ever turn in my own child for doing something wrong- hell yeah!!
I have always wondered about the situation where a mother turns in her child to the authorities in order to protect the child from his/herself. These moms, who take the 'tough love' approach are very often at the end of their tether; I am sure no parent would take such steps lightly.
I have always wondered how I would react in a situation where turning my child in is the only way I could help him/her. I imagined I would most probably be unable to follow through- I would most probably end up covering up my children's faults and they, in turn, would suffer as a result of being raised by an enabler.
Or so I'd thought.
Last week had been such a difficult school week. The kids were having an incredibly difficult time adjusting to being back at school even though it had already been the end of the second week. I don't think that the hot 'holiday' weather and me allowing them to swim before tackling their homework had really helped them to settle into a 'back to school' routine.
Tharaa had been incredibly grumpy while doing her work. I could see that she was doing it very half-heartedly. Like last year, she was leaving her homework diary at school so I was unable to see what she was expected to do at home. When I tried to help her with homework she moaned and cried; and just ended up doing it really unenthusiastically . I'd check her work, see it was incomplete and mete out punishment, which in turn made her cry more. When she is in this state, she becomes absolutely unproductive and impossible to reason with.
Nuha, most likely imitating her older sister, too was resisting every instruction I gave her. "Take out your books. Let me check what you need to do this afternoon" was met with her twisting her body and writhing like someone experiencing a fit. She too would often burst into tears when I issued any instruction.
Shakeel, who had been stressing about his academic performance this year being so vital to his acceptance at a good high school, was surprisingly blasé about his homework and was more focused on not missing Dragonball Z (which is the only program I allow them to watch during the week). So I was so terribly disappointed one day last week when he came home and announced that he had a project due the following day! That was so unlike him.
I was becoming increasingly depressed and overwhelmed with the feeling that I was losing control. What's more, I had no idea how to deal with any of them. I sat with them, speaking calmly and appealing to their desire to do the right thing (but apparently they had no such desire). I tried positive motivation, clapping and jumping up and down with excitement when any of them even remembered to place a full stop at the end of a sentence. I watched Tharaa's face closely for the scowl to disappear for even a second, so that I could praise her for doing her work with such a positive attitude- but to no avail. I became angry and raised my voice, which caused them to sulk and become even more unproductive.
I was at the end of my tether.
On Thursday, they had no homework since we had a "Meet the Teachers" meeting at the school at 18:00. I had really had no energy for this meeting, since I'd been to them so often- they outlined school rules, teachers expectations regarding school uniforms, cell phones etc etc etc. Because we have 3 kids at the school, Mo and I usually have to juggle our attendance at each one's class- Mo attended the first part of Nuha's, then headed off to Shakeel's class. I spent most of my time listening to Tharaa's teacher and then headed off to the last part of Nuha's class meeting.
This was merely supposed to be an introduction to the teachers- with no discussion on individual children, as most teachers were still getting to know the kids' names. But at the end of Tharaa's meeting, a mother approached the teacher asking very specific questions about her daughter. Most of the parents started to leave, as the meeting was clearly at an end. But somehow I could not bring myself to move away from the class. I'd had no idea what I was about to say to the teacher, but my state of despair seemed to be keeping me glued to the person whom I was most likely perceiving as the 'light at the end of my dark dark tunnel', my saviour or just a helping hand.
When the other mother left the teacher looked toward me with a kind smile, which in my fragile state almost brought me to tears. I felt like a pent-up emotional wreck on the couch of an understanding calming and wise therapist. But fortunately I'd managed not to come across as the wreck I was- I hid my feelings under jocular (albeit slightly nervous) babbling, the details of which I absolutely do not remember. I think the jist of it was that Tharaa was not working as she should at home, that she fails to perform if there are no consequences to her non-performance.
I think I may have used the word 'manipulative'. (cringe)
I was nervous about what I'd done, but at the same time felt some sense of relief. Perhaps my motives had been entirely selfish- perhaps I'd just needed someone on whom to offload. But whatever my intentions were- I had just turned in my daughter.
I could not have foreseen the ripple effect this interaction with Tharaa's teacher would have.
The following day Mo fetched them from school. The moment he walked in I could see something was wrong. He was visibly upset. Tharaa went to her room in tears.
Shakeel informed me that he (Shakeel) had been summoned by Tharaa's teacher, who had shown him the state of Tharaa's homework book. (1) It was filled with 2 year old Aisha's scribblings, (2) The work was an incomplete mess (3) Most importantly, and the reason for Shakeel being summoned, my husband's signature appeared in the book, but had clearly been written by a child's hand.
I could not understand how I'd missed this. How had Aisha gotten hold of the book? How had I not seen that the latest homework she had done was incomplete? Shakeel, kindly put an end to my self-torture by reminding me that they all had been home with a stomach bug on Wednesday, which is how Tharaa's book had ended up within Aisha's reach. Tharaa had started to feel sick on Tuesday while doing her howework, and when she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom Aisha had gotten hold of her book. This was also why she had not completed the homework. As for my husband's signature, Tharaa insists that she had just been doodling (and to be fair- her homework book is filled with drawings and doodling where there should be math problems). Her teacher had seen it as an attempt to forge my husband's signature. Tharaa responded that if this were the case she would definitely have been able to do a better job at imitating his handwriting; while the signature in the book just looked like a child's cursive writing.
In the car my husband had lost his mind- he had ranted and raved and Tharaa had cried. They would each be given one more chance to get their act together. Failure to do so would result in them being banned from TV for the entire term.
But I don't think it was the threat of punishment that had caused the change I've now been witnessing. I think that the entire incident had been incredibly traumatic. Shakeel, who is not accustomed to getting into trouble, being summoned by a teacher (despite the fact that it had not been for any offence he had committed); had him a bit shaken up. Tharaa had endured the humiliation of having her brother summoned and then being reprimanded in front of the entire class. (I was not too happy about the way in which it was dealt- I would have preferred if the teacher had dealt with the matter privately).
Hubby and I were still discussing how to proceed with the issue of Tharaa's public humiliation, when she came home on Monday beaming. She had approached the teacher without being summoned (and without being instructed by me to do so) to show her how she had managed to catch up with all her outstanding work. She had even tidied up her book and re-written untidy work in her best handwriting (which is really beautiful, by the way). She had even raised the issue of the signature, reiterating to the teacher that she had merely been doodling.
When I asked her what the teacher's response had been, she replied, "My teacher said that she was proud of me for umm...I don't remember".
It appears as if she had just heard that the teacher was proud of her and had then zoned out- probably to admire the bird nesting outside the classroom.
On Friday afternoon Shakeel had come home and done 6 pages of additional maths from his workbook. He has been much more focused on his work since then.
Tharaa has undergone the most amazing transformation. She goes into the room and closes the door (which I would ordinarily not allow), but it seems to help with shutting out external stimuli. She finishes her work within the space of an hour (last week she had sat in front of her books until just before bedtime- and her work had still not been done properly). Her work is neat and organised. She brings it to me to sign after completion. I had had no idea that I was supposed to be signing her homework book each day- I had been under the impression that we just signed the homework diary (which she had previously always forgotten at school anyway).
The positive approach to homework seems to have filtered down to Nuha, who came to sit by the kitchen table while I was preparing supper without being told to do so. She too has been displaying a really positive attitude and we have already made significant progress in preparation for her weekly test on Friday.
Mo and I have decided not to raise the issue of Tharaa's 'public humiliation' with the teacher unless it happens again. The reason is that she and her teacher are establishing a really positive bond, upon which I am relying heavily in order to keep her motivated to perform her best this year.
I am praying that the effects of this incident last and that they are not just the kids' initial response to a stressful incident. I would really have preferred not to have had to take those measures and if I had not been in the situation myself, I might have judged someone in my position for being unable to handle the matter at home. Now I realise that there is nothing wrong with involving the other key people in their lives (without relinquishing or diminishing our own responsibility obviously- although the thought of running away had crossed my mind). Keeping relevant information from the teacher in order to 'protect' Tharaa, would in my humble opinion, just have amounted to enabling her to continue to neglect her responsibilities.
Whether I had ratted on her for her own sake or simply to obtain some assistance for me, I am quite content with the outcome of my disloyalty. And it seems, so is she.
I have always wondered how I would react in a situation where turning my child in is the only way I could help him/her. I imagined I would most probably be unable to follow through- I would most probably end up covering up my children's faults and they, in turn, would suffer as a result of being raised by an enabler.
Or so I'd thought.
Last week had been such a difficult school week. The kids were having an incredibly difficult time adjusting to being back at school even though it had already been the end of the second week. I don't think that the hot 'holiday' weather and me allowing them to swim before tackling their homework had really helped them to settle into a 'back to school' routine.
Tharaa had been incredibly grumpy while doing her work. I could see that she was doing it very half-heartedly. Like last year, she was leaving her homework diary at school so I was unable to see what she was expected to do at home. When I tried to help her with homework she moaned and cried; and just ended up doing it really unenthusiastically . I'd check her work, see it was incomplete and mete out punishment, which in turn made her cry more. When she is in this state, she becomes absolutely unproductive and impossible to reason with.
Nuha, most likely imitating her older sister, too was resisting every instruction I gave her. "Take out your books. Let me check what you need to do this afternoon" was met with her twisting her body and writhing like someone experiencing a fit. She too would often burst into tears when I issued any instruction.
Shakeel, who had been stressing about his academic performance this year being so vital to his acceptance at a good high school, was surprisingly blasé about his homework and was more focused on not missing Dragonball Z (which is the only program I allow them to watch during the week). So I was so terribly disappointed one day last week when he came home and announced that he had a project due the following day! That was so unlike him.
I was becoming increasingly depressed and overwhelmed with the feeling that I was losing control. What's more, I had no idea how to deal with any of them. I sat with them, speaking calmly and appealing to their desire to do the right thing (but apparently they had no such desire). I tried positive motivation, clapping and jumping up and down with excitement when any of them even remembered to place a full stop at the end of a sentence. I watched Tharaa's face closely for the scowl to disappear for even a second, so that I could praise her for doing her work with such a positive attitude- but to no avail. I became angry and raised my voice, which caused them to sulk and become even more unproductive.
I was at the end of my tether.
On Thursday, they had no homework since we had a "Meet the Teachers" meeting at the school at 18:00. I had really had no energy for this meeting, since I'd been to them so often- they outlined school rules, teachers expectations regarding school uniforms, cell phones etc etc etc. Because we have 3 kids at the school, Mo and I usually have to juggle our attendance at each one's class- Mo attended the first part of Nuha's, then headed off to Shakeel's class. I spent most of my time listening to Tharaa's teacher and then headed off to the last part of Nuha's class meeting.
This was merely supposed to be an introduction to the teachers- with no discussion on individual children, as most teachers were still getting to know the kids' names. But at the end of Tharaa's meeting, a mother approached the teacher asking very specific questions about her daughter. Most of the parents started to leave, as the meeting was clearly at an end. But somehow I could not bring myself to move away from the class. I'd had no idea what I was about to say to the teacher, but my state of despair seemed to be keeping me glued to the person whom I was most likely perceiving as the 'light at the end of my dark dark tunnel', my saviour or just a helping hand.
When the other mother left the teacher looked toward me with a kind smile, which in my fragile state almost brought me to tears. I felt like a pent-up emotional wreck on the couch of an understanding calming and wise therapist. But fortunately I'd managed not to come across as the wreck I was- I hid my feelings under jocular (albeit slightly nervous) babbling, the details of which I absolutely do not remember. I think the jist of it was that Tharaa was not working as she should at home, that she fails to perform if there are no consequences to her non-performance.
I think I may have used the word 'manipulative'. (cringe)
I was nervous about what I'd done, but at the same time felt some sense of relief. Perhaps my motives had been entirely selfish- perhaps I'd just needed someone on whom to offload. But whatever my intentions were- I had just turned in my daughter.
I could not have foreseen the ripple effect this interaction with Tharaa's teacher would have.
The following day Mo fetched them from school. The moment he walked in I could see something was wrong. He was visibly upset. Tharaa went to her room in tears.
Shakeel informed me that he (Shakeel) had been summoned by Tharaa's teacher, who had shown him the state of Tharaa's homework book. (1) It was filled with 2 year old Aisha's scribblings, (2) The work was an incomplete mess (3) Most importantly, and the reason for Shakeel being summoned, my husband's signature appeared in the book, but had clearly been written by a child's hand.
I could not understand how I'd missed this. How had Aisha gotten hold of the book? How had I not seen that the latest homework she had done was incomplete? Shakeel, kindly put an end to my self-torture by reminding me that they all had been home with a stomach bug on Wednesday, which is how Tharaa's book had ended up within Aisha's reach. Tharaa had started to feel sick on Tuesday while doing her howework, and when she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom Aisha had gotten hold of her book. This was also why she had not completed the homework. As for my husband's signature, Tharaa insists that she had just been doodling (and to be fair- her homework book is filled with drawings and doodling where there should be math problems). Her teacher had seen it as an attempt to forge my husband's signature. Tharaa responded that if this were the case she would definitely have been able to do a better job at imitating his handwriting; while the signature in the book just looked like a child's cursive writing.
In the car my husband had lost his mind- he had ranted and raved and Tharaa had cried. They would each be given one more chance to get their act together. Failure to do so would result in them being banned from TV for the entire term.
But I don't think it was the threat of punishment that had caused the change I've now been witnessing. I think that the entire incident had been incredibly traumatic. Shakeel, who is not accustomed to getting into trouble, being summoned by a teacher (despite the fact that it had not been for any offence he had committed); had him a bit shaken up. Tharaa had endured the humiliation of having her brother summoned and then being reprimanded in front of the entire class. (I was not too happy about the way in which it was dealt- I would have preferred if the teacher had dealt with the matter privately).
Hubby and I were still discussing how to proceed with the issue of Tharaa's public humiliation, when she came home on Monday beaming. She had approached the teacher without being summoned (and without being instructed by me to do so) to show her how she had managed to catch up with all her outstanding work. She had even tidied up her book and re-written untidy work in her best handwriting (which is really beautiful, by the way). She had even raised the issue of the signature, reiterating to the teacher that she had merely been doodling.
When I asked her what the teacher's response had been, she replied, "My teacher said that she was proud of me for umm...I don't remember".
It appears as if she had just heard that the teacher was proud of her and had then zoned out- probably to admire the bird nesting outside the classroom.
On Friday afternoon Shakeel had come home and done 6 pages of additional maths from his workbook. He has been much more focused on his work since then.
Tharaa has undergone the most amazing transformation. She goes into the room and closes the door (which I would ordinarily not allow), but it seems to help with shutting out external stimuli. She finishes her work within the space of an hour (last week she had sat in front of her books until just before bedtime- and her work had still not been done properly). Her work is neat and organised. She brings it to me to sign after completion. I had had no idea that I was supposed to be signing her homework book each day- I had been under the impression that we just signed the homework diary (which she had previously always forgotten at school anyway).
The positive approach to homework seems to have filtered down to Nuha, who came to sit by the kitchen table while I was preparing supper without being told to do so. She too has been displaying a really positive attitude and we have already made significant progress in preparation for her weekly test on Friday.
Mo and I have decided not to raise the issue of Tharaa's 'public humiliation' with the teacher unless it happens again. The reason is that she and her teacher are establishing a really positive bond, upon which I am relying heavily in order to keep her motivated to perform her best this year.
I am praying that the effects of this incident last and that they are not just the kids' initial response to a stressful incident. I would really have preferred not to have had to take those measures and if I had not been in the situation myself, I might have judged someone in my position for being unable to handle the matter at home. Now I realise that there is nothing wrong with involving the other key people in their lives (without relinquishing or diminishing our own responsibility obviously- although the thought of running away had crossed my mind). Keeping relevant information from the teacher in order to 'protect' Tharaa, would in my humble opinion, just have amounted to enabling her to continue to neglect her responsibilities.
Whether I had ratted on her for her own sake or simply to obtain some assistance for me, I am quite content with the outcome of my disloyalty. And it seems, so is she.
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Nursery rhyme lyrics butchered
Little Jack Horner well-known lyrics
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said 'What a good boy am I!
Version of Nuha (at the age of 4)
Little Jack Horny (!!!)
Sat in the corny
Eating his crispy pie
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a lung
And said what a good naughty boy am I!
Version of Aisha (aged 2)
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner
Eating a plum
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said 'What a good boy am I!
Version of Nuha (at the age of 4)
Little Jack Horny (!!!)
Sat in the corny
Eating his crispy pie
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a lung
And said what a good naughty boy am I!
Version of Aisha (aged 2)
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner
Eating a plum
Friday, 27 January 2012
Aisha- an attempt to capture this moment in time
Since her birth, two year old Aisha has profoundly affected the family dynamics the way all babies tend to do. Often she dominates dinner times with her cute sayings and tricks, which she loves to perform much to the delight of her older siblings. She is able to diffuse even the most potentially explosive confrontational situation (and not just between the kids) by simply flashing a smile.
However she has also managed to blend and adjust perfectly into the very unique unit made up of her and her siblings. Very often one can hear them all screaming with laughter at jokes that only they could possibly find funny. She will join them in singing all their favourite tunes (and can carry a tune surprisingly well for her age). I could not believe how much of Adele's "Someone like You" she can sing.
Recently she has discovered Michael Jackson, her mommy's hero. Two weeks ago, when Mo and I wanted to watch an episode of our favourite series 'Revenge', we simply plonked her in front of the laptop to watch his Bucharest concert. How clever of us!!!
However, the main love of her life is a dinosaur (something she has in common with her older brother Shakeel)- but in her case the object of her affection is the purple dinosaur Barney, who causes her eyes to sparkle with love and admiration.
I am amazed at how well she is able to carry on a conversation with the rest of us (although much of what she says can only be understood by us). She seems to have an opinion on everything the kids discuss at the dinner table and is as animated as the rest of them when expressing herself . I love how she can imitate Shakeel's teachers (of whom he loves doing impressions) and is even able to capture the subtle nuances of the quirks and accents of these people whom she has never met!
She counts from 1-20 and thanks to the time she has spent at the dojo watching the older kids' karate training, she counts to ten in Japanese too.
But she is absolutely not interested in learning about colours. Though her favourite colour is blue. Not the colour itself, but the word- she uses the word 'blue' to describe anything she desires or likes. So every morning she wakes up insisting on blue porridge (Jungle Oats), after which she wants to watch the blue Barney DVD (Fun on the farm). She insists on sipping her milk or water from her blue cup (a green plastic cup). All very confusing.
Her pronunciation of certain words has outsiders completely stumped. "Mommy, could I please have some toodie", translated "Mommy could I please have foodie".
"Mommy please teed me" translated is "Mommy please feed me"
She is at a very difficult potty training stage- she hates wearing a nappy, but often still forgets to tell us that she has to pee. She has a very special place where she does all her peeing and pooing- on Shakeel's carpet at the foot of his bed. It drives me nuts that she chooses to mess on the only carpet in the house (the rest of the house either has wooden floors or tiles). But I guess it is up to us to ensure that we put her on the toilet more regularly instead of waiting for an accident to happen.
She loves snacking on tomatoes, carrots and boiled egg. However she also loves eating 'clock-it' (chocolate), although this happens seldomly (simply because I do not like sharing my chocolate). She is the only one of my kids who enjoys taking sips of my green tea (yes, yes I know- it contains caffeine, but I really only allow it in moderation)
She refers to our teeny tiny little garden as 'the farm', since she spotted many 'animals' (birds, bees, ants and other bugs) one sunny morning. So every morning she asks to be taken to the farm to water the plants.
I know that she is too old to still be breastfeeding, but she still is completely addicted to her mommy's boobies for comfort. (This is becoming a HUGE problem for me). Very often when she sees me in the shower, she won't rest until I crouch down for a minute or two to provide her with her 'fix'.
She is in such an extremely cute stage that I wish I could somehow capture every bit of it before she moves to the next one. I really wish that I could remember how delightful, amazing and cute my other kids were at this age.
I suppose that the best I can do is to appreciate how wonderful they are right now.
However she has also managed to blend and adjust perfectly into the very unique unit made up of her and her siblings. Very often one can hear them all screaming with laughter at jokes that only they could possibly find funny. She will join them in singing all their favourite tunes (and can carry a tune surprisingly well for her age). I could not believe how much of Adele's "Someone like You" she can sing.
Recently she has discovered Michael Jackson, her mommy's hero. Two weeks ago, when Mo and I wanted to watch an episode of our favourite series 'Revenge', we simply plonked her in front of the laptop to watch his Bucharest concert. How clever of us!!!
However, the main love of her life is a dinosaur (something she has in common with her older brother Shakeel)- but in her case the object of her affection is the purple dinosaur Barney, who causes her eyes to sparkle with love and admiration.
I am amazed at how well she is able to carry on a conversation with the rest of us (although much of what she says can only be understood by us). She seems to have an opinion on everything the kids discuss at the dinner table and is as animated as the rest of them when expressing herself . I love how she can imitate Shakeel's teachers (of whom he loves doing impressions) and is even able to capture the subtle nuances of the quirks and accents of these people whom she has never met!
She counts from 1-20 and thanks to the time she has spent at the dojo watching the older kids' karate training, she counts to ten in Japanese too.
But she is absolutely not interested in learning about colours. Though her favourite colour is blue. Not the colour itself, but the word- she uses the word 'blue' to describe anything she desires or likes. So every morning she wakes up insisting on blue porridge (Jungle Oats), after which she wants to watch the blue Barney DVD (Fun on the farm). She insists on sipping her milk or water from her blue cup (a green plastic cup). All very confusing.
Her pronunciation of certain words has outsiders completely stumped. "Mommy, could I please have some toodie", translated "Mommy could I please have foodie".
"Mommy please teed me" translated is "Mommy please feed me"
She is at a very difficult potty training stage- she hates wearing a nappy, but often still forgets to tell us that she has to pee. She has a very special place where she does all her peeing and pooing- on Shakeel's carpet at the foot of his bed. It drives me nuts that she chooses to mess on the only carpet in the house (the rest of the house either has wooden floors or tiles). But I guess it is up to us to ensure that we put her on the toilet more regularly instead of waiting for an accident to happen.
She loves snacking on tomatoes, carrots and boiled egg. However she also loves eating 'clock-it' (chocolate), although this happens seldomly (simply because I do not like sharing my chocolate). She is the only one of my kids who enjoys taking sips of my green tea (yes, yes I know- it contains caffeine, but I really only allow it in moderation)
She refers to our teeny tiny little garden as 'the farm', since she spotted many 'animals' (birds, bees, ants and other bugs) one sunny morning. So every morning she asks to be taken to the farm to water the plants.
I know that she is too old to still be breastfeeding, but she still is completely addicted to her mommy's boobies for comfort. (This is becoming a HUGE problem for me). Very often when she sees me in the shower, she won't rest until I crouch down for a minute or two to provide her with her 'fix'.
She is in such an extremely cute stage that I wish I could somehow capture every bit of it before she moves to the next one. I really wish that I could remember how delightful, amazing and cute my other kids were at this age.
I suppose that the best I can do is to appreciate how wonderful they are right now.
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