The kid at school Vs the kid at home


at school at home

I hear you mum, hear hear…when you have endless tasks at hand. Preparing the dinner, sorting the laundry, cleaning the spillages, tidying the endless mess, changing soiled nappies, washing bottoms all with the added wackiness: The whiner at hand ALL the frikkin time!! (This happened straight after school one day)

“let’s play ludo…can we? Can we play it now…play it noooow”

(Me) not yet sweetheart…

Aaarrrrgggghhhh waaaaaaaaahh

(me) we’ve just come in from school!?, change your uniform, let me go to the loo

noooooo lets play NOW, let’s plaaaaaaay (aaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh waaaaaaaaaah)

(me) I said not yet, you’ll have to wait

(after toilet business)

I want cereal, can I have cereal, can I have cereal X10 noooooooooowwwww

(Whilst eating cereal) let’s play ludo, play ludo, play ludo X10 nooooow

(me) Can you finish eating first, can’t you see I’m feeding your little brother

Aaaaaaarrrrgggghhhh waaaaaaah

(After eating, we play the dreaded ludo)

(me) Ok, the Games finished you came first and I was second yaaaay

Nooo let’s play again, can we play again, again again X10….

(me) Play with your brother

Nooo you play

Aaaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh waaaaaaaah

Right this may not be 100% accurate and the ‘X10’ may well be an exaggeration, I might have said much more in between, throwing in some oooh aaaargghs but hopefully you get the gist!

Seriously… am I the only one with a kid like this, (sometimes it seriously feels like that!), the kid who bottles up all his feelings, only to fizz it out at home. It isn’t a pretty sight. I don’t think I know any other child who is difficult like that honestly, I could schmoose, shoulder-to-shoulder with a mum who goes through the same shi* day in and day out, in dealing with a sulking sucker who ruins it for everyone else at home. I could join that social club: “living with whacky whiners”, we’ll name it that, wonderfully oxymoronic, for a bit of sanity…eh?

I don’t look forward to the school runs. The minute he sets foot out, some form of whinging and murmuring under the breath will begin. I’ve read about the whole attachment parenting, and love-bombing and a whole host of other things…trust me I do it all, I HUG him, squeeze the life out of him -not literally- before I get lectured about the damaging effects of corporal punishment. Home-schooling is out of the question, before being told about all the wonders of it! (no hate, it isn’t for me at this point in time) I lend an ear, listen to his every word, cook up countless conversations; yet the stew will bubble up and burst over the tiniest flame. Cry it out sweety, but not to the point where your tears flood the emotion out of us. Play-flight with your little brothers, (I did it too and felt powerful throwing mighty-morphin punches at the horrid boys) but take it easy son, it isn’t a wrestling rink. Where do we set the limit? How long do we have to endure? Lord help us. I could do with a hug and a prayer xxx

Whilst it is lovely being told by your child’s teacher that your cookie is well-behaved and a very rule-abiding friendly child, caring and often smiling with social skills that might be well beyond his little years. I would however, love for the world to know how much it takes for many of us at home building up the wreckage every night: the kids who emotionally drains us to fill their cups, the kids who push boundaries at home only to practice restraining themselves outside. The kids who wear a friendly patient façade only to take it off at home and release their inner beast.

In hindsight, perhaps that’s a good thing, that they can have an emotional outlet at home, disconnect and recharge, be a privilege for their teachers, an asset in their class, perhaps more so than the trouble-maker who makes it terrible for 29 other kids at school. Perhaps I could do with being an emotional rut for now and tolerate the fizzy outburst here and there.
But whilst I’m at it, I hope I have struck a chord with yummy mummies out there, who can relate and moan with us, I’m happy to lend an ear. Xxxx

2nd at home at school

(The middle easy going one, proud to say we do have the best of both 🙂


Memoirs of a muslamic muvva’: For the love of prayer

Memoirs of a muslamic muvva’: For the love of prayer

Alhamdulillah for the salaah (5 daily prayers): such a beautiful and peaceful part of one’s daily routine, especially when you have a handful of a brood like mine, forever in a high functioning mode, forever fighting and wreaking havoc. Especially when you wish you were more posh and had specific times, for when your child can book an appointment with you, to seek your counsel. So when the time for prayer kicks in, I feel like a gangsta’! here’s why: you stand in prayer and they INSTANTLY know that that’s mummy’s time now; we can’t say anything until she’s finished, because there’s no point and she isn’t going to listen. Ha! *feels like boss*

Here’s how a typical day might be:



And then some days, when you just want a little more peace of mind:


And some days when the wrestling has already begun, the prayer can come and save you, like the hijab does on a bad hair day:


The not so typical day:

Some days, when you are out and about and the time for prayer kicks in: well here’s something that recently happened whilst I was at the swimming pool and Maghrib salaah was due, (thank you to the wonderful staff at the leisure center who are ever so accommodating and even offered a prayer mat on a number of occasions, given that one of the staff members is Muslim and so it wasn’t an unfamiliar request!) so whilst my toddler was on tow on this particular occasion, the prayer was a great escape! We come out the pool and he sees the vending machine with all sorts of naughty snacks, chocolates and crisps…we surely don’t go swimming for that do we!?:




SubhaanAllah …don’t we just love the salaah <3<3<3


Millionaire Mama

Millionaire Mama

Lately I’ve been feeling deep self-pity in being extremely self-conscious, questioning my social position in terms of financial status, my sense of purpose and general social standing in our ‘meritocratic’ society.  What am I doing to achieve prosperity and how can I become financially free? how can I be more successful, whatever success might be. I’ve been obsessing over it, watching and reading about other people’s “success” stories and pondering my mind-set, attitude and entrepreneurial flair if any. I think we can safely say this may be (my version of) what one calls the ‘mid-quarter life crisis’ (and this month has certainly not helped those feelings, which marks another year off my diminishing life). I love how we can give those huge internal battles some sort of justification in this ‘enlightened’ age we live, every phase in life agreeably has its challenges, but our love of defining them: the ‘terrible twos’ (which my 2-year-old is most certainly experiencing!) to the terrible tweens and teens and so on, you get the drift; nevertheless, this sense of deep desperation, that time is ticking and I haven’t achieved anything in life yet has been all-consuming. What can I do to improve the quality of my life and by extension the quality of life my children will live. Growing up in a competitive world, where everyone is scrambling to reach the top at heightened levels; as if the future needs a stockpile. The uncertainties of a bleak future, the worries and insecurities we harbour as adults is a truly sorry state. It really brings me to ponder this scary ‘future’; whilst I see myself as a highly optimistic person (in the religious sense especially) and have till now been fairly grounded (as I’d like to believe) I must admit, lately I’ve been secretly praying for abundance, and not just one where I can comfortably raise a growing family; but abundance where I can have a fair share, from the riches and treasures God has bestowed to the few people on earth, or as some may define it the millionaire status (*covers face*). Whilst I fear having an atoms weight of ungratefulness to my Lord, hopefully any tint of greed and selfishness will subside; but let’s face it, who wouldn’t want a sense of financial freedom, where booking a ticket to travel needn’t feel like an indulgence, where one would have to squeeze the little savings they do have and risk diminishing their children’s “future” prospects, in turn fuelling that sense of guilt and apprehension and silly regrets and so this cycle of pity and self-loathing continues firing grrr…

But I had a bit of chilling reality check the other day, and I just love it when it’s the kids who prompt it in our usual little-deep conversations (especially at dinner times, when we are sat around the table) somehow on this occasion the conversation drifted to homes and so my boys (6 and 4-year-old) ask and question where I used to live in the “olden days”, as they would like to put it -much to my disappointment! I don’t think we are ever comfortable being associated with remnants from the “old”-Hey ho! So I explain the series of homes I lived at in my tender childhood years (cringe at the ‘childhood’ as I’m still a big kid at heart! As the sayings go: ‘young at heart’, …’age is just a number’… ‘sweet 16’ mumbo jumbo. And so I explain that “I used to live with my mum, you know your mummy” (yep they call her ‘mummy’ just like me, nope we are not comfortable with the nanny just yet!) and then I got married to your abagi and no I didn’t live with him when I was a kid, which is always a bit of a revelation to them. It never fails to amuse me how they associate their daddy as being mine; that how unfortunate I must have been to have never lived with abagi as if he was my guardian and it must have been terrible not having him to look after me when I was so small, because in their little minds-eye daddy must have always been a grown up, and so I explain that he was also a little kid like me one day and he lived with his abagi and I lived with mine. [And so every time we have a similar conversation, I have to clarify that my abagi is that lovely baba with the small white beard (who they see very little of, as he likes to spend most of his ‘youth’ in Pakistan, living in his sweet 16 fashion!) the one who jokingly says: ‘I will flush you down the toilet’ in their little cheeky banter]

And so in speaking of transitions in life and moving from home to home, my eldest asks who used to live in this house, and I say perhaps a family before us who moved somewhere else, and then who used to live here before them and before them and so on. So we had a deep conversation about ageing and death, and new people being born to occupy these very homes, which we will inevitably leave behind and then the conversation takes a turn to their favourite topic the afterlife and the next abode i.e. paradise and they LOVE talking about paradise, how wonderful it would be to go to a land with no limitations, the beautiful everlasting abode. Whilst I appreciate they do not associate death with a miserable, worrisome end just yet, (but a place of pleasures and comforts, just a next phase in the many phases yet to come God-willing) I must say it always intrigues me why it’s a subject most people like to avoid in society, a subject we’d rather not tread on; and so what my eldest said next was a very chilling realisation… “Don’t worry ummy, when you die I will take you to the hospital” and the younger one adds “and then to the graveyard” gesturing the rectangular shape of my tomb with his little hands, and they spoke with such matter-of-fact passion and sense of responsibility, I couldn’t help nodding with the same tone of affirmation and pursed lips trying not to bite them with the sudden stomach-churning butt-hurt truth, and I could also sense a little discomfort in their faces and half-smiles at that thought, but then the subject quickly changed direction to something else I can’t remember…(last year this transition became very real to them when my brother passed away and the countless conversations we had in coming to terms with his passing and burial, so no this wasn’t any new territory we were treading on) but this conversation was indeed very humbling and made me think and re-think about my priorities. This is when you truly miss childhood and living in the moment. Children are a blessing in disguise, their sense and understanding of the world is truly beautiful they teach and encourage you to live in the here and now and life is but a playing field in every sense of the word!

Whilst I’d love to achieve financial freedom and can call a house home, with the sense of security and all… it really shouldn’t be an all-consuming state of affair when one really ponders about the definition of ‘home’ in terms of our temporary worldly abode (the dunya). Whilst we sometimes can’t help looking at success stories about people who have reached certain heights, working hard hence playing hard; It’s also true when we hear phrases such as: look to those beneath you and be grateful, look to those who are homeless, or to really bring this reality home, the plight of the refugees in our current political climate, who had everything but lost it, here goes again the uncertainty of life and future and the fact that we can lose it all! but it needn’t be a scary realisation, it should instead trigger the idea to live in the moment to enjoy life to its fullest, be that a minimalist one (by whoever’s definition!).

But I’ll continue to pray (and work hard too!) that Allah swt (God) blesses us and bestows upon us abundant wealth from amongst His limitless treasures, which for Him is nothing, but a meaningless ever fluctuating dust; that some amongst His inhabitants on earth will have and be tested by and others not have and be tested thereby.

And we’ll simply end with a cheer to all the millionaire mamas out there! Onward and upwards… God bless xx