Bismillaahir-Rahmaanir-Raheem O Allah, keep me safe until Ramadan, keep Ramadan safe for me, and accept it from me. Aameen. Oh, Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan. Aameen. The month of Ramadan is gradually upon us and we pray that Allah (S) spare us […]
A few days ago I read an article by a Muslim American Doctor who was trying to prove to her readers that she is doing a great service to her adoptive country and should not be discriminated against because of her faith. It left me perplexed and saddened, that such an accomplished person would have to put in print every good deed she did in the recent past to convince people of her rightful place in the society in which she lives.
Today I read a blog post, by a fellow mom, who posted a picture of herself and a Muslim lady she met in a grocery store, with whom she started a conversation that she felt was worthwhile sharing with the world. This is great, for a non Muslim American who has quite a following on social media to come out and share this special moment at a time when Muslims are being attacked and threatened with nothing short of expulsion and exile, it does need to be commended. However, and I don’t know if this is because she is being affected by all the hatred around her, or if she is genuinely afraid that she will suffer negative consequences for being completely un-partisan, but I read the article from beginning to end, and I kept hoping that she would say something uplifting, but the more I read, the more I felt bogged down by the heaviness of the rhetoric that was chiming behind every sentence. It was depressing.
I am no stranger to racism and discrimination, I have seen and heard fellow citizens discriminate and say the unthinkable when they thought they were “among themselves” and I have seen a very clear difference in the way people talk, look and deal with me ever since I started wearing the headscarf, but beyond that, I have lived the residue of discrimination and its fear because I am Native American. I wasn’t taught the language, but I was taught the traditional stories, I didn’t live the traditional life but I was always fiercely proud of being Native. Despite having gotten into fights at school over my heritage, or race, I never once thought it was something I should hide or be ashamed of, until I moved to North America. I would get questions like: “Do you feel safe? Are you comfortable with them? Do you identify with their way of life?” As though I was being disassociated from the stereotype everyone else supposedly belonged to. I was constantly being slipped out of the lump, just so they could justify staying friends with me and simultaneously maintain their stereotypical views. It was an acrobatic feat to watch and quite awkward at that.
It gets silly after a while, why do they insist in this exercise? Shouldn’t there be a certain boundary for silliness beyond which you stop and reconsider your notions? Shouldn’t the racists be willing to prove their arguments? Shouldn’t we all be held up to a higher standard of scrutiny, rather than be satisfied to name such people ignorant? Simply allowing anyone to blurt out whatever association their minds can concoct is probably something we all put up with, but sometimes it goes too far, sometimes there are just too many people saying too many things that are just too nonsensical to ignore. Maybe this is why the Muslim Doctor felt compelled to write her article, maybe this is why the mom blogger felt she needed to post her encounter, all the while fiercely maintaining her love of country. Then, maybe, it is no longer enough to just label racist comments as being mouthed by ignorant people too lazy to do any actual research. When has it become acceptable to want to strip one’s affiliation to any particular group just because one doesn’t fit within the standard stereotype? Who decides if I am who I say I am and not who you think I am? Why is the onus on the accused to prove they aren’t guilty by association? Why is it even relevant to any conversation? Why do people feel the need to blob together perceived difference from the self? And why should we “others” try to find ways in which we are not that different?
This woman, writing the blog in defense of the Muslim woman at the grocery store, states that she tries to teach her children not to discriminate. But how does she do it? How do we do it? Do we ask people’s religion (like she did) and then decide to be nice to them even though people around us say they’re not good? Or do we treat everyone with dignity and respect, assuming the best from the get-go, not knowing and then continue to treat them with the same respect and dignity when or if they reveal their “identity” to us? Or do we try to figure out “where they fit” and treat them accordingly, until we ascertain our “suspicions” and then try to give ourselves the credit for having been nice, despite this “difference?” Should we pat ourselves on the back for “being nice?” Or should we question why we think we are “being nice?” Is this not distinguishing on a superficial basis? Is this behavior really worthy of praise?
On social media it happens too frequently to ignore: some people will say “I have a Native friend,” “my sister is married to a black person,” “my best friend is gay,” “my neighbor is Sikh,” to somehow absolve what they inevitably say right after, which is usually prefaced by a “but” or “however.” This is really an attempt to justify some generalization they are about to make, which they know is wrong and thus warrants a formal explanation that will supposedly exclude them from the group of people who would normally state such sweeping generalizations: bigots. People preface such bigoted comments with “exculpatory notes” in order to gain credence for the statement they are about to make. Now, isn’t this actually worse than coming out and saying something stupid?
I always maintained that “tolerance” is no good, I don’t want to be “tolerated” for being Native, or Muslim because people around me feel “charitable” towards me. I never asked for this charity, I don’t want it. But I’m not desperate, perhaps, if I were, I would feel differently. Like someone recently pointed out, if you are in a dark hole and sinking deeper and everyone tries to keep you there or push you further down, if someone hands you a stick, or gives you a hand, you take it, you don’t ask what they want in return, you don’t check who is giving it to you, you just take it. And often, unfortunately, it turns out that it wasn’t a help you would have taken if you had known the purpose behind it. Unfortunately, sometimes, some people will seek out opportunities in which to take advantage of desperation, for their own gain.When people throw coins at beggars for entertainment, does that count as charity? Do the beggars participate in the charade by running after the coins out of sheer desperation, or are they admitting that this is a fun game they want to partake in? The exchange has occurred, the players plaid, but what is the net result? Is one diminished and the other exalted?
I may be an idealist, though I doubt it, I just kinda have read, heard and seen it often enough to want to believe in it. I believe that help, charity, smiles, compliments and all good acts should be given freely, without any expectations. These ought to be given not just because one wants to contribute to the betterment of society, but because one believes that sometimes people are in circumstances beyond their control and just need a little something to get back on track, for their own sake. I don’t want to change them, I don’t want them to pay me back, I don’t expect anything in return, and I don’t think I am better than them for being on the giving side rather than the receiving end. The roles could very well be reversed and there is very little worse than being reminded of favors one has accepted in times of hardship. I believe I have a right to exist and prosper, like anyone else, it’s not a privilege that I can be given by “nice” people around me who think I might be worth the risk. I don’t think I’m being charitable when I refuse to use race, ethnic, religious or class definitions when describing people, I simply happen to believe that there are better ways to describe people that don’t cluster them and confine them into artificial categorizations.
I don’t like to be smiled at by people because they fear me and want to “keep me on their good side,” or, perhaps worse, because they pity my circumstance and hope that I will “overcome.” I don’t mind people smiling at me, much better than a frown, sure, not that I pay much attention to how people look at me… but a fake smile? What am I supposed to do with that? Sneer? Give a fake smile back? Wonder why they feel obligated to smile at me even though they don’t want to? Wonder why they don’t smile sincerely? Feel happy that they are smiling and not frowning, even if it is forced? This is how I felt after reading the mom blogger’s article, I really don’t know if it was intentional, but I kept wondering about their conversation, was she being asked about other Muslims (all 1.6 billion of us) and trying to seamlessly slip her away from everyone else? Maybe not, but she didn’t share the details of the conversation in the blog. I still haven’t figured out what the most self respecting, decent, unequivocal, uncompromising, non-confrontational yet honest way to deal with unwanted charitable smiles is, so I just avoid looking at the people that I know have done that before, and avoid those who do it, the next time around. I have decided that I will smile if I am in a good mood and feel like I want to smile, regardless of who the person in front of me is, and not smile and simply look at the environment around me rather than the people around me when I am just not up for anyone’s “charitable smiles.” There are, of course, genuine smiles, and I am sorry that I miss some of those some times, but I do try to maintain good relations with those around me who have responded well to my approaches or who have shown a genuine interest in trying to get to know me.
I sometimes can’t help wonder, though, if I am not giving more credit to the few bigots than the neutral, and even worse, the ones who actually give a hoot? That’s not fair, is it? These fake smiles should not change me, they are false, just like the premise behind them is, and if I am going to be honest with myself and the world, I should continue to be who I am, regardless of what’s around me. And I know many people in Libya can relate to this sentiment. Even, and perhaps especially when there is a lot of that falsehood going around, I… WE must continue to be true to ourselves and see ourselves in the eyes of those who really see the individual and believe them when they stand by us, not because their voice counts more than ours, but because when falsehood and egocentricity abound, efforts based on sincerity, honesty and humility mean so much more. Maybe this is the motive behind the many patient testimonials in the Doctor’s piece. Desperate times can make people do extraordinary things, and I will not judge them, but I do wonder about those who exacerbate the pain of the downtrodden, under the guise of a charitable act. I wonder about those who believe they are above the desperate, simply for being in better circumstances. I wonder about those who take advantage of an unfortunate situation to boost their own ego. That I do wonder about.
A country’s rebirth, it’s hopeful, painful, exciting and scary all at once and for Libya it’s been all this and so much more, intermittently, for a few years already.
We started this concept of a Cafe for moms and children with this newness in mind, hoping to provide a service where we found a gap that desperately needed to be filled. But reality is so much more complex.
Like so many other things, theory and practice can be completely different things. You might have very clear and precise ideas starting off, and then find yourself having to change left and right to adapt to realities that don’t behave as you had anticipated.
The same is true for teaching and, dare I say it, mothering. My oldest told me with pure conviction, talking about the younger siblings, that if they were his children, he would have them behave in such and…
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Here we are again, the end of one month and the dawn of another. So much has happened at the Caterpillar Cafe in the last 5 months. We had 5 day/wk Freeplay to 4 day/wk English, monthly pass down to daily pass and now moms and kids under 1 enter free of charge. I was told nobody would put their kids in an apartment to play, but they were wrong. I was told nobody would pay to sit and watch their kids play, but they were wrong. I was told, Libyans only care about getting a baby sitter and English classes, but they were wrong. I was told expats and Libyans wouldn’t want to sit in the same room and chat with each other, but they were wrong. I didn’t believe them, not all the way. Because although I know old habits die hard, I do feel there are honest needs that aren’t being met here, and this was my way of meeting them. Libyans and foreigners came, they saw the space and they let their kids play, they paid for their time there and every single kid that came only left after their mom agreed to bring them back to play again. The kids loved it, the moms that took the time to sit and soak it all in alongside their kids enjoyed it as well. Some made lasting friendships. Some went out and told all their friends about it. And some didn’t. And that’s fine, because it’s not for everyone, and I respect that. English classes were an add-on, but ended up being the main focus for a few months. But now school is at its last leg and we are starting with Freeplay again. This time there are no monthly fees, sessions are daily, mornings and afternoons, 6 days per week and even when crafts are going on, the other kids can still play freely. If anyone needs English help, they can call me and book ahead, so I can put aside time for them. Flexibility is the word. I wish I had a big garden with an enormous tree for kids to climb, sand pits and a mud kitchen, a little water station, real tools for kids to tinker with and grass as well as plenty of space for kids to run around in. I don’t. This is what I can offer, and I gave it my 100%, my kids and I shared everything we have and plenty of our time and it paid off. We made some new friends, the kids and I always have a magical place to go to when we’re sick of staying at home and daddy can’t take them out. I have managed to paint and craft and read more than I could have ever imagined, because my kids were too busy playing in any one of the other rooms and I actually had the space and time and didn’t have to look at dirty dishes to wash, laundry to iron and whatever else and could fully put my mind on my project and my kids. NOTHING ELSE! And this is the main reason why I embarked in this. I counted the money I had saved up through my part time jobs over the years and decided that THIS was something worthwhile and I would gladly put all of it into it if it meant peace of mind for my kids and me and whoever else wanted to join us. I couldn’t afford to buy fancy furniture or rent a villa, this is what I could afford and it was extremely convenient, and convenience when you have 4 kids under 10 means it’s doable. So I leaped at it, and I am so happy we did. If nothing else can be drawn from this experience thus far, I know I have done everything I could have possibly dreamed of and gave it my all, I know I have gotten to love this special time away from my home, even if it did mean going to another apartment and not to a spa. I know my kids loved the idea of it and still, even 6 months after acquiring the space, they ask me daily if they can play at the Club (it’s the mom and kid club), and when we go they PLAY. The word to describe this is SPENSIERATEZZA, which is Italian and means without worry, without thought, but not careless, and full of joy and freedom. This is the treasure we’ve gained. No matter what goes on outside, whether school had to be cancelled due to strikes or the security situation, whether there was shooting in the city or not, we could just make this trip and feel SPENSIERATEZZA. And here, in Tripoli, in 2014, this is a gift. And we are grateful! Thank you to all who have contributed in one way or another, joined us through play, crafts or classes or even just for a chat, thank you for believing with us and sharing, somehow, this adventure with us. It has been a pleasure!
I have been devouring literature on play and everything related to it for maybe a year now. I am blessed with very bright children, so teaching them things has never been an enormous challenge. But despite reading and wanting to try out every new technique on child play, according to each one’s developmental stage, I found this to be extremely difficult. It frustrated me to no end, this is PLAY! It should be fun, easy, natural. Kids should just want to jump in and be silly with me at the drop of a hat! So why aren’t they? Of course they do come to me at least once a day, requesting that I join them in whatever game they are playing, usually one at a time, to get their alone time with me, but if I break out in song, start dancing or take out some toys and ask them to join, they’ll look at me with bewilderment and wonder if I have temporarily loosened a few screws. Crafting is something else entirely, it’s like teaching, they sit (most of the time), I explain what they need to do, one step at a time, showing them an example and trying to make connections with useful knowledge they might have or want to have and help them if I see them struggling or lagging behind. Play is a beast all its own. It has nothing to do with academic learning, sure I can explain to them scientific or mathematical notions as they try things out and observe various phenomena, but they are usually dismissive of these little tid bits, as though I had just muttered something completely irrelevant to the task at hand. Occasionally, they will notice something odd and excitedly tell me about it, like when the colors mix and make completely new ones, or when a piece a play dough makes a movement resembling a bent arm despite the fact that nobody is moving that part, but only one extremity. Or they might come to me in frustration because the rounded block won’t stay vertical despite their repeated efforts to keep it that way. But these are all instances in which the kids were exploring different ways to use the tools provided (be it toys, blocks, dough, sand, kitchen utensils or whatever may be the case) and sharing a particular instant with me, to smile with them (because happiness is not real unless it is shared, and nobody knows it better than a child) or to comfort them and let them know they aren’t making a mistake, that’s just the way things work. It has nothing to do with me participating actively throughout their game, actually, quite the contrary.
Well, while reading about play I realized that it wasn’t that my kids didn’t find my games amusing (in fact they sometimes giggle when I let lose), nor is it that I forgot how to play (although I might have forgotten a lot more than I can remember). But it’s simply that they can fully experience play when they are completely immersed in it themselves. Play isn’t something we can give them on a platter, like fast food, here, take it, enjoy! It’s a process and they go about it at their own pace, with whom they chose, when they chose and the least amount of parental involvement, the better. This doesn’t mean that we let them go lose and try out everything completely unsupervised, especially not the younger ones, who absolutely need a close watch, but it means that we can’t come up with toys and expect them to be as excited as us and become enthralled in a game of our own invention and under our own structured methodology. In a way, it would be like asking an explorer to stick to the paved road, or a scientist to only follow what his predecessors have discovered and proven. What’s the point?
In the last few weeks I’ve taken a few hours off of my sleep to be able to finish reading the Dostoyewsky short stories I very boldly began to tackle during one quiet afternoon of Freeplay. The kids were safely exploring in one of the rooms, I could see them from my position in the living room, and I curled up to attempt to finish one of the author’s highly acclaimed works of fiction. Of course it was a tall order of business and I only managed to finish a quarter of a story on that session, but I did finish the book eventually and the final sentences in it were these: “”Awareness of life is of a higher order than knowledge of the laws of happiness.” That’s an adage that we must fight. And I shall fight it. And if everyone wanted it, everything could be arranged immediately.” This was in reference to a dream the narrator had had, in which he had encountered a utopia, where people were happy and living in complete harmony with themselves, others and the entirety of their environment, including plants and animals because they had sure knowledge of a Higher Existence and they always acted for the benefit of everyone, and not just themselves. Of course the narrator, his interlocutors, the author and the critic presenting the work all had reservations about the applicability of such an ideal, reservations exemplified in the fact that this utopia was easily tilted into oblivion by one bad influence. Nevertheless the ideal persists not because it is eternal, but because it is feasible, attainable, though fleeting and “could be arranged immediately.” Obviously this, just like the author’s previous fixation with socialist ideals is fully theoretical, and just as he found out through his own very personal experience how these ideals were detached from reality, one can easily give examples of how his new found ideal could be turned inside out and tossed simply by the implication that general sure Knowledge of a Higher Existence is something that comes from within and cannot be enforced, despite repeated efforts to this effect by various cultures at different times in History, including very recently.
What I drew from it, which is not only applicable to children’s play but also to our very own present struggles in a nation in its infancy, is that we put way too much emphasis on collecting data, spreading information and using this information to add credibility or to discredit something or other, testing each other’s abilities (including pre-schoolers) to absorb as much data as possible and reproduce it verbatim at the drop of a hat, thus building fickle towers that for the sake of continuity I’ll call “awareness of life” rather than using our talents and self discipline to help others do their job, being able to take one’s own urge to act and do and say and simply be there to support whoever is in the process of acting, doing or saying, or in fact PLAYING; lending a hand when needed and overcoming our need to prove to the world that we too can perform. It isn’t always about us WITH them, or us AND them, or us VERSUS them, but sometimes it’s just about us ALONG with them, being there for them without interfering and helping to the best of our abilities when and as needed. By taking baby steps in this direction, be it by observing our kids play instead of intervening at every turn, or by listening to what the problems are and trying to find a way in which we can help those in charge solve them rather than disrupting each failed attempt they make at solving them in their desperation to finish their mandate before being ousted, we might catch a glimpse of what Dostoyewsky’s utopia looked like, likely not permanently, but like play, it is a process and baby steps in the pursuit of “Knowledge of the laws of happiness” may just lead us in the right direction, raising happy children who may not know their ABCs by age 4, but are fully capable of recognizing a happy moment when they feel it and maybe finding some happy stability where it is badly needed.
There have been people wondering about life and its purpose for about as long as humans have had intellect and practiced its use in a leisurely manner. Theories have fluctuated from purely physical in nature to metaphysical throughout the centuries and across cultures, in ways that can probably be explained by our constant disillusion with our lack of perfection. Each one of us, I would like to think, goes through this phase of wondering about our own particular life, and why we are here and then, often, when we don’t find answers we look beyond ourselves and look at others to find such answers, sometimes we can look beyond differences and identify a path that suits us, other times we might get caught up in them and perhaps even fall into perpetual judgement mode (ie: nobody’s perfect, so why should I be?). Some find their answer in religion and others continue searching their whole lives, never quite satisfied with the answers they encounter. One could philosophize about the purpose of life in general, of the human presence and what each one of us is expected to do to fulfill his/her duty or we as a whole should do not only to guarantee the survival of humanity, but also to improve our existence and that of our offspring and beyond. Many theories have been brought forth and many variants are being practiced by people everywhere, with varying degrees of success and/or enthusiasm.
I have known people of dozens, if not hundreds of cultures, languages and religious affiliations and have found affinities with each one, and have noticed this internal struggle to a certain extent in most, if not all of them. I do not expect to have answers, not because I haven’t found any, but because I believe each one of our paths and natures and, consequently, our answers are different and, like everything else in life, they change with us and our surroundings. We have to adapt to what is around us, we may have been born Queens and find ourselves refugees in foreign lands, longing for something we can never recuperate. We may have been born into the most miserable poverty and somehow manage to work our way to satisfying not only our own material needs, but those of our extended families as well, finding great joy and satisfaction in what we do. We may have thought we would become influential lawyers or even judges and end up deciding to put all our studies and careers on hold to care for our families, and find out that motherhood, if done responsibly, is much harder than we ever anticipated. We may have thought we would be crushed under the pressure of life’s stresses and disappointments, instead we flourished in ways we never would have even dared to dream of. Life is full of unexpected turns and turmoils, joys and sadness, and how we deal with each one, paves the path for our continuation.
I was born into a middle class family, with a hard working dad and an astonishingly bright mom, who put her promising University career on hold when my dashing father swept her off her feet. She taught me the love of books before I could even read a single letter, she spent time crafting with me before I could even hold a pencil or handle scissors, she taught me to upcycle before that was even a word, she listened to my invented stories and made up fascinating endings with me to entice my imagination beyond my immediate perception. She answered my questions, she questioned my answers and took the time to hear every song, every tale, every excuse I ever came up with and she made sure I had a full tummy when I went to school, knew how to tie my shoe laces and tuck my shirt in. She went out of her way to ensure we had a connection with her culture, which was so far removed from where we lived, and would tell us about the news emerging from her neck of the woods and ancient stories she had learned from her mom. She even managed to get her Nation’s newspaper delivered to our home and got an illustrated copy of traditional stories so we could see pictures while she read the tales to us. This was decades ago, long before internet and way back when a holiday half a world away would cost nearly a whole year’s salary.
I appreciated this, but never as much as I do now, raising my kids a world away from my own cultures, where although we have skype and wikipedia, a holiday across the world costs about half a year’s salary, and given that the other half is going towards our kids’ schooling, it takes about as long as it did 30 years ago to be able to actually touch our loved ones and see the places with our own eyes. The irony is that I left my home young in order to find myself and pursue my studies and be able to sustain a lifestyle that would not keep me away from my family for as long as my mom had to stay away from hers. I pursued my studies as far as they go, and excelled, and absolutely loved everything I learned from every Professor and Teacher I had the honor of studying from, but I also knew that if I ever had kids, they would come first. I found bits of myself in my mother’s community, I found bits of answers in the literature I studied (and I have always had an affinity for literatures that dealt with identity in its various manifestations), I found great solace and serenity in religion, I found an amazing partner and friend in my husband and then put everything on hold when I had kids.
My personal development came to a dramatic shift; all the literary theory, the Islamic fundamentals and fiqh, the history, psychology and philosophy that I so loved and cherished were shelved, literally and almost completely, to focus 100% on how to be the best wife and mom I could be. I subscribed to the best journals in the country on parenting, I devoured all the information that crossed my line of vision, I invested all my time taking every course and reading everything I came across that would make me a better wife and mom; nutrition, toddler play, child development, child psychology, family dynamics, family structure in Islam, raising morally strong kids, boosting kids’ IQ through talk, music, play… you name it, it has crossed my line of vision.
Now, more than ever, I understand my mother. Now, more than ever, I can relate to the importance of sharing, belonging and making meaningful connections beyond our immediate surroundings. Now I know why it was important for my mother to read her Nation’s news, now I know why she would rather read Glooscap’s story a hundred times rather than pick up any old story book she would find at the grocery store. Now I know why she encouraged us to be friends with our Baha’i neighbors and our Protestant neighbors, and our strictly Catholic neighbors. I appreciate why she always welcomed Jehova’s witnesses and Are Krishnas in for tea, despite being an obedient, devout Catholic herself and religiously observing Sunday Mass with all of us. Now I understand that it’s not enough to be and to do, you must have a feeling of belonging, you must have a purpose, and it doesn’t matter if your purpose is the same as mine, or if you belong in the same groups or share the same ideas, what matters is that you do share and that you do make connections because this is what allows us to grow, to expand our horizons, to look beyond what is immediately available to us and dream bigger dreams. To go beyond our enclosures is surprisingly satisfying because we learn that we have a lot more in common at our meaningful chore than would ever meet the eye. To allow for the possibility of something new isn’t to reject what you have, it’s to embrace it and feel comfortable enough with it to be able to share it and in so doing we can appreciate and understand it in so many, so much more intricate and profound ways, than we ever could have imagined sitting in the comfort of our own solitude.
A friend recently shared a story, which I will briefly summarize to you here: A group of esteemed academics, who studied together, after years of pursuing their careers meet again at a revered and now retired Professor’s home, and all they could manage to do was complain about the stress and dissatisfaction of their busy lives. The Professor listened carefully and then offered them all a cup of hot chocolate, which they all eagerly accepted. But he didn’t pour it for them, he provided a wide variety of cups and a jug of hot chocolate and invited them to serve themselves. They all picked the most luxurious, most expensive, most beautiful cups and filled them with hot chocolate and then began looking at each other’s cups to see if they had made the right choice. To their surprise, the Professor confessed that this had been a simple representation of how they view their lives: concentrating on the look of the cup, rather than on drinking the hot chocolate. This is eerily similar to another story my sister quoted in a recent blog of hers on Zen, in which students searching for answers came from far and wide to consult with the Zen Master, who no matter what they said or how far they had come, invited them to have a cup of tea. The moral? Settle, mellow, dig in, carpe diem, live the moment, find your chore, center yourself, and you will find it, and when you do, share it.
Who’s up for a cup of tea or hot chocolate right about now?
For this blog I thought about telling you more about me, my education, my experiences and what motivated me to start this Café, but once I finished writing it dawned on me that this isn’t just about me and my kids, it’s also about you and your kids and I don’t expect you to hand in your resume as you walk in the door! It’s about what we as women and mothers value in life. I spent all my life trying to push myself beyond boundaries, to learn more about anything that interested me, and this is no different. I am pushing myself to do something I feel is important, vital in fact, because I believe in the power of play, I am convinced that it is absolutely crucial to allow for kids to meet, play together, share and get to know each other, and for moms to watch them through it and let them dive in. Play is children’s psychology at work, a mom can learn a lot about her kids by watching them play, especially when they play with other kids. But it’s also important for kids to feel that they have some independence and that they can be trusted to take care of themselves for short periods of time, and for moms who are at home with their kids 24/7 this is of the essence. Socialization is learned by kids observing their parents deal with other people, so it is also important for your kids that you get some social interaction as well. As moms, especially with infants and babies, it can become exhausting, as a new mom or as a mom with older kids who compete for your attention as well. It is indispensable to feel like you have some sort of support, be it in the mere distraction that the kids get from seeing different toys, games, books and kids, be it in the extra couple of hands that might come in handy the moment your baby is crying and the toddler needs the potty, or maybe just in knowing that you have a place where you can sit, drink a cup of tea or coffee and simply get out of the home without fearing being judged, told what to do, or stared at by unscrupulous bystanders. Mi casa es Su casa. I won’t accept that you judge me and I won’t judge you. I may have been in your shoes, and can lend a hand if you want it, a word of comfort if you need it, or a sincere smile if that’s all you want and if I haven’t, then maybe you’ll grace me with some useful knowledge. And maybe you’ll find another woman, in your shoes, going through similar paths you are going through and you can share ideas, discuss shortcuts, laugh it off or just be there for each other, exchange numbers and keep in touch afterwards. Maybe everything is fine and dandy and you just want to meet different people and see where it takes you. Or perhaps you’re bored with all the other play opportunities and want a change. I could have probably subscribed to any of the above, at some point in my life as a mom, and this is why I see this need and am trying to fill it.
I believe that this kind of place is for a special kind of mom, an extraordinary mom who pushes herself to be more, to be all she can be and to do it consistently, but in order to be this kind of mom, you also know what it’s like to fail, to stumble and have to dust yourself off, because if you go out of your way, you are bound to find obstacles, to get lost and have to find your way back, just as if you stay put, you will never know what lies beyond your walls. With this wisdom comes respect, patience and understanding, and such lessons are invaluable to us as human beings but more so as women, mothers and care-givers. So I am very confident that you will find very special women here, who may look very different from you on the outside, but share this chore belief in the importance of what they are doing right this moment. Moms who are raising amazing little caterpillars that will break out of their cocoons to become fascinating butterflies of various sizes and colors, all beautiful and all mesmerizing. So you don’t have to know what my cv looks like, just as I don’t have to see yours, because it’s not about what we studied, where we’ve been, what we’ve been doing with our time, but about how we feel about life, where our priorities lie and how we see ourselves and our children now and into the future. This is not to say that I’m a closed book or that you should be, but maybe we can discuss these particulars over a cup of coffee and some scones, everything is so much more interesting over coffee!
