Conversations with ZP

ZP the linguist

Backround:  Our nanny has been teaching ZP spanish lately - numbers, letter, and words.  She's teaching him that, "for Mommy, it's cow, but for Tia, it's vaca!" or "in English, it's one two three, but in Spanish, it's uno dos tres."  He knows "mine" is "mio" and "cat" is "gato" etc.   I've been trying to stick to it too, not only to help him remember, but to help me remember/learn. So, the other day, I was asking him about his eating utensil:

me: "What's this?"
zp: "It's a fork!"
me: "Yes! that's right!  And what is it in Spanish?"
zp: (pause to consider and then tentatively) "Forko?"

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ZP the engineer

Background:  ZP's high chair has a toy attached to it that is in the shape of a crab with a plastic globe filled with little beads.  He enjoyed shaking it but what he really wanted was to break it open and get the beads out.

zp:  "Mommy, open it."

me: "I can't open it.  It's stuck."

zp: "Get the scissors."

me:  "No way!"

zp: (serious expression on his face): "They dangerous.  You get hurt."

me: "Yes, that's right."

zp: (little wheels in his brain turning): "Get the hammer."

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ZP the medical practitioner

Background:  I was hungry after fasting all day and my stomach started growling and I automatically covered my belly with my hand (as though this would stifle the sound).

zp (concerned look on his face):  "Mommy, wha happened?"

me: "My tummy is making noise."

zp:  "You got hurt?  It's okay.  Medicine is upstairs!"

me:  "It's okay.  I don't need medicine, but thank you."

zp: (note: for some reason, this kid LOVES medicine, both in "lotion" form or in sweet cherry-flavored Tylenol/Motrin form)  "Aw, Mommy got hurt.  Look, I got hurt.  (shows me his completely unblemished finger).  Medicine is upstairs!"

Ghosts of Ramadan Past

Me: "What time does the sun set tonight?
KG: "I think around 7:20 but I'll check on-line to make sure."
Me: "Well, yesterday it was 7:21 and it's been going down by two minutes every day so it might be 7:19."
KG's Mom: "I have never been in a room with so many people interested in the precise minute the sun sets!"
Me to myself and telepathically to KG: (I guess you've never fasted every day for weeks, have you?)

The exchange above got me reminiscing about past Ramadans.  The first memory was of a time when we were all going to my parents' friends' house for Iftar one year.  All of the adults were chatting and all the teenagers and above were watching TV.  Mornings were always rough for me because I was just too tired to eat a pre-dawn hearty meal.  The combination of a growling tummy and a Swatch watch that was so cool that its face had no numbers or marks or anything to pinpoint the minutes led me to go into an empty room and call the date-and-time phone number over and over again until it was time to eat.  I think I was 14 at the time.

Then I started thinking about other Ramadan memories.  

• Like the time that Dad insisted on playing a Doctors v. Nurses Softball game in the middle of summer while fasting and how we, on the sidelines and in the shade, cheered him on as we simultaneously thought he was crazy.  
• Or the time we were in Pakistan that year and I was astounded with the topsy-turvy way in which the city would completely shut down during the day and be ablaze with lights and activity at night.
• Or the time that I spent an entire day in bed reading "One Thousand and One Nights" or "Arabian Nights" because it was summer time and I was off from school and what better way to pass the day than in a air-conditioned room on your cozy bed with a book?  
• Or the times I had to explain to my friends in high school why I was spending our lunch break in the library rather than in the lunchroom.  
• Or the time I was on my own at college for the first time and managed to keep all the fasts by having a cheese omelet and a huge glass of chocolate milk every single morning.
• Or the time my college roommate and I decided to get a jump start on an April Fool joke since it was so early in the morning that our victim would be too sleepy to figure out the prank we were playing [aside:  that was the very last time I ever played an April Fool's joke.  It totally backfired and I recently celebrated a milestone anniversary of 15 years of calling my victim up on April 1 and apologizing].  
• Or the time I was so touched that my new friends in law school woke up and treated me to pancakes for sehri despite the freezing weather and ungodly hour.  [aside:  hey, Jules, was that IHOP or Denny's or some other local St. Louis 24 hour diner?]
  
• Or the time LB and I were driving to an aunty's house in Chesterfield and we were lost and running late and didn't know what time the sun was supposed to set so we just watched the sun actually set and broke our fasts in the car with some gum.
• Or the times when Mom would mail, yes, U.S. Post Office or UPS mail, us aloo parathas and/or congo bars during Ramadan.
• Or the time we had a Thanksgiving Ramadan in Georgia with special guest star cousins visiting from Pakistan where every square inch of the apartment was taken by a sleeping body but the chai and omelets were hot in the morning and the big party dinner was delicious at night.  And the next night.  And the next night.
• Or the first Ramadan I shared with TP [aside: that was the year he read the entire Quran]
• Or the first Ramadan I shared with LB alone [aside: that was the year I discovered that Sara Lee's All Butter Pound Cake made a fine contribution to sehri]
• Or the days when I used to work in the same building as a bunch of Arabs (they were our clients) and we'd have an amazing, hot, instant iftar in the office every evening with falafels, stuffed grape leaves, lentil soup, hummus, kibbe, yogurt, and oh man, I need to stop reminiscing or else my drool will short-circuit my keyboard.  

piehole

ever have one of those days when you want to tell everyone to "SHUT IT!"?

Six of one, half a dozen of the other

Happy Six Month Birthday, me wee one! I cannae believe that six months today, you came into my life. 

Five months ago, you were a tiny bundle that was shuttled from person to person in an attempt to keep you from harm's way (i.e. your big brother).  ZP was still in the throes of jealousy and the terrible twos which made for a harrowing time for all.  In fact, your arrival heralded ZP's first full sentence which was repeated whenever he saw TP carrying you:  "Baby Ziza DOWN!"  You took everything, including ZP's shrieking and banging and general havoc-wreaking, with great aplomb and and composure.  You were so very easy-going and undemanding.  The visitors you received were astonished by your shock of hair, your saucer-sized eyes, and your rosebud mouth.  You slept well, you ate well, and you actually enjoyed a good cuddle session.

Four months ago, you were your Nani's roommate to allow your poor bedraggled parents a moment of rest.  You retained your lovely hostess manners while various relatives and friends came to visit and ooh and ahh over you.  When ZP was born, we bought a new leather recliner.  This time, we craiglisted my old IKEA couch away and replaced it with two bigger, microfiber Crate and Barrel couches so that Babu could sleep more comfortably.  Your wardrobe grew exponentially as people took pity on you suffering the indignity of wearing some of ZP's hand-me-downs.  Soon, his room was strewn with as many blue shirts as it was with pink dresses.  Eventually, your grandparents had to return and you were left in the care of just the three of us.


Three months ago, the weather was nicer and we started taking you out for walks.  As it is with most babies, the fresh air would knock you out.  But for those brief moments before the stroll began, you would soak in the sights and sounds and smile.  We thought that all infants were pretty much alike in the early months, but you proved us wrong.  As energetic and volatile and explosive as ZP was, you were ladylike and gentle and sweet.  ZP started taking an interest in you and actually acknowledged your presence instead of steadfastly ignoring your existence completely unless and until TP glanced your way.  He even started to want to hold you and offer you some of his toys . . . to look at . . . for a short time.  Your sleeping and eating habits were still a welcome surprise to us and we kept waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never did.  Thanks for the sleep!  

Two months ago, I cut my own heart out and returned to work full time with Tia taking care of you and ZP. It was so hard to do and the only thing that made it bearable was that I knew you were in good hands and that I was just a flight of stairs away.  The first week was torture because every time I heard you cry, I wanted to drop everything and sweep you up.  Actually, that did happen on more than one occasion (thank goodness my work is flexible enough to allow me to do so).  But eventually, you warmed up to Tia and a routine was set and there was peace in the land again.  During the day, you play nicely on your own or, when ZP isn't charging head-first into you, with ZP himself in that you observe him playing with his toys, dashing around in circles, and singing songs to you.  In the evening, TP handles the ZP feeding duties (which I was more than happy to relinquish) while you and I have a little mother-daughter bonding session beginning in the tub, progressing to the couch for a quick dinner, and ending on the bed where we smile at each other, give each other some cuddles, and then pass out with trails of drool glistening on our cheeks.


One month ago, you took your first flight to Georgia for your Chai Khala's wedding.  As expected, you were very well-behaved on the plane to Atlanta, in the van to Columbus, and throughout the wedding festivities.  You were dressed in some pretty fancy finery that you Nani tailored for you out of some of our gently-used (i.e. old and didn't fit anymore) shalwar kurtas, saris, dupattas, you name it.  While ZP was running amok with his uncles (from ages 5 to 7), you were content to lounge around with Nani and Babu and everyone who could get their hands on you.  You took your first dip in a swimming pool/jacuzzi with Uncle KG and, much like your lavender-scented baths, you found it to your liking.  The next week, you played the gracious hostess again when the wedding party arrived here for the second part.  The evening drives to the parties when you were hungry and/or tired were not so much to your liking.  Nonetheless, for the most part, you still displayed a good nature, a super wattage smile, and (once again differentiating yourself from your brother) a stunning preference for vegetables over fruit.

Now, you are half a year old.  You just sprouted your first tooth.  You have graduated to the 6-9 month clothes.  You enjoy giving raspberries and are starting to babble a bit.  You love gnawing on board books, trucks, and power tools.  Alas, we celebrated your six month milestone with yet another doctor's visit in which you were pronounced a happy, healthy baby and then jabbed no less than four times as a reward. But the day is bright and sunny and pleasant enough to enjoy some time at the park which is where you are now.  I love you, Aziza Baziza!

Age Ain't Nothing But A Number

I'm curious.  How old do you think I am?  For those of you who already know me, how old did you think I was when you first "met" me?

fourth on fourth

It's our fourth anniversary!  Yep, it's been four years since the day TP and I got hitched in front of our family and friends.  I wonder how many people realize what an eclectic mix of guests we had there.  

We had Desi men married to American women, a Mauritanian man married to a Trinidadian/American woman, an American man with a Latino man.  We had city folk, country folk, mountain folk, desert folk.  We had Muslims and Hindus, Christians and Jews (hey, that rhymes!), Hard Core versions of each and then, on the other end of the spectrum, the Atheists and Agnostics.  We had old (as in the second half of the 80s and I'm not talking about leg warmers, NKOTB, and mall walls) and young ("He's blocking the faaaaan!!!" during the khutbah at the nikkah comes to mind).  We had doctors and lawyers as well as beauticians and metal workers (well, only one of each of those, but still).  We had people whom we've known since they were born and people who knew our parents since they were born.  

It was the last time I saw my Dadiji.  It was the last time I had henna on my feet.  It was the last time I fit into size small fill-in-the-blank.  It was the last time I was alone.  Happy Anniversary, TP!  I dedicate this song to you:

Knuckles the dog what a very good dog you are
You're the best dog of all the other dogs by far

Raised to run the greyhound tracks
Down on the puppy farm
Retired and is now devoted
To protecting people from harm

Too slow to compete they sent him away
To the glue factory
Saved by a handicapped boy
Now everybody knows that boy is me

I am a blind and halting boy
Condemned to life in this wheelchair
Other kids will not play with me
But Knuckles the dog, you were always there

Knuckles goes to the nursing home
To visit the elderly
Abandoned by their own children
Knuckles lets them from their misery

Knuckles the dog what a very good dog you are
You're the best dog of all the other dogs by far

Knuckles the dog won't mind
He respects all forms of life
Dying now in my arms
To save me bravely gave his life

Put down by a chances bullet
That was meant for me
Knuckles the dog who helps people
Now you are forever free

Knuckles the dog what a very good dog you were x 2

Knuckles the dog
Knuckles it goes with you
When you explore

Just pull his chain
He'll go for a walk
He's your dog
For sure

Knuckles the dog what a very very good dog
Very good dog
You were

Knuckles the dog what a very good good
Good good very good very good dog
You were

Knuckles the dog what a very very very very very good
Very good very good dog you were

Knuckles the dog what a very good dog dog
Very good dog
Boy good dog you were

Knuckles the dog what very good very good very good very good
Dog you were

Knuckles the dog what a very very very very very very good dog you were!

Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet when there's a moon over Bourbon Street

What this?  Sensing the rise and set of the sun before it happens?  Maintaining as near a deathlike stillness during the day only to have a burst of energy and devouring flesh (and veggies and grains and dairy) at night?  Wandering around with my arm crooked over my face draped with my cape so as not to burst into flames when I step near daylight?  Well, maybe not that last one.  My vampire days are upon me again!  It's been three years but I'm Ramadaning once again.  

It will be an interesting experience because this will be the first time in a long, long time that I'll be at home while fasting.  For the last few decades (pause.  wow.), I've either been at school or working in an office where I've had to remind my boss each year of my new schedule or remind my co-workers why I couldn't join them for lunch or coffee.  This year, I'll be cloistered in my home office with the ability to nap when I choose, to go grocery shopping when it's not crowded, and to avoid the commuting throngs that even on a normal day can be grating.  

So with that, I bid ye a Ramadan Mubarak!  I'm going to look in the mirror to see just how sharp my incisors seem to have gotten today . . . 

Stuck Between Stations

I just returned from my cousin's wedding in Georgia where the food flowed freely, the laughter was unconfined, and the hulla gulla was in full force.  It's quite a different experience participating in a shaadi when you have kids, especially when both of them are two and under.  At LB's wedding, ZP was still just a massive 9th month mound in mah belly so although my movements were slow, at least they were free.  At my cousin's wedding in Islamabad, ZP was on the loose but under the watchful eye of TP, LB, KG, and everyone else while AP was just a reasonably-sized 6th month mound in mah belly.  This one, however, had me and anyone I could convince to help running around to care for them while I simultaneously tried to be a part of the festivities as much as I could.  I found myself straddling two worlds:

On the one hand, I was in the "Aunty" category.  On the plus side, I had a valid reason for not hitting the dance floor because I was trying to keep an eye on ZP busting his moves but hopefully not busting his head.  I was excused from heavy labor such as "bring the coffee table up from the basement and put it on the truck" or "decorate the entire tent with the yellow and turquoise streamers" because I had to be available for AP duty at a moment's notice.  I was unfettered by propriety and was confident enough to sneak an entire raspberry chocolate cheesecake out of the freezer during the middle of the mehndi so that my cousins, my mother, and I could dig into it before it was all gone or forgotten.  On the negative side, I missed out on the shoe-stealing tradition because I had to leave early to put the kids to bed.  I couldn't put mehndi on my hands because I had to have them free to grab/carry/wrestle ZP to the ground and lasso him up when needed (although I didn't see any opportunity to do so anyway, so just as well).  And I couldn't take as many pix as I wanted to because my attention was constantly divided between the parties and my duties.

On the other hand, I still seem to be in the "kid" category.  I was in charge of matching up sets of churiyan (bangles) for the guests (this post was previously held by a 13 year old).  I was giggling maniacally with my cousins by the pool and at the wedding about the stupidest but funniest stuff as we kept trying to outwit each other or make increasingly absurd comments about the guests/family/everything.  "Line thee, cross ho gai."  I still got a fashion critique about my outfit from an older aunty which was completely unnecessary but so predictable.  

So where do I fall in the spectrum?  Am I the aunty who maintained a lengthy conversation about threading versus waxing or child-rearing while the others were doing chores?  Or am I the kid lugging in 50 bags of groceries while a perfectly capable and healthy couple of young men are lounging around reading magazines or napping?  I guess I am both.  Jack of all trades, master of none.  A chameleon who can blend into any crowd.  In the end, I am, and always will be, "Baji."  The title allows me to boss people around but still (hopefully) be fun to be around.  The title grants me access to all doors and groups.  The title suits me.  Don't you think?

two turntables and a microphone

Well, a microphone of sorts, at least.  I'm heading out to the durrrty South and I think I'll take a cue (drat, if it was a queue, at least I'd get the 10 points for the Q . . . um, I think I've been playing Scrabble/Scramble/Scrabulous too much these days) from degrouchyowl and hand the mic over to you.  That's right, you.  You, the reader and/or blurker.  All two of ye.  Ask me something you've been curious about, want to hear my take on, or are too lazy to research and I'll respond.  *tap tap tap*  Okay, this thing is on.  So, begin!

objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are

I sold part of my youth this weekend. No mas Cressie. I knew this day was coming, I even blogged about it earlier, but it didn't really hit me until I pulled her away from the curb for the last time. I followed TP blindly and just relied on his brake lights to send the message to my brake and accelerator foot (not to be confused with my regulator foot), while my mind hurtled back to days gone by.  Sixteen years.  Sixteen shiny-turned-dull, countless tune-ups, tire changes, touch-ups, busticated this, bashed up that years.  If that doesn't spell out how much I like my stuff and dislike change, I don't know what would.  I've given up my college days futon for a proper bed, my milk crates for a lovely bookcase, my upturned cardboard box with a pretty patterned tablecloth to disguise it into a coffee table for nothing.  But I've held on to Cressie for a long long time.  I even gave up the chance of getting a Mercedes in order to keep Cressie!  

As I drove up 13th Street to deliver the title, keys, and goods to some Craigslist stranger, I couldn't stop the feeling of nostalgia overwhelm me.   I listened to mix cassette tapes on long drives, I engaged in ear-piercingly loud fights with LB (where the backseat passengers would get anxious and try to make peace between us only to find themselves the victim of our arguments because, unbeknownst to them, we quite enjoy fighting with each other), and I have criss-crossed various cities and always arrived home safely in this car.  THIS is the car that had a carpet sample in the trunk so that the inevitable salaan dish that would spill over wouldn't stain the trunk itself.  THIS is the car that LB argued with Mom about not losing the back of her gold earring only to lose the back of her gold earring in.  THIS is the car that I fell in love in, drove to and from the courthouse after our wedding, drove to and from the hospital after our kids were born.  

It has ZP's artwork in white crayon in the back.  It has a Clarksville, Indiana sticker on the license plate holder.  It has sixteen years of memories.  When some sappy romantic song popped onto the radio, you know the kind - the ones that have no meaning until you are feeling utterly sentimental and then suddenly it seems as though every lyric speaks volumes and is exactly what you are going through right now - I almost felt tears well up (and I'm not a tear-welling-up kind of gal).  I caught TP waving his hand and looking at me in the rear view mirror.  I half-heartedly waved back and hugged the steering wheel and mouthed, "MINE!"  He shook his head, waved back more energetically, and smiled and I realized, yes, I was saying goodbye to my past, but I was following my future.  Veevee held my husband, my toddler, and my infant.  I'm sure she'll have just as many high adventures and poignant memories before too long.  She won't be Cressie, but she'll do.  I believe I saw several smashed Cheerios and my Stephen Malkmus CD on the floor under the seat already. . . .

No, Thank you.

From a review of a local Korean joint:

"If you want a little bit of everything, try the bibim bap. It's a mix of bulgogi beef, sauteed eggplant, mushrooms, zucchini, lettuce, watercress, pickled daikon, and bean sprouts, topped with a fried egg. You mix the veggies and meat with gochujuang — a Korean hot sauce — and rice to create an incredibly fresh and hearty meal."

I'm sure it's a far cry better than black pudding. But still, I'll pass.

liars

Whoever said m&ms "melt in your mouth, not in your hands" did not try to eat them during a summer in Washington, D.C.  Also, I think it's high time that the fine folks at Mars (does that make them martians?) should start issuing special edition Dark Chocolate Pistachio m&ms.  I'll take my finder's fee in cold hard cash with the bonus fee for the first million sold in the form of Dark Chocolate Pistachio m&ms. 

We are Family, I Got All My Sisters With Me

Think we are related?  We may be!  This is a summary of the break down of "Important Dates" compiled by my grandfather.  The actual list is quite long and includes things like "attended 10 days Poultry Farming course in Poultry Development Centre, Rawalpindi" and "underwent piles operation in Hong Kong."  So, um, just the highlights, yeah?

• 1800 Hamlet set up by Mohammed, Gujjar "Ladi" of Ludhiana and Nek Mohammed, Gujjar of Kharian - "Ladi" + (Khar) "ian" = "Ladian" at 32 deg. 49 min North Latitude, 74 deg. 05 min. East Latitude.
• 18?? Ladian looted and destroyed during declining years of the Mughals
• 1822 Ladian rebuilt and rehabilitated during Sikh rule
• 1823 Ladian and surrounding land gifted by Punjab-Kashmir Maharaha Ranjit Singh to Hindu Faqir Anand Devadasi
• 1844 Kashmiri families in Village Dev Draggar, District Baramula near Sri Nagar, Kashmir, migrated to District Gujrat and settled in Villages Ladian, Bhurchch Basoha, Sidh, Kharana, Uda.  Abdul Shakoor, (son of Mohammed Jaffar Bhatti of Dev Draggar), came with his sons Abdul Salaam and Lassa, to Ladian
• 1857 First War of Independence ("Indian Mutiny")
• 18?? Second War of Independence ("British-Sikh War) at Chelianwala, Gujrat
• 1889 Babuji, son of Nur Din, born in Ladian, Tehsil Kharian, District Gujrat
• 1897 Mamaji, daughter of Ham Din, born in Bhurchch Basoha, Tehsil Kharian, District Gujrat
• 1908 Babuji and Mamaji married in Ladian
• 1911 Babuji joined Royal Naval Yard Police in Hong Kong
• 1916 Sir Ellis Kadoorie School for Indians established in Soo Kan Po Valley, Hong Kong
• 1918 Nazir Ahmed born and lived at 13-A Shaukiwan Road, Hong Kong
• 1920 Mohammed Shariff born
• 1920 Nazir Begum born and lived at No. 1, Praya East, Wanchai, Hong Kong
• 1922 Aziza born
• 1923 Aziz born 
• 1924 Sardar born; Fazal Karim born
• 1925 89 marlas of land (1 1/8 acres of land) bearing Khasra No. 335, originally property of Allah Ditta Gujjar (alias "Tala Bala") transferred in Tehsil Kharian Revenue Records to Nur Din's sons
• 1928 Rashid Begum born
• 1933 Bhattis instituted civil action in Gujrat against government for correction of caste and won
• 1934 Foundation laid of Bhatti Manzil, Ladian
• 1934 Nazir rejoined Queen's College, Hong Kong because underage for Hong Kong University until 1935 at which time he joined HKU
• 1935 Razia born (or 1941?)
• 1940 Nazir and Aziza married in Hong Kong and Nazir joined the HK Police Reserve
• 1941 Nazir selected by China Command Interviewing Board for commission in Indian Army; Nazir, Aziz, and Sardar arrested by Japanese, and released
• 1942 Nazir joined as Chief Security Guard, S.S. Kaisyu Maru; Gulzar born; Aziz joined but also arrested by Japanese police and released (wha?)
• 1942 Dad born
• 1943 Nazir joined Hong Kong Harbour Guards
• 1943 Bashir left Macau for Kwang Chow Wan, arrested by Japanese, brought to Macau and then to Hong Kong and taken to Stanley Prison, tried by Japanese military court and executed by Japanese in Hong Kong
• 1944 Nazir arrested by Japanese, imprisoned by Japanese in Stanley Prison, Hong Kong
• 1945 Gap Road house bombed by U.S. B-29s and family took refuge in abandoned house on Stubbs Road, Mount Cameron
• 1945 Nazir released by Japanese and family (except Nazir and Aziz) went to Macau until the end of WWII and then returned to Ladian
• 1946 Babuji retired from Hong Kong government service and Nazir and brothers joined Royal Indian Air Force with basic training at Arkonam, Madras
• 1947 Mom born
• 1948 Nazir completed training and posted at Drigh Road, Risalpur, Chaklala, Peshawar, Quetta, Drigh Road, Mauripur
• 1956 Nazir selected for commission in Pakistan Navy and arrived in PNS Himalaya for training then arrived in PNS Sind as Supply Office
• 1959 Nazir promoted to Lieutenant
• 1959 MARTIAL LAW (I) - General M. Ayub Khan
• 1964 Nazir arrived in Embassy of Pakistan, Peking
• 1965 India-Pakistan War began; Aziz martyred on BRB Canal front, Lahore, and awarded Nishan-e-Haider posthumously
• 1966 Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in China began and Mom's schools were closed
• 1968 Mom and Dad married; Babuji and Mamaji performed Hajj
• 1970 Yours truly born (but this family tree and timeline lists only the important events for the men of the family and so the illustrious and auspicious occasion is not marked)

Simplified Family Tree

• Family of A. Salam born in Kashmir

1. Karam Din
2. Ramzan
3. Hasan Din
4. Nur Din
5. Ilam Din
6. Sahib Din

• Family of Nur Din born in Ladian

1. Imam Din
2. Ahmed Din
3. Abdullah
4. Ghulam Ali
5. Rehmat Bibi
6. Sutlan Ali
7. Nawab Ali
8. Ghulam Ali
9. Nizam Din
10. Niyamat

• Family of Abdullah born in Hong Kong

1. Nazir Ahmed
2. Nazir Begum
3. Bashir Ahmed
4. Aziz Ahmed
5. Sardar Ahmed
6. Rashid Begum
7. Rashid Ahmed

• Family of Nazir Ahmed Bhatti born in Pakistan

1. Rafeeqa
2. Khalid

• Family of Rafeeqa Bhatti born in Ladian

1. Baji
2. Lil Baji

• Family of Baji born in Wales

1. ZP
2. AP

So what say you?  Any gaps to fill?  Any questions?  Any announcement to make such as, "Baji!  You really ARE my Baji!  Check it!"?

PSYCHO-BILLY CRESSIDA

Yeah, so the two-car family isn't working for us.  We live in a micro neighborhood with limited zoned parking that is patrolled by a rabidly enthusiastic parking enforcer.  We just bought a newer (but not new), more spacious, safer, more fuel efficient, stereotypical Volvo station wagon.  Alas, the time has come to bid my beloved Cressie adieu.  

Although she was not my first car (which had two flat tires within the first couple of months and a failing distributor which made a typically 4 hour drive from St. Louis to Louisville turn into a grueling stop-and-go dangerous 8 hour drive), Cressie has been my car for ages.  Sixteen years, to be exact.  She's old enough to drive her own car!  She shuttled me back and forth between law school and home.  She waited patiently while I shopped, ate, and partied.   She carried me to my current stomping grounds and has survived the scrapes and dings and harsh weather and potholes for which this city is notorious.  

One weekend, she was getting LB, Gav, and me to NJ to see Radiohead in concert.  Another weekend, she coasted her way to NY with a side trip to Baltimore to pick up Aunty N who settled into the nest of pillows and blankets in the back seat and slept the whole way.  LB and I shared her for a while when we were both working at the Discovery Channel.  Then TP and I shared her for a while when his car was totaled (thankfully with neither of us in the car at the time).  And now, I have to give her away because it's just too complicated and unnecessary to maintain two cars.  I'll miss her smooth ride.  I'll miss her tight turns.  I'll even miss the busticated antennae that left us with only local radio to listen to and the temperamental CD player that would selectively play mix CDs at her own whim.  Good luck to ye, lassie.  I hope your next owner loves you as much as I do.

My favorite word

Word of the Day for Wednesday, July 30, 2008

sesquipedalian \ses-kwuh-puh-DAYL-yuhn\, adjective:

1. Given to or characterized by the use of long words.
2. Long and ponderous; having many syllables.
3. A long word.

He's crafty - and he's just my type

"Black cookie!  BLACK COOOOKIIIEEEE!!!!"

TP and I have an ongoing battle involving the timing of snacking.  TP's idea of dinner, when he hasn't concocted some gourmet meal worthy of the Food Network, is to stand in front of the pantry doors and nibble on this and nosh on that.  To my inevitable evening inquiry of "what do you want for dinner?" his equally inevitable response is, "Oh, I'll find something."  That's all well and good for this grown man who fended quite well for himself long before I came into his life.  For ZP, however, it's another matter.  

Back in the days when ZP would eat next to nothing, TP would offer him ANYTHING just to get him to eat.  When he discovered that ZP quite enjoyed chocolate chip cookies ("cookies and the dots") or the Chocolate Raspberry Milano cookies ("black cookies"), it became a habit of TP's to offer him cookies anytime he entered his line of sight.  Cybermom is always amused at catching ZP imitating his father and opening the pantry doors and gazing at the cornucopia of cookies and crackers and snookies and snackers within reach before deciding on one and hefting it over to us to open for him.  I keep up the threat of "if you give him cookies before dinner, then YOU are in charge of feeding him dinner" because I'm tired of being the villain, of fighting with ZP to eat a morsel of a proper meal, of being the object of sidelong glances when TP quietly confides to ZP, "no, Mommy said you can't have that."  But in the end, I take pity on TP and ZP and end up doing the whole song and dance routine to get ZP to have some dinner before he implodes.

Last night, our little family unit was gathered in the kitchen and while I was chatting it up with AP, ZP tried to whisper something to TP in his most charming, adorable two-year old way.  TP laughed and then told ZP to ask Mommy.  Chagrined that his father was ruining his attempt at subterfuge, he trained his sights on me and with a plaintive look and super grin asked, "Mommy?  Cookies?"  He took my hand and with guided-missile accuracy aimed it at the bag of cookies that were juuuuust out of his reach.  I sighed, glared at TP, and had to say, "No, not yet.  After dinner."  He kicked up a  little fuss but then backed down to regroup.  Not a moment later, while I was taking my plate into the dining room, ZP said, "Mommy.  GO UPSTAIRS." while dragging TP's hand over to the pantry.  CHEEKY MONKEY!  I can't believe he is already at that stage where he tries to outwit his parents.  The next thing you know, he'll be asking me if he can watch some crappy TV because he knows I'll say yes when Daddy tries, "no."  REVENGE!

Gelaterrific

KG just bought a gelato maker.  So guess what we did this weekend.  Thus far, I can say that the coffee gelato (despite the gritty Haitian coffee bean crunch) was my favorite  - thick, creamy, and caffeiney.  The cantaloupe came in second place because it was not as creamy but I don't believe the fruit-based ones ever really are.  The bronze medal was handed out for banana - not because it didn't taste good - it did - but while various melons and loupes are tasty when cold, bananas are not that appetizing chilled.  It reminded me of the frozen banana we had to eat in a Chinese airport because that was all that was available at the kiosk at 7 a.m.  At least this gave me the chance to say affirmatively that I don't like cold bananas, whether a la carte, with ice cream as a split, or even in gelato form.  Even so, it met the requirement to taste like the fruit and be gelato so I can't say too many bad things about it.

On Sunday, we walked over to the Dupont Farmer's Market where tried DolceZZa's lime cilantro (sharply tart and zingy) but ended up buying the lemon basil (sweetly tart and complexly flavored).  Apparently, this gelato is Argentine style, meaning it contains no eggs but is creamier than Italian gelato.  That somehow seems counter-intuitive because I would have thought that more eggs would make the gelato thicker and denser, but what do I know?  I think next week I'll give avocado honey orange a spin but at $6 a half-pint, I'll take a little taste test first.

To assist KG in future gelato laboratory experiments, I present in easy-to-read form the grades I handed out for the various dishes we sampled in Italy:

• Amaretto, B (given by TP although almond-flavored anything (except actual almonds) makes me want to vomit through my nose and so I would have given it an F-) 
• Chestnut, B
• Tutti Frutti, F 
  
• Perfumo di Sorrento, A 
  
• Lemon, A+ valedictorian 
• Tiramisu, C- 
• Mint, C+ but can make up grade during summer school 
• Dark Chocolate, I think you know the grade for this one 
• Peach, A+ 
• Cannoli, A- 
• Walnut, B 
• Fig, A 
• Zuppa de Ingles, A- but with some extra credit homework, a potential A. 
• vanilla cherry, C- 
• coconut, B 
• profumi di sorrento (citrusy), A 
• vanilla, B plays well with others. listens carefully. completes homework assignments
• pistachio, B
• watermelon, B-
• strawberry, A
• chocolate, A+
• sicilliana, A
• egg nog, D

First of Many

New rule:  No naps for anyone before 10 a.m. or past 4 p.m.

Exception to the rule:  I may nap any time I please and for as long as I please.

Yesterday was a beautiful, uncharacteristically pleasant July day.  The kiddies spent a lot of time outside to enjoy the sunny day and apparently were so full of energy that they didn't nap until 3 p.m. and didn't wake up until 5 p.m.   Even though TP and I took them for a nice long walk around the neighborhood in the evening, they didn't sleep until nearly 10 p.m.  We thought we had a nice routine going where I give AP a bath and her last feeding by around 9 p.m. while TP does the same for ZP so that everyone is in bed and either snoozing or on the verge of snoozing by 9:30 with AP waking up only once and then going right back to sleep until a decent 6 or 7 a.m.  Alas, last night was wayyy out of whack.  AP got up at 2 and then again at 3 and then again at 5.  Meanwhile, ZP woke up at 4:30 and despite my efforts to get him to go back to sleep, he stayed awake and wanted milk and Daddy and Wiggles and "downshtores" and "upshtores" and more milk and "sientata, Mommy" and "hold the baby" and OH MY GOD I WANT TO PASS OUT!  The nanny is here now and after about a solid hour of tag-team wailing, all is suspiciously quiet.  I didn't hear the door open so I'm guessing everyone finally petered out and collapsed out of sheer exhaustion.  I think I'll do the same.  I'll start the new rule tomorrow.

Rear Window meets Broken Windows

"Jeff, you know if someone came in here, they wouldn't believe what they'd see? You and me with long faces plunged into despair because we find out a man didn't kill his wife. We're two of the most frightening ghouls I've ever known."

-- Rear Window

Working from home has vast rewards.  No exorbitant gas prices to pay.  No schedule on when to shower or eat or get dressed.  I can visit my kiddies downstairs when I get a free moment as well as do the laundry, make some dinner, and maybe even watch a movie or show (current Netflix arrival:  The Wire, Season One).  As long as I get my work done, I can make my own hours.  Sometimes, however, I do run into computer glitches that take a while to repair.  So, while I am on hold with the help desk and imagine some Nick Burns type messing around with my virtual laptop, I can play Scrabulous, I can catch up on e-mail, and I can stare out of my window.

My window overlooks my backyard with its beautiful dogwood, two fig trees, some gourds that TP hung up as decoration, and various greenery which is quite lovely in the spring.  It also overlooks my neighbor's yard on one side with its showroom quality selection of flowers, benches, and a grill atop a nice, warm wooden patio.  It also overlooks my other neighbor's yard with its patchy weeds, cracked cement, and apparently an invitation for bums, vagrants, and potential thieves to come and make themselves comfortable.  One day, I was privy to a youth using the fence as . . . a privy.  Another day, I saw an older man root through the garbage can, take out a jean jacket, toss it back, take out a cell phone, start walking away but then tested it to see if it worked (since he spun around to throw it back into the trash, I can only assume that it did not).  Yesterday, I saw a dread-locked dude slowly saunter up to the fence, pause, move forward to the garbage can, pause, and then disappear from my view because he approached the house itself and possibly over to the back porch.  I was still on hold and therefore kept watching outside until the guy walked back across the alley, past the playground, and around the apartment complex.  I sighed and went back to work.  

After a short while, however, a movement outside caught my eye.  When I looked down, I saw the dude returning, this time with a knife.  He took no pains to conceal it.  He moved forward with purpose.  I stood up and got as close to the window as I could without falling out of it.  I had the phone in my hand and was debating whether I should call 311 to report the suspicious activity when the dude must have sensed someone was watching because he looked up and saw me.  He stood there for a moment like a deer caught in the headlights.  I moved a fraction of an inch closer to the window and brought the phone to my ear.  I knew he could see me and he knew I could see him.  He finally broke the look by lowering his head.  He moved towards the house for a moment and then, with some detritus (was it a pipe? a tube?) in his hand, crossed the alley and did not return.  

My 80-something old neighbor had some medical condition (heart attack?) that required an ambulance to whisk him away sometime in the cold months (February?  this is how I remember things now - not by dates but by seasons).  His family reported that he is unable to take care of himself alone in this house and thus is not returning.  As a result, they came by a few times every week to clear the house out to (a) get his new place set up with this stuff and (b) potentially sell it.  It has been a long time, however, since anyone has checked up on it and the area has fallen into disrepair.  I went ahead and called 311 to report the incident on the chance that the dude returned but there was no follow up, no call back, nada.  

I couldn't help but think of the Broken Windows concept which I had first heard of when reading The Tipping Point.  I really hope it doesn't come to that.  I mean, we have a brand-spanking new Harris Teeters, we have easy access to TWO, count 'em, TWO metro stations, and new businesses popping up every other day in Adams Morgan.  At the same time, we have teens loitering noisily at all hours in the front and back, shady characters populating the alley and the playground at night, and all of the bars on 18th street spewing drunkards and criminals onto the streets.  For every beautiful arrangement of front yard foliage I hear a story of a shooting or mugging.  Is it time to put money into renovating our basement and installing a nice patio in the back for some BBQ?  Or is it time to put money into the bank and start thinking of moving out to the 'burbs?  

Just What the Doctor Ordered

By special request from Julestress (and anyone else who has sampled this dish, the recipe of which I was given by my mother exactly 20 years ago but the recollection of which my mother has none).

Fixin's:

• Chicken breast (cut into bite-sized pieces or huge slabs, your choice).
  
• 1 cup plain yogurt (why she felt the need to specify it should be plain instead of, say, strawberry, I'm not sure).
• 1 tsp. grated ginger (thank goodness for modern grocery stores where they do the grating for ye).
• 1 tsp. cumin (best if you buy the seeds and then grind it yourself because then the spice is fresher).
• 1 tsp. coriander (same as above)
• 1 tsp. salt (or a pinch less, as you prefer)
• 1 tsp. pepper (or a pinch more, as you prefer)
• 1 tsp. turmeric (do you see a theme here for the portions of spices?)
• 1/4 cup cooking oil (again, did she think I would use motor oil?)
• 1 minced onion ("medium," she says.  heh.  we're lucky she didn't say, "just the right amount of onion."

How to:

• Mix the yogurt, oil, spices, and onion in a bowl to tenderize the chicken
• Place the chicken into the mixture and, if in slab form, stab it a bit with a fork to tenderize it some more.  (Yaz, I'm looking in your direction)
• Marinate (yay!  she got it right!  it's marinate, not marinade) for 2 hours or over night
• Bake uncovered in baking pan at 350 degress for 45 minutes.

Final Touch:

• Garnish with cilantro, as you please
• Call me when it's ready.  I'll even bring along my own fork.