I highly recommend this article titled, 'How Eating at Home Can Save Your Life'. The writer doesn't just rail against fast-food restaurants, but stresses the importance of 'the ecology of eating', which includes knowing what foods you eat, preparing the various dishes, and enjoying it together as a family.
I particularly found the Family Dinner suggestion to be on-point, especially since we practice all the suggested guidelines in our own home:
"Reinstate the Family Dinner
Read Laurie David's "The Family Dinner". She suggests the following guidelines: Make a set dinnertime, no phones or texting during dinner, everyone eats the same meal, no television, only filtered or tap water, invite friends and family, everyone clean up together."
The institution of the family dinner that we saw as recent as a generation ago, is slowly withering away. Eating a meal is now seen as a biological function that is more efficiently carried out with a 'quick bite', as opposed to the more time-consuming family dinner that places everyone's life on a collective 'pause' and presents us with an amazing social opportunity and family-bonding experience.
Savoring the company of one's family over a meal is infinitely more valuable than savoring the meal itself. Unfortunately, the utilitarian mindset that is overtaking the world prevents us from appreciating this fact.
Sorry for the long lay-off. Still not sure if I want to return to blogging, but for now...
I will share with you a most vital bit of advice.
NEVER, EVER vacuum up vomit. It will stink up the internals of your vacuum and then whenever you use it in the future, it will smell up the entire room with the oh-so-pleasant smell of regurgitated chicken curry.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Oh, and please don't ask my wife who was the genius who decided to use the vacuum on the vomit. She'll be more than happy to oblige, with some very colored words directed at yours truly.
Sh. Yasir Qadhi wrote a piece over at MuslimMatters presenting his new initiative (Like a Garment) to address sex-related problems plaguing many Western Muslim couples. He cites his experience in presenting various lectures and seminars, where many young Muslims expressed confusion and frustration in navigating the murky waters of intimate relations.
He mentioned three examples in his article:
1. A couple experimenting in questionable acts. 2. A wife complaining about her selfish husband who cares nothing for her sexual satisfaction. 3. Husbands frustrated by their wives' lack of sexual interest.
So after discovering the dearth of Islamic scholarly work on this subject, he decided to read up on the countless western studies and decided to Islamify them for consumption by his Muslim audiences.
Sh. Yasir reasons that such problems of intimacy are “compounded for most of us, since we as a modern generation of Muslims are caught between two cultures: the excessive ultra-conservatism of our parent’s culture (in which parents never even held hands in front of their kids, or addressed each other in endearing terms, or indeed showed any signs of being romantic), and the hyped over-sexuality and over-romanticism of the culture surrounding us (in which much happens in public that we’d rather not discuss).”
So, he’s claiming that the social dynamics are so completely different for Muslims in modern society that it necessitates a new approach to address the challenges of their sexual problems.
Is it me or are the three examples he cited problems that have existed since the dawn of time and not merely specific to the modern generation of Muslims?
Married couples have been struggling with these issues for generations. I don’t see anything so problematic that it warrants such a focused attention.
Nothing modern about these issues.
What is modern is this self-serving need to talk about everything. We are the Oprah/Dr. Phil-generation. We need to open up and express our emotions and share our frustrations and analyze everything, even our most intimate of problems.
I’m not comfortable with this position.
What makes us believe that the problems related to intimacy found in our generation are so special that they need to be addressed in a manner different from what ALL the generations before practiced?
For ages, couples have dealt with these issues in the privacy of their homes or in extreme cases, in a private session with a respected elder.
But not us. We need to publicly discuss sensitive issues, such as masturbation, orgasms, and vibrators.
The lack of public sexual discourse found in Muslims societies is not a deficiency. I counter that it’s a strength. After all, with all this openness found in Western society, how has it improved their marriages?
Caught in this intersection between two cultures, we’re sadly choosing the ways of our newly adopted culture where it’s completely acceptable to openly discuss sex, while arrogantly tossing aside centuries of tradition and custom, marked by this most essential of characteristics, Haya (bashfulness).
Haya dictates that not every problem of intimacy needs to be addressed. Haya teaches us that getting the absolute maximum sexual pleasure does not take precedence over social propriety and modesty. Haya teaches us that problems created in the bedroom should be fixed in the bedroom.
Let me clarify that when I refer to problems, I speak not of modern-day perversions that are destroying marriages, such as porn, romance novels, and Facebook. Issues born from these sicknesses, as complex as they are, can be addressed either in the conventional manner, as detailed in this timely article posted at Imam Suhaib Webb’s site, or with the expertise of a marriage counselor.
And I’m not just picking on Sh. Yasir’s project. I have similar misgivings with programs like the one hosted by the Egyptian ‘Dr. Ruth’, Hoda Kotb, who shocked the Muslim world several years ago with her TV program ‘Big Talk’ in which she discusses sensitive issues. The sex therapist admitted that "Five years ago, I'd see two or three patients a week. Today, I'm booked three months ahead."
Some may conclude from her statement that modern couples are indeed having more problems in bed. On the contrary, I think it’s just that they’ve found an outlet receptive to their questions and frustrations.
Parents, elder siblings, and close friends simply don’t care about your bedroom antics. So in this day and age, where sexual prowess is critical to one’s identity, couples are insistent on finding a solution and thus these initiatives are taking hold in our communities.
Sex just isn’t that complicated. If village dwellers can figure it out, why can’t the modern Muslim generation?
I guess I’m just old school. I say to couples interested in improving their sex life exactly what my father told me before I got married.
I remember from days long past, trying to be the first to yell 'Shotgun!' in an attempt to get the front passenger seat. The one rule governing this childish antic is that one must *see* the car in order to win the position. So my siblings and I would quickly throw on our shoes and run outside, screaming 'Shotgun!' at the top of our lungs.
Of course, the fun of being in the front quickly subsided when we discovered that it was rather easy for our father to grab our ears when we were situated right next to him.
And so, it is with that quaint memory that I read the question posed by a brother who recently commented:
"who sits beside the husband in the car? wife or mother?"
My initial gut reaction would be to have them compete for it the old-fashioned way (by shouting 'Shotgun!'), but in case my mother won, that would make it easier for her to grab my ear for having the audacity to ask her to play this silly game.
So after some thought, I would have to advise my good brother to seriously consider setting things straight in his home.
My first advice is one that I got from Sh. Zulfiqar who taught that when you get married you must realize that you now have two fathers and two mothers. You must treat your spouse's parents as if they are your own parents. All this garbage of father-IN-LAW or mother-IN-LAW needs to be rejected. Her parents are your parents. Full stop.
When she sees you treating her parents with the same respect as your own, she will undoubtedly 'return the favor'.
Once that is established, the wife must then realize that complete respect is owed to the parents. So if and when a situation arises where the wife and the mother are at odds, it must be clear that precedence goes to the mother. Full stop.
If someone is to eat first, it will be the parent. If someone is to sit first, it will be the parent. If someone is to speak first, it will be the parent.
Obviously, I am simplifying the complex dynamics between relations, especially those living under the same roof (which I might add is *always* a bad idea). But the husband and wife must realize that both sets of parents are to be placed on a pedestal.
I'm assuming that the parent is not abusively tyrannical, trying at all costs to sabotage the marriage, and make the life of the child a living hell. In that case, serious counseling may be needed for all involved parties.
Such extreme cases are the exception.
The problem nowadays is that all too often, the newly married couple feels it's their God-given right to be independent. They desire to make their own decisions. The concept of the extended family, where parents played a vital role in the lives of the newlyweds, has become outdated. The wife feels challenged when the husband's mother is present. The husband feels emasculated when the wife's father provides input. Too much ego, not enough humility. Sadly, I speak from experience.
Instead of welcoming and embracing the wisdom of the parents with awe and respect, the couple views them with disdain and spite.
To be frank, the fact that such a question (of whether the wife or the mother should sit in the front) was ever allowed to be voiced reveals the enormity of the fundamental problem - the absence of parental respect. In an atmosphere loaded with respect for all four parents, such a confrontation would never arise.
The child always yields to the parent. Full stop.
And when such a recourse is taken with the intention of pleasing one's Lord, no matter what the damage it does to one's ego, it will only result in goodness and blessing from Allah (swt).
when you take an extremely talkative 10-yr old girl, a yellow belly 8-yr old son, a cranky 2-yr old baby, an even-crankier pregnant wife, and a cheap bastard (who won't pay for air tickets) and throw them all in a car for an 8-hour trip to Mecca?
Baddest. Road-trip. Ever.
And I don't mean 'baddest' as in Michael Jackson "I'm Bad". I mean bad as in it was so rough that I had to resort to a grammatically incorrect term to fully express my misery.
Half way to Mecca (around 11pm at night), I blew out a rear tire. The force of the tire tread ripped out the plastic molding of our Toyota Prado as well as part of the rear bumper.
So there we were, middle of nowhere, pitch-black desert, on a weeknight (being the Mr. Smartypants I am, I figured traveling on a weekday would result in less traffic, which it did - so there went my chances of getting any roadside help), without a flashlight, having to change a flat on my Prado that I had never done before.
Sweet.
Now, I've changed many flat tires in my life, but never from an SUV which has the spare tire mounted underneath the rear of the vehicle. The procedure to simply REMOVE THE SPARE took over 30 freakin' minutes!!! I had my son holding up my cellphone to provide some semblance of light, with headlights of the occasional passing car or truck helping out.
Once I got the spare down, I had to jack up the truck and switch tires. This proved to be an even bigger ordeal, for our fearless son, whose sole task was to hold the cellphone, got startled by a tiny desert mouse running around our truck. He started hopping around, letting out screeches and screams that would've put any woman to shame.
So much for naming my son after the Prophet's uncle, Humza, also known as Asad-Allah (the Lion of Allah).
Sigh.
After he bravely situated himself back inside the truck, my wife took over cellphone duties and I got the tires swapped.
It took me one hour exactly for the whole operation.
And wouldn't you know it, right when I was pulling out, emergency roadside service pulls up behind me. I kid you not. He was probably hiding behind some desert hill, just waiting for me to finish.
Lazy scoundrel.
But I was impressed by one taxi of three youth who pulled over about 15 minutes before I was done. They kindly offered assistance, which I politely declined since I was basically finishing up.
It took me another hour or so, stopping at 4 or 5 different gas stations, looking for a tire shop where I could buy a tire to replace my blown one. And also I stopped several times to take power naps. And also I drove extra slow, mainly because my wife kept nagging me every time too fast for her nerves.
So our trip that normally has taken us 8 or 9 hours ended up taking 13 grueling hours.
Which was nice for my wife, because it gave her even more time to make sure I understood that she's NEVER driving to Mecca again.
Worsest. Road-trip. Ever.
But in the end, as you all probably guessed, it was totally worth it - with images such as this one to really sweeten our experience:
That's a clip of Humza and Aya relaxing on the second floor near mount Safa inside the Haram.
One last note. We got rooms at the Zamzam tower hotel, one of the hotels at the megacomplex right outside the Haram, better known as Burj al-Bait.
While it was annoying at having to pass MotherCare and Promod and Starbucks on the way to the Haram, we thoroughly enjoyed our stay at Zamzam. The rooms had a beautiful view of the Haram, as well as the audio from the Haram connected directly into each room (with volume controls!). The executive suites were reasonably priced (500sar/night) for 2 rooms plus a sitting room, although the valet parking was a bit pricey (150/night).
for agreeing with the sentiments expressed by this feminist(h/t Yursil) who admitted that her life-long ambition of being a 'free' woman has proven fruitless and now believes that happiness can be found in cooking, cleaning, and childrearing?
Here are her own words:
"I want love and children but they are nowhere to be seen. I feel like a UN inspector sent in to Iraq only to find that there never were any weapons of mass destruction. I was led to believe that women could “have it all” and, more to the point, that we wanted it all. To that end I have spent 20 years ruthlessly pursuing my dreams - to be a successful playwright. I have sacrificed all my womanly duties and laid it all at the altar of a career. And was it worth it? The answer has to be a resounding no."
Do check out her entire piece - its definitely worth it. It takes a courageous person to look back on one's highest aspirations and claim them to be empty. I have much respect for her (and a bit of remorse as well).
However, I wanted to use this opportunity to talk about the oft-forgotten male perspective in this issue.
So just as Ms. Lewis had the courage to share an extremely politically incorrect truth, I will muster up similar courage do the same by letting you all in on a secret:
(Deep breath)
Men like their women to stay at home.
There. I said it. Congratulations are in order.
For too long men have supported their working, strong-minded women, saying all the right things ('Absolutely, go ahead and pursue your PhD. We'll just send little Johnny to daycare'). Men have given in to their wives seeking employment in hopes of (too often unnecessarily) raising their combined standard of living ('I agree honey. That new house we want can only be paid for if you go out and work').
But the reality is that men would much rather prefer their women to stay home and care for the children and cook dinner and greet them when they return from a long day at work.
Ladies, if you believe your DH when he tells you otherwise, then you'll probably believe me when I tell you that the Tooth Fairy has a crush on Santa - well, maybe not a real crush, it's more like puppy love.
I've experienced both sides of the fence and I can say without a doubt that life was so much better when my wife was at home. For all parties involved - me, her, and the kids.
Men are babies and need that element of comfort and support that their counterparts provide upon their return from work. Men are also providers and there is a great feeling of cosmic balance when the man feels that he is fulfilling his obligation of providing for the family - that his work is enabling his partner to fulfill her obligations of raising the children and caring for the house. Both partners playing their roles in ensuring domestic harmony.
There is an unimaginable sense of peace and tranquility when the man comes home to a wife who has been protected from having to scramble for her daily sustenance. The wife may not always be refreshed and smiling (due to the serious responsibilities of the home), but she has been spared the ugliness of the outside world.
Yeah, I know. That does come off as a bit sexist and condescending. But does that reflect poorly on me or on our society that looks down on a man for wanting to provide for and protect his family?
Young Muslim wife 'discovers' that Islam has empowered her with the freedom of keeping her wealth for herself, freeing her of any financial responsibilities towards her family. She relishes this newfound freedom, especially in the face of constant criticism that Islam is misogynistic and Muslim women are oppressed.
She is keen to constantly remind her husband of this Islamic ruling by repeating the new Muslim feminist mantra 'My money is mine, your money is ours!'
Ugly divorce ensues in three...two...one...
=====
We've all seen this play out across many Muslim communities (all except for that last part, since many husbands don't take their wives too seriously and simply gloss over this expression of immaturity, choosing rather to continue toiling in support of their families).
While the sisters are technically correct in standing up for their rights (a right too often suppressed in many Muslim countries where patriarchal systems dominate), they overlook the fact that the husband has refrained from calling upon his rights over his money.
You see, the man's money is not completely that of the family's. The duty of the man is to provide for his family's needs. You know, the basic stuff like food, clothing, shelter, education, health care, and so on.
Upon fulfillment of his obligation, the rest of the money is HIS.
His obligation does not include that dream vacation you guys are planning for this summer.
Nor does it include that Coach bag you've been eyeing for the past several months.
Nor does it include your latest trip to the hair salon.
Additionally, he technically does not have to consult you on how he chooses to spend the remaining balance of his money. The fact that he does so is his way of placing the sanctity of a harmonious marriage over the technical issues of Islamic law.
I had this very entertaining conversation with this young woman who has sworn me to secrecy. So in keeping with my promise I will not reveal the identity of this mysterious women who provided me some light entertainment the other day. We can call her Mysterious Young Woman I Find Entertaining (M.Y.W.I.F.E for short).
Me: (while eating watermelon) Watermelon is best eaten with salt sprinkled on it.
M.Y.W.I.F.E: You must be kidding. That's just disgusting. The sweetness is completely lost. Must be a Paki thing.
Me: Actually, you're right it is a Paki...err, I mean a Pakistani thing. We like to add spice to our lives unlike you boring Arabs.
M.Y.W.I.F.E: Hah! You weirdos even add spice to your fruit salads! Tell me that isn't crazy.
Me: Hey now, don't hate. Fruit chaat is very tasty and you know it.
M.Y.W.I.F.E: Good point...I do like it. But its the principle...fruit salad and spices just don't mix.
Me: (mumbling under my breath) sorta like Pakistani and Arab.
M.Y.W.I.F.E: What's that?
Me: Nothing. Hey, I bet you didn't even know the crazy thing YOUR people do with watermelon.
M.Y.W.I.F.E: Wait one second (putting down her watermelon and grabbing her chair), let me brace myself for this amazing load of crap.
Me: People from Sham (Syria, Jordan, Palestine) eat their watermelons with salty cheese and pita bread. True story.
squat [skwot]: 1. to sit in a low or crouching position with the legs drawn up closely beneath or in front of the body; sit on one's haunches or heels. 2. to crouch down or cower, as an animal.
Since I promised this person that I wouldn't use their name in the retelling of this tale, I will instead choose an anonymous acronym. Hmmm...let me think. This person is a woman and I find her very endearing. So let's call her Woman I Find Endearing (W.I.F.E).
Perfect. Anonymity preserved! ===
W.I.F.E: Where are all these annoying flies coming from?
Me: Maybe its the cold weather. They're looking for warmth, I guess.
W.I.F.E: Can't you just go buy a flysquatter and kill them all?
Me: Buy a what?
W.I.F.E: A flysquatter. You know, those things used to kill flies. Sheesh, were you like raised in a cave? You really ought to read more and expand your vocab...
Me: Excuse me, but were you raised to catch the flies and *sit* on them?
W.I.F.E: What're you talking about?!
Me: Uhmm, squat means to sit down and you called it a flysquatter. Its supposed to be called a flySWATTER.
W.I.F.E: Yeah, whatever. Same difference.
Me (laughing): Sure, I'll catch the fly and you can sit on it. Deal?
W.I.F.E: Ha...Ha. Very funny
After a brief moment of silence,
W.I.F.E: Just make sure this doesn't end up on your stupid blog. I know you have nothing else to write about...
Me: Hey now, I maintain a high standard on my blog.
If I had to create a list of the greatest blessings of being married, this would most definitely be in the top five.
You see, we have these little baby blankets all over the house – perfect snuggle blankets – very soft and just the perfect size. And me being the master-napper, I’m the ideal recipient of these blankets during my post-work siesta. So when my wife comes over and spreads the blanket and tucks me in, just as I’m gently floating into my glossy dream world, I can honestly say I’ve tasted heaven on earth.
But recently that rarely ever happens. ‘Cause after 15 years of marriage, I’m happy if she simply throws me the folded-up blanket from across the room.
So for you young couples out there, this is an easy way to get brownie points with your slumbering spouses. And for you older ones, just try and aim for the feet when you throw the blanket. We nappers would be much obliged!
The ability to have a reasonable discussion on the positive social ramifications of Islamic polygyny.
Take note all you young, oh-so-naive husbands out there. Don’t attempt this at home. Only trained stooges who have gone through the proper mental beatdown brought on by years of marriage are obtuse enough to ever try this exercise in sheer futility:
Me: You’re really not helping me lose weight with all those cakes you’re constantly baking
W: No one's forcing you to eat them
Me: I know what you’re doing. You just want to plump me up so I get ugly. That way I won’t ever entertain the thought of a second wife. I’m onto you sister. The jig is up!
W: [expletive which I didn’t hear, but was surely muttered], A second wife?! No other woman would be such a glutton for punishment
Me: (smoothly ignoring her remark) Listen, what so wrong with helping a fatherless child?
W: Hah! Helping a fatherless child? You mean helping father a child, you slick pervert.
Me: Not true my sweet honeysuckle princess (not my actual words, but I was thinking them), polygyny, when done with the correct intention is all about helping others.
W: (with a disgust that ought to be reserved for murderers and rapists) Like helping you sick men to some more booty action.
Ouch.
Making use of my well-honed skills for detecting mood changes, perfected by years of nimbly navigating past emotional landmines on the battlefield of marriage, I sensed a shift in her temperament and deftly changed the topic
Me: So tell me, does paper *really* beat out rock? I never really understood that. Cause you know, I can take a sharp rock and do some real damage to a piece of paper...
This conversation was followed by 2 days of the silent treatment.
Oh, and this is concrete proof that she never reads my blog (God knows how she would have reacted to my two posts on IslamicPolygyny).
That being said, if I were to declare to the entire world that her Kheer (Pakistani rice pudding) tastes like wallpaper paste, there would be no negative repercussions.
