Skip to content


I finished the cookie dough, adding the extra chocolate chips and walnuts that mom was so fond of. As I mixed I thought of her face and hands, how she would look through them with a child’s excitement, finally picking the one with the most chocolate, barely held together by little bits of dough. The house had been scrubbed, beds were made, gift basket placed on the dresser and kids were off to the airport. Little Abude ran around singing and talking about Grama and Grampa’s upcoming arrival, he had patiently waited for days and was now ready to burst. Baby Soos was 10 months old and gingerly put one foot in front of the other as she made her way around the coffee table, letting go to take a step here and there on her own. I straightened up one last time, plumping pillows, wiping counters and picking up the latest messes that continued to pop up around the little ones. A surge of excitement took over as I realized I would soon be seeing mom and dad. I felt proud to bring them to this home, comfy and warm, fully furnished and brightly colored, to introduce them to my friends and let them know that the kids and I were doing well. All of the mixed emotions had faded as my heart raced and head reeled with anticipation. The thought of holiday gift bags, toys and brightly colored clothing all seemed like imaginary worries as I stood looking at warm chocolate chip cookies.

Finally headlights could be seen through the living room curtains, a signal that they had arrived. The door swung open, the bigger kids walked in carrying bags and boxes. Mom and Dad followed close behind looking weary from hours of flying and lay overs. Hugs and kisses were exchanged and a beautiful essence wrapped around me as I fought to hold back tears. Dad gave his usual fatherly hug and then he made his way upstairs following the children who were eager to show him his room. I grabbed the cookies for mom and we sat chatting while she held baby Sumaya for the first time. We talked about their flight, the snow and things back home. Finally it was time, Mom picked a helper as we knew she would, shut the door and started her ritual of placing the gifts in each bag.  He sat with dad chatting about work, the stock market and topics they had in common. When he first drove up the dirt road leading to the house on the hill so many years before, he spent hours with dad, going to hardware stores, working on projects and talking about many things. When he needed someone to sign for him to get his green card, to be responsible for him, it was dad. They stayed up for hours each night discussing religion, finance and current events. We were finally allowed to enter the room and mom’s little helper passed out the gift bags. The children quickly took each item out amazed at the latest trendy toys and much needed clothing, shoes and socks. He received a bag as well, mom always took great pains to include him and give him special things needed for a professional engineer. Dress slacks, shirts and ties, a pair of shoes and a wind suit for the rainy weather. I felt a twinge of nerves as I watched the kids remove the contents of each bag, but he smiled and laughed, picking up toys, playing with Abude and baby Soos. He pushed buttons, listened to the musical sounds and gave piggy back rides as if he were a small child on Christmas. He then stood and said his goodbyes as he made his way to the “sheik’s” home for the rest of the evening.

The days were beautiful and warm, as if transported to a carefree time when the worries of real life seemed distant. Mom woke early and insisted on riding with the boys to the Arabic school while dad made coffee and walked to the mini mart to get a newspaper. They sat on the porch, took walks, rode the shopping bus and planned the meals they would make. Each day was a special gift and a reminder of the life we had left behind. He seemed happy and content to share morning coffee, chat and laugh before leaving for the office at the front of the compound. I felt relaxed and saw that my fears were just as he always told me, unfounded and unfair.

Fergy's Rambles.

Travelling while I still can.

Fattima Rowland, Realtor

Excited to help you with all of your real estate needs

lynz real cooking

Author blogger mom of nine

Fly 'n Things

A random flight through some of my extraordinary flying adventures

Merry Motherhood

Musings of a first-time mommy

Live Out Crazy

Shreya Jindal

Life of Hayley

Making the most of my twenties


Flash Fiction / Musings Of Darnell Cureton

for a rainy day

Photography & Lifestyle.

Beth Warstadt

It is no small thing to offer respite to a weary soul.


Pen to paper.

Bernadine’s Corner

Recipes * Lifestyle


Following the Path to the Past


Write, Drink Tea, Live Life, Repeat

Popsicle Society

It's all about you


Just a Mom that loves her family, coffee & blog.

Stephen Page

Author: The Timbre of Sand, Still Dandelions, A Ranch Bordering the Salty River. Alum: Palomar College, Columbia University, Bennington College. Follow on twitter @SmpageSteve on Instagram @smpagemoria on Facebook

The Moral Traveller

Morality | Love | Travels

The Solivagant Writer

The world is my playground; the pen, my friend

No Plate Like Home

Easy meal solutions for busy moms!

Carries Book Reviews

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

A non artist

Just a girl with some blogs

What do you mean ?

“Every human life contains a potential. It that potential is not fulfilled, that life was wasted.” ― C.G. Jung

Ramblings of a Writer

Living the Path of Life

%d bloggers like this: