Coptic Dad & Mom

It's very hard to write with a toddler. It's very hard to think with a toddler. Truly, it's very hard to do any normal human activity with a toddler.

Except snuggling. Snuggling with a toddler is pretty epic. My son's arms are soft and chunky little things that wrap around my neck so tightly. And when he smiles at me... Sigh. Don't get me started.

Then there's laughing. Laughing with a toddler is pretty epic. My son has this incredible deep belly laugh. My daughter and I adore him for it.

Yesterday I tried to copy him. I tried to laugh from deep within my belly and realized I couldn't remember the last time I had done that. When did I get so serious?

Being an adult is a huge waste of time. Being a toddler. Snuggling and laughing. That's where it's at.

Inspired by Priest's wife's post last year, I now ask my daughter once a year the same questions (and new ones) to see how her answers change as she grows.

What is the best part of being a PK?
That I can go to church early if I want.

What is the hardest part of being a PK?
That I have to go to so many events--everything! Or most of the things.

Would you like to be married to a priest? Would you like to be a tasoni?
No. I don't know. (wiggles her finger) Why not? Um, I don't have answer to that.

Who's your favorite saint?
St. Demiana and St. Sophia

Do people look at you differently because you are a PK?
(shakes her head) No, no one treats me differently.

What's the strangest thing you've learned as Abouna's kid?
I learned that every single Abouna has a beard!

What's your favorite church time (feast, season)?
Holy Week. And I mean it. Because we sing my favorite song which is "Thok Ta Ti Gom." It's so hard to remember (laughs).

Do the kids at school notice that your father is different?
Yes. That's a big yes. They ask me lots of questions.

How do you feel about your dad wearing black?
I feel fine. Awesome! Cool. It doesn't really matter.

What's your favorite thing about your dad?
That we go to huge conventions together, like the priest family convention. Because family conventions mean lots more kids to play with.

What's your favorite thing about your mom?
That she's Tasoni. Because tasonis are cool.



Notice that tasonis are cool, but she still doesn't want to be one ;). I should note that she was the one who reminded me that it was time for this interview, and she took the process very seriously.

Two weeks into kindergarten, I made my daughter get her first tardy. We woke up on time, we got dressed on time, we got into the car on time. And then I realized there was no gas in the tank. In order to make the trek to school, we would need to fill'er up. I went to the gas station, filled exactly three gallons, and hopped back in the car, racing to get a spot on the highway. It took three minutes to fill gas total.

Those three minutes put us in a dismal spot on the highway. I could already tell the final outcome would depend on one pesky traffic light a block away from school. As we drove, my daughter and I talked about how important it is to be on time and what the consequences of getting a tardy might mean. During the course of the conversation, I heard myself say, "Getting a tardy doesn't mean you're a terrible student... or a terrible mom."

Suddenly, I realized that internally I was making this tardy out to be yet another sign that I am a terrible mom, an official time-stamped slip. But no, getting this tardy meant nothing more than that the car needed gas. In the broader icon of my life (and hers) this tardy wouldn't even figure.

It ended up taking 12 more minutes than usual to get to school, making us late for drop off by one minute. We could literally see the last few people filter into the building as we raced across the parking lot. But as I stood in the office to sign her in, I was at peace.

This morning, we woke up with less than ten minutes left to get ready for school. "We will NOT get a tardy!" we proclaimed. We bolted all four out of our beds. She was dressed, laces tied, in four minutes, while lunch was packed. Hair done in two.  Out the door. Recycling by the curb.That's called teamwork, dedication. That's called God's mercy, an angel nudging us awake with exactly the minimum amount of time left to get this here morning started.

Getting that tardy had an unforeseen consequence. It galvanized us into a well-oiled morning machine! United for a common cause, we're unstoppable!

Ok, crawling back in bed now... I had a rough weekend. The Lord knows, I need some sleep.

At our house currently, my daughter and I read one chapter of the Bible and a chapter from a children's book every night before bedtime. For the last couple of weeks, she has insisted we read a random chapter of the Bible of her choice. While this has a lot of downsides, it has one upside for me in that I am exposed to completely different parts of the Bible and often to books I don't usually read. But as an overall policy, I explained to her that chapters of books need to be taken as they were written to make sense of the story.

Last night was her first bedtime with her father on this routine. Abouna and I emphasized this point again: We should pick a book and stick with it. But my daughter insisted.

She chose 1 Maccabees 16, and her father laughed.

"This doesn't make sense! You can't start a story from the middle. Look... if I read, 'Then John raised an army...,' what John am I talking about?!"

"John the Baptist!"

"No... not John the Baptist."

"I know, I know! John the Beloved."

"To be honest, these are both excellent answers," he said with a chuckle, "But this is John the Maccabee!"

He took a deep breath, then continued. "And if I read here, 'And Simon said to John'--"

"--Simon Peter!"

"No! This is Simon, John the Maccabee's father!"

And we all collapse into fits of laughter. "I can't do this," Abouna said, "It just doesn't work. We have to pick a book and focus on it."

After we read the chapter in the book of the Bible they chose together, it was time for a chapter from a children's book. She and I usually read from the Junie B. Jones series, seeing how they're both in Kindergarten.

Her father: "Today, I am going to tell you MY story about Junie B. Jones! Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church!"

Now I could tell you the entire amazing first half of Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church verbally created on the fly last night, but since my daughter wants to write it all out for her dad and publish it... Let me just give you a taste.

For example, when Junie B. gets out of the car and sees the church doors open, she gets very anxious and starts to shout: "The church is on fire! The church is on fire! Look at all that smoke!"

And you should really hear what she does instead of a metanoia (prostration)!

Although he can't often be there for bedtime, Abouna takes bedtime to a whole different level! Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church... Can you imagine?

Marriage is hard. I never understood what people meant by that when I was single. I took it to mean it was a pain in the butt and not worth the trouble and so balked at the phrase. Even now it makes me uncomfortable to say it for that very reason. What if you, dear reader, misunderstand and think it means "Run!"

So I'll start instead by saying riding a bicycle is hard. The first time my father took the training wheels off, I shook in terror and excitement. He held on to the back as I pedaled increasingly fast until he shouted teasingly, "Hey! I let go!" I immediately panicked and crashed and scraped my knee. And every bit of that--even scraping my knee--is one of the fondest memories I have.

That is marriage. Some of us have rockier starts than others, but every bit of it--including scraping your knee--is absolutely worth it.

Some people quit so early. A year or two years in they say, "Enough of this nonsense!" Ironically, marriage is like wine, or... like the stock market. If you quit early, you will lose. You will think you saved yourself, but, unfortunately, you will just never know the millions you could have cashed in later. You'll never know the sweetness that comes with time.

"But my wife/husband is terrible!" Oh, please. Unless he's beating you or cheating on you, take a deep breath. You are far from perfect, cupcake. Some of the kinds of things that have broken up marriages are to me beyond laughable. A marriage isn't a friendship. Enough of this jumping in, jumping out nonsense.

A marriage is a trust. You trust someone else to hold your soul. You open up to someone 100%. They know you like no one else. They hear your farts at night and like it. I can't imagine what divorce does to a person's psyche. To have the person you entrusted your soul to hand your soul back and say, "Ew" and "Uh, no thanks. Your soul is just too ugly for me. I deserve better."

You deserve? Since when? Since when do human beings deserve anything? From dust we were formed and to dust we will return. Don't waste that time on this petty thought that you deserve something.

Marry well. And then let God work. Over years. Like a glacier. Carve each other's souls into shapes acceptable to Christ. And by God, I hope it hurts. I hope you scrape your knee and cry a little and hug each other in the darkness and remember that it's all so worth it. And then cash in in eternity.

I heard a woman talk about her marriage once. She said both her parents and his thought it wouldn't work out. That the marriage wouldn't last. "They were right," she said with a sly smile, "It didn't last very long. After 35 years of marriage, he passed away and left me." Cash in, people. Cash in... At the right time. With the last breath.

Earlier this week, we were invited to a party and told my daughter could bring her swimsuit, as there was a great pool and other kids were coming. Knowing how much she loved pool time, I told her, "Bring your towel and your suit!" Her response floored me. In the most calm, positive, relaxed voice, she told me, "I don't think I can do that, mom. I'm Abouna's daughter." (Anybody else choking up already?)

This is a very little girl. I don't think I ever said to her "do this or do that because you're Abouna's daughter." I think I have been very careful about how I phrase things. She's also FIVE, so what am I going to ban her from doing? Also, this is a pool in a private home with her very closest friends. Also, she's FIVE. But she decided in her mind that this was how she wanted to behave. It was a moment, for me as a mother, of both pride and trepidation.

This post isn't about modesty. It's about duty. My duty as a mother to protect my daughter for as long as possible from the weight of others' expectations while at the same time giving her all the tools she needs to be a daughter of the King.

I know that I often used my very conservative parents to protect me from things I didn't want to do. If a high school party was questionable, I would tell my mom, "Tell me I can't go" and then turn and tell my friends, "Sorry, my parents said I can't go." This was simpler than saying, "You're a bunch of terrible drunks, and I'm not interested." So maybe she didn't want to go in the pool (for some other reason) and was already lining up her best excuse.

I don't know. This post is not coherent. I'm still trying to wrap my head around "I can't do that. I'm Abouna's daughter." I'm only in my second year as Abouna's wife, and I am definitely making it all up as I go along.

For very practical reasons that I won't get into here, we rent our house. The rental comes with lawn care included. Part of this lawn care is spraying for weeds (or something? Alarmingly, I really don't know what they're spraying).

It's been a few weeks since the company sprayed or cut the grass in our expansive backyard, and I've noticed something startling. I've noticed a distinct increase in bird activity. Swooping down from the trees beyond our fence to snatch up insects, hopping along the ground doing funny dances, chasing each other around the backyard, the birds are everywhere.

As it's our first summer here, maybe the increase is just due to summer. But part of me, the part of me that skimmed Silent Spring in high school when a very liberal, very nerdy friend gave it to me for my birthday, is wondering if the weed spray kept them away. By trying to control the ecosystem in the backyard, were the lawn guys killing it? Give me spots on my apples but leave me the birds and the bees sort of thing. I'm probably also being influenced by my last read Mission in a Bottle and my current read We Bought a Zoo.

I miss nature. There are trees here, but it's an ugly subdivision. It's not the wilds that I'm used to. My daughter said the other day (but really didn't mean it), "I hate nature." She's afraid to walk past dead insects on the patio to get to the living ones in the grass. She's afraid to get stung or bitten.

I, on the other hand, would give anything to go back to those afternoons where we would get more and more lost in the woods, finding the hideouts of the homeless and their trinkets, ankle-deep in the creek looking for crawdads, until mom's voice shouted for dinner time through the screen door a quarter mile away, "Ya welaaaaad" (Hey, kiiiiiids!)

BONUS! One of my absolute favorites... Songbird - Ryan Montbleau Band

At the core of being Coptic Orthodox is the will to keep the faith alive even under duress.

Every Coptic child is taught from a young age not to say the Shahada, the Islamic statement of witness. It begins, "There is no god but God..." and we were taught never, under any circumstance, to speak the rest. As it is a common greeting (one party says the first half, the other responds), my grandmother taught me to say gently with a smile "and Jesus Christ is the Son of God."

Apostasy. In Islam, everyone is Muslim. It is not a choice. If you were born to a Muslim father, you are already a Muslim in Islamic countries, under sharia or sharia-derived law. If it can be proven in court that you spoke the Shahada or signed your name to it, you are considered Muslim. Conversion away from Islam is punishable by death. Thank God, often, that sentence is commuted.

I knew most of this by the time I was seven. Living in America, I thought my parents were crazy old coots from the old country.

My mother always said that to be born a Christian is a great privilege. In Egypt, this is not just a cute saying; this is a reality. When someone is not born Christian, but wishes to be, the penalty is death. When someone is born a Christian in an Islamic country, he or she is just one phrase away from losing everything.

All this pregnant mother has to do is say the Shahada (and leave her husband). Then she can go "home" a free woman with her toddler (who is staying with her in prison).

But...  "what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" (Mark 8:36)

If she keeps the faith, she is a saint. If they beat her, she is a confessor. If they kill her, she is a martyr.

“Do not fear any of those things which you are about to suffer. Indeed, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and you will have tribulation ten days. Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life." (Revelation 2:10)

Easy to say from behind my computer.

Pray for Meriam Ibrahim and for the girls of Nigeria.

I went to a party Sunday and worked the room like the pro that I am.  While I'm addicted to my cell phone, working the room--that is, actually getting to know people--is far more fulfilling than looking at the same five posts in my newsfeed. So I turn on the Social Butterfly version of myself and make my rounds, and I am dangerously good at this.

My mantra is "No one cares about you." Shocking, right? It's the best tool I have to remind myself to stop talking about me, to really rein in all the "brilliant insights" I have and focus instead on listening to the person in front of me, on really figuring him or her out.

I love this mantra. I have never walked away from a conversation feeling happy if I did most of the talking. In fact, I feel empty. That's because if I watch the other person when I'm babbling on about myself, the boredom and discomfort is pretty obvious. But if I watch a person talking about his or herself, I see the eyes light up, the hands become animated, the small laugh of self-conscious joy. Seeing people happy really feeds my soul. So I remember that no one cares about me, and I am paid handsomely with trust and an enthusiastic friend and lots of good conversation.

I start on the fringes. It's intimidating (and often ineffective) to try to jump into an established conversation. And there are people standing alone, feeling alone all around the edges, if I just look out for them. Those are the people who need me. Those are the people who will be so relieved when I hop in and start talking. I know I've been there before: feeling increasingly isolated, the wallflower in me taking over and suffocating any hope of enjoying myself. By walking over with a big smile, a half-laugh and a question, I can make that person's day (or at least, ten to fifteen minutes!).

Courage, a question and a smile. That's really all it takes to start a conversation. There are some dummy questions/statements that work for everyone: So how long have you lived in... ; So how many kids do you have... ; So you work with so-and-so... ; Wow! Those shoes are awesome!; But to really make an impact, I try to craft a question that pertains to this specific person (before I even walk over). The best questions are the ones that show that I've been paying attention, that I actually care.

Turning on Social Butterfly Me can be painful. Sometimes I would rather hide. But, for me, a little pain on my part to make someone else feel special is a no-brainer. God already thinks this person is to. die. for. I only need to open my eyes and ears to figure out why.

(I should add that if you're on the receiving end of my "special treatment" you can quickly upgrade from average to extraordinary by pacing the conversation between talking about you and talking about me. What I mean is that in the end I'm human and I like to talk about me as much as the next person. If 90% of the conversation is about you, I have done my job and feel satisfied, but you can bet you haven't been added to any secret friend lists. If you have managed to help me steer a conversation about 60:40 you:me, I'll be looking reallly forward to talking to you again.)

I took the time to find all the posts I have written about being Tasoni and presenting them to you in a hyperlinked list. Sorry I didn't have time to make it all pretty with images and such, but I thought you might enjoy reviewing the story in order. A permanent, regularly updated page with this list is now under the "Becoming Tasoni" tab above.

I'm surprised how easy it is to see the ebb and flow of my excitement and dread at my new life. Without a doubt, whether you can tell below or not, it was a rocky first year, as first years tend to be.

Speak, for Your servant hears...
In which I announce his ordination

How I Hate Goodbyes
In which I bid farewell to my past and imagined future

What Fr. Anthony Has to Do with This Blog
In which I dedicate myself to continue to blog

To Thine Own Self Be True
In which I get some good advice

Take Care of Father
In which I define my job

First Weekend Highs and Lows
In which I smile at my new home

Step 1: Admit You Have a Problem
In which I am homesick

I'm Thankful for... a New Place to Love
In which I am grateful

Testing of Faith
In which God allows the devil to kick me in the gut

Finding Joy
In which I try to stay positive

What Cancer Does to a Home
In which I succumb to my sorrow

Distance Is Excellent
In which I (stupidly?) decide not to have friends

Coolest Tasoni I
In which I try to figure out my life

Being Stupid Together
In which I struggle with the new public limitations on my marriage

Missing Father
In which our daughter struggles with her father's new vocation

Heeeeeere's Happy!
In which I shake free from winter blues

Coolest Tasoni II
In which I recall why I chose this path

You Can Call Me Tasoni--Or Don't
In which I debate the importance of titles

Life as a Priest's Kid
In which my daughter answers a few questions

Lessons from Palm Sunday
In which I miss my husband

Thoughts on Holy Week
In which I admit I'm still adjusting

Redefining Feast
In which I realize life will never be the same

QT with Fr.
In which I acknowledge my husband is my favorite companion

On Common Ground
In which I spend time with other priests' families

Unworthy
In which I admit I'm not good enough for my God (or my husband, or this calling), but that I pray He makes me worthy.

Tasoni: Waiting for Abouna to Come Home
In which I'm a little lonely

(a guest post from Abouna)

Adults have three categories of time: past, present, and future. Kids also have three categories of time: present, present, and present. It's true that kids forget the past, and the future is very tough for them to grasp. It means when your child comes to ask you to play, he wants you to play with him right now. He forgot the long day at the zoo yesterday and cannot handle "I'll play with you in half an hour." It means that you need to be flexible. He will be satisfied with 10 minutes now if you can give it.

This is also a lesson for us. Remember, the present is a present (a gift). We, as adults, either waste our present by investing it in thoughts of the past, wondering about our old mistakes, and puffing ourselves up with our old glories--or we ruin the present by day-dreaming about our future victories, our legs dangling over the edge of an imaginary pier.

When you are with your child, remember that quality time counts. Don't fiddle with your phone. Don't get lost in your own thoughts. Be honest in giving the attention that he needs. Yes, at the end, he'll say to you, "We didn't play enough," but this will be a lesson in boundaries. You can respond saying, "This is what I can give you now." You cannot give the past, and you cannot guarantee the future. With your kids as your guides, live the moment.

Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.
(Proverbs 31:30)

Today is Egyptian Mother's Day. Not every woman is a mother. Some are yet unmarried, some have chosen celibacy, some may never marry. Some have married but feel unready. Some are married and have tried without success. Some may never have children. Some may not be able to afford to adopt. Some may be unable to.

I have seen women without children cry when Mother's Day gifts are handed out. Others avoid the day altogether.

It is a very sensitive time and a very sensitive topic. I'm certain I'm going to say the wrong thing.

All I want to say is that God loves you. He has your whole life laid out before Him, and He knows exactly what He's doing. You are priceless, your worth above rubies. He has given you incredible talents and resources. You make the world a better place by being in it. That if, God forbid, someone ever made you feel like you were less useful or had less purpose because you're not a mom, they had no idea what they were talking about. Don't let someone else's ignorance or insensitivity (even my own on this blog) blind you to these truths.

With love,
Tasoni

P.S. If you have experiences you want to share (even anonymously), you may do so in the comments. You can even tell me how I misspoke or what I forgot to say in this post... I like to grow in wisdom daily.

There's a period of time each night, maybe about 8 to 9:30, when I wonder if he'll be back before I fall asleep. When I am sitting alone, in the dark house, the children silent in their beds, and I wonder if I can hold on for a few more hours. Sometimes I try to fill the space with conversation with friends or episodes of my favorite TV shows, but it's an empty exercise. What I mean is... I still feel the emptiness, regardless of whatever mirage I set before it.

In a normal family, in our pre-ordination life, this would be our time. The kids asleep, dinner warming our bellies, we'd tackle "grown-up" time. We'd watch a movie, plan a church outing or new service, or discuss something I saw earlier in the day. But alone--the time is a wasteland.

I know what the Sunday school answer is--read the Bible. But I'm too worn out at that point for anything real. If I were to be honest, I should go to bed. No one should be awake at that time when everything inevitably seems dark, when the house creaks, and every flash of light in a neighbor's yard casts eerie shadows in mine. But I want to be the good wife, to greet him at the door with a smile... as I always have.

He comes in three hours later, worn away by the burdens of other people's lives. Dinner is cold because, no matter how hard I try to time it, I'm working with too many unknown variables. And, let's be honest, all I want to do now is take a fork to the pan of brownies my daughter made earlier in the day and stretch out on the couch wrapped in a blanket. He pulls his 3ma* off his head, sets it before him at the dining table, and, despite the exhaustion, pulls his face into the sweetest smile, saying, "I'm tired. But I'm happy." And so we are.

*priest's hat

The entire world is a beautiful mystery to my daughter, and she spends nearly every waking moment searching for clues to unlocking it. I love looking at the world through her eyes. We try to fill the house with resources for learning, and it's been impossible to push the brakes on her drive for knowledge. She already knows how to Google things she needs to learn. She'll then (with mom's ok) watch YouTube videos to figure things out. (This is, of course, very dangerous. Supervision and an open discussion policy must be in place... but that's another post.)

Sometimes what I really need to do is get out of her way. For a week now, my daughter has been trying to complete a science project. Distracted and busy, I kept putting her off, stalling her work at different junctures. My favorite words to her now are "problem solve" and "be flexible." Once I gave her these tools to deal with bumps in the road, she was able to finish the last steps in the project without having me by her side every moment. The project was completed and submitted, and she was over the moon about her work (literally, as the topic was "the solar system").

If you give them resources to learn from, they will learn, and sometimes, you'll need to move over so they can run at their pace instead of yours.

A Few Resources for Learning:
Stock the house with all kinds of books, setting aside a bookshelf just for the kids.
Create a folder on the bookmarks bar with links to educational, parent-approved sites (esp. PBSKids).
Subscribe to BrainPop or BrainPopJr (best decision we made this year, I feel, b/c she adores it).
Fill the house with books, paper, markers, crayons, scissors, stickers, and boxes.
Engage them in kitchen experiments (ex. play with water and food coloring, bake cookies).
Buy toys that are interactive and keep their attention (for us, that's Lego Friends, Rainbow Loom, Candyland, a rubber ball, and a bicycle)
Be there and play with them (parents are the most important resource!)

Critical Skills for Learning:
Problem solving
Being flexible
Asking questions
Asking for help
Using a variety of computer programs
Using the Internet wisely

It never ceases to amaze me how my babies will leave the entire toy to chew on the tags. All the bells and whistles and mirrors and rattles and horns... all they care about is how delightful the tag feels between their gums.

(this is a write-up of a conversation I had with Abouna about his parenting lessons learned; his thoughts, my voice)

A friend once asked us about the cost of raising a baby. We pulled out the calculator and did our best to estimate, but we quickly realized that the biggest cost of having a baby is time.

Looking back at the last few months since having our second child--what did he cost us? A few packages of diapers and wipes? But the true cost--the real investment--was 24/7 love, attention, and care.

Children cost time. Whether you give them that time or you pay someone else to spend time with them, that's up to you. But if you're waiting for that promotion or trying to "save up" for the baby, it's an empty exercise. Especially in the first two years, deep nourishment of love and attention is the number one price you'll pay.

Prioritize investing time in your children and prayerfully wait for the fruits of your labor.