Tasmiya

Saturday

- early morning dramas as usual

- work - usual dramas

- home late (as usual)

- house DEAD quiet

- kid’s sleeping over at Mum’s!

- talk about the children for the rest of the night

- bed by 8:30 (we are such party animals)

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Sunday

- enjoy waking up at own leisure

- wonder what the children would be up to

- hope they didn’t wake up Mum too early

- eat breakfast IN FRONT OF COMPUTER!

- watch a movie

- clean the house with the luxury of not having someone behind messing up what was tidied

- wonder what the children are up to

- shower very late in the day

- have lunch

- wonder what children are up to

- pick children up

- eldest helps out in the garden while younger ones have a kip

- supper

- bed

- fin

To the lady in full make-up, hairdresser hairdo and designer sportswear, casually flipping through a magazine while cycling .00001 km/hr, glancing up occasionally to see if anyone is checking her out: GO HARD OR GO HOME. You’d burn more calories sitting in front of the TV and scoffing chocolate biscuits and the men are too busy checking themselves out to worry about you.

To the wanna be body builders lifting huge weights and then suddenly dropping the weights on the floor and swearing at the top of their lungs because they can’t finish a set: USE LIGHTER WEIGHTS! You won’t come across as a complete fool and we won’t have to worry about the floor caving in.

To the guys who use the dumbbells and put them in the WRONG PLACE: REMEMBER FROM WHENCE THEY CAME! I know you only use them for warm ups and the difference between a 15lb dumbbell and a 12.5lb may not be that evident to you but for a tiny lady like me, it means the difference between 2 days or A WHOLE WEEK of recovery.

To the gang of ELEVENTY people bagsing a machine so that nobody can have a go on it: HAVE SOME MANNERS! Spread yourselves around a bit.

To the men in general: USE DEODORANT for goodness sake. There are even signs when you enter. WHO NEEDS REMINDING on basic hygiene? You all, apparently.

To the aerobics instructor: Please change your mix of music. I’m getting really tired of Britney and Madonna ……..oh and Duran Duran for an aerobic class? What???

2 year old: I want roti sugar!

Tasmiya: Here you go.

2 year old: No, I don’t want roti sugar!

I want noodles!

Tasmiya: *sigh* OK. Let me make it for you.

(places bowl of noodles on table)

2 year old: I don’t want noodles!

Tasmiya: How about you try to make a wee in the toilet.

2 year old: I don’t want to make a wee!

Tasmiya: Ok fine, just don’t go and make it on the carpet - call me if you need to go and I will help you.

(moments later)

2 year old: I MADE A WEE ON THE CARPET!

Tasmiya: ARGGHGH!

2 year old: I want to go see Naani.

Tasmiya: We have things to do at home so maybe another day.

2 year old: BUT I WANT TO SEE NAANI!!

(managing to get all house stuff in order, get the boys ready and drive to Mum’s. Pull into the driveway)

2 year old: Awww I didn’t want to come HERE!

Tasmiya: *sigh*

Voices in Tasmiya’s head : F**k me! Bu**er off you FAT sh*t! This is f**king appalling. Disgusting. This food tastes like sh*t. F**KING HELL! You f**king TW*T!

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Tasmiya : The fridge repair guy was so polite, wasn’t he? He was talking to the children and explaining what he was doing.

Farhad : He sort of looked like those guys in the 50’s - the way he spoke, his hairdo, the way he dressed. He was very clean and prim and proper - organised and neat.

(pause)

Tasmiya and Farhad (in unison): He’s a serial killer!

Six months ago my children were driving me insane with their constant, continuous and/or continual fighting (take your pick) and bickering. I could not leave them for FIVE minutes without someone attacking the other - with words or HORROR OF HORRORS a funny face (a crime against all that is good and right with the world, surely) or a smack.

Goodness knows what has happened (and I thank Goodness and of course Goodness’s owner, God) - the children are getting along. All of them. They play together, share together and best of all laugh together. It does have its drawbacks though as nothing I say actually goes into their brain - it usually gets snorted out or laughed out or farted out if they are in the mood for that sort of thing and let’s face it - they’re boys so they’re ALWAYS in the mood for farting. They actually take after their mother. So husband and I are left with tidying up their mess about which they’ve been reminded countless times is THEIR responsibility, making beds they’re supposed to make and taking plates to sinks and flushing toilets because they keep forgetting to do it.

You know what I’m going to say, right?

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The question for this week is-

What is the stupidest thing you have ever done?

Anonymous commenters (I promise not to look up your IP or check you email addy) and embarrassing moments are not only welcomed but ENCOURAGED.

I’ve done a fair few stupid things in my time but here’s one that comes to mind:

When living in Adelaide, I decide 3 in the morning is a good time to do some general cleaning up around the house. Wait this isn’t the stupid part. So there I am with a huge garbage bag of stuff ready to take outside. I am in my pyjamas and walk out of the door to the bin outside. Wait this isn’t the stupid part. So I casually walk back to the house and realise that I’ve shut the door and it’s locked! Wait wait, this isn’t the stupid part. So here I am 3 in the morning living ALONE with no family in the city or anyone who has a spare key, IN MY PYJAMAS and nowhere to go. So I sit there. Wait, not the stupid part. I remember I may have left the bedroom window open so I walk to the back. YES! The window is open but there is a flyscreen there. I climb up the window sill, scratch the screen WITH MY BARE FINGERS and make a hole large enough for me to climb in. SUCCESS!

See the thing is, while sitting on the window sill scratching at the flyscreen I spied a key next to my foot. So I’m casually thinking to myself, “Oh it must be a spare key for the front door. The previous tenants must have done that (how scary is that now I think about it)” And instead of stopping there, grabbing the key and at least TRYING the front door, I just keep ripping up the flyscreen.

NOT THE STUPID PART.

The stupid part is I only realise my gross stupidity when relaying the story to husband TWO YEARS LATER. It finally dawns on me as I run to the windowsill outside, grab the key (which I am stupid enough to LEAVE there for TWO years) and fit it into the lock in the front door. Lo and behold. It fits.

Beat that, readers.

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I’ve never been much of name dropper and sadly it’s because I’ve never had any names to drop.

UNTIL NOW.

Guess who came to dinner? He has his own WIKI for goodness sake! It was a wonderful evening mashaAllah, he came bearing a stack of gifts from his beautiful wife, and the kids just adored him.

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BEFORE

Farhad: Do you think I can call him Wal or Wally?

Tasmiya: You are NOT calling him “Wal” or “Wally” or anything else. He’s WRITTEN A BOOK! People called “Wally” play rugby league (not union) and they DON’T WRITE BOOKS.

Farhad: What about QWALID like Talib KWELI? (obscene language warning)

Tasmiya: No!

Farhad: Awwww!

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Tasmiya: I dare you to stand near the arrival gate with a sign when you pick him up from the airport.

Farhad: You’re on.

The sign?:

“SUSAN’S HUSBAND”

Farhad actually did it, much to the amusement of Waleed and many other passengers disembarking.

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DURING

Tasmiya: Let Uncle Waleed show you what…is it ok if they call you “Uncle?”

Waleed: Sure, I don’t mind what they call me.

Tasmiya (thinking): Oh dear God, please don’t let Farhad call him “Wal.”

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AFTER

4 year old: Hey, remember when Uncle Woolley came and he drew the Batman sign?

Tasmiya: Yes, I do remember. It was really nice, wasn’t it? You know his name is Waleed.

4 year old: Uncle WILLY? His name is WILLY? HIS NAME IS WILLY??!!

Tasmiya: No, WaleeeeeD.

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You’re pretty alright, Susan’s Husband.

*Sigh*.

I lament the demise of the midday nap. This is a sad day in my parenting life and I am sure parents all over the world will empathise. 2 year old has decided he does not need the middle of the day nap which means he will continue his whining and demanding for 13 hours STRAIGHT. No respite or relief for poor 4 year old and me during the day and 7 year old and husband will have to deal with it in the afternoon and evenings. I am in for a month or so (oh dear God let it ONLY be a couple of weeks) of bouts of narcolepsy, terrible tantrums come 5 o’clock and at dinner time, inappetance and general grumpiness which the poor family will need to just suck it up and deal. AND THAT IS JUST ME, PEOPLE! Lord knows what the 2 year old will dish out.

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We finally got a gardener to come and fix up the garden. Of course we are green thumbs and horticulturists and landscape artists - it’s just that we don’t have the time and I am lazy and I hate getting my hands dirty. The garden actually looks decent alhamdulillah. I’ve had to call over 10 different people, 5 of whom said straight out they were too busy or did not work in this area. The other 5 however got my details, asked what I needed done, organised a time for a quote and then DID NOT SHOW UP. What is going on? Do they take a drive through the neighbourhood, assume we are povos with no money (which isn’t that far from the truth - that dishwasher cost a fortune) and then leave quietly. Do they take one look at the yard, realise it’s beyond repair and beat a hasty retreat? Even if they are busy and yes I can completely understand that people are busy and alhamdulillah they have work now that the rains have come but if you can’t make your appointment then ring to cancel or reschedule! It isn’t that difficult. Plus remember - one day you will enrage a woman who has the memory of an ELEPHANT when it comes to being wronged and she will warn others never to accept your gardening services EVER EVER AGAIN BECAUSE YOU NEVER HAD THE DECENCY TO CALL BACK OR PITCH UP FOR YOUR APPOINTMENT, GRAHAM and RAHEEM (I think this is a Muslim man, because his surname sounds eerily familiar and if this is the case then SHAME ON YOU TWICE!) and SHANE and JIM and JAMES.

And I don’t want to sound like I’m threatening you guys or anything but - I have your number. And I know where you live.

I may take it upon myself to NOT CALL you. Or better yet NOT TURN UP AT YOUR PLACE AND REARRANGE YOUR GARDEN FOR YOU.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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And now that I’ve finished whinging, let me tell you about my wonderful children. 4 year old will always open the boot for me and 7 year old proceeds to fold up the pram and put it securely in the boot while I am busy strapping in the 2 year old. These are my little angels.