1. Dreading your spring cleaning? These tips will put some pep back in your step.

2. One one the best weight loss articles we’ve have read in a long time! Why? Because it actually makes sense and is easy to follow. Read it here.

3. Read here to see how one Muslim has chosen to approach parenting with an Islamic twist.

4. Spring is here and is time to get those little hands dirty. Here is a great blog on gardening with the smallest of kids.

5. Do you know the dangers of iPad use amongst toddlers and children? Read the surprising news here.

6. Are we working our kids too hard in school? Click here to find out why Passion Based Learning is so important.

7. Do you sometimes find yourself saying the wrong thing to your children? Here are some healthier ways to get your message across.

 

As my ten-year wedding anniversary approaches, I’m thinking about how far my husband and I have come from those early, awkward newlywed days. One thing I’m sure my husband is glad to see behind us is my ineptitude in the kitchen. We married when we were both still undergraduates. I had been living on my own for a few years by then and my diet at the time consisted of popcorn and spaghetti with meat sauce, an easy, cheap meal I couldn’t mess up. When I wanted to “splurge,” I headed for the value menu at the local fast food place for chicken nuggets and fries. I knew how to cook in the basic sense of the word, but I knew nothing about marinating, slow-cooking, or sautéing, and the only seasonings I knew were salt, pepper, and Creole seasoning.

I can laugh now, but some of my screw-ups in the kitchen were epic. My husband loves to tell the story of the fake chicken (or “ficken,” as we like to call it) fiasco. We were trying to eat halal but when we couldn’t get to the halal butcher or tired of eating fish, we turned to soy-based vegetarian options. That night I needed to get dinner on the table fast and the pantry was looking a little slim. I had pasta, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and the aforementioned “ficken.” Despite my weak culinary skills, I figured I could put together a decent pasta alfredo. I’d like to blame the resulting catastrophe on the fake chicken but that was not it at all.

I didn’t know then and I still don’t know now where exactly it went wrong, but what I ended up with was a lumpy gray mess of food that actually looked more appealing than it tasted. It was so bad I took one bite and refused to eat anymore. My husband? He cleaned his plate. I told him he didn’t have to eat it. I begged him not to eat it; I even offered take-out. He kept eating and declared it “not that bad.” It was that bad.

I thought back to our wedding day. As the imam went over the rights and responsibilities of husband and wife, he reminded my husband to be compassionate and considerate of my feelings. “So that means, if your wife burns the beans, you compliment her on the rice,” he said. It seems my husband took his advice to heart.

I’ve suffered many other mishaps in the kitchen over the past ten years, including a failed attempt at making salmon croquettes that left me in tears, but I have come a long way from “ficken” alfredo and I am proud to say I have never burned the beans.

Ambata Kazi-Nance

Ambata Kazi-Nance is a freelance writer and full-time mother. She lives in her hometown of New Orleans with her husband and son. Ms. Kazi-Nance holds a Master’s degree in English from the University of New Orleans and is an aspiring fiction writer. She blogs occasionally at MORmama.wordpress.com.

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I felt the vibration again. No, it wasn’t my phone. I felt it inside my head, where it’s been happening for the last few days. The vibration would last for hours and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I would wake up in a panic attack, unable to breathe. I was gripped by fear while I was dying again. The emotions always came in one package; the label spelled death.

It was the second year since I stopped taking happy pills.  I was making breakfast while grasping for breath, my head still on vibrate mode. I packed lunch for my husband and smiled at him as he prepared to leave for work. I was imploring him silently not to go, not to leave me alone with my fear. My pleas went unheard.

I chose to stop taking the pills so I could be who I wanted to be. I didn’t like the person I was becoming while on the pills- arrogant, apathetic and unkind- it wasn’t me. I wanted to know how it felt to be a human. So here I was being pounded by all kinds of negative emotions that needed to be sorted and filed. But I did not have time to do go through my emotions; I had to prioritize my needs and taking care my family came before anything else. While I was awaiting the arrival of awareness, I was also learning to be a mother to my kids.

I sent my kids outside to play and sat next to the window. I wanted to cry but I didn’t want them to see my defeated face. I was angry. I wanted to enjoy the experience of motherhood without the interference of depression, perforation of fear, guilt and anxiety. I was blaming everyone for my condition and I wanted out. It was a dangerous place to be in for a believer as a battle ensued between my heart and my mind. The worst part was when my mind started playing tricks on me. It would pin my misery on everything, from my husband to my hijab. And my deen would get the worst hit while my mind enumerated how I was being too hard on myself by following Islam. Where was Allah when I were hurting so much? My mind would leave no stone unturned until I strayed from the deen.

I didn’t know where to turn. But then I remembered something I came across a few days ago, “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear” (Quran, Ch. 2). I was bewildered as I couldn’t comprehend how this torment can possibly be any good. But I chose to give it a shot as I had nothing to lose. Then something shifted inside me. Instead of falling for the blame game and the usual pity party for myself, I started looking at why this experience is good for me.

So I faced my mind and the formidable, relentless mendacity that was behind it. I reminded myself how good it felt to come back to my prayer mat five times a day, as it tethers me to life and all the wonderful things it has to offer. Being a Muslim taught me about myself, and unleashed my true potential. Every time I made it to a prayer despite my emotional turmoil, I got to know my strength. I learned how to excel in walking on a tightrope, how to bloom where I’m planted.

Farhana Sharmeen

Farhana is a homeschooling mama of two children. A conservationist, avid learner, artist, she also finds time to teach yoga and meditation. She resides in Brunswick, NJ.

 

 

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I washed my face for the third time that morning. “I can do this,” I thought to myself as I slowly clamored out of the bathroom, willing myself to drive to work. Even though it was still relatively early, I was going to explain my circumstances to my supervisor. As I made my way to his office, I found myself speaking to Allah in hushed tones;

Please Allah don’t let me throw up in his office.
Oh Allah, tell me what is the best thing to do…I am at a complete loss.
Please guide me and give me strength. Make me content with what’s to come.

“Marwa so very nice to see you, have a seat.”

My supervisor has a nice, bright smile. His face is rosy, while mine felt green.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out before we even exchanged pleasantries.

“Well, mabrouk! Mazel Tov!” and then after awhile, “Can you make a decision by January if you plan to return to work?”

By January, I would have been five and a half months pregnant. It was October.

That was a little more than three years ago. And yet, most things have not changed for women in the workplace. After reading Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg’s much talked about book, Lean In, I was able to identify with many of the circumstances she describes. I felt in many ways that she was speaking to me. And yet, there was still something missing.

What’s been bothering me is not the book itself, but rather our current society. We value individual goals and successes to such a great degree that a paradigm shift has been created. We no longer think of pushing families forward, but rather, bolstering individuals who are talented, driven, energetic, and great at multi-tasking. On top of that, Muslim women are bombarded with the idea that the decision to work outside the home will be detrimental to their akhira. Just last week, a Muslim mom blogger posted this quote from a well known Muslim scholar:

“It is not permissible to put Muslim children in nurseries unless in cases of extreme or dire necessity. Paid caregivers can never replace mothers and fathers. It is the right of the Muslim child, and all children, to be cared for and loved, and to become properly bonded with his or her parents, especially in those critical early years. If we deny them in early childhood, they will deny us when we get old, as is happening on a huge scale in the West,” Dr. Bilal Philips.

There are quite a few Muslim women who are working mothers and are not doing it out of dire necessity, but because they feel strongly about what they can contribute to society. As a matter of fact, most stay at home moms will seek out the female Muslim ob-gyn, pediatrician, midwife, and counselor. On a broader scale, we will not be able to change our condition without Muslim women in the media, academia, business, politics, social services etc.

In essence, it comes down to a personal decision that every Muslim woman has a right to make. It may be the case that her deal with Allah is to work for the greater Muslim community and He will ensure the children’s upright upbringing. Or, it may very well be the case that a woman decides to stay at home and Allah is preparing for her a great role in society once her kids have grown.

What’s detrimental to our general well being however is that we’ve taken wishy-washy positions and few are content with the decisions they have made. We’re flooded with opinions and information telling us to lean in, lean back, co-sleep, ferberize, pursue degrees, etc. etc.

The hadith that, “Allah loves to see one’s job done at the level of itqaan (of high quality),” could not be more applicable as we navigate our roles as Muslim mothers. Having itqaan requires that we have a deep conviction in what we are doing. That if I’m going to parent full-time, I will try my very best to do my job well. And I will try my best to not regret my decision, because inevitably, that same regret will seep into all my efforts and actions at home.

As we navigate this discourse, we need to be able to articulate our stances Islamically. Allah clearly mentions in in Chapter 4 of the Quran, “Men are the maintainers of women by [right of] what Allah has given one over the other and what they spend [for maintenance] from their wealth.” While not every household has a sole male provider, I have to come to think of this verse as quite liberating. Married women have the opportunity to pursue passions without the heavy responsibility of whether or not it’s going to put food on the table. Of course this is not true of all working women, but those who find themselves with this blessing can work towards improving the social fabric of their communities, and their nuclear and extended families. Now more than ever, people are craving physical gatherings due to our lounging around in the virtual ones. People are feeling more and more isolated. Mothers have a wonderful and important role to play. No matter how small one’s perception may be of it, a warm invitation to share tea and children horror stories can be what gets another mother through her week.

Whatever role we decide to lean into, whether it be work, school, child-rearing, activism, or social support, let’s offer our support when we can and lean in to the support of others when it’s offered.

Marwa Aly

Marwa loves reading, writing, volleyball, and tacos. She enjoys spending time with her young family and connecting with other like-minded dreamers. She resides in Palisades Park, NJ.

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Sometimes I wish I was her. The perfect mom. The one I see when I’m dropping off my girls to preschool. She’s so put together, in her trendy outfit and make-up expertly applied. Wearing those cute high heels I saw at the mall the other day. The ones that were so hip, so expensive, so wrong for me.

She’s gives a perfect kiss to her perfect kid and is off to work at her important job, making some sort of contribution to society. She walks off with such confidence and assurance, KNOWING she knows what she’s doing.

I saw her at the grocery store too, with both perfectly behaved toddlers riding in the car below as she stocked up on her organic produce. She’s going home to cook a delicious meal from scratch made only with the best ingredients for her family, who will devour everything she makes with huge smiles on their faces. She’ll tidy up the house and do some laundry, but not before engaging in some sort of activity with the kids.

I bumped into her at the masjid over the weekend as she was dropping off her kids to Sunday school. MashAllah, even her little ones know the Arabic alphabet and are already reciting many surahs from the Quran. She’s going to volunteer some time to help out with the fundraising dinner while organizing the sister’s committee.

I think of her as I trudge through my day. Jeans and sneakers as usual. Dropping off kids, running errands, picking up kids. Am I doing enough? Will it ever be enough? Am i pushing too hard? Did my little one start preschool too early? Do I have too much scheduled for my older one? I pushed them out into this world, and ever since I’ve been pushing for more from them, and myself. To do more, to reach for more, to be more. Are they going to think that I was never satisfied with them? Or just with myself?

In addition to the backpacks and sippee cups, I carry a lot of baggage with me: insecurity, guilt, and shame of not being the perfect mom. I know that there’s no such thing. We’re all doing the best that we can with what Allah has given us. Nothing more or less than we can handle. Some may hide it better than others while others may glow in the radiance and acceptance of it.

Maybe there’s a mother out there who sees me and (mistakenly) thinks that I have it all together while I’m thinking the same thing of her. We’re all in sisterhood of mothers.

We moms are handed a new situation every day and are expected to handle it with grace and discipline. My kids surprise me moment to moment with their pure love and generosity. And jealousy and tantrums and everything else in between. I don’t care if my daughter doesn’t know the difference between brown and black, but I’m proud that teacher called her “very kind’. The one constant in our lives is our sincere and unwavering, and yes, imperfect, devotion to each other. I want the girls to look back on their childhoods as one long, endless summer that makes them smile just thinking about it.

At the end of each day, when the girls are finally asleep after a day of giggling and coloring, and fighting and screaming and hugging and kissing, I look down at my feet. I think to myself, ‘man, I need a pedicure’. Then I look again. Jannah is beneath these feet. If Allah can have so much faith me, I believe I can have a little in myself. Everything will be ok inshAllah.

Saba Ali Arian

Saba Ali Arain is an amateur circus performer; juggling two wonderful little girls and a loving husband while whistling a happy tune. She lives with her family in Oakland, NJ.

 

 

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