I’m not averse to people showing me a little (‘little’ being the operative word) pity on the odd occasion. I mean it isn’t like my life is in shambles or fraught with tragedy – alhamdulillah I have lots to be thankful for – but there is the rare occasion when I need someone to say, “Oh you poor thing.”
Simply having three boys is NOT one of those times.
My boys are active
and they can’t sit still..can’t they just sit still for FIVE minutes? And why do they have to touch things all the time? but they’re healthy, smart, giving and mashaAllah loving children.
They’re high-need children and I cannot get a moment to myself during the day (except today alhamdulillah when 5 year old is at school,2 year old is at mum’s and 5 month old is asleep). I dread having to visit people’s homes because their quiet sitting time is about 7 minutes after which my boys will invariably start touching things (is that a boy thing or just a kid thing or is it a parent thing ie I can’t control my children?). They’re messy and destructive and it takes a lot of cajoling to get them to co-operate with the cleaning up.
They’re fun. They are so full of life. They wake up ready to tackle anything and everything and always in HAPPY moods (when was the last time you did that?). They make up straight away after a fight and alhamdulillah they are quick to forgive and FORGET my mistakes. They never brood – we say we’re sorry and it’s all finished. Their boundless energy keeps me active. They’re inquisitive which forces me to learn more about the world around us. They love unconditionally.
So next time I tell you I am mum to 3 boys don’t have that look of pity on your face. Say, “MashaAllah” and be happy for me
Edit – I fixed that HORRIBLE TYPO!
I’ve never thought it important for immigrants to mix with the Australian community if they didn’t want – I mean it isn’t fair that only people born in Australia have the privilege of being anti-social, reclusive, elitist or snobby* (assimilation police hang on just a second). I didn’t think it important for them to even learn English when coming to live in Australia (ok assimilation police, you can lock me up now).
Well, I might have to change my mind about English after this little incident the other day:
While walking through the carpark, a car stopped to let a boy out. He quickly went to the boot of the car to retrieve his bag and managed to somehow drop his mother’s till of cash that was in the boot. (I think it might have been from a store or business of some sort). Money fell everywhere. Coins and notes were strewn all over the bitumen. I yelled to the boy to pick the money up as the wind picked up and notes started to fly.
I ran to help as the woman driver got out & started organising her money. I asked her if it was ok if I just dumped all the money in the one container – my priority was to get all the money off the road and help the lady on her way. She nodded her head and said, “Yes! Yes!” So there I was scrambling around picking money up and placing it in the plastic container when all of sudden she starts yelling at me in some other language and gesturing for me to go away. Her tirade continued for what seemed like 5 minutes though it was probably just a few more seconds.
I didn’t want a medal and I didn’t even expect her to say thanks
but for everyone else out there for future reference, chocolates are an excellect way to say, “thanks” but I certainly wasn’t expecting THAT! Look, lady here are some English phrases that you would do well to learn:
No, thank you.
I am fine.
I am having a heart attack.
I walk along darkened corridors**
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
I don’t understand English so if you are going to say something to me, I will pretend that I understand and say, “Yes! Yes!” and hope that you’re stupid enough to fall for it.
Oh my goodness, you WERE stupid enough to fall for it. AHAHAHAHAH!
*I am quite prepared for the comments about how unAustralian I am and that I don’t deserve my citizenship. Flame away!
** 20000 million dollars (and by “dollars” I mean air kisses) to the person who can tell me where that’s from