"Mama did you get me the dental floss? And a new toothbrush? Oh I also need mouthwash please"- I tried to sound nonchalant, as if being obsessed with my dental hygiene has always been my thing.
But the raised eyebrows on top of unmistakeably surprised expressions on both my parents' countenance forced me to hurriedly quit the act and come clean.
"What I'm supposed to go to the dentist soon, so I must make my teeth presentable!". I avoided eye contact, I was guilty as charged. But hey, at least I'm trying to make last minute amends!
You see, although I brush my teeth 3 times semi-thoroughly, I just find flossing to be among the DULLEST, most annoying tasks ever invented. It is mind-numbingly boring. And as for the mouthwash, let me just leave you with this little excerpt from our average household conversations:
(Overheard by me from another room)
Mom: I'm telling you, it's the best way to lose weight. It's 100% guaranteed. Magic!
Some of you will not think that the above sentence is weird, but in fact falls perfectly within the expected topics of discussion by moms. But you haven't met my mom. I don't recall her EVER engaging in a conversation that included the word "diet", let alone actually exchange fad diets with her friends and acquaintances.
So to hear my mom vouch for a magical diet understandably got me extremely curious.
"What is mom? what is? tell me tell me!!"- ready to hang on every word she's about to utter. After all, this is every girl's dream come true. A magical diet! I could make money out of this:P
Mom: It's that mouthwash the dentist gave me. I use it early in the morning, and I just can't stomach the idea of food for HOURS after that. I don't even drink my morning coffee!!! I can't even describe it.
Me: *momentarily disappointed* Oh.
*quickly recover* Wait, that is a handy piece of info. Actually, it has the potential to be brilliant. Let me try it.......
*gargle*
OH CRAP THAT'S TORTURE!!!
It's not just an appetite killer, I can tell you this much.
So yeah, mouthwash is on my blacklist too.
And yet when it's time for my dentist's visit, and I am reminded of that horrifying sound of the drilling thingie they use. Suddenly, flossing and gargling mouthwash become as appealing as consuming a bucketful of ice-cream. I start religiously using them about a month before my visit. I figure, a month of flossing and gargling with a mint-flavored nightmare is guaranteed to revive them back to a top-notch condition in time for my check-up. Perfect plan, right?
WRONG.
Then dentist always goes off script!!
Despite all the nights spent flossing, and the weird sound effets I produce while using the mouthwash, I am still continuously greeted with the same frown and a "hmmmm" that chills me to the bones, as she checks on my teeth. The rest is, well, too painful to relate.
I love my dentist, she's a friend of the family and she's amazing at what she does. But when she starts drilling, I can barely fight the urge to bite her hand raw, or strangle her and end her career of torturing the innocent.
I walk out of the clinic, carrying lips that feel like they're the size of a ripe mango and mumbling incomprehensibly. Come to think of it, the mumbling part isn't entirely the dentist's fault. But the funny feeling in my mouth definitely is.
Bottom line is: Dentists aren't my favorite kind of people. I don't think I'll ever have a dentist as a best friend. Or marry a dentist. Or have my kid become a dentist. My relationship with dentists must remain a bare minimum; once every 6 or so months, much like my relationship with my floss. The very bare minimum.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Chick Flick-aholic Anonymous
I don't believe there should be a limit on how many times you're allowed to watch a cute chick flick. I mean, who gets bored of mushy endings?
But there's uniqueness in the first viewing. You're so into the story and desperately want things to work out, that you are left completely blind to any ridiculousness that festers in the plot. With repeated exposure, however, and the reassuring knowledge that a happy ending lies ahead, you slowly become more aware of what some would call downright corniness:P
This only intensifies, when you've read the story and were watching the movie for the 5th time with your very smart and critical friend. By extension, I become wiser :P
Girl: It's just that.. I mean.. I sometimes feel.. it's like..
Boy (cuts in): I know what you mean.
Girl: You do?
Boy: Sure I do... (and goes on to describe how she feels so eloquently, unveiling as yet hidden aspects of her personality so effortlessly as if her feelings have been his subject of study for the last decade.)
But of course they've only met 5 minutes ago.
Me: FEH. How come we don't run into such "intuitive" people in real life?
She: That's cuz they don't exist hun.
Me: I should stop watching those silly movies, they keep deluding me from the harsh reality of life. They're an insult to my intelligence. I won't watch a flick ever again. Ever.
She: Yes you will.
Me: *sigh* Yes I will.
Well, at least someone's getting a happy ending!
But there's uniqueness in the first viewing. You're so into the story and desperately want things to work out, that you are left completely blind to any ridiculousness that festers in the plot. With repeated exposure, however, and the reassuring knowledge that a happy ending lies ahead, you slowly become more aware of what some would call downright corniness:P
This only intensifies, when you've read the story and were watching the movie for the 5th time with your very smart and critical friend. By extension, I become wiser :P
Girl: It's just that.. I mean.. I sometimes feel.. it's like..
Boy (cuts in): I know what you mean.
Girl: You do?
Boy: Sure I do... (and goes on to describe how she feels so eloquently, unveiling as yet hidden aspects of her personality so effortlessly as if her feelings have been his subject of study for the last decade.)
But of course they've only met 5 minutes ago.
Me: FEH. How come we don't run into such "intuitive" people in real life?
She: That's cuz they don't exist hun.
Me: I should stop watching those silly movies, they keep deluding me from the harsh reality of life. They're an insult to my intelligence. I won't watch a flick ever again. Ever.
She: Yes you will.
Me: *sigh* Yes I will.
Well, at least someone's getting a happy ending!
Hello rain!
It's raining cats and dogs outside!
I think it must be confused or something- we're practically in summer here. The AC was on all day!
Wait, I think I just spotted lightening. Oh my gosh and here's thunder!!!
That's so cute.
Man I have this sudden urge to go out and get drenched. I LOVE rain. Love the feeling of droplets falling on my face. I think I'll do just that. (Mom's out, so that's why I'm brave enough to attempt that- otherwise I'd be toast:P love you mama! Take your time:P)
I think it must be confused or something- we're practically in summer here. The AC was on all day!
Wait, I think I just spotted lightening. Oh my gosh and here's thunder!!!
That's so cute.
Man I have this sudden urge to go out and get drenched. I LOVE rain. Love the feeling of droplets falling on my face. I think I'll do just that. (Mom's out, so that's why I'm brave enough to attempt that- otherwise I'd be toast:P love you mama! Take your time:P)
A RoCkY Eggy Day
What started as a cute gesture has become a ritual. I am now a proud owner of a pile of rocks delivered in person by none other that Abdulaziz at the beginning of each school day. And the crazy part is, I absolutely love them!
Then throughout the rest of the day, at every opportunity (during recess, or the many times he manages to escape from class) he'd barge into my room to check on his dear collection.
His visits are, well, unique. I don't think he's capable of standing still for more than half a second even if he tried (not that he ever does). Having him around is like living in Florida during the hurricane season. He's a destructive force of nature. He's literally always on top of something, under something or maneuvering full speed around something. Nothing and I mean NOTHING in class hasn't been touched, picked up, thrown, squeezed, shaken and ultimately tasted by him. He seems to base his opinion about almost everything in life by how they taste. And yes, I honestly mean everything. I have seen him put stuff in his mouth that would make you yell out in horror. I know I did.
I haven't been able to get him to pause for a second to explain how dangerous all this is, not for lack of trying. I have tried everything from standing authoritatively and sternly asking him to stop and come, to literally running after him, catching him and physically trying to pin him down and get eye contact.
In every attempt, I would slink back in defeat while I watch him sprint away yelling something weird I'm actually happy I don't get.
And yet it is during those two seconds when he gives me the rocks and tells me where he found them that we actually connect. We have the closest thing to a normal conversation. And that is why I treasure those moments. Then I'm hurriedly snapped out of it by him rolling on the floor, picking something of mine and running out of class with it. I pick up my abaya and sprint behind him!! (yeah that "standing authoritatively and asking him to return" thing blows:P)
I can't help but laugh as I remember the lyrics for the song "Maria" from The Sound of Music, just replace every Maria with Abdulaziz and you'll get an idea:)
"How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
Unpredictable as weather
She's as flighty as a feather
She's a darling! She's a demon! She's a lamb!
She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest (I would bet my life on that:P)
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle! (maybe not) She is wild!
She's a riddle! She's a child!
She's a headache! She's an angel!
She's a girl!"
You know what makes me laugh, my sis used to say this song reminded her of me. And she used to sing it to me, conveniently replacing "Mariam" for "Maria".
Sis, if you think this song applies on me, you must've never met Abdulaziz!!:P
Now moving onto the eggy part of the post. I asked the kids to get boiled eggs today to help us study earth layers. It was fun. but now my classroom smells, well, LIKE EGGS. Hm, I should start thinking my plans through:P
At the end of the lesson they asked if they could eat their eggs, I told them to go ahead. I watched with amusement as some kids started to trade parts of the eggs. Some hated the yolks and would trade it for another white.
I tried to explain that the yolk has most of the nutrients and proteins, but no one really listened or cared.
Oh what the heck, I used to hate the yolks when I was a kid. And I grew up fine.
Hm. That's actually debatable:P
Then throughout the rest of the day, at every opportunity (during recess, or the many times he manages to escape from class) he'd barge into my room to check on his dear collection.
His visits are, well, unique. I don't think he's capable of standing still for more than half a second even if he tried (not that he ever does). Having him around is like living in Florida during the hurricane season. He's a destructive force of nature. He's literally always on top of something, under something or maneuvering full speed around something. Nothing and I mean NOTHING in class hasn't been touched, picked up, thrown, squeezed, shaken and ultimately tasted by him. He seems to base his opinion about almost everything in life by how they taste. And yes, I honestly mean everything. I have seen him put stuff in his mouth that would make you yell out in horror. I know I did.
I haven't been able to get him to pause for a second to explain how dangerous all this is, not for lack of trying. I have tried everything from standing authoritatively and sternly asking him to stop and come, to literally running after him, catching him and physically trying to pin him down and get eye contact.
In every attempt, I would slink back in defeat while I watch him sprint away yelling something weird I'm actually happy I don't get.
And yet it is during those two seconds when he gives me the rocks and tells me where he found them that we actually connect. We have the closest thing to a normal conversation. And that is why I treasure those moments. Then I'm hurriedly snapped out of it by him rolling on the floor, picking something of mine and running out of class with it. I pick up my abaya and sprint behind him!! (yeah that "standing authoritatively and asking him to return" thing blows:P)
I can't help but laugh as I remember the lyrics for the song "Maria" from The Sound of Music, just replace every Maria with Abdulaziz and you'll get an idea:)
"How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
Unpredictable as weather
She's as flighty as a feather
She's a darling! She's a demon! She's a lamb!
She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest (I would bet my life on that:P)
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle! (maybe not) She is wild!
She's a riddle! She's a child!
She's a headache! She's an angel!
She's a girl!"
You know what makes me laugh, my sis used to say this song reminded her of me. And she used to sing it to me, conveniently replacing "Mariam" for "Maria".
Sis, if you think this song applies on me, you must've never met Abdulaziz!!:P
Now moving onto the eggy part of the post. I asked the kids to get boiled eggs today to help us study earth layers. It was fun. but now my classroom smells, well, LIKE EGGS. Hm, I should start thinking my plans through:P
At the end of the lesson they asked if they could eat their eggs, I told them to go ahead. I watched with amusement as some kids started to trade parts of the eggs. Some hated the yolks and would trade it for another white.
I tried to explain that the yolk has most of the nutrients and proteins, but no one really listened or cared.
Oh what the heck, I used to hate the yolks when I was a kid. And I grew up fine.
Hm. That's actually debatable:P
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Funny, The Touching, and The plain Scary
The Funny:
--------------
*caught sneaking into the school with a heavy looking plastic bag*
She (suspiciously): Mariam, where have you been?
Me (eyes widen innocently): Um, out.
She: What's in this bag?
Me: Um, stuff.
She: Have you been scouring the deserted grounds behind the school for rocks again?
Me (most unconvincingly): WHAT? noooooo.
She: *eyeing me knowingly*
Me: Alright alright. I needed rocks. It's a tough job being a science teacher!!
The Touching:
---------------
It was just shy of 7 am. when I turned my classroom lights on and unloaded the bags full of stuff off my shoulder and onto my classroom desks. What a relief. I tilted my head from side to side in an attempt to relieve my tensed neck, turned on the PC and rummaged my desk for my mug and spoon.
The classroom door opened and in came Abdulaziz. Without a word, he walked in my direction, his hand seemed to fiddle in his pocket for a second then with a huge proud smile he extended his open palm to me.
It was a bunch of rocks. Yep, ordinary rocks. Rocks he must've picked up from his garage just before getting into the car this morning.
I grinned.
"wowwwwwwwww, thank you so much! They look so cool. Maybe you can show them to the class today!"
My excitement was genuine. I was so touched by the fact that he remembered that we're studying about rocks and got me some. Who would've thought I'd be that excited on receiving, well, rocks.
And the fact that it came from one of the CRAZY (and I mean CRAZY) kids in class made it all the more special.
Thank you Abdulaziz!
The Scary:
-----------
*During my duty in recess*
Me: OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?????? (upon seeing them lunge and slide so fast aiming at each other's legs, and knocking each other off their feet so swiftly and- from the look of it- oh so painfully.)
Ahmed: It's a game miss!
Me: BUT IT'S SO DANGEROUS.
Ahmed (face twisted into a unmistakable "DUH" expression) : It's supposed to be. It's called "risk", you know.
Me: Oh that makes me feel so much better.
Ahmed: *grins and continues with the lunging"
Me: HEY COME BACK.
Fat chance.
--------------
*caught sneaking into the school with a heavy looking plastic bag*
She (suspiciously): Mariam, where have you been?
Me (eyes widen innocently): Um, out.
She: What's in this bag?
Me: Um, stuff.
She: Have you been scouring the deserted grounds behind the school for rocks again?
Me (most unconvincingly): WHAT? noooooo.
She: *eyeing me knowingly*
Me: Alright alright. I needed rocks. It's a tough job being a science teacher!!
The Touching:
---------------
It was just shy of 7 am. when I turned my classroom lights on and unloaded the bags full of stuff off my shoulder and onto my classroom desks. What a relief. I tilted my head from side to side in an attempt to relieve my tensed neck, turned on the PC and rummaged my desk for my mug and spoon.
The classroom door opened and in came Abdulaziz. Without a word, he walked in my direction, his hand seemed to fiddle in his pocket for a second then with a huge proud smile he extended his open palm to me.
It was a bunch of rocks. Yep, ordinary rocks. Rocks he must've picked up from his garage just before getting into the car this morning.
I grinned.
"wowwwwwwwww, thank you so much! They look so cool. Maybe you can show them to the class today!"
My excitement was genuine. I was so touched by the fact that he remembered that we're studying about rocks and got me some. Who would've thought I'd be that excited on receiving, well, rocks.
And the fact that it came from one of the CRAZY (and I mean CRAZY) kids in class made it all the more special.
Thank you Abdulaziz!
The Scary:
-----------
*During my duty in recess*
Me: OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?????? (upon seeing them lunge and slide so fast aiming at each other's legs, and knocking each other off their feet so swiftly and- from the look of it- oh so painfully.)
Ahmed: It's a game miss!
Me: BUT IT'S SO DANGEROUS.
Ahmed (face twisted into a unmistakable "DUH" expression) : It's supposed to be. It's called "risk", you know.
Me: Oh that makes me feel so much better.
Ahmed: *grins and continues with the lunging"
Me: HEY COME BACK.
Fat chance.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Skippin n Hoppin
Man, life sure is funny.
One day you're driving home with your eyes swelled up from tears, and the very next day you're skipping and hopping with joy!
My brain is confused. And rightfully so- poor thing. It's been a rough ride this year, some serious ups and some serious downs.
But right now, my head is clear and my thoughts sharp. I know exactly how I feel: I'm thankful. So very extremely endlessly thankful.
Thankful for all the huge blessings I'm aware of enjoying, and thankful for the ones I overlook.
Every bit of me is thankful. Alhamdulillah.
Oh and I promise to try to maybe cut back on the complaining when the going gets tough. Must be a tough cookie. Darn, who came up with this expression? Now I must have a cookie.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must continue with my skippin-n-hoppin-with-joy dance (YES actually I do look ridiculous doing it. Why do you think I prudently restrict it to the privacy of my own home?:P)
One day you're driving home with your eyes swelled up from tears, and the very next day you're skipping and hopping with joy!
My brain is confused. And rightfully so- poor thing. It's been a rough ride this year, some serious ups and some serious downs.
But right now, my head is clear and my thoughts sharp. I know exactly how I feel: I'm thankful. So very extremely endlessly thankful.
Thankful for all the huge blessings I'm aware of enjoying, and thankful for the ones I overlook.
Every bit of me is thankful. Alhamdulillah.
Oh and I promise to try to maybe cut back on the complaining when the going gets tough. Must be a tough cookie. Darn, who came up with this expression? Now I must have a cookie.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must continue with my skippin-n-hoppin-with-joy dance (YES actually I do look ridiculous doing it. Why do you think I prudently restrict it to the privacy of my own home?:P)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
On mother's day... Will you forgive me mama?
I messed up. Big time. And on mother's day no less.
First I failed to get my mom flowers, which is the only gift mama accepts from us and truly loves. And as if that's not enough, I was a cranky daughter who instead of kissing and hugging her mom goodnight, chose to storm to the PC room and snap out something stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why can't I stop being stupid?
But that's the great thing about mommies. See, if this happened with someone else, I'd worry they might love me just a little less. That my continuous stupidity and childishness would eventually wear them thin. But moms are there to let us know we'll always be loved, no matter what. Even if the whole world turns a cold shoulder on us, and even if we continue to act stupid stupid stupid, they'll love us just the same.
I love you mama. I may not say this often enough to you, but I think you are the most amazing mom anyone can ever wish to have. And I mean this with every tiny bit of my heart. When I talk to people, half my stories involve you (the other half are about Dalia). You may not realise it, but your voice is constantly in my head. Urging me to do the right thing and tut-tut-ing me when I don't. If it wasn't for your constant guidance, support and unconditional love, I wouldn't last a day. I truly wouldn't.
My words have been my strength, but today they'll no doubt fail me. But you've always told us "it's the thought that counts". I hope you still believe that:)
Throughout my 23 years of being your daughter, here's some of the things I'm thankful you taught me:
1. You taught me that "but every one's doing it" is the worst excuse in the whole world.
2. You've taught me to be punctual. Down to the exact second.
3. You've taught me the joy of being an early bird.
4. You've introduced me to the creative art of "making a dish out of all the things I want to get rid of in my fridge".
5. You've taught me to have an inquisitive mind and always have one more question.
6. You've taught me to plan ahead and have a clear goal.
7. You've taught me to keep trying. Again, and again.
8. You remind me to be thankful for the blessings I have.
9. You remind me of others' misfortunes when I complain about mine.
10. You taught me to be generous.
11. You taught us to love each other unconditionally.
12. You told me to give it my best shot, and feel good about myself no matter what the outcome.
13. You taught me to use my head, then my heart (I still kinda suck at that one though, through no fault of yours.)
14. You've taught me about sacrifice just by being yourself and doing what you do.
15. You've taught me not to bail out on my responsibilities. Even when they're unpleasant.
16. You've taught me to be kind to all animals and be on first name basis with the neighborhood stray cats.
17. You've taught me the joy of snuggling on the couch to watch a documentary about a scientist who spent his entire life studying the behavior of cockroaches.
18. You taught me how we're never too old to act silly and have a good laugh about it.
19. You've taught me that we can never outgrow a game of "snakes and ladders".
20. You've taught me to look up at the sky and notice the birds.
21. You've let me experience the joy of having a "family day".
22. You've taught me how to go up to McDonald's and ask for "a kid's meal for my mom please" and keep a straight face.
23. You've let me discover how cute the toys they include along with the meal are.
24. Then you allowed me to play with them :D
25. You're the reason I cringe at the mention of high heels and makeup.
26. You encourage me to be natural, spontaneous and uninhibited (up to a certain limit:P).
27. You taught me funny lines from old egyptian movies and songs.
28. Then texted them to me when I was away in college, resulting in me bursting into fits of laughter during lectures. Oh and getting kicked out.
29. You've taught me how to be happy for others' blessings.
30. You've instilled the seeds of faith into my soul and let them thrive.
But most importantly... You've taught me that it's okay to make a mistake. And taught me how to reflect back on things, and be brave enough to admit it. To say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry mama.
First I failed to get my mom flowers, which is the only gift mama accepts from us and truly loves. And as if that's not enough, I was a cranky daughter who instead of kissing and hugging her mom goodnight, chose to storm to the PC room and snap out something stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why can't I stop being stupid?
But that's the great thing about mommies. See, if this happened with someone else, I'd worry they might love me just a little less. That my continuous stupidity and childishness would eventually wear them thin. But moms are there to let us know we'll always be loved, no matter what. Even if the whole world turns a cold shoulder on us, and even if we continue to act stupid stupid stupid, they'll love us just the same.
I love you mama. I may not say this often enough to you, but I think you are the most amazing mom anyone can ever wish to have. And I mean this with every tiny bit of my heart. When I talk to people, half my stories involve you (the other half are about Dalia). You may not realise it, but your voice is constantly in my head. Urging me to do the right thing and tut-tut-ing me when I don't. If it wasn't for your constant guidance, support and unconditional love, I wouldn't last a day. I truly wouldn't.
My words have been my strength, but today they'll no doubt fail me. But you've always told us "it's the thought that counts". I hope you still believe that:)
Throughout my 23 years of being your daughter, here's some of the things I'm thankful you taught me:
1. You taught me that "but every one's doing it" is the worst excuse in the whole world.
2. You've taught me to be punctual. Down to the exact second.
3. You've taught me the joy of being an early bird.
4. You've introduced me to the creative art of "making a dish out of all the things I want to get rid of in my fridge".
5. You've taught me to have an inquisitive mind and always have one more question.
6. You've taught me to plan ahead and have a clear goal.
7. You've taught me to keep trying. Again, and again.
8. You remind me to be thankful for the blessings I have.
9. You remind me of others' misfortunes when I complain about mine.
10. You taught me to be generous.
11. You taught us to love each other unconditionally.
12. You told me to give it my best shot, and feel good about myself no matter what the outcome.
13. You taught me to use my head, then my heart (I still kinda suck at that one though, through no fault of yours.)
14. You've taught me about sacrifice just by being yourself and doing what you do.
15. You've taught me not to bail out on my responsibilities. Even when they're unpleasant.
16. You've taught me to be kind to all animals and be on first name basis with the neighborhood stray cats.
17. You've taught me the joy of snuggling on the couch to watch a documentary about a scientist who spent his entire life studying the behavior of cockroaches.
18. You taught me how we're never too old to act silly and have a good laugh about it.
19. You've taught me that we can never outgrow a game of "snakes and ladders".
20. You've taught me to look up at the sky and notice the birds.
21. You've let me experience the joy of having a "family day".
22. You've taught me how to go up to McDonald's and ask for "a kid's meal for my mom please" and keep a straight face.
23. You've let me discover how cute the toys they include along with the meal are.
24. Then you allowed me to play with them :D
25. You're the reason I cringe at the mention of high heels and makeup.
26. You encourage me to be natural, spontaneous and uninhibited (up to a certain limit:P).
27. You taught me funny lines from old egyptian movies and songs.
28. Then texted them to me when I was away in college, resulting in me bursting into fits of laughter during lectures. Oh and getting kicked out.
29. You've taught me how to be happy for others' blessings.
30. You've instilled the seeds of faith into my soul and let them thrive.
But most importantly... You've taught me that it's okay to make a mistake. And taught me how to reflect back on things, and be brave enough to admit it. To say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry mama.
#$^U*%%%$*3/##2 (This is me swearing)
"Mariam don't forget to go down to your after-school duty now" (the one where you wait till the very last kid goes home).
"WHAT? There's gotta be a mistake. I haven't been informed, it's not my turn this month."
Fat chance. Apparently, it's "Mariam's" turn (a Mariam from another department), who happens to be nursing and gets to go home an hour earlier. Someone has to fill in for her, and since after all I am named Mariam, then the logical thing to do is to send me instead!
Brilliant, no?
I keep forgetting, is it a school I work in or an institute of BONEHEADEDNESS.
Feh.
Yes I am severely upset actually. Crappy day, you see. and no that's not only because of the aforementioned incident. That was just added to spice things up.
So anyway, I resigned to my fate (even though I had a gazillion urgent things to do in class) and sat down with the kids waiting. In went a maid or a driver, scanned the faces for a bit, then out they'd go but this time with a school bag on their shoulder and a kid or two tailing behind. Do these kids even have parents?
Then right before my eyes, a kid's driver came and called him. The kid stood up, carried the bag and walked past the driver, then in the most careless and demeaning manner tossed the bag behind him and walked on. He DIDN'T EVEN glance back to make sure the driver picked it up. He didn't need to. People always pick his crap after him, and today is no different.
I was disgusted. If that kid was mine, I would be ashamed to call myself a mother. Sickening.
And you know what the worst part is? I wish it was just an isolated incident. But it's not. It's a mentality, a whole thriving culture. A culture where they not only expect, but demand, to be served. As if it's their birthright. And why shouldn't they when they are the "chosen ones", no?
They have noses stuck up so high, I don't even know how they manage to keep their feet on the ground. They see inferiority in everyone- who isn't local or a westerner, that is.
But it's the Asians working for them who take the hardest blow. I constantly hear the kids in the playground calling each other names like "yal hindi"-as if being Indian is an insult in it's own right. They make me physically sick.
I reflect back on my own childhood, and try to imagine what my mom would've done had she caught me calling someone "yal hindi" or "yal sodani". Let's just say I wouldn't be here today writing this post:) And deservedly so.
If I could go to each and every person who thinks for a second that he's better than any of those "servants", and personally smother their faces in mud, I would not hesitate for a second. In fact, I would relish every second of it.
Of course, there are people who aren't like that. People who are amazing. But sadly, a large part is. Large enough to warrant such an angry post.
And to those ones I say, you make me SICK.
"WHAT? There's gotta be a mistake. I haven't been informed, it's not my turn this month."
Fat chance. Apparently, it's "Mariam's" turn (a Mariam from another department), who happens to be nursing and gets to go home an hour earlier. Someone has to fill in for her, and since after all I am named Mariam, then the logical thing to do is to send me instead!
Brilliant, no?
I keep forgetting, is it a school I work in or an institute of BONEHEADEDNESS.
Feh.
Yes I am severely upset actually. Crappy day, you see. and no that's not only because of the aforementioned incident. That was just added to spice things up.
So anyway, I resigned to my fate (even though I had a gazillion urgent things to do in class) and sat down with the kids waiting. In went a maid or a driver, scanned the faces for a bit, then out they'd go but this time with a school bag on their shoulder and a kid or two tailing behind. Do these kids even have parents?
Then right before my eyes, a kid's driver came and called him. The kid stood up, carried the bag and walked past the driver, then in the most careless and demeaning manner tossed the bag behind him and walked on. He DIDN'T EVEN glance back to make sure the driver picked it up. He didn't need to. People always pick his crap after him, and today is no different.
I was disgusted. If that kid was mine, I would be ashamed to call myself a mother. Sickening.
And you know what the worst part is? I wish it was just an isolated incident. But it's not. It's a mentality, a whole thriving culture. A culture where they not only expect, but demand, to be served. As if it's their birthright. And why shouldn't they when they are the "chosen ones", no?
They have noses stuck up so high, I don't even know how they manage to keep their feet on the ground. They see inferiority in everyone- who isn't local or a westerner, that is.
But it's the Asians working for them who take the hardest blow. I constantly hear the kids in the playground calling each other names like "yal hindi"-as if being Indian is an insult in it's own right. They make me physically sick.
I reflect back on my own childhood, and try to imagine what my mom would've done had she caught me calling someone "yal hindi" or "yal sodani". Let's just say I wouldn't be here today writing this post:) And deservedly so.
If I could go to each and every person who thinks for a second that he's better than any of those "servants", and personally smother their faces in mud, I would not hesitate for a second. In fact, I would relish every second of it.
Of course, there are people who aren't like that. People who are amazing. But sadly, a large part is. Large enough to warrant such an angry post.
And to those ones I say, you make me SICK.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
I walk weird
I do. I walk weird.
There you go I've said it. The sooner I admit it the sooner I find peace with this disturbing reality:P
My sis broke the news to me years ago, but I chose to completely ignore it and thus entered a blissful state of denial! Ah, good days.
But when a teacher I barely recognize (let alone know her name or what subject/grade she teaches) stops me at the corridor to say: "You know I can recognize your walk 100 meters away", all I can say is: OUCH.
They say reality bites, but does it have to chase you around when you're so keenly rushing in the opposite direction?
Super. I guess now I have to scratch "Modeling", "Becoming a ballerina" , and "Winning the power walking championship" from my list of "Things I could do if teaching doesn't work out for me". Which means I'm only left with opening a lemonade stand and writing cheesy novels.
Bleak prospect, bleak indeed.
There you go I've said it. The sooner I admit it the sooner I find peace with this disturbing reality:P
My sis broke the news to me years ago, but I chose to completely ignore it and thus entered a blissful state of denial! Ah, good days.
But when a teacher I barely recognize (let alone know her name or what subject/grade she teaches) stops me at the corridor to say: "You know I can recognize your walk 100 meters away", all I can say is: OUCH.
They say reality bites, but does it have to chase you around when you're so keenly rushing in the opposite direction?
Super. I guess now I have to scratch "Modeling", "Becoming a ballerina" , and "Winning the power walking championship" from my list of "Things I could do if teaching doesn't work out for me". Which means I'm only left with opening a lemonade stand and writing cheesy novels.
Bleak prospect, bleak indeed.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Keyboard Therapy
It took me years to master it, but once I did, it made my life so much easier.
Whenever I'd get upset from someone or something and go ahead and write an email in a fit of anger, I learnt (the hard way) to stop myself just seconds before I hit the "send" button. Then, I would save it. Next morning I would read it again, and if I still felt as strongly about it, I would go ahead and send it. I never did.
The outcome? My anger was extinguished, with minimum damage. I like that.
The reason I bring this up is cuz I'm thinking maybe I should follow the same strategy with my blog. But then again, maybe I shouldn't. After all, I do need to vent out one way or another. And after considering my options, I found them to be:
1. Open my room window and yell my throat out.
2. Call a friend.
3. Go for a run.
4. Write in my blog.
Option 1 isn't feasible mostly cuz, well, mom would stop me! :P But also because right now I'm not so much angry as I am sullen. I tend to fall into this state when things aren't working well for me. Talking - once a favorite pastime of mine- starts to feel like a heavy burden. I rarely initiate conversation. Any words I utter are restricted to answering direct questions, and they're usually muffled up. If left alone, I am benign. But if constantly bugged, I could snap and it could turn ugly.
Considering the above, option 2 is thus rendered obsolete.
A run would be ideal to lift up my spirits and to this day has never failed to revive my innate babbling forces. You gotta love endorphins! I wish I could go, but I can't get myself to. I'm physically drained and exhausted.
Which leaves me with my own "alternative therapy"; writing. It's amazing what therapeutic effects it carries. It's ideal if you think about it. I'm alone and free. I'm not being questioned and I'm under no pressure to present answers. I get the chance to reflect on things at my own pace, my own way. Those feelings and reflections then take the form of my piece of writing, which is more than just the words it presents. It is in essence a complete process of healing. Of finding my "inner peace" or whatever they call it. It works for me, and I'm glad.
Plus it's harmless. How much damage could you do with mere words? Of course, there's always the danger of literally boring someone who reads it to death:P Which is why they invented that tiny red "X" at the uppermost right corner of this window:) It has saved lives, I've heard.
But I won't deny it, on the long run, writing does little to change the reality behind the distress. It's just a coping mechanism, it can only go so far.
But it works for me. It offers me temporary relief, much like the Panadol I'm about to swallow for my headache, which is all I can hope for right now.
Whenever I'd get upset from someone or something and go ahead and write an email in a fit of anger, I learnt (the hard way) to stop myself just seconds before I hit the "send" button. Then, I would save it. Next morning I would read it again, and if I still felt as strongly about it, I would go ahead and send it. I never did.
The outcome? My anger was extinguished, with minimum damage. I like that.
The reason I bring this up is cuz I'm thinking maybe I should follow the same strategy with my blog. But then again, maybe I shouldn't. After all, I do need to vent out one way or another. And after considering my options, I found them to be:
1. Open my room window and yell my throat out.
2. Call a friend.
3. Go for a run.
4. Write in my blog.
Option 1 isn't feasible mostly cuz, well, mom would stop me! :P But also because right now I'm not so much angry as I am sullen. I tend to fall into this state when things aren't working well for me. Talking - once a favorite pastime of mine- starts to feel like a heavy burden. I rarely initiate conversation. Any words I utter are restricted to answering direct questions, and they're usually muffled up. If left alone, I am benign. But if constantly bugged, I could snap and it could turn ugly.
Considering the above, option 2 is thus rendered obsolete.
A run would be ideal to lift up my spirits and to this day has never failed to revive my innate babbling forces. You gotta love endorphins! I wish I could go, but I can't get myself to. I'm physically drained and exhausted.
Which leaves me with my own "alternative therapy"; writing. It's amazing what therapeutic effects it carries. It's ideal if you think about it. I'm alone and free. I'm not being questioned and I'm under no pressure to present answers. I get the chance to reflect on things at my own pace, my own way. Those feelings and reflections then take the form of my piece of writing, which is more than just the words it presents. It is in essence a complete process of healing. Of finding my "inner peace" or whatever they call it. It works for me, and I'm glad.
Plus it's harmless. How much damage could you do with mere words? Of course, there's always the danger of literally boring someone who reads it to death:P Which is why they invented that tiny red "X" at the uppermost right corner of this window:) It has saved lives, I've heard.
But I won't deny it, on the long run, writing does little to change the reality behind the distress. It's just a coping mechanism, it can only go so far.
But it works for me. It offers me temporary relief, much like the Panadol I'm about to swallow for my headache, which is all I can hope for right now.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Babbling Bumbling
"Now, I won't have you all acting like a babbling bumbling band of baboons"-Professor McGonigal. From the movie "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire".
I almost fainted from laughter. THIS IS THE BEST DESCRIPTION I'VE EVER HEARD. THIS is what I have in my classes: A babbling bumbling band of baboons!!
Don't you just love Harry Potter? :D
I almost fainted from laughter. THIS IS THE BEST DESCRIPTION I'VE EVER HEARD. THIS is what I have in my classes: A babbling bumbling band of baboons!!
Don't you just love Harry Potter? :D
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
I sound like a toad
*Over the phone*
Friend: MY GOD what happened to your voice?????
Mariam: Umm, dunno. Allergy. Or the kids. Or both.
This conversation has occured repeatedly in the last few weeks. I must kindly ask you folks to stop that. Having to explain the reason behind my scratchy, squeaky toad-like voice over and over is physically painful, and gets boring after a while.
So until further notice this is my normal voice. This is as normal as it gets when you have an almost blocked windpipe, have difficulty breathing, and yet still manage to holler at Mobarak to get back in line instead of jumping over 1st graders in the corridor.
Oh and I'm gonna have to cancel my speech for tonight. Kindly inform the nation. Thank you.
Friend: MY GOD what happened to your voice?????
Mariam: Umm, dunno. Allergy. Or the kids. Or both.
This conversation has occured repeatedly in the last few weeks. I must kindly ask you folks to stop that. Having to explain the reason behind my scratchy, squeaky toad-like voice over and over is physically painful, and gets boring after a while.
So until further notice this is my normal voice. This is as normal as it gets when you have an almost blocked windpipe, have difficulty breathing, and yet still manage to holler at Mobarak to get back in line instead of jumping over 1st graders in the corridor.
Oh and I'm gonna have to cancel my speech for tonight. Kindly inform the nation. Thank you.
To infinity..... and beyond!
I never actually stick around long enough to see how this ends, if ever.
*Boy 1 kicks boy 2*
Me: OH MY GOD why did you just kick him???
Boy1: because he punched me first!
Boy2: that's because he kicked me before that!
Boy 1: because he slapped me.
Boy 2: because he threw my pencil case at me.
Boy 1: because he threw my pencil case in the garbage.
Boy 2: because he pinched me!
Boy 1: because he said I was a girl!!!
Boy 2: Only because he said I was a baby!!
Boy 1: that's because he tripped me over last week!
Boy 2: because he tripped me over 2 weeks ago!
Boy 1: because he kicked me in math class.
Boy 2: because he punched me in PE lesson.
Ad infinitum. And I'm not even joking.
They give me a brain cramp, every single time.
"alright alright THAT'S ENOUGH! Just go".
And THAT'S how they get away with it!
Geniuses I tell you.
*Boy 1 kicks boy 2*
Me: OH MY GOD why did you just kick him???
Boy1: because he punched me first!
Boy2: that's because he kicked me before that!
Boy 1: because he slapped me.
Boy 2: because he threw my pencil case at me.
Boy 1: because he threw my pencil case in the garbage.
Boy 2: because he pinched me!
Boy 1: because he said I was a girl!!!
Boy 2: Only because he said I was a baby!!
Boy 1: that's because he tripped me over last week!
Boy 2: because he tripped me over 2 weeks ago!
Boy 1: because he kicked me in math class.
Boy 2: because he punched me in PE lesson.
Ad infinitum. And I'm not even joking.
They give me a brain cramp, every single time.
"alright alright THAT'S ENOUGH! Just go".
And THAT'S how they get away with it!
Geniuses I tell you.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Cravings
Boy have I been craving this.
The above "this" actually refers to multiple things. One would be an afternoon nap, where I'm not required to set my alarm clock cuz, well, it really isn't that big a deal if I overslept. I just woke up from such a nap actually (didn't oversleep though. Bummer).
Another would be a free afternoon to chill at home, which isn't spent scribbling "to do lists" and attempting to scratch out as much in as little time as possible. I'm enjoying such an afternoon right now.
The whiff of fresh mint from my hot tea cup, which I'm inhaling as I type this.
But mostly, I've been craving to write. I can't help but wear a smile as I snuggle on the computer seat and put on my weird looking glasses (which aren't weird per se, but years of being my property, and the natural wear and tear effects that accompany being repeatedly sat on, and mistaken for a puck by my crazy hocky-playing cat have had their toll I'm afraid).
Things lately have been insanely hectic, that my blog had to take a back seat. Not that I didn't do my share of writing. But I think you would understand that writing a lesson plan and a million worksheets is hardly the same. My heart longed to be able to write whatever my thoughts brought forth. To write, not because I have to or because it's part of my job description, but because I want to. Because I love to.
And now, my prayers have been finally answered! Man I knew I shoulda wished for a Ferrari (not really. I'm not that into cars, but you get the point)
One thing that has been ticking me off is the fact that even though Kuwait is currently determinedly hanging on to the very last bits of "winter"- meaning the weather is absolutely gorgeous especially in the mornings and afternoons- I haven't been doing any running.
It's quite funny really. I've been wanting to write for so long, but now I'm not sure what to write about. But as my very famous made-up-this-very-instant saying goes: To write something is a little problem, to write nothing is a huge one.
Gee, that sounded so deep- although I must admit I don't have a clue what it means. Oh pardon me, I'm implying that it should mean anything. Let me rephrase: this is the most intelligent sounding gibberish I've uttered for a while. I make myself proud sometimes.
Okay I'm plainly out of practice here, so I will quit trying to produce a piece of writing with an actual theme, well thought out body and which, um, makes actual sense. At least I tried, so cut me some slack.
So What's up with pedestrians in this country? No I'm serious. I consider myself to be the most pedestrian-friendly driver you will ever come across. Mostly because I've spent most of my college years walking the busy streets of Amman and, watching cars zoom by without even a second's consideration of the ridiculous possibility of actually slowing down so I could, God forbid, cross the street. Being almost run over was as common as flu when the flu bugs start to bite.
I'd always choose walking over driving, but here in Kuwait that can't really happen. And yet the streets are full of Asian workers who must rely on their own feet and public transport.
I make it a point to stop and nod or wave to them to go ahead and cross. Always. And the natural thing for them is to, well, cross the road! Maybe even acknowledge me with a nod or a wave. But for the most part, you just rush to cross the street before the driver changes their mind or worse, a maniac comes speeding and cuts you short. It 's really a very uncomplicated foolproof routine: they slow down, wave, you cross, wave, it's as simple and natural as unwrapping a candy bar! Everyone is happy. And yet it is never accomplished successfully, at least not here and not with me.
They never cross the street. It's like a "You go ahead no YOU go ahead no really YOU go ahead" match between us. I swear to God.
And it always ends in me passing and waving at them as a thank you for letting me pass. It's hilariously weird. For some reason, pedestrians here feel the need to let me pass the street. Does that happen with anyone else? I can't get my head round it really.
Hmm. I can see now that I have made the decision of naming this post "cravings", and in a final and desperate attempt at making this a coherent *sarcastic cough* post, I will return to talking about cravings, if only to give the impression that I knew where this was heading all along. But of course I did.
I remember back in college, whenever I used to take naps in the afternoon, I'd wake up with this relentless unquenchable craving for something sweet. Nothing I did would make it go away (including playing tag with my crazy cat and suddenly deciding to declutter my closet). I just had to get my sugar fix to function normally.
Lately though, I would wake up from naps with no trace of that get-me-some-sugar-NOW feeling. This has caused me considerable worry and anguish. I even convinced myself that my body has gone out of whack and isn't sending me the right signals, so I go ahead and get the sugar fix anyway, just in case. Wouldn't want to risk sugar depletion, it's a serious thing you know.
Today I subbed for Dalia, who teaches the Grade 4 girls science, and minutes before recess time one of the girls opened her lunch bag and proudly displayed a plastic bag full of baby carrots (we've just finished the unit on health and nutrition). I gave the appropriate delighted/excited/surprised gasp and we all gave her a hand of applause for choosing a healthy diet. I also shared with them the fact that I used to take a bagful of carrots to school and was thus referred to as "bunny" for quite some time. I have a feeling I'm gonna regret that.
There was no stopping them, each and every girl started taking out her healthy food, cucumbers, strawberries, apples, you name it! I was happy to see them putting what they've learnt into practice!
As far as the boys go, their lunch bags full of chips are still alive and kicking as far as I can tell. And their hands are always smothered with chips pieces after recess. It's gross.
"Hey Fahad, go wash your hands. Wait and your face. And shirt. And neck. Oh forget it just take a shower when you get home".
Boys.
I might be a hopeless chocoholic, but chips is just not my thing. I can't remember the last time I ate chips. With the exception of tortilla chips with dip. I remember as kids we used to go to that Mexican restaurant and while they get your order ready, instead of bread, they'd give you a huge bowl of tortillas with yummy dips, and they'd instantly refill it. I don't think I've ever gotten to taste my main dish. They were so good.
I think I've had more than my fair share of cravings today. Right now I'm craving my soft pillow. And a good book to read under my bed side lamp.
The awesomest part is, I can do just that!
The above "this" actually refers to multiple things. One would be an afternoon nap, where I'm not required to set my alarm clock cuz, well, it really isn't that big a deal if I overslept. I just woke up from such a nap actually (didn't oversleep though. Bummer).
Another would be a free afternoon to chill at home, which isn't spent scribbling "to do lists" and attempting to scratch out as much in as little time as possible. I'm enjoying such an afternoon right now.
The whiff of fresh mint from my hot tea cup, which I'm inhaling as I type this.
But mostly, I've been craving to write. I can't help but wear a smile as I snuggle on the computer seat and put on my weird looking glasses (which aren't weird per se, but years of being my property, and the natural wear and tear effects that accompany being repeatedly sat on, and mistaken for a puck by my crazy hocky-playing cat have had their toll I'm afraid).
Things lately have been insanely hectic, that my blog had to take a back seat. Not that I didn't do my share of writing. But I think you would understand that writing a lesson plan and a million worksheets is hardly the same. My heart longed to be able to write whatever my thoughts brought forth. To write, not because I have to or because it's part of my job description, but because I want to. Because I love to.
And now, my prayers have been finally answered! Man I knew I shoulda wished for a Ferrari (not really. I'm not that into cars, but you get the point)
One thing that has been ticking me off is the fact that even though Kuwait is currently determinedly hanging on to the very last bits of "winter"- meaning the weather is absolutely gorgeous especially in the mornings and afternoons- I haven't been doing any running.
It's quite funny really. I've been wanting to write for so long, but now I'm not sure what to write about. But as my very famous made-up-this-very-instant saying goes: To write something is a little problem, to write nothing is a huge one.
Gee, that sounded so deep- although I must admit I don't have a clue what it means. Oh pardon me, I'm implying that it should mean anything. Let me rephrase: this is the most intelligent sounding gibberish I've uttered for a while. I make myself proud sometimes.
Okay I'm plainly out of practice here, so I will quit trying to produce a piece of writing with an actual theme, well thought out body and which, um, makes actual sense. At least I tried, so cut me some slack.
So What's up with pedestrians in this country? No I'm serious. I consider myself to be the most pedestrian-friendly driver you will ever come across. Mostly because I've spent most of my college years walking the busy streets of Amman and, watching cars zoom by without even a second's consideration of the ridiculous possibility of actually slowing down so I could, God forbid, cross the street. Being almost run over was as common as flu when the flu bugs start to bite.
I'd always choose walking over driving, but here in Kuwait that can't really happen. And yet the streets are full of Asian workers who must rely on their own feet and public transport.
I make it a point to stop and nod or wave to them to go ahead and cross. Always. And the natural thing for them is to, well, cross the road! Maybe even acknowledge me with a nod or a wave. But for the most part, you just rush to cross the street before the driver changes their mind or worse, a maniac comes speeding and cuts you short. It 's really a very uncomplicated foolproof routine: they slow down, wave, you cross, wave, it's as simple and natural as unwrapping a candy bar! Everyone is happy. And yet it is never accomplished successfully, at least not here and not with me.
They never cross the street. It's like a "You go ahead no YOU go ahead no really YOU go ahead" match between us. I swear to God.
And it always ends in me passing and waving at them as a thank you for letting me pass. It's hilariously weird. For some reason, pedestrians here feel the need to let me pass the street. Does that happen with anyone else? I can't get my head round it really.
Hmm. I can see now that I have made the decision of naming this post "cravings", and in a final and desperate attempt at making this a coherent *sarcastic cough* post, I will return to talking about cravings, if only to give the impression that I knew where this was heading all along. But of course I did.
I remember back in college, whenever I used to take naps in the afternoon, I'd wake up with this relentless unquenchable craving for something sweet. Nothing I did would make it go away (including playing tag with my crazy cat and suddenly deciding to declutter my closet). I just had to get my sugar fix to function normally.
Lately though, I would wake up from naps with no trace of that get-me-some-sugar-NOW feeling. This has caused me considerable worry and anguish. I even convinced myself that my body has gone out of whack and isn't sending me the right signals, so I go ahead and get the sugar fix anyway, just in case. Wouldn't want to risk sugar depletion, it's a serious thing you know.
Today I subbed for Dalia, who teaches the Grade 4 girls science, and minutes before recess time one of the girls opened her lunch bag and proudly displayed a plastic bag full of baby carrots (we've just finished the unit on health and nutrition). I gave the appropriate delighted/excited/surprised gasp and we all gave her a hand of applause for choosing a healthy diet. I also shared with them the fact that I used to take a bagful of carrots to school and was thus referred to as "bunny" for quite some time. I have a feeling I'm gonna regret that.
There was no stopping them, each and every girl started taking out her healthy food, cucumbers, strawberries, apples, you name it! I was happy to see them putting what they've learnt into practice!
As far as the boys go, their lunch bags full of chips are still alive and kicking as far as I can tell. And their hands are always smothered with chips pieces after recess. It's gross.
"Hey Fahad, go wash your hands. Wait and your face. And shirt. And neck. Oh forget it just take a shower when you get home".
Boys.
I might be a hopeless chocoholic, but chips is just not my thing. I can't remember the last time I ate chips. With the exception of tortilla chips with dip. I remember as kids we used to go to that Mexican restaurant and while they get your order ready, instead of bread, they'd give you a huge bowl of tortillas with yummy dips, and they'd instantly refill it. I don't think I've ever gotten to taste my main dish. They were so good.
I think I've had more than my fair share of cravings today. Right now I'm craving my soft pillow. And a good book to read under my bed side lamp.
The awesomest part is, I can do just that!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
A pocketful of rocks
I've been missing in action these last few days. We're starting a new chapter with the kids (Earth science: rocks, minerals, landforms, volcanoes and earthquakes, you name it!) so I am pretty much swamped what with all the lesson plans and resources I must put together. I have been caught acting weird as well; like walking around with pockets filled with rocks and sand. As if people needed yet another proof for my questionable mental stability. Geez, the job description I received at the start of the year doesn't even begin to do the job justice. I will be campaigning to add a few clauses. The people must KNOW.
It's great having your sis as your biggest blog fan. With nothing but rocks on my mind, I have neglected bloggie dear bloggie. Won't happen again sis. Me loves you! Bloggie loves you as well:)
I'm at school now and so I can't keep on writing any longer. But I'll be back.
But for now I'll leave you with an excerpt from today's lesson on Minerals:
Ms. Mariam: We've seen how minerals have very different and beautiful colors to help us tell them apart. But sometimes two minerals can look the same. Like diamond and quartz. See this quartz I'm holding in my hand. It's just like a diamond.
Yusuf: MISS MARIAM IS THAT A DIAMOND?
Khalid: WOW MISS MARIAM CAN I TAKE THIS DIAMOND?
Abdulla: WHERE DID YOU FIND IT????
Ms. Mariam: Easy boys- No way! If I owned a big chunk of diamond like that I'd be on my own island right now, and definitely not standing here showing it to you!! I mean I love you boys, but come on. This is quartz, we use it to make glass. I can sell it and buy, dunno, gum maybe.
*wave of disappointment washes over their once excited expressions* so much for having a millionaire teacher to brag about!
It's great having your sis as your biggest blog fan. With nothing but rocks on my mind, I have neglected bloggie dear bloggie. Won't happen again sis. Me loves you! Bloggie loves you as well:)
I'm at school now and so I can't keep on writing any longer. But I'll be back.
But for now I'll leave you with an excerpt from today's lesson on Minerals:
Ms. Mariam: We've seen how minerals have very different and beautiful colors to help us tell them apart. But sometimes two minerals can look the same. Like diamond and quartz. See this quartz I'm holding in my hand. It's just like a diamond.
Yusuf: MISS MARIAM IS THAT A DIAMOND?
Khalid: WOW MISS MARIAM CAN I TAKE THIS DIAMOND?
Abdulla: WHERE DID YOU FIND IT????
Ms. Mariam: Easy boys- No way! If I owned a big chunk of diamond like that I'd be on my own island right now, and definitely not standing here showing it to you!! I mean I love you boys, but come on. This is quartz, we use it to make glass. I can sell it and buy, dunno, gum maybe.
*wave of disappointment washes over their once excited expressions* so much for having a millionaire teacher to brag about!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Get your Old McDonald facts straight
Over lunch and in an attempt to cheer me up, mom shared this piece of news, which she has read in our local paper this morning. Apparently a bunch of UK kids think that cows lay eggs.
Her plan worked, I choked on my food as I giggled uncontrollably.
"At least your kids don't think that", she said when I finally managed a straight face again.
"Hmm... I'm not so sure about that.... now that you mention it, I could definitely think of a couple that may think that actually"
I blame the KG. What have they been teaching them?
No doubt something in the neighborhood of:
"Old McDonald had a farm... E I E I O
and on his farms he had some Cows
E I E I O
and they lay some eggs here
and some eggs there
here an egg
there an egg
everywhere an egg egg "
Yep. That should explain it.
Her plan worked, I choked on my food as I giggled uncontrollably.
"At least your kids don't think that", she said when I finally managed a straight face again.
"Hmm... I'm not so sure about that.... now that you mention it, I could definitely think of a couple that may think that actually"
I blame the KG. What have they been teaching them?
No doubt something in the neighborhood of:
"Old McDonald had a farm... E I E I O
and on his farms he had some Cows
E I E I O
and they lay some eggs here
and some eggs there
here an egg
there an egg
everywhere an egg egg "
Yep. That should explain it.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
I have weird friends
Tima: Guess who I ran into today?
Mariam: Who?
T: Rawan!
M: Oh my God! How is she?
T: Oh she's fine. It was a bit embarrassing though.
M: how come?
T: Well she called me by my name and I didn't even recognize who she was.
M: Yikes, that must've been real awkward.
T: Naah, actually it was really funny.
M: And how is that?
T: well.... this is what happened really.....
Tima gets out of the elevator
Rawan: Fatima!
Fatima: OH MY GOD *all excited and shocked*.. I'm sorry who are you?
Rawan: I'm RAWAN!
Fatima: OH MY GOD *all excited and shocked*.. I'm sorry who are you really?
Man, she cracks me up.
Mariam: Who?
T: Rawan!
M: Oh my God! How is she?
T: Oh she's fine. It was a bit embarrassing though.
M: how come?
T: Well she called me by my name and I didn't even recognize who she was.
M: Yikes, that must've been real awkward.
T: Naah, actually it was really funny.
M: And how is that?
T: well.... this is what happened really.....
Tima gets out of the elevator
Rawan: Fatima!
Fatima: OH MY GOD *all excited and shocked*.. I'm sorry who are you?
Rawan: I'm RAWAN!
Fatima: OH MY GOD *all excited and shocked*.. I'm sorry who are you really?
Man, she cracks me up.
Time of Death: 2:10 p.m.
Momtaz, the maid that cleans my classroom, apparently wasn't satisfied with the job the boys have been doing in killing me. I guess she felt it wasn't effective enough (since I kept showing up again at the start of each day!) and decided to take things into her own hands.
And thus she proceeded to open the dust compartment in the vacuum cleaner that I could swear has been around since the establishment of the school 10 years ago and hasn't been emptied before today. But today it has, and in no where else but my classroom and less than 2 meters away from me. She shook and joggled the bag with vengeance forming clouds of dust that shot in each and every direction. When I realised what was happening, it was too late.
I coughed, I sneezed, I wheezed, I gasped for breath as I struggled to produce a desperate "NOooOo stooOOOoooooP", that did little to improve the situation. Momtaz was out on a mission and there was no stopping her. I guess in her mind she was doing me a favor, no use prolonging the inevitable, right?
I must say though, I was kinda hoping for a more heroic end for me, but alas I have to settle for an "unfortunate vacuum incident by an overly enthusiastic maid".
But you gotta give her credit, to have picked up on my bad allergy condition and worked it to her benefit, then artfully "made it look like an accident" all the while maintaining the pretence of a devoted maid doing, well, her job. Pure genius I tell you.
ايه يا حجه ممتاز , هيه حصلت؟؟؟
And thus she proceeded to open the dust compartment in the vacuum cleaner that I could swear has been around since the establishment of the school 10 years ago and hasn't been emptied before today. But today it has, and in no where else but my classroom and less than 2 meters away from me. She shook and joggled the bag with vengeance forming clouds of dust that shot in each and every direction. When I realised what was happening, it was too late.
I coughed, I sneezed, I wheezed, I gasped for breath as I struggled to produce a desperate "NOooOo stooOOOoooooP", that did little to improve the situation. Momtaz was out on a mission and there was no stopping her. I guess in her mind she was doing me a favor, no use prolonging the inevitable, right?
I must say though, I was kinda hoping for a more heroic end for me, but alas I have to settle for an "unfortunate vacuum incident by an overly enthusiastic maid".
But you gotta give her credit, to have picked up on my bad allergy condition and worked it to her benefit, then artfully "made it look like an accident" all the while maintaining the pretence of a devoted maid doing, well, her job. Pure genius I tell you.
ايه يا حجه ممتاز , هيه حصلت؟؟؟
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Darwin Knew Best
When my childhood dreams of working with National Geographic or joining the crew on one of Greenpeace's ships didn't amount to anything, I wondered if I will ever truly make use of my biology degree, which I had pursued out of passion.
I mean don't get me wrong, as noble and dignified (um, actually scratch the latter) as it is to be chasing 9-year-olds with an attention span that would make a gold fish look really good, I find myself yearning from time to time to do something really biology-ish (how scientific does this sound, eh?:P). And I don't mean anything to do with microscopes cuz- this is a little confession- I never quite figured out how the heck those things work, and even when I accidentally worked one correctly, I would always wonder why oh why would anyone care or want to see something that's this tiny- know what I'm saying? Microorganisms are boring, I like big fat lively animals! (yeah yeah I'm a disgrace to biologists, big deal).
Then there's the fact that the elementary science I currently teach is naturally very basic and simple, which has me worrying I may soon forget most of what I've learnt. I mean, it's not like it was a breeze getting my degree people. I have had to suffer through world-class-boredom-inducer professors, and lab sessions that knew no end. I even had to watch some cute little white mice get killed in acts of cold blooded murder. I am also guilty of finishing off a whole family of fruit flies- bless their souls poor things- after forgetting them inside my locker; then having to make up the results of my lab report (yes yes we have already established that I'm a disgrace:P)
So you can imagine my thrill today when I was finally able to apply some of my knowledge!
Inspired from Darwin's Evolution and Natural selection, I present:
Evolution of An Elementary All-Boy Class Teacher:
Stated simply and concisely: In an all-boy elementary classroom with no evidence of student discipline, either uninterested and unconcerned or overbearing and obnoxious parents, and a administration that is too keen to keep parents happy to to do something about it , survival is for the meanest, scariest and most terrifying teacher.
Which means that a successful teacher must gradually evolve into this:
Therefore, as a last resort and in a desperate attempt at self and sanity preservation, I must find a way to hasten my adaptation, and somehow look like the above example. Fast.
Just for the next three months. Then I'll be all smiley again, I promise.
(Darwin didn't happen to mention whether it's a reversible process or not, now did he?:P)
I mean don't get me wrong, as noble and dignified (um, actually scratch the latter) as it is to be chasing 9-year-olds with an attention span that would make a gold fish look really good, I find myself yearning from time to time to do something really biology-ish (how scientific does this sound, eh?:P). And I don't mean anything to do with microscopes cuz- this is a little confession- I never quite figured out how the heck those things work, and even when I accidentally worked one correctly, I would always wonder why oh why would anyone care or want to see something that's this tiny- know what I'm saying? Microorganisms are boring, I like big fat lively animals! (yeah yeah I'm a disgrace to biologists, big deal).
Then there's the fact that the elementary science I currently teach is naturally very basic and simple, which has me worrying I may soon forget most of what I've learnt. I mean, it's not like it was a breeze getting my degree people. I have had to suffer through world-class-boredom-inducer professors, and lab sessions that knew no end. I even had to watch some cute little white mice get killed in acts of cold blooded murder. I am also guilty of finishing off a whole family of fruit flies- bless their souls poor things- after forgetting them inside my locker; then having to make up the results of my lab report (yes yes we have already established that I'm a disgrace:P)
So you can imagine my thrill today when I was finally able to apply some of my knowledge!
Inspired from Darwin's Evolution and Natural selection, I present:
Evolution of An Elementary All-Boy Class Teacher:
Stated simply and concisely: In an all-boy elementary classroom with no evidence of student discipline, either uninterested and unconcerned or overbearing and obnoxious parents, and a administration that is too keen to keep parents happy to to do something about it , survival is for the meanest, scariest and most terrifying teacher.
Which means that a successful teacher must gradually evolve into this:
Therefore, as a last resort and in a desperate attempt at self and sanity preservation, I must find a way to hasten my adaptation, and somehow look like the above example. Fast.
Just for the next three months. Then I'll be all smiley again, I promise.
(Darwin didn't happen to mention whether it's a reversible process or not, now did he?:P)
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Being a mommy aint easy
It's a universal truth that mommies only eat broken cookies, leftovers and whatever no one else wants. It's a tough world for them, and sometimes it gets just a tad worse:
Me: Mom, you have got to taste one of those Godivas.
Mom: No thanks habeebti.
Me: Oh C'mon mom, just take one! You'd actually be saving my soul.
Mom: I won't eat your chocolate, forget it.
Me: Fine. Then eat this piece, I hate it.
Mom: I don't believe you.
Me: no really, it's stuffed with a fruity thing. I can't stomach these things.
Mom: are you just saying this so you'd trick me into eating one?
Me: Trust me, I'm not. I wouldn't eat it, and it'll go to waste.
Mom: Why am I not entirely believing you....(hesitantly takes it and ventures a bite and instantly......) OH MY GOD THAT IS ICKY. Why would anyone make such a thing????
Me: hehehehehehhehe told ya!
Me: Mom, you have got to taste one of those Godivas.
Mom: No thanks habeebti.
Me: Oh C'mon mom, just take one! You'd actually be saving my soul.
Mom: I won't eat your chocolate, forget it.
Me: Fine. Then eat this piece, I hate it.
Mom: I don't believe you.
Me: no really, it's stuffed with a fruity thing. I can't stomach these things.
Mom: are you just saying this so you'd trick me into eating one?
Me: Trust me, I'm not. I wouldn't eat it, and it'll go to waste.
Mom: Why am I not entirely believing you....(hesitantly takes it and ventures a bite and instantly......) OH MY GOD THAT IS ICKY. Why would anyone make such a thing????
Me: hehehehehehhehe told ya!
Neat handwriting is SO overrated
Incorrigible.
That pretty much describes my handwriting. And the worst part is, I can't blame it on my genes. Both my mom and dad's handwriting is great, and Dalia's is the closest thing to a work of art. For years, I had consoled myself with the belief that Abood's handwriting isn't that impressive either. So at least, I wasn't the ugly duckling!
But that, I fear, is no longer true. I came to that sad realisation the other day when I ventured a peek into his notebook as he sat scribbling what to me at least are incomprehensible notes on his robot design (man, I really do feel like DeeDee:P).
I was dumbfounded. "WHAT THE??? Since when is your handwriting SO neat?" I demanded. Nonchalantly and with an air of someone who has been practising the art of calligraphy all his life said: "Dunno. Wasn't it always that way?".
Great. So now I'm the ONLY one in the family with handwriting that could easily be mistaken for a four-year-old's. Just awesome. Not that it bothers me personally to tell you the truth. I mean, as long as I can read it, I'm not complaining. (Admittedly, there are documented incidents back in school when I would carry my copybook and ask my mom to help me decipher my very own handwriting. But lets ignore that, shall we?)
For the most part though, I wasn't too worried about the sorry state of my handwriting. But every now and then, something would happen that would make me think that maybe, just maybe, I needed to do something about it.
Like the time when my Arabic teacher announced at the top of her lungs, with the whole class as her audience, her intention to hire a specialized "translator" to help her figure out what the heck I write on my papers. I found her joke hilarious and joined the class in the laughter, until we realised she wasn't kidding.
Then there was that conversation between me and my Lebanese friend who sat on the desk next to me all through our last 5 years at school.
Fatima: Hey can I borrow you're copybook?
Mariam: Sure, which one?
Fatima: doesn't really matter, whichever.
Mariam: how can it not matter?? don't you want to copy stuff??
Fatima: well if you must know, it's for my sis.
Mariam: Huh?
Fatima: Well, last time I borrowed your copybook my sis happened to see it and, well, she took one look at your handwriting and kept laughing all afternoon. She says it makes her laugh; it's so weird and cute. She says she loves it.
Mariam: *Jaw dropped*
I think the root of the problem is that, unlike most people with horrid handwriting, I don't have consistency. I do not write the letter in the same ugly way each and every time. The shapes of my letters are forever changing, even when they occur twice in the very same word.
So when I one day happened upon a personality test based on your handwriting, it didn't go so well. I was asked to copy a specific sentence then based on how I wrote each letter, a part of my personality would supposedly be unveiled. Of course, since each letter was written in at least 3 different shapes, you can imagine my dilemma. The only logical conclusion would've been that I was schizophrenic.
But really, we are so not!
:)
That pretty much describes my handwriting. And the worst part is, I can't blame it on my genes. Both my mom and dad's handwriting is great, and Dalia's is the closest thing to a work of art. For years, I had consoled myself with the belief that Abood's handwriting isn't that impressive either. So at least, I wasn't the ugly duckling!
But that, I fear, is no longer true. I came to that sad realisation the other day when I ventured a peek into his notebook as he sat scribbling what to me at least are incomprehensible notes on his robot design (man, I really do feel like DeeDee:P).
I was dumbfounded. "WHAT THE??? Since when is your handwriting SO neat?" I demanded. Nonchalantly and with an air of someone who has been practising the art of calligraphy all his life said: "Dunno. Wasn't it always that way?".
Great. So now I'm the ONLY one in the family with handwriting that could easily be mistaken for a four-year-old's. Just awesome. Not that it bothers me personally to tell you the truth. I mean, as long as I can read it, I'm not complaining. (Admittedly, there are documented incidents back in school when I would carry my copybook and ask my mom to help me decipher my very own handwriting. But lets ignore that, shall we?)
For the most part though, I wasn't too worried about the sorry state of my handwriting. But every now and then, something would happen that would make me think that maybe, just maybe, I needed to do something about it.
Like the time when my Arabic teacher announced at the top of her lungs, with the whole class as her audience, her intention to hire a specialized "translator" to help her figure out what the heck I write on my papers. I found her joke hilarious and joined the class in the laughter, until we realised she wasn't kidding.
Then there was that conversation between me and my Lebanese friend who sat on the desk next to me all through our last 5 years at school.
Fatima: Hey can I borrow you're copybook?
Mariam: Sure, which one?
Fatima: doesn't really matter, whichever.
Mariam: how can it not matter?? don't you want to copy stuff??
Fatima: well if you must know, it's for my sis.
Mariam: Huh?
Fatima: Well, last time I borrowed your copybook my sis happened to see it and, well, she took one look at your handwriting and kept laughing all afternoon. She says it makes her laugh; it's so weird and cute. She says she loves it.
Mariam: *Jaw dropped*
I think the root of the problem is that, unlike most people with horrid handwriting, I don't have consistency. I do not write the letter in the same ugly way each and every time. The shapes of my letters are forever changing, even when they occur twice in the very same word.
So when I one day happened upon a personality test based on your handwriting, it didn't go so well. I was asked to copy a specific sentence then based on how I wrote each letter, a part of my personality would supposedly be unveiled. Of course, since each letter was written in at least 3 different shapes, you can imagine my dilemma. The only logical conclusion would've been that I was schizophrenic.
But really, we are so not!
:)
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