Looking Back: Ramadan Memories

It was the end of a very long, trying day.   It was time to break the fast, and since I was not fasting- I prepared everything, fed my charming spouse and guests and scampered off to a quiet room for maghrib (sunset prayer).  I was sweaty, tired, stressed out and craving this moment of brief silence to re-center myself.  I could hear the muffled cling and clang of utensil on plate, chuckles and cheer.   The room was dark and cloaked in black I made takbir and paused.  Folding my hands over my chest, I drew in a deep breath- when suddenly  I heard:

“Bismeewah Wahman Waheeeeeeeeem

Hamduweewahee Wabeel  Ameeeeeeen

Wahmann Waheem

Maweekee Yawmee Deeeeeen”

My three year old apparently felt I needed guidance in that moment.  I will never forget it, as long as I live.

 

Spiritual cravings: Why I Miss Church

Whoa- that doesnt really sound good coming from a Muslim, eh?

Let me explain- I don’t really miss church, I miss the church sub-culture. I’ve been pondering why I don’t attend the mosque these past few years. I can’t stand the chaos. Cant. Stand. It. One. Bit. I should mention in all fairness that I am not able to get there sometimes due to my work schedule too.

The women’s balcony is too noisy. The ladies talk too much. There are small children running everywhere during prayer and during the sermon. Being a mom of a 3.5 year old and a 16 month old, I know that keeping them quiet can be very difficult- but we are the parents and should be in control! If the sermon happens to be interesting and happensto apply to modern times, I won’t hear it because I’ll be too busy preventing my kids from falling down two humongous spiral staircases that flank each side of the balcony.

And then I get annoyed- and I have no right to be. I’m never there, never involved. Shame. On. Me.

I have nerve complaining because I know that Muslims are in the minority, and that these houses of prayer are built by dedicated members of the community who I’m sure made many sacrifices for the good of our Ummah. It just seems like such a hassle to drag two munchkins up a giant staircase, and God help you if you step on your own skirt, if there is traffic or a shoe avalanche (ladies, I know you know what Im talking about). Did I mention that hot air rises? Oh yes, it’s always warm and I am guaranteed to sweat like a beast. But rest assured, there will be a few colossal, jet propelled, industrial fans set at mach 20 which will further prevent me from hearing or keeping my eyelids open.

I spent the first 18 years of my life attending Sunday Mass at our local Roman Catholic parish and I don’t recall my mom having these difficulties. There was seating for all, everyone was quiet and there was minimal fuss. Of course there were oodles of children, and there were rogue giggles and whispers and cries, but it seemed so much less bothersome. (I can’t help but postulate that when children and women have reasonable accommodations in the masjid these problems will become less frequent).

I miss the sermons. For the most part the clergy really tried to connect with everyone, offering something to each parishoner- with no matters of age, status, gender or politics. I left feeling lighter, gentler and more understanding. Sometimes I left inspired. That’s what it is- I miss that feeling of love and inspiration. You know what else I want? To sit by my husband’s side with our children during a lecture or discussion, and be part of the religious experience together.

 

Recent Thoughts: Hijab & Me

As stated in my last post, I am continuing to process my thoughts on hijab….I have written this a dozen times, and to my surprise ive discovered it’s like peeling the layers of an onion. My last edit to this draft was back in September. Looking back I see I was in a royal funk. I’m still in hijab and have no desire to remove it

How awful. I meant it when I said I have no strong desires to increase my endeavors in the area of practicing physical hijab. It may sound stubborn or off-putting; but it is the honest truth. Here I am, in my life, in my reality with questions and internal conflict about covering, modesty and how unfair it feels for the burden to be on me as a woman. Furthermore while I think it is helpful that I am extremely thankful for all the good things in my life, I don’t really believe that minimizing my own issues by comparing them to someone who is worse off is a healthy solution. It may help restore or create a better perspective, but it does not bring me resolve or change. While I will never say never or close the door to increasing my own modesty (even emotionally), I cannot ‘get there’ until I bring myself to a better understanding of my own feelings and where they are coming from. For those of you wondering- my husband has not asked me to cover more, or wear traditional garments or anything like that. Part of this post is triggered by the summer heat and my lack of participation in the things I love, because I can’t tolerate the heat and humidity, or because the environment isn’t hijab friendly. I feel irritable, sticky, dehydrated and worst of all, un-clean. The other part of this post is triggered by fear and insecurity and likely ignorance.

Why did I put hijab on? I wanted to do it for God, and God alone. I do think it has meaningful beauty. I like the tradition. I like the symbolic image and I do believe that being modest is important and required islamically. The problem is I feel it’s unfair and unbalanced even though I know it’s in the Quran and Sunnah and supported by so many scholars- so what does that make me? On the fringe of being a bad Muslim? A picking-and-choosing Muslim? I do not like feeling this way, and I am surprised with myself because I know God is not unjust, unfair or unbalanced. Interestingly, I did not have some of these difficulties until I became a mother, especially to my second child, a baby girl.

I am asked why I question the true purpose of hijab, and still abstain from pork and alcohol. I can’t articulate how agnry that question makes me! For starters I am Muslim and I do my best to live by the laws of God,and Im human! Dietary restrictions are for ALL Muslims, and it’s easy to do. Alhamdilillah I was never a big pork fan nor did I care for alcohol before my conversion.

Wearing a head scarf identifies me as Muslim. Before I became a mother, this had no effect on me. Since having children, I worry for them. I feel vulnerable all the time. Will someone hurt me or say bad things to me in front of my children? Would someone hurt all three of us? My two precious littles depend on me to feel safe, secure and happy. Can my children sense my fear? I hope they never do. I want my children to see me as a positive and strong female role model. Will someone target my husband because of my hijab? Will my children be ostracized? Or bullied? InshaAllah they will not. Im afraid my children will be targeted for being muslim and yet I want them to be secure in this faith that my husband and I truly believe in.

The hijab itself is clumsy. Even after four years of sporting hijabs, I am always surprised when I look in the mirror. I just don’t recognize myself, it doesn’t register. I miss my swinging ponytail and on-the-go routine. I always wear the boring Al-Amira two piece; it limits the amount of readjusting I have to do (every hour instead of every 10 minutes). I have tried, squares, oblongs, Kuwaiti and countless youtube tutorials. I’ve parted my hair in funky ways to create friction so they won’t slip off, I’ve tried under caps- lace, lycra, cotton, polyester and none at all to prevent slippage and nothing works. If I opt for a nice shayla, it looks nice for about an hour, and then the fiddling starts. The pins need readjusting and eventually I have to unravel and re-do. I feel like an un-done and sloppy mess. Having to do this while sweating makes it even more loathsome! The other day I seriously thought I should fashion a chin strap onto my under caps. This has gone way to far!!!

You know, the more I write, the more disorganized and ridiculous this all sounds. I just wish it all made sense, and that I could once again be in my comfort zone. I want to feel like the old, strong me. I want to feel well put together and confident once again. When fall approaches, some of the issues will disappear until next summer, but the others need to be dealt with.

Sigh.

God, please show me the way, and make me an awesome example for my children, Ameen.

 

Breastfeeding: My Early Mothering Experience and Why it Sucked.

I drafted this post about 6 months ago.  I have since begun to come to terms with my issues.  However petty they may seem to others (and honestly, I look back and realize how fortunate I am to have been pregnant and birth healthy babies)- they were really significant to me and my mothering experience.  I’m happy to report that both of my children are well nourished, happy and healthy Thanks Be to God.

Ohhh I swore I wouldn’t complain or lament, but I need to get this off my chest.

Breastfeeding has been the  number one biggest challenge and epic disappointment for me in my 38 years of life.   When I was expecting my son, and even before he was conceived, I dreamed of having our very own baby and wondered how magical and fulfilling it would be to nurse him after his birth.  I fantasized I was glowing with joy as I peacefully nursed him in my rocking chair while my husband admired us and was in awe with  how capable and beautiful I was. 

So very not the case.

At 39 weeks and after a failed induction I had an unplanned c-section which was followed by wicked mood swings and disastrous attempts at breastfeeding.   Even after we arrived home, baby never latched on, not once- despite all of the different advice, books, contraptions and  numerous lactation consultants— my body failed again.  I couldn’t deliver him naturally and show my husband how strong as was, and  I couldn’t even nourish him.   I was defective and ugly and there wasnt anything anyone could have said to make me feel better.   I just cried, and cried.  And cried and cried.  Then I cried some more.  Did I mention how wicked I was?  This went on for 6 weeks, and I started to worry!  Friends would visit and ask if I was nursing, and it would bring anxiety and stress.   They would all give me advice, and sometimes husbands would chime in!  A simple little question would trigger so many negative feelings, and when those moments came when some of my friends would nurse their babies in front me,  anxiety would fill my chest and throat, and I would become unfocused and nervous.  It was awful.  (Gladly, that doesn’t happen anymore).  Clearly this was not normal, and for reasons I could not and still cannot understand, my breastfeeding experience has a profound  affect on me.  

I had a repeat c-section last summer, but delivered at a different hospital.  I was allowed to have my daughter in recovery; they allowed me to attempt nursing right away, and encouraged breastfeeding.    I was better prepared this time and I expected to have difficulty nursing.  She did latch intermittently and effectively two or three  times.   Those brief moments were so beautiful and I will never forget them.  I was also more relaxed because I knew what to expect- and that allowed me to be more present during her birth and helped me to cherish the not-so-perfect moments.  There was one nurse, who taught me the best way to get her latched on my last day, and I will always think she was brilliant and in-tune with her skills and patients and patience! 

Once we were home, it became a little more difficult.  She would not latch, I was in pain, exhausted, crying all the time and my 2-year-old son became a beast that detested his sister instantaneously.  I was chained to my Medela pump day and night, and it was not doing anything for my self-esteem.   I was able to partially breast feed, and partially bottle feed, and after such a rotten experience the first time, I took it!

With both children, I ended up supplementing with formula and my body stopped producing milk when they were 4 months old (note: I also returned to work at this time).  I never felt that I made that much milk to begin with, but I could not let go.   I never experienced the ‘engorgement’ that most new moms talk about.   What slays me is my daughter became a champion latcher by the time she was eight weeks old, but I was not producing enough to nurse her exclusively, despite heroic attempts to increase my supply.   I began to resent pumping and having her latch constantly so my body would produce more.   It was mechanical and cold- and guess what?  It didn’t work.

I am so thankful to God that my children are healthy, born without complications and that we have the means to provide them with everything they need.   Alhamdulillah.  When I snuggle  Tiny Girl in my arms with her bottle, I get warm fuzzies when she looks up at me.  I relish the way formula drips from the corner of her mouth to her little stinky neck.  My heart flutters when I see her chubby little fingers wrapped around mine and I am satisfied that her nutritional needs are being met and that she is thriving.    Contrary to some fo the breastfeeding dictators I’ve encountered, they didn’t sleep through the night (damn!), they weren’t/arent overweight, did not/do not suffer from gastrointestinal plight or constipation plus they seemed to enjoy it. 

There is such an emphasis on ‘breast is best’, and all I could think about amid the struggles was “if I lived in an impoverished nation would my children be malnourished or die?”

One of the worst parts about all this, is that I took time away from myself  being a new mother for the first time and enjoying it.  I took time away from myself to relish every second with my first-born.   I was so enveloped in my nursing failure that I think it inhibited some of the natural bonding tendencies.  I would do anything to go back in time, and hold him as a new infant, and tell him how much he was loved, before he was conceived rather than agonize over each feeding and wondering if I was meant to be a mother.   Those feelings began to disappear when I returned to work because I was so busy, I didn’t have time for non-essential thoughts and literally made the best of every second I had with him.  My nursing experience with my daughter wasn’t as severe as my first and I generally had an easier time in all aspects of parenting her.

–Yet as I sit here and write this, unsuccessful breastfeeding has left me feeling inadequate, less feminine, less accomplished and guilty.  Despite my primal instinct to nurse my children, I failed.  I want these nagging feelings to disappear.

 

Midnight Mama was in an awful mood.

Salams and greetings all

I haven’t posted because I didn’t have anything positive to write about. I had been experiencing a dip in my iman and thankfully it is lifting. As of late I’ve had a lot of stress upon me, to the point where I just felt immobilized by it. Totally overwhelmed and fraught with worries. About a week ago, I had an epiphany: I decided that I’ve done all I could and now it’s time to realize that I must rely on my faith and leave some of these issues in Allah’s hands. I truly have no control over some of these problems, and can no longer tolerate the constant ‘what if’s that notoriously make me, me.

Thankfully my children are in good health, my husband and I are well too and we are enjoying our little family. Alhamdulillah for this. We are faced with making some big decisions soon, and may have to move. For now my prayer is “Oh my Creator, please keep us four together and in the best imam and health, and if something isn’t good for us, protect us, and if something is good for us, show us the way and make it easy for us, Ameen.”

I am relieved my spirituality is on the upswing. It’s scary when it becomes week. I can only think of one other decline, and that was when i was a fairly new Muslim and felt like an outcast. Recently I really really struggled with hijab, and I’ve decided to put my issues with it on hold because it is impossible to be objective in the sweltering, oppressive summer heat (read: I’m cranky in the heat).

Ramadan is quickly approaching and I am looking forward to it although to my extreme disappointment I will not be fasting. No, I’m not preggo! I have type 2 diabetes and was put on insulin within the past week. InshaAllah it is temporary and will go away as I shed extra pounds and build tolerance to a brisk exercise routine. Pray for me please
I will probably abstain from blogging or reading other blogs during the holy month as it is a distraction, and I hope inshaAllah at the conclusion of Ramadan I will be used to it, and really limit my computer/iPhone usage (not that there’s much with my kids hanging of me!)

Well, that’s where I’m at these days, putting one foot in front of the other and hoping to be a better Muslim, mother, wife, daughter and sister with each step.

InshaAllah I hope you have a blessed and peaceful
Ramadan.

 

The Hijab Rant

Inspired by blogging extraordinaire Wood Turtle,  I would like to write about my hijab experiences.  It’s something I’ve been meaning to do but haven’t because it’s such an enormous subject!  Here goes, piece by piece.

Several years ago my husband and I attended a lecture; I was totally psyched up for this and couldn’t wait to get there.   The lecture was   about  giving appropriate naseehah (advice) and such.  The scholar covered all the basics about Islam- and during the Q&A session at the conclusion, someone submitted a question asking if hijab was fard (mandatory) or sunnah (recommended); and the scholar replied “yes it is fard, even though some of you are not wearing it properly“.

While his tone seemed harmless and did not carry even a note of superiority,  I found his unsolicited comment to be inflammatory.  Was it necessary to chastise the women in the audience and to  make us feel self-conscious?  I can only speak for myself, but I can’t help but think anyone not wearing a traditional abaya and khimar felt awkward.    Is that the focus?  What we look like on the outside (ironically)?  My husband looked at me immediately (from the men’s section), because he knew the words would strike a chord within me.  I was so utterly disappointed and felt completely deflated.   I came to lift my heart and elevate my soul, but left feeling judged and outside the fold of what is considered acceptable.  For those of you who are curious, you’re probably wondering what I was wearing since I was so sensitive :  a long, lose tunic to the knees (opaque long-sleeved shirt underneath) loose denim trousers and a simple hijab that covered my head and neck.  Oh yes, and sandals.  My definition of modest- but yet at that precise moment I felt that I had been stripped of my dignity and might as well have been sitting there completely naked.   I wondered if other women there dressed like myself felt inspired by this to cover more, or if they were just as disgusted as I was.

Hijab is a sensitive subject, and is often overlooked as an emotional decision, even by other women.   While I cannot speak for others, I can honestly say it took enormous courage for me to put it on, and although I have reached a more of a comfort zone, I don’t see myself wearing an abaya or jilbab.  I suppose if I was ready for that, I wouldn’t have any hesitation; but I do.  Major hesitations.  Honestly, I have no desire to increase my endeavors in this area of practice.    I could expand on this in another post.

I often find myself going back and forth in my mind about the purpose of hijab, why I put it on, if I would ever consider taking it off, is it really ‘working’ for me,  common misconceptions, God consciousness, my religious obligations and so on and so forth.  It gets exhausting.

So there- that’s about all I have time for tonight.  Inshallah my next post will be more focused.

 

The Age of Innocence

Following are my very opinionated thoughts; my intention is not to insult or criticize, but to come to terms with my feelings regarding young girls and hijab.  Feedback and discussion are welcome and appreciated.

Several years ago we attended an ICNA conference  and I could not believe my eyes: an adorable eight or nine month old baby in a hijab, perched on her father’s lap.  Until this very moment, partly due to the fact that I am the mother of a five month old daughter, I often wonder why a Muslim parent would resort to donning an infant in a hijab.  Aside from my visceral reaction of borderline disgust (I know– harsh.  Just being honest.), it looked totally ridiculous.  She didn’t even have teeth.   A baby girl in a hijab seems as twisted as a toddler in a beauty pageant.    Excessive.  Seeing a baby covered in this manner, has triggered some emotions regarding my own children and their Islamic education and upbringing.

We are planning to send our kids to Islamic preschool, and if we find that the Islamic elementary schools in our area are dynamic, reputable and meet and exceed the standards for education– we will send them.  I find myself feeling anxious that my daughter will be required to wear a little hijab.  Sure, it’s cute.  Anything she does is cute, and anything she wears is cute.   Pre-K through second graders are required to wear hijab.  Third graders and older are required to wear khimar and jilbab!   I must ask, what message does this send?  Will Tiny Girl  chalk it up to ‘girls cover and boys don’t’ ?  Will she grow to love it or be turned off by it because it’s mandatory?  Will my son grow to be biased toward girls and young women  based on whether or not they cover?  As a matter of fact it is only mandatory when menstruation begins.  So why start so young?    I absolutely cringe when I hear another Muslim offer this explanation: “well, if she only starts wearing it to school when she gets her first period, everyone will know she has it”.

Spare.  Me.

As a Muslim parent, I do have concerns.  I want my children to grow to love God and to realize that living a well-balanced life is totally compatible with Islam.    Furthermore, I want my children to be in an unbiased and fair environment when it comes to schooling,  learning how to be social creatures and making new friends.  I want both my son and daughter, to understand and find internal value in the practice and preservation of modesty.   More importantly, I’m feeling like my parental right and duty to introduce my children to modesty and it’s practice are being taken away from me.  Why should I let an institution determine how or when my daughter practices hijab?   I take hijab-wearing seriously and it doesn’t mean a thing, if it’s not done for the right reasons. I find it hard to believe kids  will learn to embrace modesty if it’s forced upon them.

Is my logic grossly flawed or is  this a typical concern amongst other Muslim parents?  What are parents of Muslim teens saying?  I would love to know how they deal with this issue, and what the outcomes are.

 

Tunisia, my home away from home?

…………..and I haven’t even been there yet.

My husband is from Tunisia, I have never been there, and my husband hasn’t been home in a very long time.  We are dreaming about the day we go to visit, with our tunsi-italiorican babies in tow.  My in-laws are special people, and I miss them.  Web -caming helps, but there are  no substitutes for big, fat hugs.

So, as you can imagine recent events are on my mind.   While I am hoping and praying that the winds of change will bring the people of Tunisia peace and prosperity;  I am worried that civil unrest and chaos will be the perfect breeding ground for another dictator.  I’m worried that violence will escalate and that the people will become divided.   More than anything I worry for the safety and well-being of my in-laws. 

And in the back of my mind, I am very worried that I may have to live there someday.   This never used to worry me, now it does.

 

Being Muslim and Financial Health

I have some things on my mind, as most mothers do: how can we ensure that we will always be able to provide for our children, and when they are grown, ourselves?  As I have mentioned before, both my husband and I work full-time.   We don’t roll around in extra dough in our spare time, we are not obsessed with material objects and don’t have any expensive habits (read: we both work because we have to).  That said, we are blessed to have good, rewarding careers in healthcare.  We are compensated fairly, receive very good benefits and are treated respectfully.  Can it get any better?

As my 40th birthday looms over the horizon, the ticking clock gets louder and louder.    I’m hoping that my husband and I can retire at age 60, this way we are completely free to roam the universe, explore new hobbies and spend plenty of quality time with our grandchildren.    Since, as muslims, we are forbidden to receive (or pay) interest, wealth building for retirement seems pretty impossible.   Most of my female colleagues who are either single or nearing retirement age are constantly discussing their financial portfolios, and basically their future wealth is based on interest.  This just is not an option for us.  We could just leave it all in God’s hands  or we can start  searching for a halal solution now, and do something about it.  I choose the latter.

First and foremost I am a mother of two really stellar kids.    I yearn to work part-time or not at all, but this happening is just as likely as a pig in my frying pan.    The challenge when leasing a residence is saving a mammoth down payment for the controversial sharia complaint mortgage while still living and meeting all the basic needs of a family with children.  How could I not work?  We would be leasing for-ev-er.  So I work.  We work.  Very hard.  Once we get the house, we need to pay it off, so I will continue to work.  Very Hard.  Then inshaAllah our kids will go to college on our dime (I believe that education is one of the best investments).  By the time said house is paid in full, I may have 10 years left in the workforce.  Even if we lived only on my husbands salary and I saved every penny of my salary for that 10 year period, it would not be enough to sustain a retired couple of two, healthcare, property taxes and other expenditures of daily living including spoiling our grandchildren!

Where does that leave us?  In a spare room at my son or daughter’s house?  I don’t want to do this to them.  When they are adults, I want them to be financially stable, and have thriving personal lives.  I do not think that would be possible with my husband and I taking up residence under the same roof.  Perhaps my views are a result of my culture; but I find it very difficult  to believe that a healthy and loving marriage can stay happy  with parents living in the house!  I love my mother with my heart and soul and  as long as I am on this planet I will always be here for her, and she will never be alone.  Would I take her in if she needed us?  Of course, but I would much rather have a two family house so she could have her own apartment with all the necessities. 

My question is, how do muslims do it?  There any many single income muslim families here that own their properties, and I cannot figure out how they manage the financial burden of it all. 

I recently contacted the investment company that manages retirement funds for my employer.  They have socially responsible funds, i.e. stocks and investments that are not fueled by tobacco or alcohol; this isn’t enough.  I explained my religious observances and they claim I am not alone, and have other muslim clients who invest in the stock market without collecting interest.   I hear the word “stock market” and a hundred red flags go up in my mind.  I have no desire to risk loosing what I work so hard for.  Wouldn’t that be akin to gambling?

If it isn’t too personal, if any muslims are reading this, what is your strategy?  Can you recommend any resources where we could gain sound, halal compliant advice?    I am really curious.

 

Why I Work Full-Time

I recently read an *article* on a blog regarding mothers who work outside the home in “The West”  (insert thunderbolt and lightning here).  It was written by a respected female Muslim speaker so I read it before going to bed, unsuspecting just how badly it would annoy me.  It was strongly anti-feminist and I have not posted the link because I’m a total wimp.  I’m not even sure I would consider it an article, it was more like a strongly opinionated essay.

I am a mother of  thirty-month old monster son, and a four-month old meatball daughter.  I also work outside my home full-time in the evenings to help support my family.  Laboratory Technology is my career choice which happens to be a diverse field and a flexible discipline.  This is ideal for a mom.  Or a dad.  Or anyone, really.  It served me very well as a happenin’ single chick who liked to travel and pay her own bills- and it is equally gratifying for me as a wife and mother.

Amongst my child rearing colleagues; I have never known a woman to work full-time and let her children be raised by wolves for the sake of materialism.  That “argument” is so stale, and really narrows the scope of whom that type of ideology applies to. 

If it was an affordable option, I would love to cut back- my kids are my world; and they deserve the very best from us.  I feel that part of the very best includes mama going to work.  Part of the very best includes having a father who is equally involved with every aspect of their development.  Part of the best includes having health insurance, decent cars that are maintained and safe, educational savings, funds to travel, being able to assist our families if needed and saving for a house of our own (renting/leasing sucks).    My husband cannot do this on his own; I think it is a tremendous burden.  I should also mention that working makes me feel well-rounded, helpful and saves my sanity at times.  

Sure,  my house could be a little neater, dinners could be more interesting than one-pot wonders and I’d certainly like not having bags under my eyes or dehydration induced pseudo crows feet, but this is my reality.  My family needs me, I need them.  I intend to pass my work ethic and drive on to my daughter.  I hope she doesn’t have to spread herself too thin, but she must know how to take care of herself and her future family if needed.

Do you work?  Do you stay home?  Why have you made this decision?