Mothers: changing the way we think

When reflecting on my mothering practices, I have a tendency be very hard on myself. Unless I have been doing something consistently and routinely, I don't feel like I'm doing enough.

Take, for example, reading with the children. My aim has always been to read at least three books to them each day. So when I go for days without reading to them anything at all, I am overcome with feelings of mother-guilt, anxiety and inadequacy. And often, its not because I didn't want to, but because I just couldn't find the time to read three. And so rather than just do one and be content with that, I end up skipping it altogether. Shameful I know.

In hindsight, I am sometimes sensible enough to realise that its not the end of the world if things are not done religiously or to the standards that I have arbitrarily set. Because there are no hard and fast rules really, only man-made ones. That I am trying to do the right thing by them and for them as a matter of priority should be what counts. After all, actions are by intention. God knows I remind the children of that often enough. If only I could heed my own advice (well, actually, the advice of our beloved Prophet, may the peace and blessings of God be upon him).

So, in reminding myself, I will also offer you, the reader, the same. It's okay to do things only sometimes. It still counts if you do something one day and not the next or even the one after that. Surely, a content mum is better than a guilt-ridden one.

A family adventure

Yesterday, we had no plan, only an intention. A family adventure, as you do, after close to two weeks of school holidays. Something that we could all partake in, that wouldn't cost an arm and a leg and possibly a kidney (as most school holiday activities do these days!).

So we packed the children and their placatory snacks into the Tarago, and set off into the wide open space that is New South Wales, Australia. The only thing that was missing was a good camera, but on my husband's advice, we used our minds to capture the magic.

And it was magic. An endless tapestry of God's art rolled out before us, inviting us to be impressed, enthralled, humbled.

We saw endless open fields scattered with wildlife- sheep, cattle, horses- grazing, oblivious to our existence and within an arms length of our car. Each field offered a different and equally beautiful landscape, every shade of red, brown and green.

We drove through little rural towns whose very air told a story of a bygone era, their pride resonating from their carefully maintained and cared for heritage buildings- post offices, hotels, and railway stations. The pace of life slowed before our eyes...

We drove over a mountain as thick, heavy clouds descended and washed away the day's humidity with rain... the beauty of the limitless skyscraping forests that lined the meagre road was overwhelming. The trunks stood like loyal guards, each in perfect vertical parallel with his brother. I felt privileged to have had access to such daunting grandeur, imbued with every shade and hue of green.

And we were even welcomed by the Clyde River. The estuary invited us to dinner and we gladly obliged. Fish, chips and salad. The local seagulls were equally obliging.

All in all, our intention was well and truly accomplished and our expectations surpassed, courtesy of the Creator. And my mind's eye has plenty to reflect upon for a long time to come...

About a voice

Sometimes her voice speaks
the words rendered insignificant
It is the loudest sound in the world
demanding attention, commanding me to listen

Sometimes her voice speaks
there are no words but she is
eloquent, articulate, poignant
much to my surprise...

Sometimes her voice speaks
affecting an emotional response
involuntary, raw commotion
within and without

Sometimes her voice speaks
in a dark room, alone.
It is muted, muffled, drowned out
by the busy inattentive crowds outside

Sometimes her voice speaks
to me and me alone
I hear her pain, I feel her tears
my hands are tied so I kick her instead.

Hopes and dreams

I want my children to be
cognizant and loving of God
good
positive
happy
healthy
content
patient
kind
generous
resilient
humble
compassionate
empathetic
ambitious
successful
financially secure/comfortable
grateful
thankful
considerate
loved
valued
safe


I want my children to
love
recognise and nurture their potential
have their potential recognised and nurtured
keep the company of their betters
respect and value their elders
feel that they mattered in this world

...that's not too much is it?

...

Apathy
warns of stumble-tripping down the path of Low Mood,
the most direct root to Depressive State.
My vehicle has tinted windows.
Despite pretty mind’s instructions to enjoy the view,
the adjectives that filter through all connote
Apathy
The streetscape is monotone.
Autumn is …well… Autumn.
Joy is a brief smile, because it should be.
I over-consume chocolate rather than savour it-
Even my taste buds have been infected with
Apathy
The house is fast descending into
What normal mind would term chaos, which
Under normal circumstances would invoke
A response of fervent house-cleaning
But, this mind’s receptors coolly respond with
Apathy
Oh that I could hit a switch to turn it on again-
I would surely revel in the ecstasy of the luminous light
Making hay, lots of it, before this insidious, passive sin
Seeps in and – click. Oblivion’s synonym:
Apathy.

I am a mother.

image sourced from http://www.normankoren.com/Weingarden/drawings_1.html


As a mother, my natural instincts are to protect my children at all times, to ensure that they feel safe, that they are safe. I want to shower them with love, affection and attention so that they recognise just how special each and every one of them are. I don't ever want them to feel vulnerable, unimportant or (God-forbid), unloved.

As a mother, to be robbed of the ability to enact these instincts, even for only some of the time, is harrowing.

From the tender ages of 2,3 and 5, my eldest children and I have had to endure time apart. I remember the emotional turmoil of those early visits, and the ensuing mind-heart conflict: I knew that they had a right to be with their father and his family, but also felt completely overwhelmed by the fact that I could do nothing to protect them whilst in his care. Now, under ordinary circumstances, a mum could take comfort in the fact that their father would be equally protective of his children. He should be. But, sadly, I know that isn't the case here.

Nine years on, it still hurts. It still haunts. I try the positive self-talk, assuring myself that I have laid strong foundations in them that will hold them in good stead when they are away. I remind myself that they are getting older, more mature and consequently more resilient with each passng day. When the self-talk begins to turn ugly, I try to numb the pain by keeping busy. Try ever-so hard to occupy my mind and time with everyday pressing, time-consuming mundanities. And at night, I avoid bed until I am beyond tired, in the hope that I may be rendered unconscious before the drifting mind begins its guilt-prompting discourse.

But I am not always like this. Sometimes, I am hopeful. And I've worked out that my hope is directly linked to my mindfulness of God: the more mindful I am, the more hopeful I become. The more I submit to His Will, the more relieved I become.

But, I am human. And I am a mother. And sometimes, I waver. I wish I didn't.

My eldest children will be coming home tomorrow, after more than a week away. Thank God.

Parting words...

If you were going to say goodbye to this world today, what would your parting words be?

On reflection, I think it would all depend on a number of factors, the most pertinent being ones' beliefs, current life circumstances/roles, and the most obvious of all, the circumstances of ones' death. But, putting the last factor aside, I think I would want to... no, I shan't say until others have given some input.

So, go on then, what would you say?

Off the top of my head and on the tip of my tongue.

Don't sweat the small stuff- in the grand scheme of things, it won't really matter. It just leaves you feeling horrid, and for those unfortunate enough to catch you in that state, they will remember you as angry and mean. Not a nice way to be remembered.

It's okay for your home to look lived in. A bit of mess never hurt anyone, especially if it meant you got to spend more time doing stuff with your family. Children in particular probably won't care if their home had been a show home, but they will care if they felt like they missed out on quality time with you. Show them you love them by watching them, and taking an active interest in who they are and what they like.

No use crying over spilt milk. If you made a mistake, attempt to fix it/apologise for it then get over it. We are all of us fallible. We will make mistakes, but as long as we try to avoid them as best we can, try to atone for them, learn and grow from them and move on, then it really is okay. And obsessing over them wont help. It just becomes a consuming self-destructive attitude which has the potential to be dangerous.

Random much? Sure is. But that's some of what's going on in my mind right now...

Pickling lemons: a remedy.

Instant gratification. This is what we are being culturalised to expect today. Certainly in a developed country like Australia, what with the internet, same day delivery, and pressure cookers! We demand (and often get) results immediately. We have forgotten the value of patience. A virtue that's value is immeasurable. We have also been robbed of many opportunities of anticipation, which often adds another, very satisfying dimension, to gratification, making it all the more meaningful. All the more memorable.

My main concern is though what will be the impact on our emotional development and our expectations in relationships? What happens when we no longer value reflection, something that does require time, effort, and critical analysis? Or even in terms of evolving our perceptions of our world and the events that fill it- will we accept that we need to stop, breathe and interpret it all so as to build our understanding, so as to give our emotions time to respond adequately and appropriately?

For now, I will work on this by doing things that do take time... I might write a letter and send it via post (shock horror!). And will attempt to pickle some lemons. And maybe even order a book that is yet to be released and wait for it patiently, allowing the anticipation to build to a crescendo of unrivalled smile-inducing happy.

Smile (ah...sorry!)

Would someone please care to tell me when smiling at a stranger became such a terrible thing to do? Or is it just my smile that induces a scowl in return?? I mean its not like I walk around gawking at people imposing my grin upon their smile-less space; but if I happen to meet the gaze of someone, I do admit to responding with a modest smile so as not to look like a miserable git. I wish to make no further imposition on their time, although in the context of a playground or playcentre where the aforementioned someone happens to be another parent, I would quite happily engage is some friendly casual exchange about my brood or theirs. Am I weird? Did I miss the memo about socially appropriate behaviour?

If so, please kindly let me know. You needn't be discreet either. I am happy to be humbled into more acceptable behaviour.

But until then, I shall continue to smile (and feel stupid) at will.

Backbiting

Today, I endured a very frustrating encounter, with someone I thought should have known better.

It all began with a very casual and friendly sms exchange, asking about my exact age, which I did find a tad curious, but I went along with it nonetheless.

It then progressed to my being questioned about whether or not I had been at a certain (unsavoury) place more than 15 years ago. I hadn't, and I asserted as much. But this person assured me that I had, that they remember it very distinctly. I politely explained that I definitely hadn't, and if anyone can remember where I had been, it would be me.

This inquisition continued as I was sent a barrage of further text messages (13 more to be exact) and a couple of other accusations were thrown in for good measure.
At this point, I was simply ignoring them, because it had become clear this person had no intention of accepting my input.

But what was most unsettling was that over the course of this 'exchange' I realised that this was more than likely in the context of a far bigger story; it was more than likely that I had been the topic of some pretty degrading backbiting/slander/gossip (wallahu a3lam).

So, I facebooked her, a message reminding her of the gravity of this sin and requesting that she stop. And in reminding her, I too was reminded, because we all need to be reminded sometimes.


Quran Chapter 49 verse 12: O you who believe! Avoid much suspicions; indeed some suspicions are sins. And spy not, neither backbite one another. Would one of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? You would hate it (so hate backbiting). And fear Allâh. Verily, Allâh is the One Who forgives and accepts repentance, Most Merciful.


...and


It was narrated from Abu Hurayrah (may Allaah be pleased with him) that the Messenger of Allaah SAWS (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said: “Do you know what gheebah (backbiting) is?” They said, “Allaah and His Messenger know best.” He said, “Saying something about your brother that he dislikes.” It was said, “What if what I say about my brother is true?” He said, “If what you say is true then you have backbitten about him, and if it is not true, then you have slandered him.”

Narrated by Muslim, 2589

Haiku - On Looking Inside

Introspection is
A very humbling process-
With worthwhile outcomes.

Volunteering

For a while now, I have been talking to my daughters about us volunteering at a local nursing home/old age facility. We have discussed the realities of it- we acknowledge that it may at times be emotionally confronting; we may observe things which may not sit well with us ethically and we know that there may be a whole host of other challenges we cannot be aware of until we are actually there. We also agree that it would be most rewarding and an important experience for our own spiritual journeys; it will undoubtedly teach us many valuable life lessons. Above all, we anticipate that it will be humbling and that alone makes it worthwhile.

So, when I started researching the nursing homes in our municipality and subsequently contacting them very graciously, requesting to volunteer our time, I realised that I had neglected to consider one more thing: nursing home staff (or at least the half dozen facilities that I contacted) do not accomodate volunteering of any sort. Yes, that's right. I was told in no uncertain terms by a number of facilities that they do not take any volunteers there, before they promptly ended the call.

The one place that was willing to entertain my suggestion in the slightest have taken my contact details twice (I have phoned them 4 times over the course of 2 weeks) and have yet to return my calls.

Now, I began to ask myself, how on earth do we engender a sense of community service to our elderly in our youth if we cannot even access them? How do we build citizenship, moral consciousness and compassion for the frail if we cannot volunteer? What am I supposed to tell my daughters who have been very keenly planning and anticipating their service with our grandmothers and grandfathers?

If there are any carers/nurses/aged care workers who would care to respond or better yet, off us some time to give back, please feel free to contact me.

But until then, I shall remain perplexed and dismayed. And a little cynical about the future...

Thank you Gibran

The great poet Khalil Gibran never wed. Yet he wrote of love with the eloquence and intimate insight that one would expect from an impassioned veteran of love. Words that have transcended decades of audiences and still resonate with readers today. He spoke of a spiritual love, a love that dwells outside the confines of body and time. A love that is legitimate and real without the need for public declaration. A love that is, in a word, beautiful.

I am always humbled and moved and inspired by his poetry. I only wish that I had his way with words...

A Lover's Call XXVII by Khalil Gibran

Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little
Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you
As infants look upon the breast of their mothers?


Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of
Virtue has been placed in your honor, and upon
Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice?


Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge,
While you are replete with heavenly wisdom?


Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you
Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the
Field, haven of your dreams?


Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the
Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and
Filling their hands with your bounty?


You are God's spirit everywhere;
You are stronger than the ages.


Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of
You spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love
Floated about, singing the praise of the soul's deed?


Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the
Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs
Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury?


Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands
Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if
We were hiding ourselves within ourselves?


Recall you the hour I bade you farewell,
And the Maritime kiss you placed on my lips?
That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love
Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter!


That kiss was introduction to a great sigh,
Like the Almighty's breath that turned earth into man.


That sigh led my way into the spiritual world,
Announcing the glory of my soul; and there
It shall perpetuate until again we meet.


I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,
With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,
"Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,
And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.


"But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of
Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God.


"Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate;
Over her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower
The cup of the sweetness of life.
As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my
Comforting groom; you memory, my Eternal wedding."


Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in
The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey
To you my heart's every beat and affection.


Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image
Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his
Shadow on my happy countenance of the past.


Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty
And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses.


Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping
From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?
Do you know the greatness of my patience?


Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying
To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any
Secret communication between angels that will carry to
You my complaint?


Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life
Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me.


Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!
Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!


Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!

The call to prayer

Nothing awakens the spirit more than hearing layer upon layer of the Athan echoing through the open air.

Islam, the easy way

Islam is easy. Some may have you believe otherwise, which is a shame really, because they will be held to account for their doing so. Yes, we can always be doing more, and yes, the Muslim's journey is a lifelong one. But, I do believe this hadith (saying of the Prophet Muhammad, may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) sums it up quite nicely:

Jaber bin Abdullah Al-Ansari narrated that :

A man asked the messenger of Allah :
"Do you think that if I perform the obligatory prayers, fast in Ramadan, treat as lawful that which is lawful and treat as forbidden that which is forbidden, and do nothing further, I shall enter Paradise ?"
He said: "Yes."

related by Muslim.

:)

Today, I received the best possible news. The all-clear post-surgery. My cervix is healthy again.

So, yes, I have been in an uplifted mood (my husband didn't believe that uplifted could be used as an adjective but I've checked and it can!)

Here are the lyrics of a lovely little tune I've been listening to for the best part of the evening. They're from a neat new Aussie group called Busby Marou and the song is called 'Biding my Time'... it really is worth a listen.

Have a good night all!



I could tell you stories
Could you teach me some more
Tell you about the countries
You never been before
I'll go on forever
Forever and a day
Until you lose the interest
Right then I'll walk away
So I won't let that happen
Not while we're living free
I can be the poet
You can be the story

You can keep me grounded
Keep me on my toes
So I'll always be chasing you
Wherever you may go
And if you slip ahead
And break away from us
Don't run out of sight
I just might not catch up

But I wont let that happen
Not while where having fun
You can be the runner
I can be the gun

I'll be waiting for you here
when you come calling
I'll be waiting
Biding my time
Biding my time
Waiting for you dear
Biding my time here

We can sit in silence
I know that's what you love
I'll learn to appreciate
The beauty from a laugh
And I can share my secrets

You can choose to stand by me
Or simply ignore
So I won't let that happen
While we both belong
I can be the singer
You can be the song

I'll be waiting for you here
When you come calling
I'll be waiting
Biding my time
Biding my time
Waiting for you dear
Biding my time here...

One day.

Sunday 3rd April...

Washed boys room windows, window frame and wall.
Tidied kitchen 3 or 4 times.
Cooked, fed the children - countless times.
Vacuumed living areas.
Mopped Kitchen.
Did umpteen washing loads, hung washing out, folded washing, put away washing (still more to do).
Tidied living room.
Repaired broken blinds.
Tidied corridor.
Watered plants.
Made countless bottles, changed countless nappies.
Bathed 3 youngest children.
Accompanied mum and sister to the markets.
Organised a chocolate egg hunt in the garden.
Helped children with homework/extra tuition.
Collected Danny from birthday party (mum dropped him off)
Picked husband up from where he was.
Grocery shopped with 5 children in tow (managed to get out with just $200 worth of groceries- miracle!)
Took children to the park for a play.
Did bedtime stories, goodnight kisses etc etc.
Facebooked.
Blogged.
Now time for Poirot.

Today's reflection

The one thing that can cripple my mental (and even physical) well-being above all else is when my children have been harmed, whether intentionally or otherwise. If I see them in distress, I am knocked for six. I can't think, can't sleep and can sometimes see red, which is not at all pleasant.

Yesterday, I was met with this challenge. One of my children had been treated unjustly and it had left him feeling demoralised, frustrated and sad. This incident happened at school; he was on the receiving end of a teacher's momentary wrath. Given the imbalance of power in their exchange, it came as no real surprise that he felt the way he did. But what upset me the most was that he could see the injustice but had resigned himself to accept the outcome, feeling helpless and completely disempowered.

Now for a child of my son's assertive and forthright character to simply accept injustice is very concerning. When, and more importantly, how, did he arrive to this state of resignation? What has happened to my precocious young man? When had he developed this acute awareness of the bleak realities of the adult world??

I just wanted to make it all better for him right then and there. I wanted to go right over to his teacher and ask for an explanation not just to me but to my son. Why couldn't she see the damage she had done?

But, the school day had ended and so I would have to endure the agonising wait until the morning to get my answers. And whilst the dozen hours that ensued gave me some much needed clarity, it also gave rise to immeasurable anxiety about the impending exchange, even for me, a fully grown woman, mother and teacher.

Why? Because it was personal. It was about my boy. And I knew I had to come through for him. I knew what was at stake and that I had to somehow reinstil some confidence in his world, some sense of justice, however small.

The morning came, and it was time. I took a few deep breaths, rehearsed to key points I wanted to convey, and asked God for inspiration (as a good Muslim does!).

The exchange was empowering. I was able to represent my son's case clearly and respectfully- I had given him a voice, and I felt he was heard. The outcome was positive and most importantly it was a lot more just. And he noticed. Which is all that I could have asked for...alhamdulilah.