Day Two: Failing to Live Below the Line

I’m not a hater. I’m actually a bit of a natural-born cheerleader. But in this circumstance I am quite relieved to see other people ‘failing’ (yes, air quotes- it’s my blog) the Live Below the Line challenge to live on less than £1 ($1.50) worth of food daily.

I ended yesterday with

$0.29 Sauteed veggie sandwich with processed cheese and pickles

$0.15 Cup of tea with splash of milk and less sugar than I would prefer

$0.12 Two homemade lumps of chocolate-covered raisins and peanuts (thanks Hun, you knew I would be a much better spouse and parent with some chocolate in me!)

$0.12 Banana

$0.09 Four (or five?) Jelly candies

Total: $0.77

Daily Total: $1.50

I think my fail happened around an extra jelly penny candy or two and then… I added some couscous broth to the sauteed veggies. Yeah, plus I skipped lunch- which was a beautiful platter of couscous with chicken and raisins and… and I stole a couple spoons of the broth. And ate two or three too many jelly candies. Fail.

~~~

Please go here to help relieve extreme poverty. I’m off to prep a bunch of cheap veggies for lunch whilst drinking “all the tap water” I can.

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Tight

We had a terse argument that ultimately got me to here. If he left work a few minutes early, we would lose a few dollars. But if I could leave home a few minutes early, I could pick up the food. The free food. But would it even be worth it?

Mmmm look at all those yummy preservatives and other added chemicals!

Sometimes the boxes are more generous with fresh produce and even some yogurt or cheese in them. Sometimes they are measly, full of processed, chemical-filled “food” items that I am ashamed to feed my children. We finally agreed that the risk was worth the few dollars we would lose. The few dollars wouldn’t buy any produce or any other foods beside a gallon of milk.

The warehouse had moved since my visit last month, but I didn’t know that until I arrived and read the posted flier with a map directing me to the new location. I was tempted to take the flier so I wouldn’t forget the address, but it was the only one posted. I got back in our car, his work truck. We own just this one vehicle, but it doesn’t seat our entire family. I drove a little faster. We lose on the other end if I am late.

From the bright, midday sunlight I step into the dark, unfamiliar space, looking hurriedly for the number tags. Should someone else get the next number, it could mean late or later for me. New people don’t know the process. They take a number, sit and wait with the rest of us, waiting for food. But when the number is called the new person is then told to fill out paperwork which they should have filled out before they took a number. This can make the wait unpredictably and painfully longer. Some days there isn’t a wait. Other days, it could take an hour’s worth of waiting just to finally walk over to the counter and exchange a number tag for a box of food. If my turn is not called soon enough, I may have to leave without my box.

The warehouse is so noisy. Just like the old location. There are several workers, a few administrators, dozens of people waiting ahead of me, the television is on and of course, several small children are in various states of playing or clinging. I find the number dispenser and move further into the warehouse looking for a place to sit. So many people standing. So much noise. I hate it that they watch me as I stand looking for a place to sit and wait for the food.

Then I see her and realize that the noise is mostly a moaning sound. A very tall and heavyset woman is lying on her side on the painted cement floor. She is writhing just slightly and making a constant moan. Many people are standing around watching her, ignoring the Wizard of Oz on the TV. A man is on the floor cradling her shoulders and head in his lap, telling her: “You’re okay baby. You’re okay.” A woman is asking no one in particular if the moaning woman is diabetic. The curious or concerned woman has a family member who is diabetic; she guesses that perhaps this is the moaning woman’s problem. She is epileptic. This is repeated throughout the crowd. “She is epileptic.”

A woman is asking the man on the floor questions, relaying the information into the phone. I hesitate. Should I take a seat? I step just outside the entrance. Back into the brightness. My number is 56. I see a couple in the parking lot, loading their food into two backpacks. I want to ask them what number they had. I am envious that they got their food before whatever is happening happened and they don’t have to wait. The woman on the phone is the one who should be calling the numbers. Another couple leaves and I want to ask them what their number was. I peek through the door at a man standing near the pick-up window. I try to see what number is in his hand. I feel so callous. That woman is sick on the cement floor. She may not get her food. She may not need it anymore. Maybe I should leave.

I move along the side of the building, further away from the door. An ambulance comes. I watch the entrance closely for anyone else coming out with their box. I don’t know what time it is. I can see most of the inside of the waiting room. I don’t see a clock. I remember during another visit at the old location that the place didn’t have a clock on the wall. Maybe it makes the waiters too anxious. The Wizard of Oz is a VHS tape and won’t even give a commercial break to hint at how long I have been waiting. Someone else comes out with a box of food. I go back in. The number 59 is still hanging on the wall. I press myself against the wall next to the number tags. I stare down towards my feet and notice how my nails are digging into my hands. I can see the wrapper of a hypodermic needle on the table next to me. I can see her feet. She is lying on her back now. Only one of my friends knows that I do this. A few days ago I told her that I only felt desperate during my first visit to the food bank. I feel desperate again today.

~~~

This story originally appeared in University of Alaska Anchorage’s ‘Understory.’

Go here for a list of Muslim operated (and sometimes halal carrying) foodbanks.

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Link (self)Love: OnIslam Coming Home with the Cows

Being one of those Muslims who spent a lot of time using the resources available online while coming into my deen (and I still do of course!), it is especially exciting for me to have written an article on parenting, nature and green stuffs for the site OnIslam.

“Allah also gave me an opportunity to get away from it all. I don’t mean the five-star sort of getting away; rather it was a chance to try this simple living thing that so many people pine for, though I had never.”

Recently I read an interview with Ibrahim Abdul-Matin, the author of ‘Green Deen,’ in which he laments about how and why so many Muslims are out of touch with the nature and therefore, apathetic to environmental issues.

Seated 1200 feet above sea level in my mud house located in a mostly self-sustaining farming community in the High Atlas Mountains, I was geographically so far away from Abdul-Matin in Brooklyn and living a much different lifestyle, still I embarrassedly felt that he spoke exactly about me.

Before moving to Morocco, I assumed that I would relocate there, creating my long dreamed of suburban family home, but with Arabic (or French) subtitles. I don’t knock myself (or anyone else) for having such dreams.

I wanted a big chunk of Allah’s glorious bounty: my own semi-private yard, a comfortable car and enticingly displayed foods for sale within a short driving distance.

Please keep reading here.

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Live Below the Line: Coffee!

When I very first considered doing the Live Below the Line challenge to live on less than  £1 ($1.50) a day, one acquaintance responded, “No way! That’s less than what I pay for my daily coffee.” Well yeah. Isn’t that the standard fundraising slogan these days: “Give up your coffee for just one day…” or week or whatever. I know that nowadays (here in rural Morocco) I pay much less for coffee than I have all of my adult life, but still I freaked out a little about having to give up the cuppa and so the cost of my daily coffee intake was the first thing I calculated – before committing to the challenge!

My very first coffee (other than stealing sips of my mom’s iced coffees when I was a kid) was one of these. It was free as I was working in a café that did vocational training for an awesome non-profit org. I still remember the manager surprisedly saying “You’ve never had a mocha? Let me get you one…” I was immediately hooked on the good stuff: double shot with whip and always, always chocolate! Fortunately (or not?) I worked in the food industry for several years, so my coffee habit was often work-subsidized.

When I did make coffee at home, it was usually made from beans like these here ($8-$12 per lb/half kilo)- or perhaps more spendy ones when I was a) feeling rich or b) feeling like being spendy. Chocolate was often added needed, and sometimes I used the more-expensive-than-milk vanilla soy milk or the husband’s preference half and half.

Jumping several years ahead in my coffee consuming ways, in Casablanca, we usually bought coffee by the kilo for barely less than what we paid in the states. Out here in the sticks, where I am living now, we would get these little air-vacuumed packs of coffee that cost about 80 dirhams ($9.36) per kilo. A slightly less expensive bulk coffee is available at my local epecerie for 40 per kilo grams. Initially I started calculating the vacuum-packed stuff for my challenge since that is what we normally have, but you know what? That stuff is made by an evil company. And I seriously cannot taste the difference anyway! Too many years of burning my tongue or coffee really is just “yuck” as the kids say, either way I don’t drink it for pleasure and maybe after the challenge I should revisit my coffee addiction, but in the meantime…

I use about .9 dirhams of coffee a day (when I only drink it once!) and I pay 6 dirhams for one liter of fresh local milk everyday. Thank God. We were buying cartoned stuff for 10 dirhams a liter, and that was a lot of packaging we were wasting… So I use about .75 dirhams worth of milk and I calculated my sugar to be about .11 dirhams per cup of coffee. I will be forgoing chocolate, I know mushkin (*rolls eyes at self*).

Grand total: 1.76 dirhams (20 US cents) a day for coffee. I’m in!

But I note that my daily coffee intake,though immensely scaled down from what it once was/could be,  is still quite a luxury compared to my neighbors’ habits. Next up I need to figure out what I’m going to be able to eat! Maybe I should just fast on those days…

Please go here to sponsor my  Live Below the Line Challenge.  All sponsorship will go to Association Bayti, a Moroccan NGO that feeds and helps “youth in difficult situations.”

Now I need to figure out what I can eat with my remaining 11 dirhams ($1.29) per day…

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I Go To School… At Home

Asalam alaikum, my name is Zakariya and I am eleven years old. I have always been homeschooled, so I really don’t know what a typical day at school is like, but I do have an idea of what an ideal homeschooling day would be …
My perfect day would start with a big breakfast, including waffles and hot chocolate, but usually I just make myself a sandwich with honey and homemade peanut-butter. I really like to have extra sweet coffee or black tea, but my mom usually only lets me have chamomile or green tea. We don’t live near a bakery, so my mom pays my brother and I to make our own bread, which is pretty awesome because I get money and homemade bread is delicious.

On a perfect day I could jump into my favourite projects right after breakfast, but actually I have some chores to do. My brothers and I take turns washing dishes; we also feed our food scraps to our neighbour’s cows, chickens and cats. Sometimes I have to clean the hammam (bathroom) or wash my clothes, which we don’t have a machine for. In an ideal world, we would have a washing machine and I would never even have to use it!
After chores we have ‘project time.’ Right now my main project is learning about architecture and doing architectural drawings. I draw with pencils and the computer. I’ve used some architecture software and am hoping to get some better illustrating software soon.
I tried making three dimensional building models with balsa wood, but found out that I really like making toy guns instead. I also draw a lot of comics and have been thinking about writing a whole story about what World War III might be like.
Lunchtime always sneaks up on me while I am working on a project. On an ideal day, we would have Chinese take-out or pizzas with fountain sodas delivered, but actually, just like with chores, my brothers and I take turns helping to make lunch, which is usually our biggest meal of the day. My mom says that I am really “detail oriented” so she usually has me cut vegetables into small pieces for fresh salads or sautéing.
After lunch my parents like to have “quiet time,” which for them and my little sisters usually means taking a nap. My brothers and I like to use the computer during this time, either to watch a movie or play video games.
The athan for Asr lets us know that quiet time is over, and, after we pray, we can play outside until Mahgrib if we don’t have any chores to do. I usually use this time without my brothers and sisters around to do my own work on the computer, like right now I like to take a lot of math tests online or make stop animation movies with Lego or paper cutouts.
Usually right after Mahgrib we eat a simple dinner of leftovers or other simple food and then begin getting ready for bed. Most nights we have ‘story time’ and my mom reads either a storybook for my sisters or a chapter from one of the books we have on our Kindle. We don’t live near a library, so most of our reading is done on the e-reader, and after story time my older brother and I take turns reading on it. Right now we are reading through all of Rick Riordan’s books. If it’s not my night to use the Kindle, I usually draw for a little while before I go to sleep. Occasionally I actually stay up longer than my parents and having the whole house to myself is really perfect – the best way to end the day!

~~~

Originally published in Discover- The Magazine for curious Muslim Kids, Issue #3

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Confessions of An Unschooling Hypocrite

I have been wanting my kids to learn Arabic since before they were born, of course. And since the first child’s birth I was irritated for nearly a decade (maybe more) that this acquisition wasn’t happening naturally via my husband speaking to them in Arabic. It seemed like he just wouldn’t do it,  though he could. It took me very many years to understand that he is not a native speaker. Yes, yes- he learned Arabic in school and can read, write, and speak it, but it is his second (or third language) so it does not come naturally to him, just as German, Spanish and French (languages I have somewhat acquired) do not come naturally to me. He did teach the kids how to read Arabic phonetically and got a bit into grammar stuffs with #1 and #2, but when I finally caught onto to the non-native speaker problem I began hiring tutors, which got them much further in the acquisition process. Doesn’t sound exactly like unschooling philosophy, does it? Then this week my eldest son vehemently refused to continue with his Arabic instruction.

While the Arabic tutor worked with my second son, I nagged, begged, threatened and attempted to bribe the heel-dragger, while being awash with a sweeping myriad of emotions all connected with a resounding feeling of failure. He simply wouldn’t do it. Later, he would explain that he “just prefers self-taught learning,” like he is doing with his Latin studies. That sounds like unschooling doesn’t it?

But before he inadvertently helped me to recommit to our unschooling ideals, I had another thought. All this time I have been wanting for my children to learn Arabic, knowing that it will be beneficial to their deen, but for myself I had a dozen or so excuses about not having time to learn Arabic over the last 16 years or so of being Muslim. Um, yeah. So those recently opened slots our Arabic tutor has on Wednesday and Saturday- they’re mine.

لديك فكرة جيدة!

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The Hijrah Diaries Into The High Atlas III

Brooke Benoit returns to her long running series about gracelessly adjusting to living in Morocco – this time in a rural village in the High Atlas mountains.

Day 46
The landlord brought the water bill over to the husband today and hubby says that the guy was “very shocked” by our excessive water usage. I was so upset by this. It has truly been amazing to see firsthand just how much water we use in our household. For the first few weeks up here, without the water heater, we had to heat water by the potfulls every time we needed it for washing dishes, clothes and bodies. This gave us an opportunity to really see exactly how much water we are using- and wasting! Though we tried to be creative, there was very little we could do with rinse/grey water other than dump it. If I ever a garden again, insha Allah, I want to have a little tank under the kitchen sink (maybe the bathroom too) to catch rinse water for reusing in the garden.

I think that where we have failed up here is in our clothes washing. Even though I have completely reassessed my idea of what exactly are “dirty clothes,” we still used a lot – apparently more than anyone ever in the 4,000 year history of the village – of water to wash our clothes. I mostly blame the teenager who would try to hose off his clothes to a near state of clean with the shower head. We are all hoping to get a washer machine in the next few weeks, as the kids have been helping with the laundry and the husband has been doing a lot of it. I know machines use less water than handwashing, but since nearly all the other women in the village wash in the river, I’m afraid my landlord may be only slightly less freaked-out next billing cycle.

Day 60
One of my worst I’m-a-monster-city-slicker nightmares came true today. I was left with the task of burning the trash while hubby is back in the city. Though several of my neighbours burn trash right in front of their homes, we were told to do our burning far from houses, which after having toxic burning trash stench fill my home in Casablanca – I can appreciate that suggestion. I had to get the kids to haul the trash up the mountain, then buy petrol from the little hanout during one of the small windows when he is open and rush up the mountain to build my bonfire while the baby is sleeping or otherwise happily preoccupied. I looked out the window to check the kids’ progress and had a good, hearty laugh seeing my 10 year old son carrying bulging plastic bags up the hill while wearing pink kitchen gloves, which is actually a habit their father instilled in the kids for when they do the dishes, but sure – blame the bourgeois-kid-making on the mother. So, they got the trash out and I called to my eldest to run out and get the petrol as the guy was open – and then he suddenly closed, then he opened a few minutes later and seemed to not have petrol or any idea what son was saying and he closed again. Great. Now cats and wild dogs would surely find some smell of interest to warrant tearing through my trash and spreading it across the mostly pristine valley, which is what I am really worried about and why I wanted to do this in one fell swoop. But I couldn’t have foreseen what our nine year old neighbour was about to do… Ignoring the pleas of my son, the boy tore into every single one of our tightly tied up dozen or so small plastic bags and sifted through the entire contents of each, spreading the trash all over the burn site.
The horror! Quickly I realised there wasn’t anything overly embarrassing in there other than a few too many cellophane treat wrappers. But why would he do this?! My son suspects that he was scavenging for something valuable or reusable as many of the local kids make innovative toys with scraps and trash remnants. I was oddly proud to hear that he found nothing of value or interest among our trash – this means we are doing well to reuse everything reusable.

And I’m realising – once again – that while I work myself into a frenzy worrying about things – I really have no control. Now I have to ‘jab‘ up and go figure out where the husband bought that petrol from and pull my evil disposable nappies out of the thorn bushes.

Day 65
When we first attempted to move to Morocco a decade ago, I very much wanted to simply recreate my US lifestyle in the North African Mediterranean. In Casablanca that was easy enough to do. The few things I missed from the US were mostly food items, and with a little extra work I could I whip up nearly any of those dishes in my Casa kitchen. Before we moved out here to the sticks, I noticed myself doing that same thing again, I was hoarding up every possible thing that I was worried that I would want or need – new shoes, craft supplies, kitchen wares, hair accessories, specialty foods and homeopathic remedies – all these things that are not immediately available on the mountain, but surely my husband or someone could drag them in if we really, really needed them. As I was wondering around another Casa niche shopping district trying to remember what wasn’t on my list, (as there is always something else needed isn’t there?) I finally became aware of my behaviour, immediately stopped shopping and went home. I decided to “just make do” – to truly let go of stuff and just bring in what I could, not worrying about the rest – it would come if we truly needed it.

I began to hope that moving out here to the sticks would help me reevaluate some of my not-so-good dunya habits, such as my materialism as well as my eco practices. If my neighbour can make do without so much that I think is necessary, maybe I could rethink my needs. Maybe we cut our lifestyle down by force, since there really isn’t that much retail and entertainment-for-purchase to do out here, and then slowly we could decide where and if we want to build our… spending, really – it’s mostly about spending and now I have a chance to really see what it is that I value and to prioritise that.

Day 73
Two months in and The Eldest child is finally trying out this hiking bit. Yesterday we all went for a walk and he decided to climb up the foothills and check out a cave. We could barely see the dot of his red T-shirt as he neared the cave and then seemed to quickly descend back towards us. Turns out it’s some old man’s house! There were a few sheep on the ‘roof’ of it and a low rock building to the side. The old man was headed further up the hill to where a few other animals were. Of course now we are totally obsessed with why and how this man lives up there. Is he that poor or does he chooses to live in a cave? Where is his family and what happened that he is now living like that?

A general curiosity in hiking and discovery seems to have been piqued and The Eldest jaunted off after Fajr this morning with a pack full of snacks and the camera. I fully admit to being mildly jealous at my not being able to just go climb a mountain whenever I want, but then again – it’s no longer about me, at least not entirely.

Day 74
That old man on the mountain- found out that’s a shepherd’s daytime rest stop – not his home! This is exactly why I didn’t want to come for just a week or even a month. I want for my children (and myself) to have ample opportunity to really explore Allah’s I creation – to “get to know” each other and lots of goodness in between. As we watch tourists hike through town, (and I read their often cringeworthy blog and travel accounts) I become more aware of how travelling through can mostly just reinforce predisposed ideas. I imagine the story that we could have been spun about that mean old man, rejected by his family and left to fend for himself on the hillside. I’m becoming more aware of mine and our biases around class, gender and race, and I’m feeling that the local pace, which we are still acclimating to, is much more accommodating to explore and rectify these biases – insha Allah. And what a bonus that the backdrop for our “studies” is so magnificent.

Day 89
Hubby keeps asking me if I want to go back to the city, as if I will suddenly change my mind. Things are getting easier and my self-doubts are waning. As he was walking out the door for Thur, he asked for the second or third time today if I am “ready to go back” and then added that the landlord wants us to sign a contract if we plan to stay for a full year. Apparently the homeowner usually stores apples in this house during the winter and wants to be sure he isn’t displacing his harvest for nothing. “Sign it!” I called out to the husband. I am committed. And although I have said that I don’t want to think past one year, today I did walk over to see a little farm that is for sale. Just a little walk, just a little farm, just a little thought.

~~~

Living in the High Atlas mountains with her husband and six home-educated children, Brooke Benoit is (mostly) savouring living in a community where hands-on and doing from scratch are the norm.

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Unschooling Update: Earth and Media Studies

Recently my family relocated to a rural village in the High Atlas mountains. We also got a fairly kid-friendly camera/video camera. So. Here’s a little visual demonstration of what unschooling looks like for us these days:

PE, Outdoor Ed, Geography

Geology, Technology- building a tumbler for our finds.

Botany

Biology, Scatology

Biology, Anatomy, Animal Husbandry

Agriculture, Economy, History

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A DIY Birth Kit and Plan

Two weeks ago I gave birth to my 6^th child by way of what is commonly called an unassisted childbirth (uc), though my husband- and only my husband- actually gave me a good amount of assistance, so I don’t like to call it a uc. This was our fourth homebirth and I have never (publically) written much about my homebirthing experiences, but this time I am feeling a pressing need too (yes, birth puns!) yet not sure where to even begin. So, figured I would post my birth kit and “plans” for now as I really appreciated other people doing so while I was in my planning stage.

Birth Kit

On Hand:

Hot water bottle

Suction bulb

Embroidery thread

Warm socks

Lavender

Need to buy:

Blood test (need proof of type)

Rent Car

Birthing Stool (Carpenter)

Paper Towels

Baby wipes

Sheets 2

Chux/Disposable sheets (Pharmacy)

BIG sanitary pads (Pharmacy/Carrefour)

Betadine (Pharmacy)

Rubbing Alcohol (Pharmacy)

Ice Pack (Pharmacy)

Phone Number for Clinique Urgencies

Ibuprofen (Pharmacy)

Stainless Steel Scissors (Kasseria)

Bucket EXACTLY like white bucket we wash dishes in (Derb Ghalef)

Homeopathic remedies (Maarif)

• Arnica
• Nux Vomica
• Chamomilla
• Hamamelis Virginica
• Lanolin

Case of Juice (I choose flavours)

Chamomile Tea

Flex straws (Carrefour)

Wash cloths (Maarif/Kasseria)

Baby Supplies:

Something to put Asiya’s clothes and diapers in

Bassinet (Maarif/Derb Omar)

Cloth diapers (Kasseria/Maarif)

Nursing Bras (Maarif)

Swaddle Blankets (Kasseria/Maarif)

 

 

To Do At Birth:

 

Steep Tea in 3-4 litres of water

Sterilize Scissors

Put chux/disposable big pads on bed

Have cool juice/water for Brooke

Clean Bath Tub

Have trash set-up in bed room (put bag in dirty laundry hamper)

Put birth stool next to bed

Keep people out of bedroom and bathroom

Now for a rundown of what I did and didn’t use:

Hot water bottle- Didn’t use. Previously I have used one on my abdomen, even tucked one in my pants when we went to the hospital with my first labor, and do recommend doing so. This baby was born during an unusual heatwave, so I skipped the hot water bottle.

Suction bulb- Used. Dad loves to suction his babies’ boogers, so it was an extra special treat for him to suction Asiya Eve’s mouth.

Embroidery thread- Didn’t use. Birthing her in Morocco I had less shopping choices for my birth kit than when I have birthed at home in the states. Unable to find umbilical cord clips I was going to use DIY birthers’ suggestion of embroidery thread, but then a friend kindly sent along two clips and that was definitely much easier to work with and appreciated!

Warm socks 2 pairs- Didn’t use. I think I have always worn them before, as some birthers get the chills, especially after labor- but again, heatwave.

Lavender- Used. Fresh from the countryside, I steeped it with the chamomile right after my water broke/leaked heavily- about 14 total brew time and then poured into a bath and I soaked in it for a bit.

Need to buy:

Blood test (need proof of type)- Didn’t get or need.  Was told that the hospitals would require this, so best to have a card like Moroccans generally do otherwise it could hold up an emergency. We just figured if it was that much of an emergency they ought to trust that the husband and I know that we have the same type.

Rent Car- Didn’t do or need. I didn’t want to have to walk the block to the ER if we truly needed to, but they have ambulances so we didn’t bother- and a good thing because she came several days later than the ultrasound guessed.

Birthing Stool (Carpenter)- Used. An excellent investment and a family heirloom! We had the stool made locally and I used it for one good push with the baby and a sort of push/wishful thinking with the placenta.

Paper Towels- Used. Mmm, I’m not really sure if the husband used these, but it seems he must have.

Baby wipes- Didn’t use.  Got these for me, but didn’t need them.

Sheets 2- Used. Right after I took my bath I puked all over myself and my clean sheet- happy to have extras!

Chux/Disposable sheets (Pharmacy)- Used. Put under the birth stool and on my bed.

BIG sanitary pads (Pharmacy/Carrefour)- Used, of course.

Betadine (Pharmacy)- Used. Midwives usually ask me to put a little in a peri-bottle along with water and clean/rinse with it after ever pee once the water has broken, but I just made plain water istinja this time. Also, for the umbilical cord stump I like to use a little Golden Seal and then just clean water, but it made my hub and in-laws feel better to use Betadine, so I did this one time.

Rubbing Alcohol (Pharmacy)- Used to clean the scissors.

Ice Pack (Pharmacy)- Didn’t use. Previously I have used an ice pack after my homebirths, but recently read an article about how this may not be best for the body so I was considering not using it. My perineum really felt good after this birth, and I felt no desire to sit on ice.

Phone Number for Clinique Urgencies- Got, but didn’t use. AlhumdiAllah

Ibuprofen (Pharmacy)- Used. Uff. Didn’t realize the strength was considerably stronger than in the states and took three on an empty stomach, which may have contributed to my subsequent puking.

Anti-nausea suppositories (Pharmacy)- Used. I have vomited during all my labors and it is horrible. In the states all I could get over the counter was homeopathic nux vomica, here I got suppositories and started using them when my contraction started picking up- no puking! At least not during labor.

Stainless Steel Scissors (Kasseria)- Used. Cut the cord with them and then gave them away, thank you- don’t need to resee that every time I use them.

Bucket EXACTLY like white bucket we wash dishes in (Derb Ghalef)- Used. Husband got one bigger and it didn’t fit under the stool, so he went back for a second, which fit perfectly and almost filled to the brim with birth-stuffs, like the placenta.

Homeopathic remedies (Maarif)

• Arnica- Used.
• Nux Vomica- Used.  Very worried about nausea, sucked on these too.
• Chamomilla- Didn’t use.
• Hamamelis Virginica- Used. Before and after for varicose veins and hemorrhoids.
• Lanolin- Didn’t use, yet. For wool diaper covers.

Case of Juice (I choose flavours)- Drank it all and still am. I really like to have a lot of juice on hand to drink straight or diluted while building up my milk supply.

Chamomile Tea- Used. Steeped with the lavender right after my waters broke/leaked- about 14 total brew time and then poured into a bath and I soaked in it for a bit.

Flex straws (Carrefour)- Used.  And then hid away the rest for special occasions and sick days.

Wash cloths (Maarif/Kasseria)- Used. Got them primarily for my perineum, but didn’t have a chance/need to use them. Wiped baby off a little with a couple.

Baby Supplies:

Something to put Asiya’s clothes and diapers in- Got her some drawers.

Bassinet (Maarif/Derb Omar)- Still waiting on this one…

Cloth diapers (Kasseria/Maarif)- Found some locally, though only medium wraps which she is leaking out of…but I also found my stash of small prefolds, so need to do something about those wraps…

Nursing Bras (Maarif)- Found to different styles locally and an old but not too worn one.

Swaddle Blankets (Kasseria/Maarif)- Very happy to find a couple of cotton ones, though it’s too hot to swaddle her.

To Do At Birth:

Steep Tea in 3-4 litres of water- Did that right away when my waters broke/leaked.

Sterilize Scissors- Hubby and sister-in-law did this just before they cut the cord.

Put chux/disposable big pads on bed- I did that and put some under the stool.

Have cool juice/water for Brooke- Put some in the fridge and freezer when my waters broke.

Clean Bath Tub- Sister-in-law did this. I recommend a sitz bath after labor- very nice and comforting.

Have trash set-up in bed room (put bag in dirty laundry hamper)- Didn’t happen, husband managed clean-up just fine while I sound asleep.

Put birth stool next to bed- Did that first thing after brewing tea.

Keep people out of bedroom and bathroom- They (the kids) mostly stayed out and just before we were really ready for her to come on out I asked the kids to stay out of the room and “off my door” and they did!

I’m still ruminating on what I want to say about the birth, but in the meantime- it went really well- alhumdiAllah!

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Only Pretty Thoughts

Dearest Three Regular Readers,

We knew I would never be able to keep this at a steady pace and alas I have gotten very neglectful. It’s the beads! The pretty, sparkly, happy, sexy beads–they distract me and keep me busy these days.

Please have a looksie at my new Etsy shop, which The Boy #1 is in on as well, and don’t take me off your blogroll yet. Insha Allah I will be yammering away soon now that I figured out most of that yucky techy time-consuming stuff over at The Ets.

<3

~Brooke

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