Vacation Take 2

When Ibby was 3 months old, I flew by myself to go visit my parents. I dreaded the trip. I didn't sleep for nights before worried about what Ibrahim would do on the plane. When the big day arrived, I was on the verge of taking zoloft just to calm myself down before we left. Surprisingly, Ibrahim was an angel the entire plane ride, and just nursed and fell asleep.
 
 3 months later, its vacation time with him again. This time, its a 6 hour car trip. Bring out the zoloft.  I made list after list. I packed my altima until every possible spot was used to transport his things. I took an entire duffel bag full of toys for him, pureed a garden of vegetables, cereal, 100 change of clothing in case he decided to vomit every 5 minutes on the way there. In case our car broke down and we were stranded in the wilderness, I had enough diapers to last us a month and build a shelter out of them. Here's a picture:

Needless to say, I was prepared for every possible situation. We get in the car as I'm biting my nails and fighting down nausea. He starts staring at himself in the mirror and laughing. Then it started raining and he fell asleep to the sound of the rain. Two hours later, he woke up and I nursed and changed him in some boonie service station in Ohio. He fell back asleep and slept until we reached our destination. As we were unpacking 1000 million things around midnight from the car, I felt slightly foolish that I had packed him his winter coat and a sun hat in his carry on. The fact he had a carry on is also a bit foolish. But GOOD news everyone, we survived our ROAD trip!! How were dealing with his ear piercing stranger anxiety is another post to come.

I'm Turning Into My Mom

When I was younger, I'd watch my mom slave for a week over a dinner party. She'd plan the menu, scrub the house down, and make 65 trips to the grocery store. Then she'd make enough food to feed approximately 50 people. This would be excellent if we were in fact inviting 50 people, but it would usually only be a family or two.

Don't get me wrong, my mom has awesome azimas. She makes the best food ever.food that we would spend the next 2 weeks finishing off.

"I'm never going to be like that." I was not going to stress and overcook.

Reality --> I had a simple dinner party for 8 people last weekend.

I started planning the menu. It started out with two things, but i was plagued my an unnatural fear of not having enough food. As I walked through the grocery store shopping for food I kept adding to the menu.

My thought process:

" Two dishes and a salad are more then enough."

5 minutes later:

" What if they hate both dishes? I'll make a third one."

1 minute later:

" I need some sort of appetizer. What if they're hungry right when they come in and the food isn't ready?"

A few seconds later,

" I need to have an open buffet with 5 dishes, salad, appetizer, and soup."

I couldn't stop these thoughts people! I got to the point where I was going to have a chocolate fountain and have stations with different types of food. I realized I was suffering from something, a debilitating disorder I like to call:

Arabness.

Being Arab means it's in your blood to overfeed people and make tons of food for a party. You can't fight it. You must accept the fact that you will never have a classy sit down dinner with two other couples and just serve them dinner on a plate. No, you will have endless buffets full of glass Pyrexs and every type of stuffed vegetable imagined. You will spend a week sobbing in the kitchen as you roll another container of yabraa and make another pint of riz bi haleeb. Stop fighting it y'all! Live with it, accept it, and move on with your life. I'm writing this as im icing down my feet and staring at the 50 pounds of leftovers we have to finish this week. I am at peace with my arabness.