{ Mu'Mu }

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{this moment}

{ this moment }

Memories :: 14

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No Earth Mother

June 18, 2008

I've never really been an earth mother. Unless you count the fact that I'm from Earth and I'm a mother... But for a while now, especially since the birth of my second child, I have heard the calling of the ways of our ancestors - I have felt the need within me to be connected to the land, the life-giving earth; I have felt keenly the responsibility of vice-regency and of giving my children their birthright that modern living seems intent on robbing them of: that of being human and working the land and being upright men connected to the land, those around them and their Lord. Nourishment on the physical and spiritual level.

I am not an earth mother yet the facts seem to dictate a response: modern "life" is not only meaningless, it is unhealthy. And, moreover, it is untenable and unsustainable. We are hurtling at full velocity towards a precipice and the wise amongst us are screaming "stop! I want to get off" whilst the rest of humanity, doped up on TV and musak and other recreational sedatives, skip happily towards doom.

Western people are disconnected with the earth, and perhaps it is no coincidence that they are also deeply disconnected with God too. There does seem to be some correlation between increased wealth and agnosticism. And is it really surprising that this confusion, this deep ignorance of who we are and what we were put here for filters down to the individual level - that we no longer even know how to feed our families or ourselves with nourishing food? Is it a coincidence that obesity is the dis-ease of modern man? It is a symbol of so many subtler truths - we do not know how to be healthy on any level.

Modern man have infantilised themselves progressively over generations until we have gotten to the point of needing website like this to tell us how to boil potatoes. It has often struck me as obvious that were any catastrophe to strike the West that our main problem would be that we would not have basic survival skills - not medical skills or anything like that, but simply finding food, cooking food, heating a home that didn't come from the grid etc. and basic skills like that. Just basic skills. We are a people who live on grid and live like children waiting for their next hand outs. On so many levels we are living lives that are precarious; one puff of wind and our house of cards will collapse.

No where is this more obvious than at our present time with spiraling fuel costs and food costs. Our subsidised living is working against us, because we have so buffeted ourselves from Reality that we now no longer know how to live with it when it forces itself upon us.

Who these can light a fire from scratch? Who can spin fibre? Who can make clothes and blankets for warmth? Who can til the soil and grow food? Who can make a homestead instead of simply a well designed living space?

Picnicing as I do with the babes I am often struck mute by powerful scenes of nature around me; it seems as though I am looking at a Book with verses clearly written, yet I myself can not read the words as I do not know how to decipher the symbols.

Underlying this deep connection to the world around me is the knowledge that all Man needs, more than air to breathe, is a path to his Lord; by living within the bounds of nature and being connected to the land and each other this seems to be a conduit for a Greater Power to work through us. And it is at such times where I see how we, modern people, have severed this connection and how through the severing of one strand all the others unravel along with it.

We build high walls so we feel no wind; roofs so we forget the rain; heaters so we forget the seasons and we light up the city to blot out the stars, and if, by some chance, any last subtle stirring of our inner self remains we drown it out with music and TV and drugs. Yes modern man can be defined by their need to sever and disconnect, to forget, forget, forget until the need to remember comes as a painful shock.

I am no earth mother but the facts demand a response. Muslims are those who offer <em><a href="http://www.answers.com/dhikr">dhikr</a></em> - remembrance - we are people who accept truth wherever it is found and who seek to live in balance, the middle people of a middle way neither too extreme at either end of any spectrum. Modern life is too extreme and it cannot be sustained. It will burn itself out and it will use humanity as the fuel fodder for that fire.

But I dream of a different world; a world of wholesome living. Nothing major - just the ability to grow and cook my own food. I dream of living in tune with the seasons; to know the nuances of the animal and plant kingdoms and to leave the world a better place than when I arrived.

I hope that my children, my delicate flowers, can find their path among this madness of forgetfulness and that whatever knowledge they gain that is based, firmly, in the world around them, connecting them to the earth, each other and their Lord. Information that does not connect, however high and worthy, is at best meaningless and at very worst, a source of severance. I pray that the knowledge my children gain is a knowledge which increases their connection with the universe rather than severing them from it.

And I am no Earth Mother but I hope that by taking small steps in the direction that I dream about that the reality will unfold naturally. If a man is on the right path, all he needs to do is keep walking to reach his goal. My first step? Securing some land on which we can grow some food. Maybe not this year, as we have left it just too late, but working towards it? For next year and beyond? Yes, that's one small step, hopefully in the right direction.

Memories :: 13

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I have a confession to make…

February 29, 2008

Me: Hi. My name is Debbie and I'm... I'm... I'm....

Lady: It's OK, Debbie. We're all friends here. No one is going to judge you. Take your time.

Me: *Gathers self together* Hello everyone. *strong voice* My Name Is Debbie and I am an alcoholic *stony silence*... SORRY!! Wrong group. Gah. Um I mean, I am an addicted to fabric. *Polite round of applause*

Me: Thankyou *sits down* boy that was tough.

Lady: Welcome Debbie. Thankyou for being with us here this evening, and thankyou for sharing your journey with us. So tell us when you realised you had a problem...

Me: Problem? I don't have a problem!

Lady: Oh. OK *turns to others* - denial - *turns back to D* so tell us your story and how you came to be with us this evening

Me: Weeell.... I'm not quite sure... it was mostly my husband who thought I needed help.... and was either this or electric shock treatment...

Lady: OK *grinds teeth* so start at the beginning...

Me: *Thinks* Hm. Well I guess it all started when DH brought a sewing machine home from a thrift shop. It sat in the cupboard for a good while though. I tried to make some clothes - people couldn't move their arms in them and I gave up and nearly threw the machine out *collective gasp from the room*

Me: I know I know! *shudders* thank goodness I didn't. Anyway to cut a long story short, I experienced February Funk-itis and in one moment the machine was back out and I was sewing all kinds of things and I fell madly in love and I haven't really stopped since.

Lady: So is that why you are here?

Me: *Icily* No.

Lady: Then why are you here, with us, tonight in Fabrics Anonymous?

Me: Because HE thinks I need help

Lady: 'He'? Could you elaborate - who is 'he' and why the venom?

Me: 'HE' *spits* is the one who does not sew. I married it, him, and now it thinks I need help. *Quickly* But I don't!

Lady: Uh huh. So why does 'he' thinks you need our support?

Me: *Exasperated* oh I don't KNOW - jealousy?? Bitterness? Hates the fact that I'm in love with something other than HIM??!

Lady: Are you saying you don't have a problem?

Me: Oh I have a problem alright but it isn't the fabric.

Lady: Then what is it?

Me: My husband.

Lady: Right. So how much fabric DO you have?

Me: *Instantly all smiles* oh, I don't know. A little I guess. Not a lot; not as much as some people. It's a little stash I keep aside for rainy days.

Lady: Your husband tells us you can't stop buying fabric.

Me: *Shifts uncomfortably* That's not entirely true.

Lady: You say you don't compulsively buy fabric?

Me: No! Not at all! I love everything that I own! I never buy anything I don't entirely love!

Lady: Would you say this love is impacting your life?

Me: Only for the better!

Lady: There is no detrimental side effects to this love for fabric?

Me: No *thinks* like what??

Lady: The fact that you have no money and make your children live on cereal?

Me: *Blank stare* I'm sorry I don't understand the question....

Lady: You have no money, D yet you still can't stop buying fabric...

Me: *Blank stare* *shakes head* ...No ... I'm sorry, I ... don't understand the question...

Lady: You. have. no. money.

Me: ... ... ... Could you dumb it down a little?

Lady: Can'tyou understand the significance of this? You have no money, your children live on Cheerios and yet you will not stop buying fabric.

Me: Yeah, but, man, we look goooood *round of applause from group, quickly dies out when Lady send icy beams out of her eyes and flares out of her nostrils*

Lady: *Firmly* D, we cannot help you until and unless you admit you have a problem. Until you can admit you are addicted to fabric then there is no option....

Me: *Whiny voice* But I'm not addicted! I control the fabric - it doesn't control me....

Lady: *Firmly* ... there is no option other than drastic measures.

Me: Aw, c'mon. Everybody has a little fabric!

Lady: We have sought a Court Injunction against you D which gives us the legal right to prevent you from buying fabric from online stores until you are in remission

Me: ARGH!

Lady: Your hands will be bound...

Me: *talking to self* But that's OK I can type with my nose....

Lady: Your cards will be cut up

Me: *talking to self* But that's OK too because they are worthless...

Lady: ...the plugs will be cut from your PC

Me: ARGH!

Lady: and you will be prevented from buying fabric until such time as you can walk away from fabric. *Nods to security men* Take her away, boys.

Me: *Picked up and carried like a plank of wood, screaming...* Ah c'mon EVERYBODY does it! Please! Let me goooooo!! Just one more yard, man. An eighth of a yard - just 1/8th - everybody has a stash of 1/8th.. just an 1/8th... just one 1/8th!!!!!!!! *howls can be heard down the hall, thus ending a sad sad tale.....*

Memories :: 12

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My *Great* Grandmother

July 11, 2008

who was my Grandfather's mother (he died when I was a baby and have no memories of him) was a child of Victoria. And I remember her vividly. She was called Emily and had about three hundred children, most of whom were boys.

She was, by the time I was born, mostly bed ridden and her bed was by the window which looked onto the high street of a sleepy market town in the Lake District. Her sitting room was really the only room I ever saw, and the rest of the house was never used and sat under years of dust. I used to look at the stairs with a kind of foreboding; I was told I wasn't allowed 'up there' and so imagined all kinds of terrible things above my head...

The kitchen I only ever peeped into once when my mother had gone to fetch something, and I remember it as grey and dusty and funny smelling. Like a death rattle hanging in the air. The house was quiet punctuated only by the tock of an old clock somewhere. Tock tock tock counting down the seconds til I could leave the house and breathe fresh air again in a world that lived rather than waited.

We probably only ever stayed half an hour each time we visited, but oh it dragged so so painfully on. I would have to sit still all that time, not touching anything, not scuffing my feet, not sighing, huffing or staring at the ceiling, and even for a girl with about as much bounce as a wet tissue it was still painful.

But I could look, and that's what I did. I looked at all the knick-knacks from a bye-gone era that lined my Great Grandmother's cabinets. Plates, cups, saucers, ornaments, bowls. Her fireplace was black and probably iron and it was a huge piece of the wall/chimney breast. It had a place for the kettle and little doors down each side for warming plates and placing the iron to heat. She still had the same iron. Solid and black and totally cordless...

She had her grey hair tied in a tight bun and would tell of tales of how *daring* she was as young girl, and how she had been one of the first in her town to wear a skirt at ankle length. And what consternation it had caused! What names she had earned by being so loose and reckless.

When she laughed, which wasn't often for she seemed to laugh with dry ironic smiles, it was a quiet moving of the shoulders and nothing more. But her face - oh constantly smelling a bad smell, her mouth, when she was not amused, would draw into a tight line and purse together and then you knew you were in trouble.

I have the same mouth myself, unfortunately. You can't fight a tidal wave...

When she died we each received some of those knick-knacks - I remember distinctly a ceramic Alsatian and Siamese cat, and occasionally, if I'm thrifting, I see something that takes me right back to my Great Grans - things that I *feel* rather than remember. A guilded plate edge, a mirror's rim, something totally bizarre brought back as a present from far-flung lands by her Servicemen sons. And I'm four years old again..

Memories. They are a double edged sword. And even though I never really knew my Great Gran in any depth I still cannot go past a painted black front door with brass door handle without thinking of her.

And I wonder if my love of plates and teacups and china has any basis at all in those visits with her. And if so, isn't it kind of nice that with all these years apart, and without really knowing her all that well, I have still some part of me touched by my Great Gran, a connection that has never been broken.

{ this moment }

A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Memories :: 11

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Without Fail

August 26, 2008

Without fail, the first thing my children do when they go out to play is to rush out and inspect the flower beds.

It's important, you see. They inspect each and every bloom and assess for height, colour and health, choose only the very, very best then rip them out by their ickle roots one by one to form a posy.

Then, without fail, they both run towards the back door, fling it open and scream MUM LOOK WHAT I GOT! I GOT YOU SOME FLOWERS!! and I thank each child, plant a kiss on their rosebud lips and transplant the posy into the small posy jar I thrifted especially for this purpose.

Sometimes this goes on for half an hour and I have more flowers in the house than living in the garden. Soon my posies will be coming to end for the season and I'm savouring each new one when I can get them.

I consider myself blessed. Alhamdulillah indeed.

Memories :: 10

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So anyway

October 7, 2008

I have this thing for cake stands. It might be some subconscious Great Grandmother memory going on, but cake stands really do it for me.

I'm a sucker for a pretty plate.

And I gasp out loud when I find pretty, vintage pillowcases *shrugs*. I really don't know why. I really don't. Some women pay thousands of pounds for a retail therapy high. Me? A 60p pillowcase and I'm anybody's...

Memories :: 9

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The reason why we homeschool…

October 22, 2008

Life cannot be read about; it has to be tasted. It isn't something to be learned by rote in a past sense, in an abstract way. The pictures and words in a thousand books carry no smells, textures, tastes. And even if they did, even if the very best book could give you the very best replica, it would still produce malnutrition in the audience.

Life cannot be read about. Life has to be lived. Masha'allah.

Memories :: 8

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Simple pleasures :: Flowers

November 25, 2008

A simple pleasure is :: Having children of an age where flowers can now be placed around the house without fear of untold damage being wrought.

I know. I'm just a crazy, fast-lane-living, no-holds-barred, low gun slinging fast-shooting harlot who lives The Dream. Flowers. In water. In ceramic jugs.

I can see you're jealous.

Memories :: 7

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Apple Pie & Custard

February 4, 2009

Do you need an excuse to make Apple Pie? No. You do not. Apple Pie exists therefore it is. Or something like that. By the fact it exists is reason enough to make it. Oh you don't have custard to go with it? Fear not. I include a recipe to make your own. It is both easy AND peasy.

I use packaged pastry because I like Puff Pastry and for life of me cannot fathom how to make it. But if you want a shortcrust pastry topping you really have no excuse - make it yourself.

OK, so here for your delight is my version of this classic. Adapted and downright stolen from untold women. Share and share alike.

APPLE PIE Crust:

2 Cups plain flour

12 Tablespoons butter

ice water

dash of lemon juice

Mix the flour and butter til it resembles bread crumbs, add the water and lemon juice and form a ball of dough.

Filling:

1 cup of Demerara sugar

Lemon juice

1 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp of nutmeg

2 bramley (cooking TART) apples

2 ordinary apples

1 cup sultanas

6 Tablespoons butter

Method to the Madness:

1. Pre-heat oven to 400*F/ 200*C/ Gas 6

2. Peel, core and slice apples. Place them in an oven-proof dish. Add lemon juice. Add sultanas and spices and sugar and mix.

3. Cover the mush with your rolled pastry. Make slits in the top and place in your oven til golden brown - 35 - 40 mins.

4. Eat.

 CUSTARD:

Ingredients:

600ml (1 pint) Milk

6-8 Egg yolks

50g (2 oz) Sugar

1-2 Vanilla pods OR FLAVOURING* *note about flavouring - if you are Muslim then please note that vanilla extract is alcohol based, so choose another flavour. It really doesn't matter a whole lot which you choose, but I happen to prefer Almond.

Do it:

1. Split the vanilla pods lengthways scraping out the sticky seeds.

2. Bring the milk almost to the boil, remove from the heat and add the vanilla seeds and pod(s). OR FLAVOURING*

3. Allow to stand for 15 minutes to allow the vanilla to infuse the milk. OR JUST CARRY ON IF USING FLAVOURING

4. Place the egg yolks, sugar and in a bowl, beat until thick and creamy.

5. Remove the vanilla pod(s) from the milk and slowly beat into the egg mixture.

6. Place in a heavy based saucepan and cook over a low to medium heat (do not allow to boil) , stirring constantly, until the custard thickens. {I actually cheated and added a teaspoon of cornflour mixed in a little water too.}

You might want to grab a stick too - because after this your family will be jumping all over you to tell you they love you. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Memories :: 6

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Surviving the snuffles : Age 3 1/2

February 10, 2009

1. Have a Jimmy Jam day :: this will make you feel comfortable and warm and in the mood for slouching.

2. Soak in the sun as much as possible :: this will produce vitamin D, cast really cool shadows and possibly dry the snot currently congealing around the base of your nostrils

3. Read books :: Lots and lots of books. Preferably this, this and this. Over and over and over again. Repetition is comforting, right?

4. Wear Stripes :: No reason. {But co-ordinates well with the wool blankets!....}

 

5. Snuggle under several aforementioned wool blankets :: whilst Mama sits at your feet sewing, telling you about Little Red Riding Hood and Goldilocks, as you ask 'why' at everything, before falling into one of those deep naps that only illness creates.

 

6. Don't forget to take your medicine :: Mama's kisses have magic medicine in them, you know. They can make everything feel alright. Feel better now?

Well, let's repeat those six steps til you do, okay?? xx

Memories :: 5

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I try to educate my children

February 19, 2009

I really do try. I try to give them experiences of the world, I try to follow their interests. I try to educate them in a conventional sense too. As well as encourage academia I try to instill an appreciation of higher culture. As well as sitting inside doing quiet work I try to balance this with activity and company and adrenaline. In short, we try as parents to live and give a balanced life.

Anyone who homeschools their kids and says it is easy it lying. It isn't easy. Because life impinges on everything. You have to stir the cooking as you are watching your eldest work on his Math. You have to wash the dishes and let the little one play along. You are constantly juggling - the needs of your children, the needs of the house, and finally, last of all, your own needs (which alway almost certainly come a very belated last). And it never stops. There is no break, no five minutes to gather oneself, to do what one wants, because there is always a question to be answered, and a person to be nurtured. And if you are fortunate enough to have a 'spirited child' the work is so much more intense.

Some days things go well, or OK, or evern sufficiently passable.

But other times I feel like a hurricane has ripped through and I'm left bewildered and shell-shocked and grappling to hold the threads together lest they unravel completely. {And sometimes when they do it isn't a bad thing... }

But me? I find the drudgery so very underwhelming.

And perhaps it isn't even the drudgery, but the feeling of battling, against all odds, against the norm, against society and government and the disapproval of others which eventually seeps in and creates doubt and dissatisfaction which you must keep quiet upon which is the real brain burner. Having chosen a path there is the assumption you can't complain about it. That if you have chosen a path you can't have doubts, that you don't have misgivings.

Well this week has had a few of these days. A few too many, perhaps. I've had a week-long migraine, and I think that's nature's way - it's a reminder to me to take a step back. To stop, and breathe and recharge.

 

Memories :: 4

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Simple Pleasures :: small indulgences

February 23, 2009

Honouring the season is very important for me; I try to find the beauty of each moment and live within it's contraints and bounty. This means that, even though I live in an age which is essenially seasonless in regards of how it impinges on my life and lifestyle, I do try to live within what would be considered in more traditional times as mindful of how the world changes around me.

One small example of this is food. Yes, I can walk into any supermarket and buy any fruit that I desire all year round. But this isn't how it should be, is it? I mean, you don't *get* strawberries in winter, do you? Likewise with flowers. You just don't get flowers in Winter. Period.

Unless you import them in. I would like my children to grow up understanding the nature of time and seasons and the need for changes in rhythm and listening to the needs of our bodies and the world around us. In Spring, you sow, in Summer you grow, in Autumn you reap and in Winter the land sleeps. Hm, that rhymes. We have been eating lots of starchy root vegetables this winter. Fruit has mainly been apples and my poor deprived children *begged* for strawberries this weekend. {Or Stwawblellies if you prefer...}

And even though they had been shipped, by air, from Egypt {sorry environment!! so so sorry!} this weekend we enjoyed some fruit from another season. And I bought flowers. And the children and I Mmmmmmed our way through a pummet of fruit whilst a giddy aroma of pollen and perfume and growing wafted around us. Such a welcomed treat! And made us even more grateful for the bounty we are blessed with, ready for the seasons to come...

Memories :: 3

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Dreaming of :: roadtrips & holidays

March 26, 2009

I have no car. Still. I am feeling trapped and underwhelmed by the drugery of family existence. I am not a natural mother/wife/pleasant human being. And what is more I don't care to be. I don't think changing my anti-depressants was such a good idea (again!).

Prayers for a car for us is the only way it will EVER happen, so get asking if you don't mind. I'm going ever-so-slightly bonkers this week. Keeping me sane is dreaming of being here. The down-side of dreaming is that it can make you bitter for what you have/don't have. But still, the thought of perhaps making it back up North for some seaside play, hillside walking and good old-fashioned memory-making is taking the edge of my wanting to stick a screwdriver through both temples simultaneously to end the pain. Just.

Oh and, dearest children, if you would care to take a day off killing each other (loudly) and shattering the window panes with your incessent BITCHING that might help too. Mama needs a valium. Yes, she does....

I heart home.

Carry on.

Memories :: 2

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What do you want to be when you grow up?

April 14, 2009

I never thought I'd be a Mother. It really wasn't in my game-plan. Not that I really had a game plan; I always had a feeling that I would die very young. So conversely I didn't really worry about the future or plan for it... me so weird.

Yet here I am; not dead, getting older with two boys masha'allah. Two boys who teach me so much, who have changed me so much, masha'allah, who have made me understand love and mercy and patience and sacrifice from the inside-out. Oh and the Muslim thing? Who the hell could have written that punchline?? The anarchistic punk who took no prisoners, who was voted the person most likely to goto jail first for an assissination attempt on the Cabinet - the atheist, envelope-pushing, angry, think outside the smashed box, revolutionist communist tell-it-like-it-is force of nature... a Muslim??! Sometimes I can't quite believe it myself....

Who knits, sew, embroiders, quilts, stays at home, home educates, gets excited over books like this on her coffee table ...

Get out more? I hear ya. I was sitting this weekend trying to unravel my life - the turning points and defining moments, when I got a flashback to the person I was as a teenager (but without all the angst) - it was so weird.

I remember my Physics teacher telling me to take A-Level Physics because he said I could make it to Oxford or Cambridge (I really did love Physics); I remember my English teacher telling me I had a career in journalism and media (I also loved English). I had my father telling me under NO circumstances was I to follow a career in Art (ever the pragmatist, both he and I). And I never really knew what I wanted to do; and it never seemed to really matter. But in the end I opted for A-Level Government and Politics and English and Geography and my physics teacher was disgusted with me; my Art teacher was dissappointed in me; my English teacher was of course not surprised - everyone seemed to take English... and then I shot myself in the foot by taking Philosophy and Sociology at Uni. I am a walking example of why teenagers should NOT be allowed to make their own decisions... You know people who say, "if I could do it all over again I wouln't change a thing"? Well I'm not one of them. I like to think I learn from my mistakes. I would SO change everything: I would take physics; I would have taken Psychology at Uni. - I would love to be a therapist or psychiatrist, but moreover I would have loved to have been given the chance to explore writing.

I loved to write; I loved to tell stories; I always harboured a secret desire to write plays. Isn't that just weird? And how life takes you away from yourself drip on drip, surreptitiously altering the contours of yourself until like the mountain upon which the forces of nature work, you are reduced from a jagged outcrop to a mere slope, stooped.

I know there is dignity in sacrificing for others; there is a place for reducing the ego by selfless living. This I 'know'. One thing I wouldn't change? My kids, of course. Or the path of homeschooling. Having my kids around me in this insane and intense way - these idiotic muppets who exasperate and inspire me in equal measure. I would do it all the same way if it meant they were part of the deal... But don't you sometimes dream of what you would like to be when you grow up? What are your day dreams?

{EDIT: Just to clarify - I'm the brunette with the stripy pants; blondie is my cousin; she whined a lot; we loved each other way back then}

Feeling Funky ::

Hi, how are ya? I'm feeling crap thanksforasking. I don't have the will or brain power to blog (or live) and have dug up some old posts from my old blog which I am now making private. so if you don't mind that's what I'll do for a little while :: reminisce. First up

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MEMORIES

April 15th 2009

I was flicking though Flickr and I came across some old photos of the babes. Moments which at the time seemed irrelevant can carry so many memories can't they?

They can take you right back in an instant. Good God I was ill when these were taken. Grobags! I'd forgotten the cuteness of Grobags!

And tinsel - and sleepsuits which had to be put on backwards lest they be rived off in an instant! I'd totally forgotten that fight!

Toddling. Waddling. Ready to clean up this town.

Small people for such a short time...

Memories can be such a double-edged sword... Good God I love these people. Masha'allah.

Decorations R Us

I've decided :: there really is no classy way to have tinsel, fairy lights and glitter.

No matter which way you try it you simply cannot get away from the vulgarity of it all. Decorations that make my babes smile and giggle necessitate huge amounts of lights and glitter - like a mandir without Krishna - and, well, it's all so magical like that when you are little isn't it? Shiny things are just smile inducers here...

Some of my first memories are of darkened rooms and fairy lights and a sense of expectation and a feeling of magic in the air; that Something Special was happening. Good, warm memories. And even though what WE are celebrating is Eid at the end of the Month of Fasting the need to make good memories for my children pushes me to insane levels of bling as the child inside me, just for a short while, is let loose to decorate the house.

I have good memories of my childhood celebrations.

I hope my children have good memories of theirs too.