Jar Volcanoes

I love quality time with Jannah-Rae, but do not always want to play pretend. While she and I have certainly spent considerable time playing "restaurant," "grocery store," "doctor," "school," among others, and enjoyed it, some days I just want to bypass the role play and do something else. Puzzles, legos, crafts and reading come to mind. Today, though, I wanted to try out some science.



I had seen some blogs that boast experiments to try out with children and attempted some over the summer when the weather was warm and cleanup was easy. But since winter had begun we had not put our hands towards much messes. Today, however, was a good day for that.

We gathered our supplies: baking soda and distilled white vinegar from upstairs by the washing machine, food coloring from the pantry, glass jars from the cabinet and dish soap from near the sink. We set them up on our glass table and got to work. There was no magic formula or specific measurements to follow. A little bit of this and a little bit of that was all it took.

First, we poured the vinegar into the three jars: one half way, one a quarter of the way and one almost to the top. Then we mixed in the food coloring; Jannah-Rae chose red, blue and yellow. Next came the dish soap. Everything was eyeballed. Finally came the fun part:  adding the baking soda. First a little, then a lot and the reaction happened: out came the bubbles in all three colors, one jar at a time at first, then altogether.

It was quite a spectacle. It wasn't long before the table was flooded with color and liquid hit the floor. We were ready for it, though, with a towel strategically placed close by.

His and Hers

It is that time again, time to watch the snow come down and accumulate, time to stay warm inside and bundle up outside, time to make the most of being outdoors. Seeing how I am not a cold weather person, I have been avoiding spending much time outside. Most of my expeditions are walking from the car to the door and back, while parking as close to the door as I possibly can. And although touting a coat, a scarf and a hat are a little too much sometimes, I chose to over, rather than under, dress, and do the same for the kids. And yet some days, if I park close enough to the door, I dash in and out sans external layers - those are the best outings since they mean that I won't be carrying around my extra clothing in addition to those of the kids.

Jeff, on the other hand, is all about the cold. He loves how refreshing it is, how clean and crisp. So, when it was time to shovel snow out of our driveway and salt the front steps, the delegation was easy; it was to be him. And Jannah-Rae!

"Can I help you, Baba?" she asked as soon as she heard the words "shovel" and "snow." "I want to help you," she continued and continued until she was asked to bundle up. "You can use my shovel Baba," she offered pointing to her little orange plastic sand shovel. "Thank you, Jannah-Rae," came the reply, it was such a generous offer from a wonderful little girl. But the little shovel could not hold up to such a demanding task, so they went to the store. What they came back with was memorable; matching shovels in appropriate sizes!

The next twenty minutes went flying by. They worked together and separately: her all bundled up trying her best and checking in on the quality of her work, and him in the minimal gear encouraging her on and helping her out. It was quality time at its best. All that was needed was a little snow, a little determination, and a little girl. They connected with each other and with nature, doing something they both enjoyed. When they were done, the shovels stood to dry. His and Hers now stand side by side in the garage ready for the next storm.

About Yousef

"Write about Yousef," she answered when I asked her for a topic. I was sitting in front of an empty blog post page having just published my last piece. I was out of ideas and reached out to Jannah-Rae who was sitting next to me on the couch "doing Reading Rainbow" on the iPad. I thought it would be interesting to see what she would propose. The last post was about her and she had seen her photo, so she was wonderful in suggesting I write about her brother next.

"What about Yousef?" I pressed. I wanted to better understand her idea and use it as a starting point.

"About how he doesn't listen all the time," came back her response.

I smiled, I giggled, I laughed. She followed suit. In all her innocence Yousef's rebellious almost two year old ways are a worthy topic of recording, and I cannot but agree that they are. At the risk of being charged with comparing my two kids together, I have to say that Jannah-Rae was an angel of a two-year old. She listened, followed directions and had few, if any, tantrums and meltdowns. She was sweet and charming and very pleasant to be around. Yousef, while also a wonderful companion, is certainly very different.

Yousef's personality came about like a volcano, silent and peaceful one day, and loud and destructive the next. The easygoing tag-along toddler became an inquisitive boisterous almost two year old. Once content with the toys in front and around him, now the entire world is his toy, nothing is out of reach or out of bounds. While JR would sit next to me in the kitchen while I cooked and busy herself with the plastic-ware, Yousef would not leave any cabinet unopened. And should he not be able to reach something, he would grab the stepping stool, set it up and proceed. He pushes the chairs around to get to the light switches, and climbs on books and boxes to get taller.

With Jannah-Rae there were no gates, no toilet locks, no "out of bounds" areas. With Yousef, on the other hand, we were introduced to physical boundaries. Some days I think that he would not hesitate to climb into the dryer if he could. Toys and trash end up in the toilet, JR's art work and school work end up in the recycling bin. And should he see something of interest in the garbage he doesn't think twice about fishing it out and exploring it: one day it was an empty chocolate container, he wanted to have some, another it was an empty Starbucks cup, he proceeded to drink from it, a third it was an expired food item that got tossed in its packaging, he attempted to open it.

"Not everything needs to be touched, Yousef," instructed Jannah-Rae while we were browsing the kitchen store. Of course Yousef did not heed. The next thing I hear is a ceramic plate swirling and twirling on the floor. My first thought was, "there goes $35 down the drain." Yousef had picked up an expensive dish, called out "ball" and threw it down. Luckily, it was sturdy and did not break. Unfortunately that brought an end to our outing.

Then there were the times he picked up a Godiva chocolate bar and a Nutella snack box from the stands near the cash registers opened them up and started eating them. Of course I then had to pay for them and take them away from him.

"Did we buy that," Jannah-Rae would ask every other time we leave a store. What she would be referring to is the item Yousef would be holding in his hand unknown to me. It might be a plush toy, a bag of M&Ms or a bar of soap. The decision then becomes whether to let him keep it for the drive home and return it to the store on the next visit, or leave it behind in the cart while distracting him with another toy.

There are also the knock down drag out scenes at home, and elsewhere. A complete and utter meltdown over not getting or not wanting. The screams that pierce the ears, the tears that flow. The crouching to the ground, head between the knees, legs tucked underneath. The laying on the floor, face down, arms and legs flagged out. The arched back, the stiff body. There is the defiance, the repeated requests that are met with a "no," the "make me do it if you can" looks.

But then there are the times when he is loving and lovable. There are the hugs and kisses, the snuggles and cuddles, the hand holding and pant grabbing. There are the two hands that hold my face in place while they plant a kiss on my lips. There is the head that turns to me when I ask him for a kiss. There are the "hold me mama", his arms outstretched towards me. There are the "do not put me down, mama" his legs grabbing my waist. There are the "I am tired mama" his head resting on my neck. And the "it's bedtime mama" laying on my chest, his arm reaching through the neck of my shirt. There are the laughs and the giggles, the smirks and grins, the looks and the smiles. There are the eyes that sparkle and the lashes that shine. There is the (double) chin and the doughy neck. There is the soft hair, and the smooth skin. There is the chocolate mouth and the beet lips. There is his warm body next to mine in bed, reaching out to me while he sleeps. There are his lips that kiss mine in the midst of sleep, and his cheeks that touch mine just the same. There is cuteness and mischievousness, affection and tenderness. There is love and warmth and presence. There is Yousef: the best son in the world!

Writing Letters

Yesterday, Jannah-Rae got a new writing pad from Jeddo. Her next request was "Mama, can you help me write a letter?" "What letter is that, Jannah-Rae?" I asked thinking she had a letter from the alphabet in mind. It turned out she wanted to actually write a letter, and a letter to Baba nonetheless. 

We set to work. "Dear Baba," it started. "I love you," was supposed to be next. But instead of an L she wrote a C and got upset. "Don't worry Jannah-Rae," I comforted her, it can say "I care about you" instead. So we spelled out the next words. When she got to the "U" in "about" she wrote a "Y", since that is the first letter in the word "You" and she got confused. I let her be. Then came the actual word "You" she wrote it without the "U" at the end and I did not correct her; such a confusing word it is! The next phrase was "very much" but that, too, had to be adjusted based on the two letter switches she made. She had asked me to draw dots for her to trace the letter "V" but instead she connected them to spell the letter "T" and although we discussed the letter "M" to be "down/up/down/up" she ended up with the letter "W" which is "up/down/up/down". Faced with a "W" she chose the word "way" and wrote that. I was going to suggest another word but decided it was more fitting to spell out a word she chose. Below is what she delivered to Baba: a heartfelt note, adjusted to convey the same message using different words, in her own handwriting. It's a beautiful thing to have.  

Talking "Yousef"

Jannah-Rae has always been a great communicator. She began uttering words from an early age and her two word sentences weren't too far behind. Her vocabulary developed quickly and grew in complexity. And while bilingual, she was able to grasp both languages with ease. Soon enough she was conversing like an adult and chatting up everyone in sight. She would approach people of all ages and not shy away from strangers. Girls on the playground, old ladies on the bus, the cashier at the grocery store, the driver on the bus. She compliments frequently and narrates openly. So when her little brother began sputtering what is incomprehensible to most, we were not surprised at her ability to interpret his words, mimic his mode of communication, and adapt her own style of speaking to match his.

On any given day you could hear Jannah-Rae speak eloquently to adults, and what may sound as gibberish to Yousef without missing a beat. Hearing them talk would entail a combination of the following phrases:

• "Yousef, baddak (do you want) kikeek (chicken or duck) or baa (anything with four legs such as horse or cow or pig or sheep)?"
• "Yousef, you want baubbles?" which may mean taking a bubble bath, blowing bubbles or playing with snow. His word for snow is "baubbles."
• "Yousef, here is totoot (car)."
• "Yousef get cho-choo (train)."
• "Yousef do you want mai (water in Arabic) or mammam (food)?" "Mai is also his word for juice, soup, soda, milk, or anything liquid. Mama's coffee is "mai" for example. This morning it took me a while to understand what he was asking for, "I want choo-choo mai." We were at Target and I looked around to see juice bottles with Thomas the Train as their cap. He knew what he was talking about! 
• "Yousef let's go bye (out)."
• "Yousef get guy (his catch-all word for figurines."
• "Here you go, Yousef, here is your bal (ball or balloon)"
• "Time for dodo (sleep) Yousef."
• "Yousef say Na3am (yes in Arabic)."
• "Yousef say 'Cheerios,' "eerios," comes the reply.
• "Yousef, let's go baa (let's ride the carousel)."
• "Yousef, do you want this?" "I want dis," says Yousef.
• "Yousef, say 'what's this'." "What's dis," repeats Yousef emphasizing the 's like it is a separate word.
• "Yousef, wein (where is) ou-ou-ah-ah?" They are looking for the monkey.
• "Baddak ba3ed (do you want more), Yousef?" "I want moe.... (insert a Yousef word)"
• If he says "I want cho-choo" when I say "let's go bye" then he wants to go plain with the trains at Barnes and Noble. 
• "Uh-oh" was one of his first words, if not his very first. He uses it he drops, drips, spills or breaks something or someone else does it. 
• When referring to something not within his vocabulary, it is "kookoo-keekee"which is his all purpose go to word.
• "Mama, guy totoot" means Mama put the figurine I am holding in my hand onto the car nearby. 
• "Yousef, fi (is there) kaka?" Jannah-Rae would ask. In this context she is asking him if he has to poop. "Kaka" is the baby word for poop in Lebanese jargon. Yousef uses it for poop and pee interchangeably, and has added to it another meaning: trash. Holding a dirty napkin or an empty wrapper, cup, plate or box, or a dirty diaper Yousef would say "kaka" and run to the trash can or toilet (yes, we have fished out dirty diapers from the toilet!) 
• "Kaka" can also mean diaper if he is looking at one, even a clean one. 
• To him I am either Mam, Mama, or Mami and Jannah-Rae is "baby." 
• When he wants what his sister has be it food or toy or activity, he blurts "I want me."
• "Ta3a (come)" he calls out to his sister when he wants her to join him, when he wants to show her something, or wants to hold her hand. 
• "Wein guy?" "Wein totoot?" is one of his favorite games. 
• "Baabie" is how he calls Barbie or any version thereof. Dolls and his human playmates are "baby."
• When he wants to watch Super Why or see a segment on the iPad it is "I want Y," or "I want baa" respectively.
• When it is time to brush his teeth, Yousef asks for "llla" running his tongue across his upper lip. How he associated that sound with brushing teeth is still a mystery to me. 
• During the holiday season Yousef and Jannah-Rae got a lot of gifts but we opened one or two a day. If Yousef wanted to open a present he would say, "I want wow." or "I want yay." 
• "I want ph," meant he wants to blow out the candle "ph" being the sound that comes out of his lips when he is blowing out. 
• When we get in the car, the first thing he asks for is "mimi," his word for music.
• And, if there is something he is pointing at and cannot articulate it is "bi" or "daba." In reality "daba" is a word that means "now" in Darija or Moroccan Arabic, except for Yousef it means whatever random object he is interested in. 
• When Yousef is finished he says "ba7".

So you see, Yousef has a lot of contextual words and Jannah-Rae has become an expert on his speech. So much so, that many a time I find myself asking her "what does Yousef want?" hoping she would clarify what exactly he is after. 

Birthday Girl

"It's an American Girl doll," beamed Jannah-Rae when she opened the box. And although it wasn't really an American Girl doll, it was! It was what she had been craving following her intimate experience with the library dolls and she was thrilled to have one she could keep. My friend in Portland had sent her the "Birthday Girl" outfit and the surprise came out all too well. The perfect ending to a great year ahead. Happy Birthday Jannah-Rae, one last time for this year!

Birthday Party Countdown ~ Saturday

Today came too soon. The night was interrupted by Jannah-Rae spiking a fever of 104.5 during the early hours of our sleep and subsequent multiple wakings. We finally got up at five although none of us was ready to start the day.

The first thought that came to me upon waking up, after wanting coffee of course, was to take out the cream cheese and frosting jar from the refrigerator. Earlier in the Fall, and knowing I would be making JR's birthday cake as usual, I had picked up a container of orange cream frosting from Williams Sonoma. It was on clearance and so I had walked out with an amazing product for a few cents over a dollar. It has been sitting in my cupboard since. Also sitting in my cupboard were sugar letters spelling "Happy Birthday" along with a few sugar balloons. I was still not sure whether or not I was going to use them, but had them handy just in case. These, too, were a bargain purchase from the grocery store in the development.

I had been toying with ideas for Jannah-Rae's cake since November. The one I had originally planned required a great deal of forward planning; it was a cake within a cake with the number 5 baked on the inside. I did not have a number 5 cookie cutter and went looking for one like a woman on a mission. When my mother in law finally attained one from her friend, I thought my idea was saved. Alas, it was too high and the inner cake did not fit in the final baking pan. I thought to buy a deeper cake pan, but that would have proven disastrous as the outside would have burned leaving an uncooked center. But I was not ready to give up on the idea yet as I had seen first hand how beautiful the final product looked. Earlier I had executed the idea using a flower in the center and it turned out great. There was no reason why I couldn't carry on with the number 5. So I went searching again, this time for smaller cookie cutters. I found a set at my old employer and brought it home; it was worthless. After baking the first cake and cutting it up, the shapes proved to be too small and light to hold their own in the dense batter; they floated around and baked in any which way. I was left with a cake looking like nothing. I scrapped the idea and pondered others.

Jannah-Rae asked for a palace cake with a prince and princess; I refused! I was not ready to give up the party for a princess theme or go down the princess route. I needed a theme-free fun cake that would both look and taste good. I pulled my favorite chocolate cake recipe out and sought to match it with good looks. I decided on chocolate malt balls facade. I had seen such cakes before and admired them and thought I could execute one without much fuss; I would make a three layer chocolate cake completely covered with balls of chocolate malt. Then, I changed my mind! After talking it over with Jeff we settled on two two-layer cakes instead of my original one three-layer and one one layer cakes; a three layer cake would have been difficult to tackle when it was time to cut and serve as we are rather inexperienced in that department.

When the kids went down for their nap at 9:00am I got to work. I whipped the frosting and stirred the jam. I began assembling. I had not thought to buy a cake circle, so I made one myself from a leftover cardboard box that I wrapped with aluminum foil. Then I lay parchment paper around it to protect the cake stand from frosting drips. I lay the first layer: it was the vanilla cake. While I had intended on making it a fully chocolate cake, I had run out of cocoa powder during the preparation phase and decided to do without. I thought it would be a nice modification to have a white layer a midst the two darks and now I used it as the bottom layer for the first, main, cake. I piped some frosting around the edges to safeguard any filling spillover and spread the strawberry jam inside the parameters. Then I brought over the chocolate layer. Once the jam had settled I began icing.

I am certainly not an expert on frosting. As a matter of fact, I make a terrible mess trying to cover a cake up with anything. I usually eat my cakes plain and simple, if I eat them at all. In reality I like to bake cakes but I hardly ever eat them. I serve them to friends and family but do not approach them much; it is the baking rather than the eating that entices me. I also wipe off any frosting from store-bought cakes and cupcakes. I think they go too heavy on the topping which is either too sweet or too fatty. But Jannah-Rae had asked for frosting and really having it was the only way I could get the malt balls to stick on the cake. So I had to figure out how to do it and I did. I laid a thin layer on and around and did not take much pain in its unevenness since it was all going to be covered with malt balls. But it wasn't!

When I commenced with the malt balls, I had a hard time getting them to stick. The first few balls kept falling off the sides so I feared the worst but kept on going. After the first row was up, I added the second and the third pressing them all into the cake as I went. Once the third row was done I was left with a gap between it and the top of the cake. Unsure of how best to cover it, I let it be and circled the top of the cake instead. Looking at the cake, I was satisfied with where it was it. And as I did not trust that the malt balls were going to stay put I decided to conserve my energy and use what time I had left to get the second, back-up, cake ready. Unable to leave the top plain, though, I reached for the mini M&Ms to personalize it.

The back-up cake was "plain" compared to the main one. Two chocolate layers separated by strawberry jam, leftover orange cream icing and mini M&Ms made it complete. Not having enough frosting left though meant that only the top layer got cover while the bottom one remained exposed. That was not an issue since I was only going to bring it out in the event that I woke up the next day to find all the malt balls in a heap at the bottom of the main cake.

The cakes now done, I moved on to set up and decorations. We hung up streamers, balloon and dangling swirls around the kitchen and in the basement, We split the "Happy Birthday" banner into two and hung one on the wall in the kitchen and another in the basement. Jannah-Rae wiped down the the rented table and chairs was wiped clean and set them up in their corner of the kitchen. We brought out the paper plates and plastic utensils, washed and dried the serving platters, prepped the ingredients for the popcorn maker, blew up the rest of the balloons, covered the cakes and turned out the lights. By then it was time for bed; tomorrow would be a busy day.

Birthday Party Countdown ~ Friday

With Jannah-Rae sick a few days before her party I was really worried we would have to cancel the celebration. When we went to the doctor yesterday, one of the questions I had asked her was whether she thinks we should carry on with our plans. She did not see a reason why not, since the party was still five days away and suggested to see how Jannah-Rae fared on Saturday before making the final decision. So when she woke up feeling slightly like her "old" self, I decided to commence the party preparations, but instead of touting one child like originally planned, I had both of them at hand and had to navigate much while they napped.

Being up at four thirty in the morning meant that they both took an early morning nap. During that time I baked the first two of the four cakes. I had measured all the dry ingredients the week before into plastic containers so it was rather easy to add the wet ingredients, mix, pour and bake. As soon as I started, though, the door bell rang and I had to tend to the dryer delivery people while mixing the chocolate cake but that was not an issue as they knew exactly where to go and what to do. But with all their noise, the kids woke up a few minutes into the nap and were all over the kitchen in no time. Yousef, who did not really understand that the cakes were for later, threw a fit when he was denied a piece of the freshly baked cake. I appeased him with M&Ms and then decided to head out as soon as he was finished from his treat. Our route was leading us to two places: H-Mart and A Ton of Fun.

Months before I had reserved child-size tables and chairs for the party. After calling around to potential indoor party venue, I had decided that holding the party at home was both more fun and more economical. Yet I was faced with an pertinent issue: how was I going to seat over a dozen two and five year olds? Our house was sparsely furnished and the floor was not comfortable enough. Besides it was winter and the hardwood floors would be cold. So the idea of a picnic lunch was scrapped. I needed table and chairs, and I needed to rent them. I did an online search and found two companies that carried child-sized furniture. I called the first one and went with it. Today I would have to pick the material up.

When I had arranged for the pick-up time with the company I had thought I would down to one child with ample room in the car for the long table and the numerous chairs. But when today came, I found myself having to adjust both my schedule and mode of transportation. Jeff and I made a one-time exception and allowed JR to sit in the front seat on the way back from the rental company, a twenty five minute drive on two freeways. Luckily there was no traffic and JR was well aware of the dangers of sitting in the front seat so she stayed put and focused. We made it home in plenty of time for another nap!

Before heading to A Ton of Fun, we stopped at H-Mart to purchase our supplies for the fruit and vegetable platters. Cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, sugar snap peas, celery and cucumber constituted our choice for vegetables. As for fruit, we settled on apples, bananas, grapes, pineapple and kiwi. I had wanted some cantaloupe or honeydew but we did not see any we liked. With our two bags in hand, we headed out into the cold and on our way.

Once home with the kids in bed, I prepped the vegetables and baked the second batch of cakes. I chopped the celery and onion for the tuna salad and washed and dried the platters. I covered the cooled cakes and refrigerated the produce. I brought the chairs in and wiped them down and sorted the decorations in preparation for tomorrow.

When Jannah-Rae woke up she asked to be given a role, and I had the perfect part for her to play: put together the "Party" sign. With a brush, pink paint, a sticker and glitter glue, she set about her task. Before long she had finished the sign that would direct out guests away from the front door and towards the garage door; the party would commence in the basement with free play and organised games while the kitchen/dining area upstairs were reserved for food and cake in the second hour of the celebrations. Once complete she moved on to allocating the party favors among her guests and organising our "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" game.

All that was left to do today was one last stop at the store to buy milk and juice for drinks and cream cheese for the frosting. That we did after picking Jeff up from work. Our day was now officially over. Tomorrow would be dedicated to assembling the cakes.

A day like yesterday

A day like yesterday makes me wonder how I made it to the end of the day. It began not much unlike any other day, at about 4:00 in the morning. I first reached for my phone to check the time and confirm that my body was functioning as expected, waking me up at the set hour before the rising sun. I used to have a policy of not going to bed with my phone, but since giving up on the digital large numbered radio clock to guide me through the night hours I returned to my trusty phone. And while said clock still sits with its cord strewn alongside it on bedroom floor, it is merely another object for me to put away rather than a functional piece of furniture. A hour after I had brought it back from my parents, hooked it up and set up the time, Yousef had decided that it was a new "toy" and went about setting the alarm, changing the dial and turning up the volume. When it went off at an odd hour one day, I decided that was the end of that attempt at a "normal" life.

After I verified the time, I took a quick peak at my inbox to see if I had any "important" emails; of course there were none - nothing unusual. Then, I checked Facebook to see what others have been up to and to arm myself with topics for morning conversation. I barely gave it a minute and decided it was a waste of the morning minutes. I will surely be returning to it throughout the day to distract myself from whatever else I would be doing. By the light of the phone, I made my way down the stairs.

In the kitchen I set about putting the dry dishes away, heating water up for coffee, tea and oatmeal and getting Jannah-Rae's lunchbox ready. It was Wednesday so all she needed was "sides." Wednesdays are pizza days and three dollars from Baba bought her lunch. Earlier on in the school year I had thought I would allow her pizza from the school as a "treat" every once in a while but that soon became a routine. It wasn't that I was against pizza per se, I just didn't want her to eat pizza made from unknown ingredients. So I sent her with homemade pizza a few times, then life got the better of me on Wednesdays and she joined her friends in their weekly indulgence. I set out her sides: frozen peas and fresh blackberries, labelled the containers and counted the change. I made the oatmeal, brewed the coffee and sweetened my tea. Then I headed towards the living room couch and turned on my laptop. Today, I was going about my morning in reverse: I was going to tend to things first and meditate later. Except that later never came.

Soon after I sat down I heard footsteps on the stairs; it was Jannah-Rae and she was not looking good. "My throat hurts," she said and that was the beginning of a long day at home. She had a fever, was coughing and sneezing and she was not going anywhere but back to the room. I, too, wasn't going anywhere either and had to make the best of a day at home with a sick child and an overactive toddler. My day was going to be interesting.

We started with food and tried different things: cereal with milk, toast with honey, bagel with cream cheese, boiled eggs. A few bites of each and on to another choice. The dishes in the sink began to pile. Then we worked on a wooden sail boat; the sails are still missing. We moved on to assembling Yousef's workbench; it arrived with broken parts. We tried doing puzzles; pieces covered the living room floor. I tried a "contained" activity and handed the kids foam, a plastic box and figurines; Yousef sprayed it on the carpet. Trains and tracks weren't any better; the trains went flying down the stairs. We tried the i-Pad but when it was time to hand it back Yousef had a complete meltdown.

And so went the day, from one activity to another and from one screaming session to another. All the while, JR was doing her best to stay upright and cheerful attempting to eat and drink but not managing to do as much as she should. She dozed off a few times, took a couple doses of medicine and lounged on the couch. She was clearly not herself and try as I could to make her feel better, she was just sick and needed love and attention.

I kept watching the clock; the hours were ticking by so slowly. It was only 10:30 one time. Then it was only 2:00. We had four more hours till Jeff got home. Then, it was 4:30 and by the time it was 5:30 I was out of ideas, energy and the will to go on. So when I almost tripped on Jeff walking up the stairs my spirits lifted; now we could all get in the car and go for a drive to cut off the last hour of the day and change the scenery. And out we went, for juice and treats. It was after 7:00 when we returned and bed time got started. Jannah-Rae was fast asleep within minutes of getting in bed while Yousef decided to be "cute" and delay bedtime. He kept playing "peek-a-boo" and giggling, asking for water and the bathroom, wanting to eat and see Baba. Shortly before 8:00pm he stopped giving me kisses and surrendered to sleep. It had been a long day.

How I made it from 4:00am to 8:00pm without losing my mind is a mystery to me. In the midst of everything I managed to make, and eat, lunch and dinner, fold, and put away, a load of laundry, pay three bills by phone, put up plastic on three windows, and read two chapters from my book. I did not yell at the kids, express frustration or complain about my situation. I could have screamed at Yousef for spilling the juice, or for throwing the popcorn on the floor, or for emptying the foam canister on the bedroom floor. I could have lost my patience with him over the tantrums, the multiple change of clothes, or the torn pages of the catalog. But I chose otherwise. I turned a blind eye to the mess, looked over the trash and walked around the clutter. I took it hour by hour and looked for the fun a midst the chaos. I laughed rather than frowned, hugged close instead of shoved away. I took part in their life rather than try to control it. I became one with them, rather than stand apart. I told Yousef to pose while I took photos of him pushing shaving cream unto the floor. I enjoyed cleaning up the mess.

Yes, it was a rough day. But it was also blessed. It was a reminder of all the wonderful things that make up my life. True, Jannah-Rae was sick and that put a damper on the day, but she is with us, and that is all that matters. She, her brother and her father are what make a day like yesterday a wonderful day.

This is FIVE!

Five is a month-long celebration.
It is three birthday cakes in three days,
and one more party coming up.

Five is a pre-celebration with Teta and Jeddo,
A surprise party at the school,
and leftover cake with Baba.

Five is an excited little girl with a beautiful bright smile.
It is balloons, and streamers and birthday banner.
It is gifts waiting to be open.

Five is three presents from Teta,
three from Grandma,
and three from Mama and Baba.
It is a hug and a kiss from Yousef.

Five is a new backpack, a pencil case and a toiletry bag,
new cooking tools and pretty doll outfits,
a popcorn popper, books and crafts.
It is an 18-inch Madam Alexander doll with curtly brown hair and shiny brown eyes.
It is more to arrive.

Five is ~ correction ~ a year long celebration!
Happy Five Jannah-Rae,
Here is to a wonderful year.

Questions For a Five Year Old

What is your name? Jannah-Rae
When were you born? January
How old are you? Five
Who is your mommy? Ranya
What does your mommy do? Make me stuff
Who is your daddy? J-E-F-F
What does your daddy do? Go to work and get money for me to buy stuff
What is your favorite color? Red
What do you want to be when you grow up? A mom working at a doctor
What is your favorite food? Broccoli, cheese pizza
What is your favorite snack? Toast with butter and honey, and toast with nutella
What is your favorite drink? The juice that you (mama) makes (orange, carrot, celery, grapefruit, apple and beets)
What food do you not like? I do not know
What is your favorite animal? Monkey, zebra, lion, koala bear and panda
Where do you want to live when you grow up? I do not know
What do mommy and daddy do after you go to bed? Have dinner and go to bed
What does daddy say? He loves me
What does mommy say? She loves me
What is your favorite song? Jingle Bells
Where is your favorite place to eat? Chick Fil-A, The Diner and Five Guys
Who is your favorite person? Yousef
Who is your best friend? Kaitlin and Kelsey and Grace H and even Brooke
What is your favorite book? Goodnight Moon
Who is your brother? Yousef
What does he do? Help me with a lot of stuff
Where did Yousef come from? Mama's tummy
What is your favorite thing to do? Go to the park and school
What is your favorite outfit? A dress

A snow day

Jeff is in Boston, my parents are in Arlington, the kids and I are in Columbia. And, it is snowing. During the silent hours of the night, the snow slowly fell from the sky covering roads, covering trees. I woke up to a blanket of white, clean and peaceful, the first snow of the year. It is January 6th.

I am not sure what the day ahead will hold, it is still 5:00am, but I do know what JR asked me last night: "is Baba coming home today?" "I hope so," I replied. And she pressed on, "why not yes?" Because I knew about the snow, and she didn't. Because I was not sure if the airport would operate under these conditions. Because I did not want to make a certainty something I was unsure of. Because I did not want to disappoint or be disappointed. "It might snow," I said. "And flights nay be delayed," she finished for me. Yes, I nodded, yes.

How does she know these things, I wondered? Where does she learn all this from? I guess she knows more than I think she does, and I need to give her a more credit than I do. My little girl is not so little any more, and there is nothing like an innocent snow day to remind me.

Happy 5th Birthday Jannah-Rae

Happy Birthday, Jannah-Rae. 

I love you.

I woke up extra early, and went to bed extra late last night, to get things ready for your big day. I dangled streamers, blew up balloons, and hung up a banner. I baked a cake, frosted it and hid it away. I planned the surprise party with the school, I sneaked in the treats. I wanted to be ready for you today. I wanted to be prepared.

When you came to us on your own time that cold January morning in 2010, I was not ready, we were not prepared. My bag was not packed, my journal was not complete, my pregnancy scrapbook was still missing photos. I still had appointments to make and things to do. I had work deadlines and shopping lists. We still had not bought you a crib, and we hadn't yet decided about a changing table. We needed sheets for you, and blankets, a bouncy seat and a play mat. You needed a "going home" outfit. I needed more time. Yes, we were not ready; but you certainly were. 

Since then, I have been trying to be ready for you, to be prepared for your wants and needs and yet I never am. You are your own little self, my dear, and always one step ahead. I do my best, and you do your part just as well. Together we keep each other in check. I tell you to be thankful for what you have, to be happy with what you got, to enjoy what is here. You look to what more could be had, what can be improved, what else needs to be done. With my reminders you balance yourself and remember to be content. You are content. But you are also ambitious. You are eager. But you are also patient. You are loud. But you are also quiet. You are a mysterious mix of seeming contradictions. You are everything you were meant to be. 

"Happy Birthday," the banner above your head read, repeatedly covering the entire length of the wall. Happy Birthday, it sure will be. 

Birthday Girl Through 2014

It's the day before the birthday and JR is over the clouds. Yesterday she picked out the cake to celebrate, the third pack of candles, the birthday horns in preparation for her first celebration. She glowed when she set the items on the checkout counter and was asked if she is getting ready for a party. "You are turning five, right?" she was asked and shyly she nodded, amazed that they had guessed. 

I had spent the last few days invested in making her gift. I sorted through a thousand photos from the past months selecting those that portrayed her through the year. From her fourth birthday party in Beirut, through the snow in Morocco, the airport in Paris and her time in Arlington, VA to our move to Columbia, MD, her outdoor life in the suburbs and her time spent on vacation, the photos ran through her many moments and faces. There are happy faces, sad faces, sun-kissed faces, and glowing faces. There are faces on horses, faces on trees, astronaut faces and butterfly faces. There she is with Yousef, with her doll, with her self. She is running on the treadmill, riding her bike, jumping from higher and higher up. She is kneading, rolling, cutting. She is making bread, crackers, sushi. She is eating, hugging, kissing. She is checking us out at Trader Joe's, riding the duck boat on the lake, feeding the animals. She is picking fruit, reading books, smelling the flowers. She is guiding a military aircraft, dressing her dolls, getting her nails painted. She is building a city, playing with foam, dancing in the rain. She is serving me from her play kitchen, laying on a bed of nails, coloring with sidewalk chalk. She is being a girl, a four year old girl, a big sister, a first born. She is being Jannah-Rae.   

I had spent hours going through the photos. I narrowed them down to a hundred. Then, I added a hundred more. I made them into a movie. I added music. I watched it over and over again. I edited it. I shared it with my friends. I then deleted it. I took it down. I removed it from the public sphere. It was my gift to her, and it was too special to spread out. I kept it on my computer, for her to see. She will love it, I am sure. I cannot wait to see. 

Happy Birthday Jannah-Rae

I love you!

(non) American Girl Girl ~ project complete

The last email exchange went as such:

From: Ranya, JR and JR Mike
Sent: Tuesday, December 09, 2014 5:29 AM
To: Anne
Subject: Re: Dolls

Ann, Good morning!!

We are ready for a new batch. We will be stopping by on Friday for the switch. Also, I made arrangements to bring Jannah-Rae in on the 23rd.

~Ranya

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To: "Ranya, JR and JR Mike"
Sent: Tuesday, December 9, 2014 2:15 PM
Subject: RE: Dolls
From: Anne

Ranya,

There are no more dolls to clean!!! You’ve made it through all of them. This project is COMPLETE!

I can’t wait to meet Jannah-Rae.

Youth Collections Librarian

And with that the project came to an end. I frankly didn't see it coming, and neither did Jannah-Rae. I had always thought these girls would keep on coming. 68 dolls that needed a regular cleaning. I had envisioned the cycle: they would be taken home, gotten used, returned to the library, sent to be sanitized, returned into circulation. What I didn't ask about is the length of the cycle; I later found out the cycle was every six months. And so I had promised JR another group of ten girls to take home for another week, I was not prepared for the tears that ensued.

"But I love these dolls," came her first reply. "I know, sweetie," I tried to reassure her. "You did a wonderful thing by helping the library," I tried to emphasize. But she is not yet five, and grew attached to the dolls. "Can I have one for my birthday?" came the next question. And to that I had to fabricate something. Jeff and I had bought her a doll similar to the American Girl on a trip to New York once and we were planning on giving it to her for one of her birthdays; and it seems like this would be the best birthday to give it to her on. But I did not want to divulge the secret. "Maybe Auntie Janet will get you one," I said. Of course JR had an answer ready, "but she doesn't know I want one!" "You never know," I closed, "she might surprise you."

And with that I tried to shift her focus from having no dolls, to enjoying them while they were still around. We set out to play with them as much as we could. She picked two of her favorite ones and made them her own. We played restaurant, took them to the mall and the bookstore, sat them down for breakfast and dinner, and put them to sleep. They rode the carousel with us, went to our friend's house and FaceTimed Baba. It was amazing to see her interact with these dolls. I wonder if she will grow just as fond of the one she will soon receive!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropping off the last batch and saying goodbye was bittersweet

Yousef's Reading List

On a cold Sunday the kids and I decided to head to the library for something to do. I had needed to pick out some books I had on hold and JR thought why not spend the afternoon reading and playing in the Library. Having little else in mind, that proved to be a genius idea.

When we were all settled the kids went to pick out a few books to read there and a couple to bring home for later. Each book was closely inspected to make sure it met the enjoyment criteria. Once done JR asked me how many she and Yousef could "buy." "Six each," I responded, so she handed me the books. 

"Here is what Yousef is getting," she beamed, "One Ball, one Kiki, two Toot-Toot, one Baa, one Meow." And then she added, "baddak (you want) Choo-Choo?" And he nodded yes. 

"Here Yousef, here you go your books," as she handed him a couple to hold. "Let's go pay!" she continued as she made her way to the checkout kiosk. 

She, on the other hand, got one Dora, one Strawberry Shortcake, one Princess book, one book on tape  as she calls them and has gotten to recognize them from their purple rather than white tag, and two chapter books. Mama got The Silent Wife, Still Life with Bread Crumbs, and the Telling Room. We are all going to have a fun time reading. 

(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?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

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.

Weaning Yousef

It was the night before weaning and everyone was asleep; everyone that is except me. I sat there watching Yousef sleep. How many nights had I done that? How many days did I wear him while he napped, held and cuddled and sat? How many hours did I spend nursing him to sleep, and then nursing him again back to sleep? Nursing him for nutrition and nursing him for comfort? Twenty one months and seven days.

Everything comes to an end, and things always change.

I don’t do well with change; never have and I am not sure I ever will. I try as best I can to prepare myself but ultimately I need my mourning period. I need time to let things that had grown on me go. And this is no different.

I spent many sleepless nights trying to get Yousef to nurse. We helped him and tricked him. We nudged him and taught him. We used my boob, tried a tube and used a bottle. We supplemented with formula. I medicated my infection, hired a breastfeeding consultant and nursed through pain. I held on steadfast to my I wanted to nurse my last baby just I like nursed my first. I tried to convince myself otherwise but I couldn't bring myself to give up on nursing. It would certainly have been easier, less painful, more convenient but it wasn't what I wanted to do. I could’ve listened to my friends and family who had my best interest in mind and given up on the ordeal altogether, after all formula these days is a remarkable source of nutrition, but I didn’t. It was more than just a matter of ease and convenience, and it certainly wasn’t all about the food. It was about me. And him. About the bond, the connection, the attachment, the experience. It was about being together with Yousef like I had been with Jannah-Rae. And I was not about to give that up, or away. And I didn’t. Until I had to.

And I had to too soon; again. It’s always too soon. It always comes too fast. I am never ready. Twenty one months and seven days isn't long enough. I don’t think it would have ever been long enough. But it is time, or at least that’s what I am told.

So I nursed him one last time, one last go-back-to-sleep nurse, one last comfort. I had been nursing him “one last time” for the past week. One last Friday. One last Saturday. One last mid-morning nurse. One last nurse in public. One last nurse instead of food. I had “one last” for everything I could think of. Until it was really the last one.

At 3:21am he woke up. "Nan-nan," he called. And, with nan-nan I responded. He fell back to sleep on my chest. I tried to move him but he crawled right back on. I think he felt I was up to something. I am sure he has understood the many conversations we have had about leaving him and JR with Grandma and Granpa while Jeff and I went to New York. I am certain he knew that the "end" was near; he had heard us talking about it over and over again. I believe he knew exactly what was coming, and when, and wanted to draw it out as much as he could. Just the day before he would not let me put him down for a minute; he asked me to hold him all day long. 

At 3:45am I had to lay him beside me, I needed to get up and get ready, our train left at 5:20am. He didn't want to let me go. He squealed. I patted his back and gave him a kiss. I made sure he was slumbering. I got up and got dressed. I packed my bag and slung my pump to my shoulder; I hadn't used that pump in over a year and a half. I didn't even say goodbye. 

At 4:45am I was told he woke up again looking for me. I wasn't there. Elmo on the iPhone took my place. He seemed content. I didn't push the matter. The last time had come and gone, unceremoniously ~ again. The journey was difficult, then easy, then hard. Begrudgingly, and with support, is the only route; there is no way I would have been able to wean him voluntarily, just as I would never have been able to wean his sister before him. 

In two days I will come back. I am not sure what to, but I am hoping to a still-loving son. 

(non) American Girl Girl ~ Cleanup Time

...And so JR became the foster mother of 68 AG dolls, and I became their chaperon. Never in my life had I seen so much pink stacked in the trunk of a car. Saturday became our day to rotate the dolls to and from the library. The pick-up and drop-off, it turned out, were easy, it was everything that happened in between that required concentration, patience, and time.

When we picked up our first group of dolls, we were handed a bag. It contained our supplies: a box of baking soda, a dry-cleaning kit, a brush and a comb, and Clorox wipes. We were also handed specific instructions on what to do and how to do it. It all seemed simple enough, until we actually had to do it!

We had ten dolls in our first group. Ten dolls each wearing an outfit complete with underwear, anklets, socks or leggings, shoes, and belt. Some girls had eye glasses, hair bows, and shoulder bags. Each of these outfits needed to be taken apart, sprayed with stain remover where stained, disposed into the dry-cleaning bag and run in the dryer. We decided to do the dry-cleaning all in one batch. This later provided us with a challenge and a learning opportunity. 

Once naked, the dolls needed to be "washed" and groomed. A bowl of baking soda mixed with warm water and a soft washcloth constituted their bath. Their hands, legs and faces were carefully wiped down. As they were drying off, we tended to their hair; and did the best we could. Some girls had straight flowing hair, others had theirs in tangles. We gently teased, pulled and prodded: some to no avail while others emerged with beautiful styles. 

All the while, JR and I were talking about the dolls we had observing the differences and picking favorites. Of course it was hard to pick a favorite as each was unique in her own but JR still managed to like one doll more than the other. "This one has eyeglasses," she said, "that's my favorite." "I love this dress," she went on, "no, this one is my favorite." "Why do we have so many Julie's?" she remarked. "We had Kaya last time." "We have never had Addy before, Mama." "I like Molly." "Look at her hair clips, they are so pretty." "Her hair is just like mine."  And on the conversation went, until the dryer end cycle signal beeped. 

After the load was done, we stared at the pile of clothes. Yes they were sanitized, but the pile was one giant mess. When we decided to launder all the clothes together I had missed an important detail: although there were many of the same dolls on hand, each had a unique barcode by which she and her belongings were identified. We had to match each item to its exact owner; we couldn't just simply dress them up. This proved a little daunting for three reasons: the number of garments, because some items weren't labelled, and because some clothes had come to us mismatched. But we couldn't let this challenge get in our way. It slowed us down but didn't stop us.  

We turned the work into a game. JR called out numbers. We grouped the corresponding clothes together. Then, we found their dolls. We sorted and stacked and made sense of the mayhem. Those items that didn't have numbers got paired with dolls that were missing pieces. Those that had been mismatched from the onset remained as such. We straightened out all the outfits first, then grouped them with their girl. We had our own assembly line. On one side lay the naked dolls and their clothes, and on the other the dressed ones. 

Diligently, one by one the dolls got dressed and the right-hand side dwindled as the left-hand side grew. Underpants, bloomers, skirts, belts, and removable collars made their way from the floor to the dolls. Jannah-Rae was proud of what she had accomplished. She loved pulling up the pants, velcroing the shirts and putting the shoes on. She got frustrated when one arm wouldn't go into the dress, or when she couldn't tie the belt, but she kept with it. She asked for help and continued "working." She remarked how pretty the girls looked and how clean-smelling the clothes were. She hugged them and kissed them and talked to them and about them. Soon everyone was ready, but not their bags! 

The pink carrying cases still needed to be wiped down and matched, too, to their girls. Luckily there were three of us: Yousef had been wanting to take part in this project all along and this was his opportunity. I handed each child a wipe and a bag and they began wiping. It was hilarious watching Yousef copy JR's every move. 

Half an hour later the car was ready to be loaded. The pink cases mounted high in the trunk and the squeals and cheers rose loud in the backseat. It was a job well done and JR was excited to do it all over again. 

"I will get ten more!" she exclaimed....

... And she did. 

And more! 

Two girls in a basket

Two girls in a basket,

sharing smiles.

Their moms nearby,

sitting for a while.

Curls in their hair,

flowers, too. 

Pants, skirt,

and a tutu. 

What they wore didn't really matter,

They were there for the fun and the chatter. 

Two girls in a basket,

playing pretend.

Laughing, giggling,

being each other's friend.

One day they were so close,

now they are far away.

Separated by miles

and ocean's sway.

Still they ask about each other's being,

Where they are, how they are, when will they be seeing. 

Two girls in a basket,

oblivious to life's demands.

Quickly learning,

and growing up too fast.  

Will they ever be together again?

Only time will tell.

But in the past they live together,

And in photos they dwell.

People come and go,

but friends stay on,

Some day, some where, 

one warm dawn.

The basket will be too small for them then,

The place, the clothes gone too.

The memory will fade, I am sure,

But the girls will continue to shine through and through.