I will no longer hijack my kids' projects- I promise

It's hard to believe that schools are already starting the final formal assessments for the year.

These assessments usually are constituted by projects and tests.

So often I've heard parents (particularly mothers) complain that involvement in children's projects is adding to their already heavy workloads, with parents often contributing more than the kids themselves. Given South Africa's uneven wealth distribution, it bothers me that children who have a stay-at-home parent with a decent level of education, will have an advantage over children whose parents work full days, especially in the case where parents are very often not educated or even literate (and therefore not in the position to help the children with projects and homework).

My kids have the added 'advantage' in that they have a mom whose sense of self-worth is directly tied in to her kids' achievements (or lack thereof), and who is therefore obsessive about providing the necessary support and
motivation to ensure their success (so that she can feel good about herself).

My kids usually do their own research for projects, after which I will check, give input- and try to restrain myself from re-doing the entire project MY WAY, while they are sleeping. Their projects are usually a result of their own research and understanding of the topics- well, most of the time......

Two years ago Shakeel had to do a project on an influential South African. He selected Dr Chris Barnard and I had insisted that he use the public library instead of the internet (as I thought that he would score extra marks for extra effort). We took out 'Christiaan Barnard- One Life' by Christiaan Barnard and Curtis Bill Pepper, a 366-page book with the tiniest print you've ever seen; which I started reading on the way home. By night time, I was completely hooked and was reluctant to give up the book.

I completed reading the book over the next few days, and then proceeded to answer the assignment questions, which Shakeel had hurriedly jotted down at my request. Oh, I was so pleased with myself; not only for the fact that I had been able to answer all the questions without re-reading any part of the book or conducting any additional research, but also for my depth of understanding of the complicated medical processes explained in the book.

I completed my draft of the assignment in no time. All that was left for Shakeel to do was a cover page, contents page, introductory summary, bibliography and a blurb at the end of his project booklet.

I was pleased with my part of the project, so I did not even care to check his.

On the day the result was released, Shakeel looked nervous as he approached me. I (er, I mean 'he') had obtained a lousy 64%. I felt a wave of nausea as I sank onto the sofa- shocked, humiliated. After recovering slightly later that night I looked at the final copy of the assignment for the first time. My son had not bothered to attach a proper cover page, he had not done a contents page, summary or a bibliography. He had not even provided me with all the questions which had to be answered!

I know I should have been furious, but I couldn't help feeling relieved- the low mark was his fault, and not mine. Or was it? I wished I could approach his teacher and ask her to have my contribution to the project graded independently of his. (Yes, I know, I should be committed).

Let me hurriedly state that none of this should be a reflection on Shakeel. He had known better than to challenge his crazed mother as she took it upon herself to hijack his project.

My kids perform better in tests than they do in projects. In the early days I would question Shakeel on his work, ensuring that he did not leave the house on test morning until he could answer each question effortlessly. But, since I now have three kids at school and a demanding baby, I am training him and Tharaa to draft their own question papers, which they should use to study and revise. This is not always successful, as they still need so much guidance when drafting the questions.

On test mornings we usually try to maintain a calm and positive atmosphere in the house before they leave for school. (All threats like "Don't bother to come home if you get less than 80%" would have been made the night before). Previously I would worry the entire test day, wondering how they were progressing, but thanks to poor hubby, who often is forced to act as my therapist and life coach, I now try not to stress about things over which I have no control. 

At the moment Shakeel is busy with a project on one of the major religions in South Africa; while Tharaa's is on the planet Mars. At this point I must give myself a pat on the back- my only contribution thus far has been to point them in the direction of relevant websites and provide some books- which they could choose to use or not.

I think I should focus less on controlling their projects and work on an important project of my own- developing my own goals so that my sense of self-worth is linked to my own achievements instead of theirs. My kids will be so relieved.

Eid, a day of joyful celebration...but why so stressed?

Yesterday we celebrated Eid. Which in our home represents a day that the children are bouncing off the walls with excitement- while my neurosis gets kicked up a notch.

The kids view it as a day to visit family and friends, receive money and play with their cousins for the entire day. Their energy and joy on this day are boundless. So hubby and I had hardly opened our eyes yesterday morning, when Nuha slipped into our room and whispered urgently, "What time is it? Is it time to leave?" Time to leave? Are you kidding me? I still had so much to do. Instead of this motivating me to get out of bed and get started, I chose to bury my face under the covers and retreat into denial.

The morning I spent tidying and cleaning, cleaning and tidying- and scolding and screaming (okay, and maybe a little swearing). I had stepped out of my room and into what seemed like the result of a powerful tornado- shoes, clothes, food, toys strewn everywhere. How had they managed to do so much damage within the space of one morning? AND ON EID!!!!

The house was only half-clean when I gave up- I am, after all, only one person and not an entire freakin' cleaning crew. So I moved onto the next task- getting the four of them dressed and ready to go. The night before I had planned to do their hair beautifully, iron dresses, pants and shirts and match each one's accessories to their dresses. However, since the morning had been spent attempting to make the house look even vaguely presentable for any stray visitor who might wander in (though we never get Eid visitors in our neck of the woods), I hurriedly raked the brush through the girls' hair, conveniently choosing to ignore the bits of food stuck in Aisha's hair and the sticky gooey muck in Nuha's. Dresses were left unironed (it would add character to the outfit, wouldn't it) and mismatched accessories they grabbed on a first-come first served basis.

Shakeel enjoys Eid, since it is the only time he is allowed to gel his very straight unstyled hair. So he spent the morning gelling and sculpting (then resculpting), but the result was impressive. My little boy looked handsome (though a bit too grown-up for my liking). He wore a fairly conservative outfit,
since his father and I don't really like the new jeans-for-Eid trend, but he added his own style and flair to it with a pair of Spiderman fingerless gloves and neon laces for his shoes.

Then off we set to visit my late father's sister; whom, I'm ashamed to say, I only see on Eid each year. This is always a very emotional visit for me, as nobody reminds me of my father as much as she does. It's also as if we see a part of him in each other. In addition, I am aware that she misses him as much as I still do, even after all these years.

But she is one of the most jovial positive people I know. She greeted me with a huge hug. Looking at Shakeel's gloves, she roared with laughter. "You're just as crazy as your mother was!" she joked, referring to the time I wore one glove for Eid, imitating my hero, Michael Jackson (At this point I must take a moment to say, "Michael, I still love you- you remain a legend!!!")

After reluctantly leaving my aunt's place, I rushed back home to start my TINY contribution to lunch at the in-laws; namely veggies and a dessert. How clever of me to start preparing this 45 minutes before we were due to arrive at sister-in-law's place. (I should have left the damn cleaning I had done the morning). So I proceeded to wash, peel and chop potatoes, cauliflour, broccoli, butternut, mealies, squashes and carrots for the lunch side dish; and apples,
oranges, bananas, strawberries, papaya and guavas for the fruit salad. Cursing myself for selecting dishes that required so much damn preparation (as opposed to just offering to make the crayfish curry and a simple chocolate mousse), I ran around like a headless chicken, fully aware that the steaming would take quite a while and we were already five minutes late. At one point I was just running around in circles; pointlessly opening and closing cupboard doors. More than once I saw hubby (who was holding the grumpy baby and was therefore unable to help) looking at me in alarm, no doubt thinking "What the hell did I marry???"

As expected, we arrived at sister-in-law's place very late. But lunch was amazing and we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing, while observing the children's sugar-induced hysteria.

We had supper at my mother's place and the rest of the evening was spent chatting and joking with my brother and sister-in-law. The children spent what was left of their energy playing with my brother's children. They fell asleep in the car on the way home.

Even though so much of the day was spent cooking, eating, visiting and idly chatting and laughing, we did not forget to remind the children and ourselves of its significance; namely Prophet Abraham (Ebrahim)'s willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael (Isma'il) as an act of obedience to God (Allah) before God intervened, providing him with a sheep to sacrifice instead.

All in all it had been a pleasant day. But, once all my kids were sound asleep, I derived immense pleasure from just sitting and staring out in front of me- doing absolutely nothing.

We did not take many pics this Eid. So here are some from Eid-ul-fitr (three months ago)- with everyone wearing exactly what they had on yesterday.

My babies earn their stripes

This morning my older three kids graded in karate for the first time. They've been training at the local Okinawa Karate Dojo, which practices the Goju-ryu (hard-soft) style of Japanese karate, for the past three months. In addition to teaching at their dojo, their teacher sensei Reggie Lincoln, aged 72, has also been teaching karate at Robben Island thrice a week for about 20 years.

This harmless-looking fifth-dan, commands immense respect from his students, among whom are a few fierce and vicious-looking black-belts, who are the sempai's (seniors) of the school. (I must admit that I am so in awe of- and quite intimidated by the sempai's. I absolutely love watching them in action).

The morning started with one of the sempai's putting the children through a rigorous warm up and training routine. I was very interested to see how Shakeel (12) would do, since he had been complaining about being stiff and sore from cricket practice yesterday. But his discomfort did not show, as he performed his moves vigorously and powerfully as instructed.

Tharaa (9) was her usual graceful self. Play some classical music in the background, and her training moves could easily be mistaken for a very elegant dance recital.

I couldn't help but smile when watching Nuha. When the class punched left, she punched right. When the class moved in one direction, she moved in the other. It was as if someone was secretly whispering different instructions just for her to hear. However her coordination has improved tremendously since she started. She is now able to combine various blocks, kicks and punches in the correct sequences, which is major progress. Every now and then the sempai would interrupt class briefly saying, "Nuha, look at me" or "Nuha, look in front of you", as the child frequently lost interest in what the class was meant to be doing, and preferred rather to focus on her little sister's antics. I had to signal to her to concentrate quite a few times, as I did not want the intimidating sempai to think that I was distracting his class. But the sempai took Nuha's lack of concentration in his stride- thank heavens karate teaches patience.

Then it was time to grade. Just as my phone battery decided to die. But fortunately hubby was around with his phone and managed to capture the grading as best he could, with grumpy Aisha on his hip.

All three of them performed their kata's well and were awarded both green and red stripes. 

From left to right, Nuha, Tharaa and Shakeel with their sensei.

Who's the man!!!

A few months ago hubby was rushed off to hospital with kidney stones, selfishly leaving my kids and me to cope by ourselves for three days. Shakeel (12) automatically assumed the role of Man of the House, barking orders, beating his chest and pretty much milking his self-appointed new position for all it was worth.

I tried to be brave, putting the children at ease while investigating unexplained noises, taking terrified Nuha (6) to the dark corners of the house to prove to her that there was no boogey-man (while trying desperately not to wet myself in the process) and basically just reassuring them of their safety (of which I myself was not too certain). It was like living the movie Scream, as I anxiously awaited the masked knife-wielding maniac to make his appearance in the horror that was playing in my head. I prayed that once the intruder eventually showed up, my maternal instinct would be strong enough to ensure that I would not head for the hills, leaving my poor children to protect themselves.

Toward the end of the second day, my fake bravado was taking its toll on me. But duty called and I proceeded to check windows and doors ensuring that they were properly secured. I was doing my third check on my living room window when I saw a movement against the curtain. I started, but whatever it was, disappeared behind the folds of the curtain. I proceeded toward the window cautiously; unsuccessfully trying to convince myself that it had just been a shadow, when suddenly it reappeared. Moving toward me was the biggest and most terrifying spider I'd ever seen. I felt my legs and arms weaken and for a few seconds remained paralysed with fear. Then followed my bloodcurdling scream which would have scared away lesser spiders, but this one moved toward me menacingly, ignoring the hysterical shrieks of my kids who had now joined me.

General panic ensued, with Shakeel shouting, "OMG, that thing is as big as my hand!" He was not exaggerating- the enormous thick legged brown speckled spider was bigger than my whole freakin' hand. What made the monster even more terrifying was the fact that it kept moving toward us- strangely, not at all intimidated the five hysterical shrieking humans.

After the hysteria had reached fever pitch, it dawned on me that no one was stepping up and taking charge of the situation. Then, terrifyingly, it dawned on me that that hero would have to be me. Damn that kidney stone!

I had a difficult decision to make. I hated the thought of killing it (or anything for that matter). But I didn't know if it was dangerous and I had to put our safety first. "Someone get the Doom" I ordered, just as the monster charged toward us again (I'm not kidding!).

Shakeel leapt into action and sprinted down the passage to the kitchen where the insecticides are kept. The girls and I  kept an eye on the menace, while waiting for our hero's return. We waited..and waited..and waited, and then I guessed that someone (probably me) had irritatingly placed empty Doom and Target cans back into the cupboard and our hero was most probably racing against time to find a can that had some insecticide left. So I ran to the kitchen to help him. Strangely I found the cupboard still closed and Shakeel nowhere in sight. Until I turned around- and there was our saviour, crouching on the kitchen table (with shoes and all), hugging his knees, his eyes wide with panic.

"Did you catch it Mommy? Did you catch the spider?" The poor child had had no intention of playing the hero- he had merely instinctively been saving his butt by getting away first.

I smiled, relieved that my son still felt he needed his mommy's protection. He was not yet ready to be the man of the house. He wanted to be- and still is- his mommy's baby. Despite the monstrous arachnid I had lurking in my living room, I was happy.

Karate Kids- the first tournament

On Saturday Shakeel (12), Tharaa (9) and Nuha (6) participated in their first karate tournament within their club. They have only been taking lessons for the past 2 and a half months, which is why we found it strange that our usually-nervous/anxious kids were so eager to participate. So instead, I was the one who secretly endured the butterflies and sleepless night before the tournament, while faking an air of nonchalance.

Let me say that everything I know about this club I did not learn from newsletters or an info pack, but from one of the fellow mothers whom I privately refer to as the Dojo Supermum. She knows every child's name and background and acts as nurturer to all the kids (whereas I can barely cope with nurturing my own).

According to her, students grade every few months, but only advance to a new belt every two years. In between, the students are awarded stripes (first a few vertical stripes and then horizontal). Yep, I know- my knowledge of club rules is sketchy.

Children are not allowed to grade for their black belt until the
age of 16. There is one 14 yr old who obtained his brown belt a while back, but cannot get his black belt for another two years. He will therefore continue to receive additional stripes upon grading until he turnes 16. Which is unfortunate, since the poor child already has more stripes than a quagga.

On Saturday my kids were among the very few who had never graded- i.o.w. white belts with no stripes. I prayed that they would be paired with the other ungraded participants.

Supermum was asked to keep score and she, in turn, recruited me to keep time. It turns out that I am quite good at operating a stop watch with shaky hands.

Nuha was the first of my kids to compete. I was concerned that she would get terribly hurt, as she was younger, less experienced and much tinier than her opponent. I did not have very high hopes, since she does not put much effort
into training. I was not even sure if she had been paying attention during class at all. So imagine my surprise when she leapt into action and started throwing cute little punches at her opponent. She did not pause or hesitate. She won the fight with a score of 2-1.

Tharaa was another pleasant surprise. Up until her fight, the previous fights had pretty much resembled boxing matches. Tharaa however entered the ring and landed a few well-executed kicks in the gut of her startled yellow-belt opponent. I could not believe that this confident (and slightly vicious) fighter was the same little girl who spins and twirls with such grace and elegance when inventing her own version of ballet. She won the fight with a score of 5-2.

Shakeel was in the last fight in the children's category. I panicked when I saw that, since there were no other competitors left to fight, he had been paired to compete against the only remaining fighter- the brown belt. My heart broke when I saw how nervous he was and how bravely he was trying to cover it up. During the fight Shakeel bravely threw punches and executed kicks, but they were blocked by the more experienced fighter. The brown belt, threw a hard punch into Shakeel's stomach followed by an even harder kick- which is when my maternal instinct kicked in. "Hurt my baby one more time  and I swear I'll choke you with your own brown belt" I threatened him telepathically. But it appears that telepathic communication is not my forte, since he continued to pound away at my poor son. Despite this, I was so proud of Shakeel as he did not hold back or stop trying- he continued to kick and punch until he was awarded a point. The brown belt won the fight with a score of 4-1.

I am so proud of all of them. I am even more proud of how well they supported each other during the tournament and how proud they were of each other afterward.

I hope to see much more of this camaraderie from now on.

Karate Kids- the first tournament

Shakeel (12), Tharaa (9) and Nuha (6) participated in their first karate tournament on Saturday. They have only been taking lessons for the past 2 and a half months, which is why we found it strange that our usually-nervous/anxious
kids were so eager to participate. So instead, I was the one who secretly endured the butterflies and sleepless night before the tournament while faking an air of nonchalance.

Let me say that everything I know about this club I did not learn from newsletters or an info pack, but from one of the fellow mothers whom I privately refer to as the Dojo Supermum. She knows every child's name and background and acts as nurturer to all the kids (whereas I can barely cope with nurturing my own).

According to her, students grade every few months, but only receive a new belt upon grading every two years. In between, participants are awarded stripes (first a few
vertical stripes and then horizontal). Yep, I know- my knowledge of club rules is sketchy.

Children are not allowed to grade for their black belt until the age of 16. There is one 14 yr old who obtained his brown belt a while back, but cannot get his black belt for another two years. He will therefore continue to receive additional stripes upon grading until he turnes 16. Which is unfortunate, since the poor child already has more stripes than a quagga.

On Saturday my kids were among the very few who had never graded- i.o.w. white belts with no stripes. I prayed that they would be paired with the other ungraded participants.

Supermum was asked to keep score and she, in turn, recruited me to keep time. It turns out that I am quite good at operating a stop watch with shaky hands.

Nuha was the first of my kids to compete. I was concerned that she would get terribly hurt, as she was younger, less experienced and much tinier than her opponent. I did not have very high hopes, since she does not put much  effort
into training. I was not even sure if she had been paying attention during class at all. So imagine my surprise when she leapt  into action and started throwing cute little punches at her opponent. She did not pause or hesitate. She won the fight with a score of 2-1.

Tharaa was another pleasant surprise. Up until her fight, the previous fights had pretty much resembled boxing matches. Tharaa however entered the ring and landed a few well-executed kicks in the gut of her startled yellow-belt opponent. I could not believe that this confident (and slightly vicious) fighter was the same little girl who moves with such grace and elegance when inventing her own version
of ballet. She won the fight with a score of 5-2.

Shakeel was in the last fight in the children's category. I panicked when I saw that since there were no other competitors left to fight, he had been paired to compete against the only remaining fighter- the brown belt. My heart broke when I saw how nervous he was and how bravely he was trying to cover it up. During the fight Shakeel bravely threw punches and executed kicks, but they were blocked by the more experienced fighter. The brown belt, threw a hard punch into Shakeel's stomach followed by an even harder kick- which is when my maternal instinct kicked in. "Hurt my baby one more time  and I swear I'll choke you with your own brown belt" I threatened him telepathically. But it appears that telepathic communication is not my forte, since he continued to pound away at my poor son. Despite this, I was so proud of Shakeel as he did not hold back or stop trying- he continued to kick and punch until he was awarded a point. The brown belt won the fight with a score of 4-1.

I am so proud of all three of them. I am even more proud of how well they supported each other during the tournament and how proud they were of each other afterward.
I hope to see much more of this camaraderie from now on.

Stop teasing your sisters!

It sometimes seems to me that my family is like a microcosm of the school playground. I often notice the playground dynamics at play within our family (changing alliances, loyalties, betrayal,competitiveness, bullying etc).

It is however the issue of teasing that has been driving me nuts recently. Teasing happens according to the family pecking order. Shakeel(12) teases Tharaa (9), who in turn teases Nuhaa(6), who then proceeds to tease the crap out of Aisha (23 months).

Last week Nuhaa came home bursting with excitement. "Mommy, I'm so happy!" she gushed. "We're going on our first excursion. Who can guess where to?" she asked Shakeel and Tharaa. Without waiting for them to answer, she burst out enthusiastically, "We're going to the planetwarium!!!"

Uh oh. I noticed the expressions of cruel delight on the faces of the older two. "You're going where?" asked Shakeel waiting eagerly for her to repeat her blunder. Sensing that she was being set up, she bravely tried to rescue herself from being the butt of a joke, and ventured another guess. "We're going to the planequarium". Poor thing. Their howls of laughter continued until Shakeel noticed how much fun Tharaa was having at his little sister's expense, which then
caused his protective instinct to kick in.

"What are you laughing at?" he redirected his attack. "Do you remember when Mommy and Daddy were talking about us all moving to Dubai- you cried that you did not want to move to another planet. You said that you were afraid to travel on a rocket!"

I called him aside and reminded him about an embarrassing boo-boo he had made about a year ago. He had been playing a wrestling game on his Playstation and was
really enjoying kicking his opponent's butt, when my husband joined him. "Wow, you're doing well," his dad said. "What is the name you chose for your player?"
Shakeel replied, " Daddy, the awesome thing is I didn't even have to choose a name for him- he already had a cool name- it's Default".

Thankfully Shakeel was humbled into stopping his incessant teasing- let's see how long this respite lasts.