I’ve been busy this past week. I completely blew off my blog with the exception of the post about my step-brother’s car accident last week because it was the only way I could deal with my emotions about the whole thing. I was busy editing Nuala Reilly‘s latest book release, Spring Daisies.  Well, I finally finished that last night. And since I’ve been focusing primarily on that and NOT playing around on Facebook or too terribly much on Pinterest or here, I decided that I should get on here and get in some goof-off time. I deserve it.
Also, since Mohamed and Ismail are both finishing their 3 day sentence of no t.v. and no computer privileges due to their last 3:30a.m. fight and disrespect Mom session…..I figured, Samiya and Aiman had been online for far too long anyway and took my place at the keyboard. Here’s how it went about 15 minutes later, with Aiman:

“Mom, I want to go play at the cyber-cafe.”


“Awwwwwwwww! Why not?”

    “Because it’s dark outside and your sister is at her French lessons and your brothers are both grounded and you’re not allowed to go by yourself.”

“You NEVER let me do anything!”

He stomped off and then came back 3 minutes later, plopping down on the foot stool that has become a permanent fixture next to the computer desk.

“How come you won’t let me buy membership to Monkey Quest? You HAVE a credit card in your purse. I saw it!”

    “It’s not a credit card. It’s a debit card.”

“So why can’t I use it? HUH?”

    “Because it’s expired and it’s a debit card for a bank I don’t have an account with anymore.”

“Well, why can’t I get a credit card so that I can buy Monkey Quest membership and get access to all the cool levels, HUH?”

    “Because you are 11 and you owe me $37,628.34 for everything I’ve spent on you so far. Now beat it. And if I hear the words “credit card” or “Monkey Quest membership” in the same sentence from you again I will block the Monkey Quest site from our computer and you won’t be allowed to play it again until you’re 19.”

“You are ALWAYS telling me NO!”

He stomped off again and I was able to write a comment on my friend’s photo. It consisted of LOL. Then he came back and started pounding on the arm of my chair.

    “What do you want, Aiman?”

“Can I go up on the roof of the bread factory tomorrow?”


“WHY not? Ismail gets to.”

   “First of all, Ismail doesn’t “get to.” He is going to talk to the woman who owns it and get permission from her to go on the roof of the bread factory so that he can collect up all of the trash and crap that our lovely neighbors have chucked out of their windows and off of their balconies and we can possibly cut down on the mosquito population and keep the bread factory roof from leaking once it starts raining next month. Until he has permission he doesn’t “get to” do anything.”

“So? Why can’t I help him?”

     “Because you’re 11. And you trip over air while walking through the living room sometimes. I don’t want you clowning around up there and end up falling off and breaking your neck. I really can’t afford spinal surgeries right now. I really want to buy a house.”

“He’s ONLY 2 years older than me!”

    “He’s 2 and a half years older than you. And I don’t want you up there.”

“WHY are you such a jerk to me?”

     “Just remember I’m the “jerk” who can take away your computer privileges for a week due to your sassy mouth.”

“I NEVER get to hear YES from you!”

He stomped off again and I got to read a one-liner status update on Facebook before he stomped back over and started slapping his sister’s yo-yo around the legs of my chair.

     “Stop it.”

“I don’t want to. I’m trying to make it wrap around the leg and then unwrap on its own.”

     “If you break it, then you will replace it with your own money.”

“I don’t have any  money.”

    “Then I’ll let your sister pound 3.50 EP out of your hide to pay the debt. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“You are really mean to me.”

    “I must not like you very much. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No!  Can I go outside to play?”



     “It’s dark outside and you have to be in the house by sunset, per your father’s rules. Don’t like it? Raise your kids however you like when you grow up and get married.”

“I will! And I won’t always tell them NO like you do to me, either.”

     “We’ll see, won’t we?”

(Now crying real tears.) “Why do you always tell me NO for EVERYTHING??!”

      “Why do you always ask me for permission to do things you already know you’re not allowed to do?”

“What do you mean?”

      “Well, had you asked me, ‘Mom, may  I wash the dishes for you?’ or ‘May I watch t.v.?’ or ‘Is it okay if I grow a fu manchu mustache?’ I would have said ‘YES! YES! and YES!”

“I can’t wait until I’m 18.”


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