Family Reunion at the hospital?

On Sunday, 6th January early this year Hubby set of to fly to Bangladesh to visit his parents and younger sister.  He hadn't been back home in about four years. We had done the last minute 'cardigan' shopping; a staple clothing item which asians tend to buy for relatives abroad.  I don't understand why because Bangladesh get 10 months of summer and only 2 months winter and even that is eqivalent to our British Spring! [However apparently I'm told Bangladesh has experienced an unexplainable freak freezing cold winter this year]. Anyway giftwrapping, packing and weighing the luggage done. It was the day for hubby to go. It was kind of melancholic because he had said he wanted to visit for quite some time but I didn't really realise the day would come so quick. I was in a state of limbo - I want to bid him a safe and happy journey and holiday but on the other hand I didn't really want him to go.  Really it's no big deal because distance supposedly makes the heart grow fonder but mushy bit aside I rely on my husband with running the household, shiftworking between the kids and his my saviour for my once in a blue moon respite which I'm able to have when hubby's around.  As the time neared to him leaving the home for the airport; the vision of the retreat to the spa, meal with the girls or shopping till dawn seemed like a distant memory!  I had been physcing myself up for about a week prior about 'How I'd been fine', 'I can manage on my own' and often found myself having a full blown out monologue in the kitchen with myself about what needs to be done, how I can overcome his problems and that appointment.  It's not the end of the world as I stare at the dripping sink tap, leaking washing machine and disrepair of the front door draught excluders who are clinging onto dear life.  All that can wait even after he has come back surely. Perhaps give it another year or so I say sarcastically to myself.  Well, I convinced myself that these were mere menial non-urgent things to be done and I have far more important tasks ahead.  I got to brace myself of 3 weeks of school runs to two schools, seeing to council contractors attending home visits and a dozen hospital appointment which have come in clusters all in January due to the christmas and new year break.  Not to mention the cold, frosty winter mornings which would involve the tedious task of putting layers of clothes on the girls, defrosting the car windscreen and heating the car.  Oh... and don't even get me started with throwing out the rubbish, the recycling, sweeping the leaves from the front porch and food and bog-roll shopping!.... Damn I'm really gona miss hubby for all the right reasons (of course)!

Anyway worries aside I knew I'd have to take the superwoman cape out of the wardrobe and just get on with it!  I was rustling up his farewell lunch. I did a Chicken Korma, Dhal (Lentil), Carrot Bhaji and a King Prawn Bhuna and Pilau rice all by midday.  All went down well considering that I missed breakfast and was faffing about that morning. Mum and close family came round to see hubby off.  Then suddenly Inaaya who was well all week took a turn for the worst.  She was having these new type of seizures, which I now learnt are Tonic Clonic Seizures.  The symptoms Inaaya presented were proper convulsions, body stiffness and limbs jerking.  Some of the seizures were so intense and prolonged and Inaaya would roll her eyes which was so scary for one to watch let alone experience! Thankfully, apparently the sufferer is unconsious throughout and doesn't remember the seizures but just the dazed feeling when consciousness is regained. 

It was 2 o'clock and time for him to leave for the airport.  Hubby was saying he'll cancel the flight if need be. I reassured him that he should go and maybe it's just a blip.  "Inaaya's always ill, or in hospital, she'll be fine."  I said to him and to my conscious.   I could not give hubby a farewell hug as I was dealing with Inaaya.  He said bye and went downstairs and I hurried behind him with Inaaya once she had come round from her seizure so that atleast he could see her being her playful self and not be so upset leaving and Inaaya could give her dad a kiss.

The seizures calmed down in the afternoon but began to come back in clusters in the evening .  First every 3 hours, then 2 hours, then every hour and eventually about 3 seizures every 30 minutes.  I couldn't hold on for long and neither could my poor Inaaya at this rate.  It was 4am when I called NHS Direct and paramedics arrived.  Mum had stayed over at mine seeing that Inaaya was poorly and should the need arise that I go into hospiral with Inaaya; mum can look after Sumaiya (my other girl). True to that; this is what happened -  I left with the ambulance crew leaving mum in a state of sheer worry. I tried to calm her but her eyes were already full of anxiousness.  Inaaya was admitted to a+e at about 4am and almost minutes later my sister texted me saying mum was in a+e. I couldn't belive it and I didn't know how to react among the doctors and nurses around me.  All I throught was that I literally left mum in my house. What's happened to mum so quick?  Perhaps that fact that I had left with Inaaya in such a state got her overly-worried.  Suddenly it dawned on me: OMG! Where is Sumaiya?  My poor girl... no mother or father nearby and now no gran nearby. Luckily later my sister filled me in about Sumaiya's whereabounce and about mum because I was preoccupied with my girl Inaaya.  I felt so helpless that I could not be near mum and at the same time felt so helpless that no matter what I did near Inaaya's bedside;  I could not stop Inaaya having seizures.  I was told mum came in complaining of shortness of breath.  An x-ray showed that she had fluid in her right lung so she was immediately catherterised and given oxygen.

Poor Mum, poor Inaaya and poor ME!  One hand I have the person that gave life to me and on the other hand I had the person I'd given life to and whom was soley dependant on me.  Straight away I wanted to breakdown but held back the tears and took a deep breathe and sighed. I thought I must stay strong.

Later that morning both Inaaya and mum got taken to the assessment wards and later transfered to the in-patient wards on diferrent floors.  I still hadn't seen mum but was texting my sister and brother like crazy for updates.  After a week staying in hospital; with many sleepless nights, blood tests, examination, stress and tears - Inaaya was on the mend with the Mercy of Allah, the Almighty.  Even 9 months pregnant sister-in-law, Shuhena had a brief admission to a+e  because she was vomiting all day and couldn't keep food down.  It was a little family reunion, but perhaps an altervative venue instead of the general hospital would have been well suited!  



My older girl, Sumaiya missed a whole week of school and I only saw her twice breifly that week.  She was at my parents' flat in Mile End a few days, then at my brother's house in East Ham and lastly at my sister's house in Newbury Park because there was no dad to take over the childminding and do the schools runs. My poor girl probably felt so unsettled and emotional.  She's very timid too and won't even say if something was wrong or she wanted anything.  I owe it to her as well as my youngest to be there for them both.  It was so difficult and challenging. I had to be both mummy and daddy at the same time. I was needed at the hospital by one daughter and also was yearning for my other daughter. One minute I was feeding wheatabix, changing nappies, administering medicine and playing with Inaaya and the next minute I was racing home in my car to put the washing machine on, check letters and bills, cancel appointmemts, pick up clothes for Sumaiya and go to Sumaiya's school to get homework as well as buy myself food and drink.  I figured I will have to eat and keep hydrated to keep my energy levels up because I don't have a failsafe back up plan (in the form of what would be a 'husband') if I was to falter.  I was one man down but I was determined to be a one-man army.  With the saying from the Qur'an in mind and heart that "God, does not burden a person with that s/he can't handle" - I soldiered on.

Hello, I'm Inaaya Rahman...

I am not what you call a 'normal' child?  Then again what is 'normal?'  A normal child may play peek-a-boo and it will put a smile on your face.  I do other things indescribable to the average person and can still put a smile on my parent's face.  I am a human first and foremost. I look the same as you; I have a head, a body, two hands and two feet. I eat, laugh, sleep, cry and smile and believe it or not I even talk but in a language you can never know. I am only different by the way you view me.  My personality, habits, little traits and idiosyncrasies make me who I am. My parents who live and breathe everyday with me can only see this in me.  Whilst you sit and chat to my mum about me and not to me. I've just sat and ignored you like you've just ignored me.  However my intentions are innocent because I hadn't even noticed you entered the room as you had not said hello or stroked my arms.  Did you stop a while and regard me as another person or as inanimate object without feelings? Hmmm I wonder?

My mum wears noisy bangles and shiny rings not only to make herself look nice but also that I may hear and see her as she approaches me.  Even when she feels unwell she makes an effort for me.  My mum wears outlandish or sometime quirky clothes; it helps me catch her sight from afar even though I may sometimes disagree with her taste! My mum has a loud voice and can speak for England; she's loveable, socialable and always smiling even in the hardest of times. I wonder if any other mother would give me such joy, love or the time of day. I think not.

My dad is a 'man of few words' who I guess compensates for my loud mum. If both were loud - I'd be confused.  His voice is soothing yet has a bass tone to my ear drums. When he cuddles me; I know it's my dad, he has a different scent.  I tug at his evident ears and almost always my dad takes my hands to his face to feel his stubbles with the palms of my hands. I giggle to the feel of it and oh how I love the prickly feel.  This is the way my dad says 'hello' to me and I say hello to him.

Another little person lives in my home.  Often I hear tantrums and shouting, especially I enjoy it when she sings. Yes, she is my older sister.  She wears bright coloured glasses, bright clothes and shiny hair clips - easy for me to see (and grab!).  She plays with me and cares for me like any big sister does.  She gets rather upset when I pull off her glasses and pull her hair but I'm just saying 'Hi, big sis... it's me'.  She is not upset for long and smoothers me with kisses and hugs.  We enjoy quality time together especially bath time when I can get to splash her with water, and anyone who knows my big sister - is that she's such a drama-queen especially if she gets shampoo and water in her eyes!

I'm saying all this because I want you all to open your eyes.  Don't just look but 'see' and understand.  I was born like this for a reason.  What you think is joy from having a child is a different joy my parents get with me.  You count the milestones of your child's first smile, first teeth coming though, first solid food eaten, first time crawling, first time standing unaided and first steps, but mum sees all that and more.  My first eye-contact, first reaction to toy, touch, skin, face, sound and smell.  My first time rolling onto side-sitting, first time putting arms out to save myself from falling and the first time I held my tooth brush but not nescessarily to my teeth! My first time achieving to swallow a spoonful of puree food without sputtering all over mum.  My first time reaching for the spoon and my first time holding the beaker without any need for prompt.  My first time grabbing a rattle and shaking it, my first time hearing strange sounds like the hoover, the washing machine, the TV, a car hooting and a rainy storm. My first attempt to balance to sit, first time 4 point kneeling to crawl, first standing with the help of mum, first potential to raise feet to step forward and I’ve not even got to the first walking bit yet!

Normal children’s' parents remember their child's first day out.  To the park, the shopping centre, the farm and the museum.  My mum does that and more.  I also remember my first meeting with the wind when the breeze overwhelmed my face; I squinted and caught my breath and smiled with sheer delight.  My mum took off my coat hood and let me feel the wind on my face a little bit longer... it was so exhilarating. Like any child - I've been to the park too.  Normal children will run about and play frisbee or ball.  I would on the other hand explore whilst lying on the picnic mat.  My feet feel the lush green grass whilst my hands will scratch the ridges of the wicker picnic basket. My eyes squint from the beaming sun peeping behind the leaves on the tree.  Often I grab the grass and a hopeful ant travels up my arm.  Mum will try and flick the ant away whilst screeching playfully. I also enjoy eating strawberries and ice cream in the park and sometimes just want to relax in the sun like you, like any other person would do too.

Normal children remember their first boxed toy... a tractor, an electric helicopter, a baby doll, a game or a toy puppy.  I remember all that and more.  I remember and enjoy playing with the cardboard box, the polystyrene packaging and the crunching, colourful wrapping paper as well as the toy.

While you may see the bigger picture; I and my family see the smaller things in life. It's a different joy from what you may feel or see but it still makes me and my family happy and life worthwhile.

*Thoughts by Inaaya, Age 5*

Most men don't like SHOPPING! Fact?

Most men don't like SHOPPING! Fact?

Went shopping today to check out what the fuss was all about. I usually don't like shopping during the New Years sales because the shops are swarming with bodies and being 5 foot ...erm tall - its quite daunting! Besides I hate queueing for the tills for ages to purchase something which I really could buy any other time in the year.  Nothing really caught my eye from the 'sales' and before you could know it I was queueing at the Krispy Kreme counter! Why I always feel peckish when I go out is truly beyond me.  Luckily I was with my daughter, so I had an excuse to sit on the bench and scoff the ring-shaped, chocolate and sprinkle covered treat. I made a funny observation.  I saw a reluctant husband in the shopping centre sporting a slouched back and frown; who would probably rather be seeing footie on telly on the sofa at home. Another man rushed by tagging along with the wife who was going 40mph leading ahead! I smiled to myself thinking 'poor man'.  Opposite across the shopping centre was yet another 'helpless, vulnerable' husband sat on the couch in front of Primark in the shopping centre anxiously waiting for his wife who is probably running like a wild goose purchasing the entire SHOP!! I felt so sorry for the man as he had been bullied into looking after the children, the crying baby in the pushchair and the pet dog while the wife spends their life savings in one day!

I got up and walked into John Lewis and as I was making a beeline for the homeware section I overheard a conversation between a man and a woman in the women's clothing department.  A woman was asking the dreaded age old question: 'Watcha think of this dress?' as she holds the dress in front of her. Not only can the poor man not hear her with the christmas music in the store but now he's panicing whether or not he should say the truth! At this point the safest option would be to smile and nod your head! (which he did). He also had this vacant look on their face; either he was dreaming of when they'll be home for dinner, something technical or another lady! (Let's hope it's not the latter!).

As I was travelling up on the escalator I passed the Lingerie and Accessories section. I saw yet another poor male 'victim' standing lost amongst the array of silk, lace, frills and ribbon clad itsy lingerie. Men don't know what to do with themselves when the female of species be it their wife, girlfriend or daugther is in the lingerie section!  I bet their thinking ...'Oh no! Not the lingerie section!'  but then again me a female -do I know what these men are really thinking! Talking from observation; men aren't really allowed to smile in the lingerie section for fear of looking like a pervert; so what do they do?  ...They act all DUMB! Suddenly the poor guy finds himself leaning on a bra stand which proudly hangs some purple frilly double F bras! He jumps at the sight nearly knocking them over! (Yikes!)  Lol.... this really did happen but I'm sworn to secrecy as to who this happened to! ...but I'll leave you to be the judge of that.


Bless them - they do carry our bags and tow along with us even though they have an attention span of a goldfish!

As for now us lady's are going to have to put up with: "Are you finished looking yet? This is about the 20th shoe shop we've been to! I'm tired, I wanna go home, I wanna do a number 2 and I'm hungry!"  
MEN: You can't live with them and you can't live without them!

Bittersweet 10th Birthday.

My first born will turn 10 tomorrow.  Yes the big 1-0, double digits, having lived a decade, a major milestone reached; ...call it what you may but it has just dawned on me. She will be TEN, no longer a weenie baby, a boisterous toddler, a care-free child, .... but TEN! (OMG!!!!)

I must says I'm a sucker for milestones.  First smile, first steps, first words, first day at nursery, first visit to the library, first day shopping, first ear piercing (which I can vividly remember didn't go down that well), ...but nothing gets me more emotional than birthdays, especially those important ones: 1st, 10th, 16th, 18th, 21st, 30th and then every age thereof that ends in zero!

If I close my eyes and rewind back 10 years; I can still see the moment when I held my daughter, Sumaiya snug in my arms in her woollen blanket,  I can still smell that baby smell that new borns often have and I can still see her beautiful large dark brown eyes staring starry-eyed back at me.  If I close my eyes even tighter - I can see the photo montage of her life right before my eyes. *Sigh*  Right now I'm feeling kind of choked up and can almost taste my impending tears. However, trying to hold back - I need to write this memoir.  

I'm sat in my bed with the comfort of my duvet weighted on my legs while precariously balancing my notebook on a cushion.  I wonder 'Where did the time go?' and 'How the years have flown by so quick?' I can just about recollect the last 10 years; I'd dread to think what the next 10 years would bring and so much more to remember. As the years go on, my brain cells would diminish and I would be unable to retrieve these cherished memories.  Anyway, such is life and that's why keeping a journal is so important.

Earlier today when I put my two girls to bed, I looked around my daughter's bedroom which she shares with her sister, Inaaya and pondered how things have changed.  In the corner is Sumaiya's book stand filled with colourful children's books, her bedding covered with hearts and baby owls and at the foot of her bed hangs an array of plastic beaded necklaces, hair clips and funky headbands that only a child could carry off.  I turned to my youngest who is asleep in the cot bed in what was once my eldest daughter's cot bed.  I smile to myself and remember those nights when I'd wake up to see Sumaiya asleep in the prostrated position with her bottom in the air and that too on the opposite foot side of the cot! Bless her.

Suddenly I'm back to reality and I look at my daughter asleep and the last remnants of her baby face disappearing.  She is almost 3 quarters along the length of the single bed and almost reaching my height (anyone who knows me for my short height knows this isn't impossible!). 

I try to summarise all that she has been through.  She was a petite child, timid, happy, sincere and with a million dollar smile which revealed a distinguishable pin drop dimple on her left cheek and present still today.  After 7 addresses and even more number of colourful specs- she has turned out to be some character and I'm not just saying that simply because I am her mum.  Sumaiya, with us has tolerated moving home 7 times. Living like a nomad is not easy on the parents or the child. As a parent I struggled with working and having a child (any working mum can understand how it feels).  I tried to overcompensate for the difficult times and wanted stability but Sumaiya too felt my tensions and adjusted without a whisper of complaint.  Just as how she adjusted when her younger baby sister was born who subsequently had been taken seriously ill needing heart surgery who now has special needs.  

Sumaiya was four at the time when Inaaya was born. Late nights at the hospital took its toil on our family.  There was one occassion that I hadn't seen Sumaiya for one whole month because I had been in hospital with her baby sister.  Sumaiya walked up to me in the hospital corridor with her scraggy frame and mis-matched clothes (obviously dressed by her father) to visit us. My eye's welled up and my world had already fallen apart with the stress of limbo-ing between life and death and suffering the baby blues. I was about to give up, but that day Sumaiya gave me a ray of hope.  She made me wake up to reality and made me come to my senses without having to say anything.  Just her presence was enough to console me.  Sumaiya needed me in her life and I needed her.

Young children are non-judgemental and positive-minded.  She took on Inaaya's disabilities 'on the chin'.  Yes, as Sumaiya has gotten older; I've had been asked: "Mum, can Inaaya see me?, Why can't she walk?" or "Will she get better?"  Questions which break my heart to pieces but still composed I'd attempt to answer the questions that I don't know the answers to.  As the years have gone by; it didn't matter anymore.  We've stopped asking the questions and my family have learnt to embrace the challenge more.  It has made us stronger and resilient as a family unit. Our abnormal life has become 'our normal'.  We don't know any different and we wouldn't change it for the world.  

Just the other day I asked Sumaiya some probing questions like: "Are you jealous of Inaaya?" or "Do you get angry with Inaaya?"  She simply replied "I'm jealous that she's so cute!" and scrunched up her face and reached to give her little sister a hug and a hard kiss on the cheek.  The fact that Sumaiya looked behind her sister's 'inabilities' was overwhelming for me and a feeling of contentment.

I recall when once we had a family gathering in our new home and I was slaving away in the kitchen (as per usual) and every so often I popped my head in the living room to check on the family and to see if Inaaya was OK on the floor playing with her toys. I stood in the passage for a moment and observed my eldest daughter, nephews and nieces playing on the sofa.  Sumaiya every so often glanced down at Inaaya to check if her sister was OK and continued to play with some unease with her cousins.  You could tell Sumaiya was not fully engaged in playing.  Inaaya was on the floor trying to crawl and suddenly lost her balance and almost hit her head on the floor narrowly missing the glass coffee table - at which point Sumaiya saved her. Her reaction was so swift as if it were an automatic reflex.  I straight away ran up to them (still in my curry-smell infested apron) and took over the situation and gave Sumaiya a big hug for protecting her sister and said: "You go on and play, don't worry about Inaaya; the adults in the room will watch her.... You just be the child that you are." She looked at me bemused and turned to her cousins relunctantly to play.

I realised that Sumaiya's experiences of having a sister with special needs made her not only a big sister having love and compassion but a young carer with unconditional love and always going that extra mile; for that I am grateful to her and so proud of her.  

Sumaiya is my daughter, my soul-mate, my friend, my shopping companion, my little helper, my masseuse and my cleaner (just kidding!).  So occasionally when Sumiaya asks me if she can put make-up on my face or style my hair; I surrender to be her guinea pig model no matter how tired I am, and in all honestly I don't really mind participating as long as I don't look like a clown and don't have to look in a mirror for the end result!

Happy 10th Birthday Sumaiya!  Ammu loves you sooooooo much. Live each moment and enjoy your childhood because you're only a child (and TEN) once in your life. x






 

Cringing as I type!

My tutor asked me to write a blog about ME... so I thought I'd post it on here too.  I don't particularly like writing about myself because I think it has that 'cringe-factor' about it.  Anyway here goes....

My Story…. so far.

My name is Asma Begum.   I was born and have spent my whole life in London. My parents are of Bangladeshi descent and immigrated to the UK in the 1970’s. I have been bought up in a humble and hardworking family and in turn it has made me very appreciative of life and what it brings. I have one sister and two brothers and I am the youngest. I am bubbly, friendly and a well grounded individual.  I have lived in the east end of London all my life.  I love the fact that it is rich in culture, creativity and has a wealth of history.  When I think of London; I think of a multi-cultural, fast paced, metropolitan city. London has its mixture of high-rise buildings, listed buildings, Victorian town houses and run down tower blocks.  On one hand you have Canary Wharf which is situated in the heart of London’ east end.  It is a haven for corporate offices and high end shops, restaurants and cafés which are not too far from home.

1938 London Underground Map

On the other hand, if you delve deeper into the cobble street you also have the beautiful architectures of Victorian houses and old town halls to admire.  I especially love the experience of the bustling culture and vibrancy of Spitalfields’ market where I spent most of my childhood years and still visit now.  Likewise I love the hidden treasures and vintage charm of Camden Market and Covent Garden.  These places make me feel proud to be a Londoner and keeps me grounded in a fast-paced city.

1999 London Underground Map

I am currently studying Media and Creative Industries and the subjects which I have chosen are Journalism, Creative Writing and Theatre Studies.  Previous to attending UEL Docklands; I have worked in a number of jobs; from fast-food at McDonalds during my college years (which also helped pay for driving lessons) to working in a flagship retail store in bustling Oxford Street and survey work on foot, which I gained invaluable experience from.  I gradually worked my way up to a senior managerial role in retail administration field whilst working part-time and studying at university.  In 2001 I dropped my university studies as at the time an opportunity for promotion was offered to me at my workplace which I took on.

A few years later I got married and not long after I had a baby! I was enjoying motherhood so took a year-long break from work.  At the same time I was living like a nomad, renting here and there.  It was difficult moving place to place with a baby and it was a terrible time for me, but I had to dust off my shoulders and continue. When my child turned one I went back to work. It wasn’t easy as any mother would know but I always had this drive to keep mentally motivated and challenged.  My experience in the field of Administration and having studied Business Administration at university in year one landed me in a job in Administration with the NHS/Metropolitan Police.  I worked for a sexual assault referral centre as Administrator/PA.  Initially the work involved was difficult but I had to learn to become thick-skinned and professional at my work. I worked there for several years until I decided to have another baby.  I worked through my pregnancy as I had done before with my first child.  Unfortunately my second child was born with a congenital heart disease and had special needs requiring my 24/7 attention.  I went on maternity leave and then on a two year career break.  I knew I could not exhaust any more time off from work to care for my chronically ill child so had no option but to resign.   My resignation was emotional and so was the job.  It took a toll on me and I needed a change of scene.  Although I was really hardworking, organised and efficient at my administrative job; it was something that I was ‘good at’ but was not necessarily what I ‘enjoyed’ doing.  

The realisation of wanting to do something I enjoyed and not just something I was good at came to me during long hospital stays and the sleepless nights at home.  It got me pondering how I could draw on my experiences in life.  I knew what I went through whether good or bad made me who I am today.  I knew I had a story to tell hence I turned to writing.  I had always kept a diary from childhood as far back as I could remember!  In my spare time I would write down my thoughts in a notebook.  I eventually started my own blog writing articles, general matters and poems. In the meanwhile my youngest child grew older and began to thrive and seem more well within herself.  She now attends a special needs school which she loves. I found I had more and more time to myself. I just could not be a full-time mum, housewife; I became restless. I was in the mind-set to do something; to achieve, to follow my dreams… wherever it may take me.

I decided to go back to studying and now I contemplate that this move to go back to university and to finish my degree has been the best decision yet.  I do not regret leaving my studies 10 years ago because I would have just probably been stuck doing admin because that’s all I would know and have not known any different.  

So here I am following my heart and passion for writing.   Whether it is journalism, writing or screenwriting I choose to do; I am hopeful furthering my studies will equip me with the skills, knowledge and experience needed to follow my dreams.

My MICROWAVE has gone kaput after 7 years!!!

My microwave has gone kaput after 7 years!  So I would like to take this moment to think a while, pay my respects and appreciation of an amazing invention of mankind!

Dear Microwave,

We go back a long time.  You were gleaming and shiny when I first brought you home and against the other kitchen appliances you had the pride of place on the counter top.

You have been with me through thick and thin.  There’s been difficult times like that stubborn jacket potato which had you working overtime and there’s been easier times like the croissant that just took a couple of seconds of your tender time to warm.

You have performed against the odds; you coped through birthdays, anniversaries, family gatherings, dinner parties and more. You never wanted anything in return apart from a gentle lemon-wash cleaning now and then.

You have given food a temporary home, consoled them and warmed them up before they were devoured.

You never wasted any time in making popcorn and always ‘dinged’ on time before the movie started.

You were there for the late night hot chocolate which eased me and the kids to bed and you never failed to step up to warm the wheat bag when I was ill or had a tummy ache.

Now…… you have done your fair share of hard work and everything has taken a toll on you…but one thing I must say..... WHAT A WAY TO GO!!!! With a display of ***FIREWORKS AND SPARKS!***

You will never be forgotten! :)

Poem by Asma Begum

I wasn't hibernating... Honest!

OK... I know what you my be thinking? Why the cold shoulder? Am I a gone into hibernation? Summer and winter went and gone not even a sound of keyboard creativity! Earthquakes, tsunami, floods, wars, riots but no recent posts!?!  The real reason is I... I... I am suffering from a rare psychological disorder called the 'extended' (guilty as charged, too busy with life, no time to blog) Writer's Block.   Not it's not made up - it's true!  Sometime it's referred as TBATT Syndrome. (Too Busy All The Time)! 

I apologise for my unexplained disappearace.... so let me update you in a nut shell.  

In 2010; I moved to my new home, so was fixing things, decorating, buying furnishings and the highlight of my chores - assembling a flat-packed 20 piece metal shed from Argos.... Lovely! ...Oh did I mention I was assembling this shed with the help of three (think they know-it-all) clueless men!

The bleeding shed took a whole day to put up!  There was so many parts, nuts and bolts - that initially when we unboxed the parts - we though we were assembling a space craft in the back garden not a shed at all!  Anyways; I leave the blokes for 2 minutes (2 minutes I tell ya!) to put the kettle on for a brew and they decide to disregard the manual and go with their man-brains and ego!  I warned them that they will regret not following the instructions but their man-ness and ability to solve problem was under severe scutiny so they had to save their man-hood.  The sheer competition amongst them - it was like seeing three cavemen fighting over some meat!  "Calm down, calm down....it's a shed guys!"

As you know many months passed and I was adjusting to my new home.  Niggling problems here and there and some cracks began to show (literally).  The school run were hard too as my girls attended two different schools and it didn't help that my home was situated in a 'no through road' street! After resigning from work in 2010 - I pursued some of my hobbies and interest; doing arts and crafts, sewing, writing, jogging and cycling, but still wanted to excel and push myself more.

In 2011 I siked myself to go back to studying part-time.  I was thinking about it a few months but finally made the plunge in Sept 2011 (narrowly missing the 9k fees)....wooohooo!  So 10 odd years later I got on the band wagon (again) but this time tried to style it out like I knew what I was doing or where I was going!  Boy, was I wrong; your brains just doesn't absorb information and direction as quick as it does than when you are young and of prime study age!

Mature Student... who me??? Nah...I'm 21.... Youthful, cool and hip I am! ...oh yes I am!  OK... after miserably failing to 'act' young and bust a few slang terms; my cover-up was looking bleak.  You know I can't lie at all to save my life and with the blabber mouth that I am; before I knew it I was telling everyone my life story, my marital status, how many kids I have ....and last but not least my AGE!!!! "I'm 29" - I often said in a quiet, muffled voice.

In the first ice-breakers exercise when we were meeting fellow students; we were going round the table asking everyone about their age.  Some were 19 (uni-virgins and on the academic roll).  Some in their early 20's (the 'gap yearers, and not so sure what I'm doing with my lifers'), and then the 25+ students or the 'mature students' as most universities like to call it!  I interpret the Mature Students as either the 'did it all beforers and screwed it upers' or the 'did it; done it and brought the t-shirters but actually want to do something I enjoyers'!  I like to catergorise myself as in the latter type of students.

In 2012, still a student fortunately and done really well in all my modules if I say so myself.  This studying larky is so much fun and motivating. Never thought I would say this now let alone when I was 19. Ppfftt! If I had prodded along at univeristy 10 years ago doing a pointless degree I would pretty much be nowhere.  I have gained a wealth of experience and skill in my 10 years and I do not regret leaving my studies first time round.  I look at it this way - now I know what I want to do whereas 10 years ago I was misguided and lost.  It's true what the say with age you get wiser and you have more patience.  Don't get me wrong I'm not an old fuddy duddy ready to pack in and get the knitting needles out and winge about the youth... (although I do that now....the knitting that is, not the winging!)  Hey knitting is hip...now we've had a 'make do and mend' revolution all over again. Where have you been?

Anywho another significant thing has happened to me in ealrly 2012.  After much struggle with myself I decided to wear the hijab (headscarf).  I've had many sleepless night over this and the decison to wear a headscarf was not an easy one.  It was not so much that fact of covering my hair or my die-hard love for earings that was a problem but it was the responsibilty that came with it.   What it represented.  You can just as well be a praticing  good muslim, observe you fast, prayers, pay zakat, do good deeds etc without a headscarf as I had done before but I believe by wearing a headscarf it puts you in the frame of mind more. Allah (God) does not judge according to your body and appearance but looks into your hearts and good deeds. Saying by the Prophet, Muhammad [pbuh]

I must emphasize no one forced me... I just had this need to wear it.  I haven't changed as a person as such.  I'm still the same me in body and mind but a bit more spiritual.  Like how a doctor or nurse wears a uniform to perform their job; I too wear a hijab to perform my job in this life as a muslim human being.  It keeps me in the frame of mind and I have never felt happier and enlightened.

Oh almost forgot, it was my 10th wedding anniversary this year, so was the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the 2012 Olympics.  Also went to Malaga, Spain in April which was fabulous!  The first holiday abroad with my little poorly girl which is a huge milestone for us. Also went to a residential in June with my family and neices. All in all an eventful year!  Ramadan has just finished and it has been 2 years in my humble abode which I call home.  Enjoying the summer and whatever is left of it with my two beautiful girls and hubby who is not so beautiful and rightly so otherwise I would be a tad worried and jealous! 

I shall love you and leave you and hope you can forgive me for being TBATT (Too Busy All The Time!)...until next time! x