Long overdue post - Birthday weekend (2) - Breakfast at La Rocca and visit to our favourite beach

I know that this post is so late [I'm well on my way to turning 41 already], but I finally have a domestic helper here today, which frees up my morning considerably.

On Sunday morning Mo treated us to breakfast at La Rocca at Canal Walk. I felt slightly guilty at the fat-laden meal I ordered - a mixed grill, which - though not really my style - was simply delicious. I undertook to watch what I ate for the rest of the day.

From the moment we sat down, the kids started an annoying routine - alternating between bickering and sulking. That is, until Mo put a stop to it using his most intimidating voice. He reminded them of how blessed they are compared to so many others; that they had no reason to sulk and be grumpy and how so many children had nothing to eat - let alone sit in a lovely sunny restaurant on a beautiful Sunday morning. This quickly changed their mood and they were back to their chirpy selves in no time, thank goodness.

Later we headed out to the little beach next to Camps Bay beach. We have no idea what this place is called, but this little piece of heaven was always my and Mo's favourite summer hangout in our early marriage. Once the babies arrived though, the steep walk down to the beach unfortunately put paid to our visits to this spot.

So Sunday was really special, as we reminisced about our carefree days lazing in the sun. In fact, I even have a picture taken 4 days before Shakeel (14)'s birth, in which I lay on my favourite rock looking like a beached whale - albeit a very happy contented beached whale.

Although the weather was warm on Sunday, it was not really swimming weather - especially not in the icy waters of the Atlantic. But that did not stop the kids from wading into the water in search of marine life.

For months now (since the beginning of his high school 'career') Shakeel has been really serious and reserved. Very seldomly does one hear his carefree unreserved laughter and this has me really concerned and sad. I know that the pressure of fitting in has been overwhelming. He escapes from all this by playing Playstation or computer games or reading. He no longer spends hours playing with his sisters. I am not sure if this can be attributed  to adolescence or if he is going through something of which I am not aware. Either way, I'm really sad about this.

 But on Sunday, for just a few hours, I had my son back - the little boy who loves animals, exploring the 'wild' and studying wildlife. At one point all four of them built a little pool for a tiny fish they'd come across - the sight of them playing together happily evoked in me mixed feelings of melancholy and joy.

Soaked

My favourite moments of the day - right here

Tharaa (11) did what Tharaa does wherever she finds herself - executing cartwheels and handstands in the water and clamouring onto rocks.

 Nuha (8) struggled to keep dry as she rolled her pants higher and higher so that she could wade deeper and deeper into the water. 

Aisha (3) quickly overcame her recently-developed aversion to having sand beneath her feet and fully enjoyed exploring the beach. Eventually she too could not resist wading waist-depth into the icy waters.

I had a lovely afternoon - at first reliving distant memories of our carefree days before the kids were born, but then, after watching our kids bond in this place which had been so special to us,  I felt so blessed and overcome with gratitude for the precious moments we were sharing right there - in the present. Alhamdulillah, I cannot thank the Almighty enough for having blessed me with these precious moments with my family and pray that there are many more to come In Shaa Allah (God willing).

And then, as expected, we faced the consequences of having allowed Aisha to wet her clothes, as she moaned and cried that she wanted to go home to fetch dry clothes, but then wanted to leave again for the dinner outing her dad had promised. Needless to say, that was the end of the outing, as we headed home and plonked her straight into a warm bath.

Instead of the promised dinner outing, Mo brought them pizza from Debonnairs, while he and I enjoyed sushi in front of the TV.

I cannot thank my husband enough for creating a birthday weekend so perfectly suited to me. I know that, given the opportunity to have themselves spoiled for their birthdays, many women would have chosen differently - but to me, these simple moments are everything. There is nothing I would rather have done and I, once again, thank the Almighty for granting me a husband who knows me this well and respects/tolerates my uniquely weird character traits and preferences.

I am also so grateful to EVERYONE who sent me such lovely birthday wishes - but especially to my mother and brothers, who - in a nutshell - told me to get over myself and that, instead of whining about my age, I should be focussing on my blessings. Clearly I took their advice to heart and I count them among the graces with which God has bestowed me.

Al hamdu lillah wa shukru lillah, what a lovely weekend! I feel so blessed.

My birthday weekend (1) - eating out and a visit to the Stellenbosch Botanical Gardens

Mo, my long-suffering husband, has long since accepted his weird wife's aversion to attention of any sort. He therefore knew that a birthday party with hordes of people and a huge cake was not really my style - if for no other reason than the significant fire hazard forty lit candles could present.

Also, he knew that the spa day his friends suggested as being the perfect gift, would be wasted on me. I am a simple girl with simple tastes. Give me a breakfast out with my husband/ family and I'm happier than a 12 year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. Throw in a movie, popcorn and a coke and you can pretty much call it the best day of my life.

So, imagine Mo's disappointment when, a day before my birthday, he was informed that his request for leave from work (for the day of my birthday)  had been denied. I was sad because I had been counting on him to provide me with the much-needed distraction from my entry into the geriatric realm - just kidding, I will grab at any opportunity to spend a day with him doing the breakfast-movie-lunch-roam around aimlessly chatting combo.

But my disappointment was nothing compared to his fury. He ranted and raved about his loyalty to the company; how, when many of his colleagues recently resigned, he had resisted the urge to take up tempting offers at other companies purely out of loyalty to the company and concern as to how they'd cope if he left them at this crucial stage. By Wednesday evening the process of distributing his CV elsewhere had begun.

He therefore decided that, instead of an epic 40th birthday, he'd treat me to a birthday weekend, during which we'd do some of the little things I love doing with some of the most important people in my life.

On Thursday night, the official start of this weekend, we headed out to Canal Walk mall for supper. I felt like indulging my carnivorous desires, so I chose my favourite take-out burger in the world - a Steer burger [The reason I can still confidently say that is that I have not been desperate/adventurous enough to brave the 150m long queues outside the newly opened Burger King in the city centre as yet - I shall wait until the hype dies down and the queues shorten].

Heading for takeout - here I am with mini-me, who insisted on donning her trench coat,  bag and  hijab like her mommy 

On Friday night we headed to Jimmy's Killer Prawns where, once again, it became evident that the older two are no longer the little kids they were not too long ago. In the past, one of the main attractions of dining at this place has always been the tank filled with fish in an amazing array of colours. They'd gape awestruck as these beauties delighted them merely by swimming by.

That night however, Shakeel  (14) spent the evening the way he prefers to spend most evenings of late - glued to a screen. But, this time, I didn't mind too much as he was not watching some mindless movie or playing some annoying game, but honing his creative talents by drawing terrifying pictures of mythical monsters. Tharaa (11) too chose to spend a creative hour by constructing various interesting objects from paper serviettes.

Shakeel (14) and Tharaa (11)

The other two, Nuha (8) and Aisha (3) are finally at the stage where they are willing to play by themselves - or maybe they've just resigned themselves to the fact that this is how things in this family are right now - with their older siblings preferring to pursue their own interests instead of playing with them all the time. This is so sad for me.

Nuha (8) and Aisha (3)

On Saturday we headed out to the little town of Stellenbosch. We had no particular destination in mind, so - as we often do, we bought our lunch nearby and found a place to enjoy it (we usually do this in whichever town we choose to explore). This time we discovered the absolutely beautiful Stellenbosch Botanical Garden, which is a small enchanting space filled with exquisitely landscaped flora.

We sat down to a little picnic before exploring the Garden itself. Mo and I enjoyed our takeout Thai meals while the kids enjoyed an unhealthy McDonalds sharebox.

Nuha

The kids were fascinated by the fact that some of the beautiful bonsai trees were "even older than mommy!!" So imagine their excitement when they spotted bonsais dating close to the beginning of the Second World War, which made them "even older than Granny!!"

A 40 year old bonsai - "It's sooo old - just like you mommy!" they yelled excitedly/ heartlessly 

The kids loved the khoi pond and were amazed at how huge some of these fish were. This area of the Garden was absolutely beautiful and we could not resist snapping as many pics as we could before daylight faded.

Mo and I

The kids and I

Yesterday we headed off to a little beach, which had been Mo's and my favourite hangout before we had kids. It was lovely but I'll have to share the details with you at a later stage, since - although I'd love to sit and relive my weekend for a while longer - a very messy house awaits me.

Until then
xx

So life began yesterday - apparently

So, yesterday it happened. The day I'd been dreading for a while now. Something that only happens to other people - people who, from the moment it happens to them, become known as aunty, tietie, gogo or tannie.

Yes, I turned 40.

Image obtained here

Part of me was excited - I had heard that 40 was life-changing. In return for the newly-emerging grey hairs, rapidly-spreading age spots and impossible-to-disguise wrinkles, one is rewarded with a self-assuredness and confidence unprecedented, a devil-may-care attitude to the negative opinions of others and the thrill of knowing that life begins at 40.

So today, at 40 yrs + 1 day, I sat down by myself, preparing for a session of introspection - curious to discover whether any of these magnificent promises had miraculously come to pass on this birthday, which is meant to hold so much promise and magic.

 "Do I feel more confident or self-assured?" I asked myself. Hmm, how would I test this? Then it came to me - I clicked on the link for the magazine journalism course for which I so much want to register, but could never bring myself to do, for fear of failure. My cursor hovered over the 'Register here' button, but a tiny spark of bravery was cruelly snuffed out by my still-very-much-alive feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy. So much for self-assuredness and confidence unprecedented, I thought to myself dejectedly.

As for a devil-may-care attitude to the negative opinions of others, that didn't even require much thought. At 08:37 a.m. I had already spent time and energy obsessing over Aisha (3)'s teachers' opinions of me while we carried our child kicking and screaming into the daycare. "I don't care what any of you think," I muttered silently, trying to convince myself that this was indeed the case, while trying to avert my eyes from the stares from teachers and other parents.

All that was left was for me to consider the final thing which was promised to excited 40-year olds the world over - having the thrill of knowing that life begins at 40. But, sadly, that too had been a false promise, for - since yesterday morning - I have been obsessing about my will and the fact that I had not made any provision for frail care/aged care for my twilight years, which are looming threateningly close by. 

So what? No pay-off for the aching joints and deepening frown lines? I still remain as insecure and paranoid as ever?!!! I ran to the mirror - maybe this disappointing revelation meant that, since I was not experiencing the same character development and growth characteristic of other women of my age, perhaps I would be blessed by a physical regeneration instead. 

But, there they were, staring back at me - proudly; defiantly - fifteen grey hairs (and counting), age spots and fine lines - which, I have to admit, include laugh lines. Laugh lines, no doubt deepened by the antics of my four kids and quirky husband. Laugh lines, therefore, brought about by the people I love dearly. Lines, which serve to remind me of the blessings which the Almighty, through His Beneficence, has chosen to bestow upon me. 

And I realise that my physical 'flaws' related to the process of ageing are testament to a life well-lived; my badges of honour and a constant reminder of the blessings with which I have been showered. I should strive to remember this going forward.

Belieber FOMO

fomo  

Web definitions

Fear of missing out.

I remember as a teenager, I'd be sitting at home with my family feeling really disgruntled and moody. While my parents generally chalked my grumpiness down to 'hormones gone crazy', one particularly grumpy sunny Saturday afternoon my dad, who - as a high school teacher - was particularly insightful when it came to dealing with adolescents, laughingly said,

"Oh shame, you feel like everyone is having more fun than you right now, isn't it?" I scowled at him, annoyed that he was teasing me, but even more annoyed that he was right. Funnily enough, until he'd said that, I hadn't known what the reason was for my misery on these occasions. But he had hit the nail right on the head - I always felt that, no matter where or with whom I was, other people were always having a more fun and exciting time.

It was only when I found myself feeling like this one New Years eve - in the middle of Long Street in Town surrounded by hundreds of people - that I realised I was nuts. Surely my suspicion that somewhere else - other than where I was in the midst of a street party in the heart of town - was the actual place to be, was a sign that my mental health might not be what it should.

But that was then - in my foolish youth. My priorities and values changed over the years - very considerably so. So imagine my surprise this afternoon as I headed into town to pick up the girls from their respective schools, when some of these old feelings and insecurities came rushing back at me. The highway on which I was travelling converged with the adjacent one, resulting in 5 lanes as one enters town. The 3 right lanes were meant for traffic which would turn right - toward the V&A Waterfront, Sea Point and Green Point (where the stadium - and the venue for the Justin Bieber concert is situated). The 2 left lanes were meant for traffic heading straight into town.

Image obtained here

Although I left home early in anticipation of a huge traffic mess, I still found myself crawling along next to the Beliebers. Or that is how my twisted little mind kept taunting me. I became convinced that all these happy (or so they seemed - not that I could really see into their cars in the rain) people heading to the right were heading to the concert to watch the most amazing event ever! Nevermind that I am in no way interested in JB (although his music is quite cool [ yes, I keep up]. Nevermind that my adolescent kids are not even interested in him and that he is pretty much a non-issue in our home. Sitting in the car I felt a flood of old familiar insanity. "Now Zubeida,  it's very unlikely that the Fidelity Guard armoured truck next to you is heading to the concert, " I tried to reason with myself. "And over there in the blue car - those 2 people don't even look very happy - even if they are heading to the concert. And look - it's raining!!!!!!!!!!!!"

But then all I could picture was thousands of exhilarated Beliebers dancing around in the rain - with no cares or concerns - while I stood preparing 5 packed lunches for tomorrow.

So the feeling is all too familiar - that of FOMO - the paranoia back then being brought on by the rollercoaster of adolescent hormones, while this time around it is more likely the result of the dwindling oestrogen associated with the onset of menopause. 

So, along with the thousands of 12 year old girls who did not get tickets, I sit here overwhelmed by my FOMO, dreading tomorrow when the whole of Cape Town will be gushing about how amazing tonight was and how it was the best concert to be held at Green Point Stadium since Michael Jackson (not that there's any comparison, says the die-hard MJ fan in me).

But, seriously, I do hope that all the girls and boys (and my 31 year old sister in law) enjoy the concert. I know I certainly would have.

A few days without internet - quite the blessing, it turns out

Last week I was without the internet for a few days. During that time I managed to draft 3 blog posts, clear out areas of the kitchen and my bedroom which had been bugging me for a while and read a book which had been lying around for a while, but which I had never found the time to read. It was such a productive time for me.

Initially it was a bit unnerving. How would I get through the day without knowing what was happening in the lives of my facebook friends; what they had had for breakfast; who'd been gymming regularly; who'd woken up that morning feeling inclined to share the inspirational quotes which were instrumental in changing their lives? What would I miss in the lives of the bloggers whose blogs I stalk compulsively? 


However, I quickly became accustomed to living only in the real world. And it wasn't that bad. I realised that I spend far too much time concerning myself with the affairs of others. Not that I spend hours on the internet. Often I'll read something upsetting which then consumes me for the whole day. I spend so much energy stressing about issues in the lives of others. What a waste of energy, I've come to realise.

A few weeks ago I read about the fact that a prominent Islamic scholar, whom I admire so greatly, was being implicated in the Boston bombing - simply because the suspected bomber had retweeted him. I was so furious - I could think of little else. "What are these idiots thinking!!" I shrieked at breakfast. "The Mufti focuses on and spreads inspirational life lessons - one of which is peace," I ranted to my husband at the dinner table that night. For days I was completely agitated and annoyed by this story - most likely more annoyed and agitated than the Mufti himself was.

What an exhausting way to live, I've since realised -  especially for someone who empathises with the plight/sadness/distress of others to the point that it affects my own peace of mind and distracts me from what is happening in my own life.

During my forced break from the vitual world, I became calmer. I got my daily news by primitive means (tv and radio), but could not spend time on news24. and iol.com trying to find details about the stories about which I'd become obsessed - or worse, reading the annoying comments from the trolls on these sites.

Although my internet connection has since been restored, I am trying to retain perspective and avoid getting sucked into the lives of others. After all, I have all the challenges, blessings, drama and entertainment I need right here - in my own family. I must not lose sight of that again. 

Trying to turn around the effects of months of inactivity and poor eating

I'm addicted to sugar. While chocolate definitely is my drug of choice, I am just as easily satisfied by fudge, vanilla cupcakes or ice-cream.

By the end of last year, I was gymming regularly and eating fairly healthily. I was able to control what I ate - in fact, once I'd set out on that path, my cravings for unhealthy food pretty much disappeared.

Instead I craved Dr Oz's green drink, which I found to be the most satisfying thirst quencher during the blistering summer months. (Okay, I have to admit - the first time I tasted it a few years ago, I had to fight back the overwhelming urge to hurl. But 3 glasses later, I not only became accustomed to the taste - it actually became my beverage of choice.)

And then, one night at the beginning of this year, I decided to take a harmless bite of chocolate while watching Vampire Diaries. This led to another - and another - and another - until I'd devoured the entire slab.

And then, as I've seen my husband do, I alternated a teeny bit of something sweet, with something salty. This way I could continue to munch away through 4 episodes of Vampire Diaries without becoming nauseated.

So, over the months, even as our nightly dose of Vampire Diaries was replaced by the newest episodes of New Girl, Arrow, Revenge, The Following and Revolution, my ritual of something-salty-something-sweet which accompanies our TV time, persists. This is bliss for me - I look forward to it all day. I can't wait for the moment that all the kids are in bed, when I can just be transported away from my reality (with grumpy, argumentative, disobedient and cheeky kids and domestic turmoil) to the land of vampires/ quirky room-mates /gorgeous arrow-wielding heroes/  freaky serial killers /brilliant savvy heroines.

But just as the final episode for the night ends, so my guilt begins. Why did I eat so much? I didn't even really feel like that last piece of chocolate. Am I following on the path my father travelled - diagnosed with diabetes one week and then dying from a heart attack the next? And so on and so on and so forth.

This frustration also filtered into other areas of my life. Or perhaps it's fuelled by the stress of the other areas of my life. Either way, I've been feeling really out of control, which just seems to have fuelled the cycle of frustration and over-indulgence. I eat to feel better, but then only end up feeling worse.

But 2 Sundays ago Mo and I decided that enough was enough. Seeing each other's growing paunches reminded us of our own. So, after months of inactivity, we decided to head out for a brisk walk on the Green Point promenade. Although we didn't quite manage to accomplish what we'd set out to, the seed was planted. I started to feel more motivated during the past week.

Then, last Sunday we went to gym after goodness knows how long.

Shakeel (14), Tharaa (11), Nuha (8), Aisha (3) and I heading to gym - with purpose and determination (with Mo obviously playing photographer)

The kids headed off to the pool with their dad, while I did some cardio. As expected, the first few minutes were excruciating, as my lethargic muscles were so rudely awoken from months of inactivity. Then, as if my body remembered what it is capable of, the pain subsided and my pathetic gasps were replaced by even breaths.

I was actually reluctant to end my workout, but it was my turn to watch the kids so that Mo could re-acquaint himself with the exhilarating feeling I had just experienced.

I must admit that as I entered the steamy humid pool area, I felt a bit dizzy. But I managed to remain alert enough to keep Nuha (8) and Aisha (3) from drowning, watch Tharaa (11) perform her usual pool antics and applaud Shakeel (14) as he swam underwater across the pool with just one breath.

Aisha

Enjoying having the pool to themselves

Thankfully Mo returned before I collapsed and we headed home to enjoy a fairly healthy lunch.

Admittedly, I have not cut out chocolate completely. But I have cut down. I'd like to say that I know for sure that I will not have one tonight or tomorrow or the next day. But I can say that I definitely will try - and what's more, for the first time in a while, I feel like I might not need it to reach a happy place.

Now let's hope that none of the kids bring home party packets this afternoon.

The ties that bind - missing my dad so much

Recently I met a relative of my late father's. He and my dad had been really close in their youth, but had lost touch over the years. He therefore had so many stories and insights into my dad's early life - valuable little titbits which I devoured greedily, while trying to hide my desperate need for more information. I wanted anything - no matter how small. Every morsel he shared, though it might have seemed insignificant to anyone listening, served to make me feel closer to my dad in some small way. It also made me miss him even more.

As anyone who's lost a loved one might know, the pain never truly goes away. It merely becomes a dull ache which lingers below the surface, ready to rip through the protective barrier of one's consciousness, triggered by even the most remote stimulus.

The smell of Clearasil, the whiff of a stranger's deodorant in the shopping mall, sitting by the ocean, penny polonies, a history textbook, leg of lamb, table tennis, a chess board - all capable of transporting me into his presence for just a fleeting moment before reality comes and wrenches him away from me again, leaving me gasping with disbelief at the intensity of grief I experience at losing him all over again.

So coincidentally, while searching for something on the internet, I came across a saying of the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) in which he answers an inquiry about how one can show kindness to one's deceased parents.  “ Praying and asking forgiveness of Allah on their behalf, fulfilling their promises, respecting their friends, and fostering their ties of kinship…”

I realised that in the case of my father, this was indeed true. My dad would have loved me to stay in touch with the people whom he held dear. Then on Thursday my cousin let me know that her mum, my dad's sister, had undergone an operation. She said that I should pop in just to see how her mum was doing.

No one makes me feel closer to my dad than his sister does. They'd been close in age and held similar values, beliefs and early childhood experiences. Like me, she continued to grieve his loss years after he had passed. Every Eid we'd talk about him and I'd have to fight back tears while I listened to this woman whose pain and longing were as intense as my own.

Aunty S is however also one of the most inspiring and positive people I know. Despite the pain I know she experiences from her arthritis, I have never heard her complain. On Saturday, she entertained us with her own brand of self-deprecating humour which I have known since I was little - humour borne from her own humility, which - since it focuses on her self-confessed 'negative' traits - does not provide one with an accurate reflection of the awe-inspiring woman sitting before one; that is, until she starts to talk seriously. This is when the intelligence and wisdom of this amazing woman becomes apparent; how, through her spirituality and faith, she is able to remain positive and contented despite adversity. 

My dad and my aunt

So, on Saturday I left my aunt the way I usually do when I see her - feeling inspired, positive and contented; able, once again, to focus on and appreciate the wonders I have in my life (instead of just focusing on the challenges as I recently have been doing). I also felt inspired to focus on the positive traits of others instead of harping on their faults. All these little 'lessons' she delivered to me - inadvertently - not through judgement and condemnation (because that is just not who she is), but through a few hours spent joking, chatting and laughing.

I undertook to visit again, all the while aware that this might not be soon - and although I really hope to keep this promise, I am comforted by the fact that, should I not be able to do so - because she holds no grudges - I will be welcomed with open arms whenever it is that we do see each other again.