Z: Amma, do you know, in some countries, mothers die really quickly.
Me: Uhhh… what? Which country is this?
Z: It’s a strange country.
Me: Who told you about this?
Z: My teacher. She showed us a video. In it, after the mother dies, they cut their bodies and wrap them in tape and then put them in a box. Then they tape the box and then they throw it in the dustbin.
Her teacher was obviously showing them a cartoon/video about mummies and the above is what Z took away from it all.
Walked into one of the most beautiful buildings my adopted city has. Pretty apt that it’s a museum of Islamic civilizations. They definitely knew their architecture.
Z and I have been reading stories of prophets at bedtime these days. We have a bit of a Q&A every time I’m done reading to her (because it isn’t over until she’s dissected it from all angles.)
“Amma, Allah made Adam (as), the other prophets and you and me. But who made Allah?”
Needless to say, I did not know how to answer that one. Luckily, I didn’t have to. She answered herself:
“I know. Allah made himself!”
*cue crazy giggling fit*
Yes, I’m sad Abdul Sattar Edhi has not won the Nobel Peace prize. His life’s work is definitely worthy of one. But that’s not to say that Malala receiving one is in any way unfair.
Quite sick of the anti-Malala brigade. Survive a bullet to the head and advocate for girls’ education while battling facial paralysis before labeling her a tool for western propaganda.
Personally, I don’t think it’s about Edhi’s life work or Malala’s short time of humanitarian work. I think it’s about what she’s chosen to champion – education of our girls. That isn’t a subject the average Pakistani gets excited about – or is even bothered by.
Yes, saving lives is noble work – one of the most noble out there. But educating girls – mothers, doctors, engineers, teachers etc. of tomorrow is just as noble.
The only difference is one is in the business of fast results (you’re either able to save a life or lose it), while the other is an investment of a lifetime. You won’t see the results until these girls have grown up and become something. Or raised kids who grow up to become something.
So instead of crapping on Malala’s achievement, do something for girl education. Donate to a charity or sponsor a girl’s education. You’ll be doing an entire generation a favor.
I’m always amazed at the ways Z gets out of things she doesn’t want to tell / do / share etc.
Today when she got off the school bus, she was clutching something in her hand and wouldn’t open her fist even though she had trouble handling her bag.
I asked her what she was hiding and after thinking for a few seconds, this is the response I got:
“It’s a thing that’s something.”
Needless to say, I let her keep her thing that was something and instead carried her school back for her.
After all, what else could one do in the face of such a perfect technically correct answer.
So Z and I have a bit of friendly competition about how much we love each other. It started with:
Z: I love you, Amma!
Me: I love you too.
Z: But 2 is so little!
Ever since then we love each other in numbers. 10, 100, 1000, million, billion, trillion, gazillion!
When we can’t think of a number high enough, we move to heights.
Me: Z, I love you all the way to the sky.
Z: I love you up above the sky. No, above the sky, the sun, and the moon!
Me: Whoa… No one loves me more than you!
Now who can top that?
Apparently my daughter believes in competing with herself. Today’s declaration tops all her previous declarations.
Z: Amma, I love you more than myself.
Me: *speechless and very near tears in the middle of a mall*
My cup has officially run over. Alhamdolillah.
Since I’ve decided not to reread Harry Potter till Z and I can read it together, I make do with the movies.
(I miss Harry’s sass. He was funnier in the books.)
Watching Prisoner of Azkaban right now and just realized that Ron looked the cutest in this movie.
Z had a very particular request this morning.
Z: Amma, can I talk crazy?
Me: Of course you can.
(Because if you can’t talk crazy with your mom, who can you with?)
Z: Amma, I’m feeling ninety.
Z: Yes, ninety.
Me: What does that mean?
Z: It means when I feel nice towards my mother. That’s feeling ninety.
Best description ever of “ninety”.
Four years ago today, I had a bundle of joy placed in my arms – and I had no idea what to do with it. Turns out, all you need to do with a new born is cloth, feed, and change her diaper.
The real parenting starts later – when they learn to say no, gleefully (and purposely) do the exact opposite of what you tell them to, and realize that giving random hugs, saying I love you out of the blue, and gifting oodles of art work can make amma forgive even the biggest of blunders.
Happy Birthday Z. You’re the child I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy – not because you’re a hooligan (which you are) but because I love you too much and cannot imagine life without you