The Foods I DON'T Buy

I have always been "thrifty," taking my time making money decisions and spending money conservatively. I have also always been "healthy," choosing what I eat carefully and cooking from scratch regularly. Yet, there was always room for improvement and while I did not know it then, living in a mountain town off the beaten path last year edged me closer to "self" sufficiency and further from mass produced. What got cemented in my mind over the past year is something I had always believed in: you can make it, better, yourself. And so I grew my list of what I do not pick up from the grocery store, and what I do. And as we near the end of another year, I am taking stock of the changes I have made in our family's eating habits. And while this list is not comprehensive, it serves a my point of reference.

• Baby feeding supplies/bottles/formula and food. While I did originally invest in baby bottles when JR was born and bought the one can of baby formula after Yousef came home, I have been using mother's milk straight from the source as my babies' nutrition. 

• Precooked meals/packaged foods no longer have a space in my freezer which is now packed with frozen leafy greens of every variety, cranberries for when not in season and par boiled legumes for when in a rush. Also in there I have blueberries, which the kids can't seem to get enough of, lasagna, cow and lamb tongues, beef and chicken strips and frozen shrimp. The only pre-made food I indulge in are the spinach tortellini from Trader Joe's. I even stopped buying broths in a box and instead use from my stash of turkey, chicken, vegetable or lamb that takes up a whole freezer shelf. 

• I have not bought lunch meat, store bought pasta sauce, cream of anything or condensed soup since February of this year. While I used to resort to smoked turkey sandwiches as a lunch item for Jeff to take to work, we have now moved away from that pattern. I make sauces and soups from scratch and freeze all extras.  

• Packaged snacks, salad dressings, chips and dips except when I give in to the kids, and even then I cringe at the purchase and try to give them as little from it as possible. I enjoy a few chips here and there, but I do not like the thought of having a huge bag in the house; I know very well where it will end up! I started making batches of granola, which Yousef likes, and cheese crackers with three ingredients that Jannah-Rae takes to school. 

• I make my own fresh milk cheeses and splurge only on imported hard and specialty cheeses. I also get cheese sticks for the kids and at time yogurt tubes. Shredded mozzarella and cheddar cheeses can be found in the fridge drawer for grilled cheese sandwiches and lasagna. Store bought yogurt is a thing of the past except for yogurt starters. 

• Hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken nuggets. I leave those for when we eat out or when we are at my parent's house. My mom makes ham, chicken and turkey burgers from scratch so the kids can indulge in them and has hot dogs and chicken nuggets in the freezer for a treat meal in a bind. As tempting as it is for me to have one or all of these on hand in the freezer I have not yet given in to the ease. I would rather scramble an egg with spinach or make some pasta with butter and cheese before microwaving a batch of processed meat.

• We are now buying less white rice, butter, and bread. We no longer pour maple syrup on our pancakes and a jar of jam lasts longer than before. Instead, we cover our toast with honey, homemade butter and jams and indulge in Nutella. 

In the next year it is my hope that I can keep up in the kitchen as the kids get older and require more of my time. And while I won't sacrifice time with them for cooking, I do not consider my investment in their nutrition as a chore. I enjoy making meals and think of it as my hobby. I am sure if I had someone to help clean up after me, and more people to feed, I would be rolling out a lot more foods. But there is only so much a family of four can eat, only so much room in my freezer and cupboards to store leftovers, and only so much counter space to dry out the dishes. 

Window Dressing

For a cold Sunday morning activity we decided to "do Christmas." While we do not celebrate Christmas, there was no reason why we couldn't join in the merry. Just like we found a way to be part of Halloween and make memories, I thought we could get into the happy Christmas spirit without having to share the beliefs of the holiday. With Yousef napping, Jannah-Rae and I decided to go shopping for decorations.

Michael's as everyone in the US knows is a monster arts and crafts store with a sale going on almost every day of the year. With Christmas approaching and a lull in the business, it decided to put everything Christmas on 40-60% off creating a perfect opportunity to shop. Armed with another 20% off entire purchase coupon, JR and I amassed two bag fulls of festive for less than $15. She even stopped by the demo table and made an elf.

Back at home JR unpacked her purchases and set to work. She spread out the branches on the artificial mini tree, opened the mini ornaments and hung up the star. She found the perfect place for her tree on the window sill and moved to frame her work. Snowmen in an array of media found their way onto the window; gels, paint, stickers. Then the snowflakes came, and the lights on the railing. Finally, she laid out what gifts we had already received, and made sure to put out the reindeer flying dust she made at the Winter Wonderland.

She stood back to inspect her work. "Will people see our decorations?" she asked. Of course, came back the reply. "Will they love it?" "I love it," I said, "do you?" "Yes, mama." "Then, that is all that matter," I stressed and continued to compliment her on her work.

Since then whenever she comes back from school, she wonders about our window; can people see it from their cars, do they look up as they are walking, do they stop and stare. Part of her afternoon routine has become to adjust the stickers that are coming off, check if the paint is still holding, make sure the ornaments are not falling, and keeping her brother away from the window. "No, Yousef, do not touch," is constantly echoed in the living room. But of course Yousef touches, and the fun begins!

Happy Holidays!!!

(non) American Girl Girl ~ the reward

The email exchange was as such:

Hi Ann, 

We are ready to return our girls. Would you like for me to take another batch of 10?
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Hi Ranya,
You’re incredible. Yes, it would be so helpful if you and your daughter wanted to take another 10.  When will you be coming in? I’ll be sure to leave the dolls in my cubicle for you.
Also, I’d like your daughter to get some gift books as a thank you for how she’s helped us with the Doll Program. Let me know if there’s a time during the week that she can come in and look through our gift books.
Thank you so much for helping us!

Youth Collections Librarian

And with that the next batch of girls came home, and with them an "extra" for Jannah-Rae.

When we started the project, we didn't expect anything in return. The dolls were special in their own right and the chance to play with so many at one time, was enough to put a bounce in Jannah-Rae's step. To be able to tell her friends she had TEN American Girl dolls and was getting more made her feel special and proud. She would tell the story of her assisting the library at school during lunch and receive encouragement from her teachers. So when Ann offered us some gift books in exchange for her "services", JR was thrilled. Now her story expanded to include the part about the gift; "and I am getting gifts from the library, too!"

It is a wonderful thing to be able to help out; and that is the important lesson I want JR to learn. To be part of something with ripple effects whether it's cleaning dolls, giving away old clothes, or donating money to a good cause is a gain in itself . But to receive a gift in return, to be recognized, to be sincerely thanked, adds a whole new meaning and a whole new feel-good feeling to the deed, and a sense of pride and added motivation in a little girl.

To some it might be just books, but to JR they were a badge of distinction. They were "special" books that she could keep. She did not have to renew them, she did not have to return them. She made sure she was clear on that before making her selection. She stood in front of the shelves and asked to be directed to the exact ones from which she could choose. She paid careful attention and took her time picking out just the right ones. Once she had selected a couple for herself, she also made sure her brother got some too. She beamed from ear to ear as she carried them back to the car and didn't want anyone to help her with the load. She immediately gave Yousef his and proceeded to tell him how she had attained them. He smiled in return and happily accepted the gift. It was a proud mommy moment.

Donate Your Voice

It has been quiet around here this week. Why? Because I had been putting my "voice" elsewhere.

Did you know you could donate your voice? Your actual spoken voice? The one you use to be heard at demonstrations, strikes and rallies? The one you use to yell at the kids, shout at the reckless driver, scream out for help? The one you use to connect with friends? The one you speak quietly with in the early hours of the morning, whisper softly with at night, and connect with tenderly to your loved ones? The one you use for authority, for credibility, for presence? The one you sometimes choose not to use and instead decide to sit down with in silent meditation?

Did you know you could give it to someone who doesn't have one? Someone with severe speech disorder, without much of an ability to formulate thoughts into words? Someone with great ideas and many needs who is unable to reach maximum potential? Someone who cannot call for help or ask for assistance? Someone who is frustrated with the eternal quietness.

I didn't; until recently.

I heard it on the radio! It was a rerun of a segment from March. I was lucky to have a second chance to hear it. "How Do You Construct A Voice?" the segment was called. And it got me listening, thinking, and talking. I had been wanting to get involved in something bigger than my immediate and extended family. So I did. I donated my voice and became a surrogate talker.

Dear Ranya,

Thank you for your interest in becoming a voice donor. We need every voice – both young and old - to capture the texture and richness of the human voice!

Together, we can change lives!

Sincerely,

The VocaliD Team

And with that I  set up my online account and my virtual recording studio. All I needed was a laptop with a microphone, and a voice. In the early hours of the morning when everyone is sleeping and the sun is beginning to rise, I log in and read words and sentences from the screen. Average, everyday words and sentences like hello and goodbye, sorry and please, how are you, and it's good to see you, and what have you been doing. And less used one like "this is an emergency," and "this tiramisu is to die for." One after one they flash on a screen that highlights what is called the period table of speech. Once all the lights on the table are shining bright, my role would be done: I would have read all the sentences and contributed fully to the Human Voicebank. Once the team receives all my input, the magic happens: speech analysts and technology combine my voice with that of others to create "personalized vocal personas" for those who need them.

I still have a ways to go on this project. It might take me another week, or it might take me more. It all depends on how many mornings I spend on it. I am not eager to complete it as quickly as possible. I am more bent on enjoying the opportunity to be part of a global community working towards a greater good. Changing lives happens at home; I am grateful this home is one helping with the change.

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VocaliD is an organization working to help the millions of people who use computerized devices to communicate in unique voice. It is dedicated to making synthetic voices more humam . To learn more about them, visit their website https://www.vocalid.co/

An Island of Life

The kitchen is where I spend most of my time, with the kids, without the kids, with friends, with family, all alone. Whenever I am "lost" I find myself occupied in the kitchen. Whether to cook foods I know, experiment with new recipes, clean-up after my mess, the kids' mess, the family mess, or just to be the kitchen is where I call "home." When I run out of things to take care of, I rearrange the pantry, the fridge, the closet. I take out the plastic bags and pile them back into their bin. I move the candy from this shelf to the next, I hide the sweets and move the "healthy" snacks forward. I take out the trash, empty the recycle bin, refill the soap.

Then I tackle the play kitchen. Perishable play food goes into the play fridge, fruits and vegetables into the basket, bread on the shelf. Pots and pans go in the dishwasher, kettle on the stove, coffee pitcher in the coffee maker. I hang up the apron and chef's hat, restock the plastic eggs, and stack the cups and glasses. The play kitchen is ready for playing.

Our current kitchen is huge. With a dining area on one side and a seating area rendered play area on the other, it is almost the size of our entire apartment in Ifrane, and half the size of our two-bedroom condo in Arlington. It has so much counter space and so many cabinets that I once thought would be impossible to fill yet somehow managed to crowd.

Other than the pantry, which is something I have wanted for a long time, my second favorite part of the kitchen set-up is the island in the middle. With two hidden closets and drawers underneath a wide counter-top, it conceals the overflow of utensils, plastic bags, handy tools, extra diapers and craft supplies in its belly. But it's on its top where life happens.

As much as I shun away from clutter and try to maintain at least one area free of the gathering of seemingly unrelated objects, having two kids means things will undeniably pile up where they shouldn't. And seeing how we spend a lot of time in the kitchen/play area, with the top of the counter an empty space begging to be filled, that's where every random object ends up.

Hair buckles, toy cars, little people, miniature plastic cups, kids water bottles, lunchboxes, empty and not-so-empty containers, parent papers from the school, crafts, bills, crayons, pens and pencils, used paper towels, things I don't want Yousef to have and things I want to give JR, anything and everything seems to find a spot on that white space. Then, the space is not so white anymore. Then, it is a pool of what that day, or that week has been like. If it was a good week, then the space wouldn't be so covered; it means I had a chance to put things away. If it wasn't as good of a week, then the space has no space and I am on the fringe of losing my mind over it. That's when I start moving things from the counter to the floor, and the stairs, and the trash. I try to move as much as I can to the trash. If it doesn't exist, it doesn't need to be put away.

On a great week, I have real flowers in the center and displays of wonderous objects JR put together for me, like the paper flowers that are still blooming many weeks later. Decorated pumpkins or plates full of play food JR cooked for me, cups filled with pretend lemonade and notes she wrote at school. Treasure she found at the playground and things her friends gave her. Things that mean something to her and then mean something to me.

On those weeks, I don't mind the "clutter," cause I do not see it as clutter. On those weeks, I enjoy walking past the island and seeing what life has deposited there. A freshly baked chocolate cake, the lunch box Yousef was carrying pretending to go to school, paintings JR made for the neighbors as a thank you. On those weeks I do not rush to clear out the space but bask in its fullness. It's on those weeks that I am reminded that it is best to enjoy life messy!

Happy Birthday Teta

December 1st, was Teta's birthday. I would know since I handle most, if not all, her medical matters and I am always asked what the birth date is. 12/1/19xx I say with confidence now, when once I used to hesitate and stutter. Yes, there was once a time when I did not know my mom's birthday, or my dad's.

Growing up we never put a lot of emphasis on birthdays. We celebrated mine and my sister's randomly at best, and with a little fanfare at most. I do remember some birthdays shared with cousins either at a local attraction the equivalent of McDonald's these days or at my cousin's house. Some years there was cake at school. But rarely did we have a "party" at our house. It was only during my teenage years where I could plan, fund and produce my own parties that I have vivid memories of having them; it was my sixteenth and my eighteenth that I recall best of all. After that, birthday dinners were the rage and we followed suit.

I don't ever recall celebrating my parent's though. I don't even know why. My aunts and uncles celebrated theirs so it was unique to us that we didn't. We were even questioned about it, "what are you doing for your mom's birthday?" We would respond with an empty look, "nothing." We didn't even buy them cake, let alone gifts. I guess they didn't care, so neither did we.

Then they moved to the US where every occasion is celebrated. It's a Hallmark culture with a card for everything you could think of. So, we started a new tradition, albeit hesitantly at first. In the early years I would rely on my aunt from Beirut to remind me of my mom's birthday. She would be on the phone and ask what we were doing or what am I buying. That would jolt my memory and entice me to actually do something. That something would either be a cake, a coffee and dessert date, a casual dinner or a gift. Sometimes it was a combination of an outing and a gift. Sometimes my sister would pitch in the idea of what to get her and some times I would be on my own. A coat, some shoes, a new purse, a Starbucks gift card, a facial, or some year nothing at all.

This year we celebrated with a view, a breakfast buffet, lotions and a new hat. But the biggest gift was the company. With us in Ifrane, my mom turned a new age all by herself last year. This year, however, she made up the difference. John and Susan, Yousef and Jannah-Rae, Jeff and I, and my dad were all seated around a table in the Concierge Lounge overlooking the National Mall. Originally our plan was to go to a local favorite for breakfast but when we saw the view from the hotel we were staying at we changed plans. Smoked salmon, imported cheese and cheap coffee were part of our meal, and so was good conversation and hugs and kisses. We didn't sing "Happy Birthday" but let the song hang in the air above us. Jannah-Rae had made her a card and Yousef sat in her lap.

Soon it was time to go; we had a story time to catch and my mom had to get to work. It turned out to be a gorgeous December day. With the temperature in the mid-70's and no breeze, we all spent hours outside. My mom enjoyed her pre clock-in and post clock-out walk and the kids and us took a long walk and played outside as much as we could. Then the sun set on another day.

Happy Birthday Mom. Here's to many more!

Pay: $0.00

Few things in the capitalist life are free. Yes, there are the "buy one, get one free" promotions, the "free shipping" promises, the "free dessert on your birthday" offers, the "free" returns, the "free five dollar gift cards" with twenty dollar purchase, but these, in all reality, are anything but "free." The companies had received payment for them at least a dozen times over before they even thought to extend them. 

Then there are those "free" things that you actually pay for with your time. "Take this survey, and get a free cupcake." "Sorry about the mistake in the order, here's a free drink." "It's national pancake day, come in for your free pancake." "This item was mislabeled, it's yours for free."

And then there is the excruciating, painstaking, energy sucking, time ticking wait with customer service on the 1800 line. "We are experiencing longer than usual hold times, please continue to hold or call us back at a later time, or press 1 to leave a voice message." It seems that every merchant's customer help line I have tried to call in the past year is experiencing "higher than usual hold times." Whether it's the water company, the cable company, or the online retailer, I get the same recording. It's also popular with doctor's offices both in pediatric practices and other specialties. Many times I just hang up, but some times I really need someone on the other line and so I wait. 

A few weeks ago I waited. It was Friday mid-morning when the automated call came in: "such and such cancer medicine is delayed. Please contact us for further information." So I called; three times! The first time, when I finally got someone on the line, the lady couldn't tell me anything I didn't know. "It could be delayed," she said, "but it might also ship on time. I cannot say for sure. You'd better call the oncologist for an emergency supply to be dispensed at the local retail pharmacy ~ just in case."

"Just in case!" That got my blood moving. We had a cancer patient on our hands, a medicine that was not guaranteed to be available, the weekend coming up, and all the woman had to say was "just in case." It was no joke. So I bet on the worse case and called the oncologist. Few minutes into the call I was talking to the answering machine. It was after 2:00pm that I got a call back. 

"We cannot write you an emergency script," came the reply, "call the online pharmacy back, ask to speak to a supervisor and have them expedite the medicine." That seemed easy enough, of course ~ to the nurse! But she was conclusive; there was no way around dialing 1800 again. So I did. 

When the representative finally came on the line, she was useless. Six minutes and fifty five seconds into the conversation and she was still unable to pull up the account. "Let's try by birth date," "spell the last name again," "what did you say the first name was?" "do you have the member I.D. in front of you?" I sure did not! I had two kids on my hands, dinner on the stove and a phone to my ear. "I am going to hang up now," I said. "Sorry," she apologized, "call us back at your convenience, we are open twenty four seven." "You are," I snapped, "but I am not!" And that was the end of conversation number two. I still had gotten nowhere with securing my dad his medication before the weekend, the holiday coming up, and his running out. 

Call number three came, as JR asked me to play restaurant. "Can I speak to a supervisor?" was my opening remark. "Certainly," she responded, "but maybe I can help." I took the bait and spent the next precious minutes explaining to her the issue at hand.

After she looked in her system, she confirmed my suspicions: I did in fact need to speak to a supervisor! "The order is here," she confirmed, "and he can get it dispensed at a local pharmacy ~ for FREE!" "For free?" I mused. "For free," she added again, "it says so right here." What she couldn't add to the conversation was how we would be able to get the local pharmacy to not charge us for the medicine at pick-up, how we were going to explain to the insurance company the matter at hand, and how we were going to convince the oncology nurse to write us a script for the "free" medicine. 

And so we waited for the supervisor to come on the line. And waited. And waited. When he finally came on the line, he was pleasant and cheerful. We went through the same exercise and raised the same issues. This time, however, he was able to address them. He put a call through to the nurse advice line. We waited again. We were caller number one and yet minutes passed with us on hold. Eight minutes later we decided to leave a detailed voice message. First he spoke, then I left my information, then he placed the request for the precious script. We hung up, and I waited for the call back. 

Two hours later, the call back still hadn't come through. It was a little after 4:00pm and the office would close in twenty minutes. I decided to be that patient and be relentless. I called back and this time got someone on the line right away. She had no idea what I was talking about. "I have not checked the voice messages yet," she replied. "What is your call back number? I will listen to the message and call you back wit next steps." And with that I was again at the mercy of a third party and the waiting game. 

Her call back came after 5:00 that afternoon but everything was taken care of. "I sent the prescription to the pharmacy and it should be ready in an hour." I thanked her and hung up. I was done for the day. Tomorrow, I would have to play a different battle. 

Saturday came too soon but I was ready for it. I had the prior experience and expertise to know that the simplest things can also be the most complicated when dealing with insurance companies. I was mentally and physically prepared to take this on, though, and when I pulled into the parking space in front of CVS I had every intention not to walk out of there defeated. I took a deep breath in and warned my dad who was sitting in the car with Yousef and sleeping JR that I might be a while. But I wasn't!

The pick-up was easy, too easy. The medicine was ready and the online pharmacy had come through. The co-pay was $0.00. I did not ask how or why. I collected it and walked out. I had already paid for it many times over.