My Saga Continues...

My saga continues with Sibling survival…(Pay close attention now..)

Brothers…that is what life’s hand seems to have dealt me…I feel a bit like Millie in the film “Seven Brides For Seven Brothers…(Though the boys I deal with are younger….Thank goodness, and no bride kidnapping…Oh the dread of puberty…)
Three bio brothers one bio sister and four step brothers make up the building blocks of my family. It is only by the Grace and Mercy of Allah that my four year old sister was born.
Now, many people have a sibling or two that renders an annoyance from time to time. Consider yourselves lucky! I am privileged enough to have eight times the joy and eight hundred times the trouble. With that, I welcome you to an exclusive inside look at a day in my life…

I groaned as I rolled out of bed to make my sunrise prayer…It was still dark. I frowned as the beeps and shrill music of an unidentified video game assaulted my drowsy ears. Still half asleep, I wandered down the hallway toward the bathroom. I jumped back suddenly as two humanesque blurs dashed by, one with a spray bottle, in an apparent attempted revenge for a rude awakening. Ugh…I thought..here we go again.
Now fully awake I continued down the hallway to the bathroom, which was predictably occupied, of course. I knocked…impatiently. “Who is it?” called a little voice from the other side.
“It is me, Nora!”, I replied. “Hurry up!”…. No answer. I sighed angrily and pressed my back into the wall. “I should have stayed in bed until rush hour has passed.”, I thought to myself. In our house rush hour never passes. Our house is large enough, but it needs more bathrooms. Yeah, like ten more.
Once the bathroom was said and done I walked into the kitchen to find my mother pouring cereal and juice for nine while looking appropriately tired. I sympathized with her as I found my seat at the kitchen table. While engaged in thought of sympathy I felt something cold and wet on the back of my shirt…”What the…?” I turned around to see two guilty faced brothers trying in vain to stifle their giggles, while trying to conceal their weapon of choice….the notorious spray bottle….Ugh..again. My look of surprise flashed into my menacing “big sister” look… For those of you who are unfamiliar with the look, it’s the look that makes little brothers quake in their boots…it’s the look that says “Back off or I’ll have YOU for breakfast…” Not that I am a mean sister, but one must keep order you know. Besides, I happen to know that they all adore me…despite popular belief. The giggle quickly turned to wary, apologetic glances, much like two puppies with their tails between their legs. Cute but, my shirt was still wet…and we ate in silence after that.
Though breakfast was eaten in silence, school time was not. Paper confetti rained down on me as I was pelted with paper wads, courtesy of one brother’s latest history project, a catapult made from a toilet paper roll, craft stick and a rubber band. (My mother strongly believes that children should have a hands on approach to learning…eye roll).. Paper airplanes zipped past my head in retaliation and squabbles typical of nine year olds broke out amongst them. I had images of myself in the role of King Kong crushing little airplanes as they zoomed around my head…but I knew it wouldn’t help. Just then, my mother stepped out of the kitchen and put everything back in order.
“The referee has entered the building”, I thought to myself. Alas, the sanity that my mother so kindly brought would not last long. The phone rang with mocking laughter calling my “peace bringer” back to the kitchen. Almost immediately “Hurricane Siblings” was in full force….”Folks, this one is a class four…you better watch out…” the little news broadcaster in my head warned, “High winds…I repeat High winds…”.
“Good . Maybe their paper airplanes will be blown away…the catapult too”, I mumbled to myself as I dodged yet another paper wad. I flicked a paper wad from my history pages…sigh…”Is it stuffy in here or is it just the testosterone in the air?” I wondered…”maybe I should open the windows.”
Ten minutes later my mother reemerged onto the battleground from the kitchen. She had finally finished the breakfast clean up and came to soothe storm, though totally unaware of the ferocity of the winds just moments before. The room was silent as she scanned the living room like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her left eyebrow cocked with a quizzical appeal…and her mouth turned down with a kind, yet no nonsense twist. “Your father is coming home today, she declared in a calm, silky, tone…I hope you have all decided to behave yourselves, I would hate exhaust him after a long trip with complaints of naughty little boys.”
I glared accusingly at all of the boys, who by now had all lowered their eyes to the ground in shame. My eyes wandered to those of my mother’s. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I saw the triumphant gleam of victory in her eyes. She knew she had them….and she knew I knew. I smiled at her. She winked. There was no need for words. Once again, the peace had been restored, for now.
In the anticipation of our father’s return, the afternoon passed unusually uneventful. There was the usual bickering over whose turn it was to vacuum, or who took out the trash last. My favorite of course was the wrestling match baited by the heated debate…”Who is the best superhero?” Hulk or Thing?...Suddenly the “Great Debaters” felt the need to move on to demonstrations of each superhero’s skills, to prove superiority... No injuries…but two “superheroes” were promptly placed into opposite corners for time out. I bet you don’t see that every day. I do. Even superheroes have to answer to their mothers.
In our house, the evening time always seems to bring an air of relief. It is a fresh breezy breath, (at least for my mom and me.) Nearly every evening, I watch the stark yellows and oranges of the sun gently fade into the purple and blue hues of the horizon. The mugginess of the heat fades along with it and the cool breezes blow in from the North rattling the leaves of our Pecan tree. It’s my favorite time of day. My mind always travels back to my favorite poem…

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
by: W.B. Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.


I love this poem because it helps me find the beauty that is around me. We all have a lot to be thankful for, we just have to find the ordinary and make it extraordinary.

So my friends, I hope you have learned a lesson or two from me today. First of all I hope that you learned to think twice before wishing for seven brothers..(though, I doubt anyone in their right mind would wish for that). Second of all, for those rare few that do have seven brothers, I hope you can appreciate them for what they are…Men in the making. While it is a well know fact amongst older sisters that it is our exclusive right and privilege to complain about the irritations and annoyances of younger siblings (in my case namely brothers, but on a rare occasion my sister as well) They never cease to bring me joy and plenty of materials for stories and poems. I hope that one day I can share them with the world.
Though I am no W.B. Yeats here is a poem I wrote regarding that very thing.
A Recipe for Little Brothers
By Nora Gunter
A dozen smart remarks, a dirty face;
Fruit Loops, and whirls, a relay race.

Two scraped knees, one lost shoe
Five holey socks, two jeans of blue.

Now how many to make is a great debate
As you know they take a lifetime to bake.

You may want to bake them as fast as you can;
What goes in as a boy, comes out as a man.


Thanks for sharing my ramblings of today….more later but..

Until then…Just call me Nora.

The Last Day of School....The First Day of The Rest of My Life.

Today is the last day of the school year. I can't say that I am sad, even though I really like school. Honestly what thirteen year old is saddened by the last day of school...? I like to look at it in the most positive way.
TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE!!! I guess everyday is..but somehow we never seem to appreciate the blessings of a new sunrise as we rise from our beds every morning. I think it's about time to take the reins and take out the trash left behind. Therefore, I have decided that this summer I will relieve myself of old baggage. Namely, what has been left over from my parent's divorce. I intend to confront some things that have been bothering me for quite a while. Things that until now, I could never really understand.
These are my feelings, and though I do not intend to injure anyone else, this is the reality. I can't speak for everyone who has shared my journey, but as for myself, this is my saga.

First of All: A note to my father...You all know him as Joe. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I remember a lot. Even if you think I don't. Maybe you were in a time in your life when the pressure was a lot. Maybe you were immature or maybe you just weren't prepared mentally to raise three kids at such an early age. I don't know your reasons, but I do remember the day you sat me down when I was two and told me that I couldn't live with you anymore. I remember when you would leave for days and wouldn't come back. I remember you cold and void of expressions when my mother would beg you to stay home. It hurts me.
Now I know that adults have complicated relationships sometimes, but I also know my mother. She is a good mother. She is a good wife to my Baba...(stepfather). She never says anything bad about you, but I remember what happened.
My mom says that I am a lot like you. She said I am funny and sarcastic like you. I have a great memory. I can quote passages from books and movies verbatim, just like you.. I walk like you (much to my dismay) and I have your "distinguished" chin..whatever that means. She said I have all of your good qualities. I am stubborn, (but you are off the hook on that one.) She said I get that from her side...
I guess what is bothering me is that you rattle on and on in your blog about how you try to call and write us as much as possible. You publicly recall how important my brothers and I are to you. You pine over how saddening it is that you haven't seen us for "5 years". Get real Dad. You never call. I called you two months ago because I didn't even know if you were still alive. You haven't called us for 3 or 4 years. The ONLY time you have ever sent us a letter was when you sent us pictures of your little girl when she was a newborn. That was three years ago. As far as seeing us? That was 7 years ago. I guess it is hard to keep track though. I know you have a life of your own, just like we do. I am not really sad about not visiting you because I think I would miss my mom too much but, I do love you dad, you are a part of me after all. I can't help but feel angry with you at times....a lot of times. You deserted us dad. You picked up your life and pretended we never existed. You don't even know us.
With that said, there is good news.
I have a really wonderful life dad. My mom and dad are really supportive of me, and try to help me make sense of it all. They always set high standards which I must admit isn't always fun, but when I am successful in school and achieve my goals I appreciate it. My mom even made me start seeing a therapist....strange....but the therapist is nice...She reassured me I have the right to my feelings and should confront them. I don't do much talking to her, but I do listen and like to think about her suggestions. I think overall, I have great sense of who I am and who I want to be. The one question I have though... Why did you not value us? If I knew the answer to that question I think I could get over it. I think I could forgive you.


Now for those of you who are reading this blog who are not involved with the "D" issue, welcome to my saga. I don't know how exciting it will be as you journey along with me on my way. I am just an average teen with an average life. I think I should get reacquainted with those who have been out of contact with me for awhile. First of all I am thirteen...the oldest. Actually I have one stepbrother the same age as me, but as the oldest daughter, I certainly rank in maturity.
I have 8 siblings. Six of them live with us, two do not. Now I know it seems like a lot, and at times I want to pull my hair out, but it's all in good fun. It is quite humorous at times, and often a source of inspiration for my writing. Having seven brothers and one small sister is a comedy in the making. I am currently in the process of writing a book of poetry....called Memoirs of a Big Sister. It is quite a funny book though unfinished mind you. God willing, one day, I will finish it. I just finished school as I mentioned in the beginning of my post, and passed my CRCT tests with flying colors. I prayed hard on the math section. With sweaty palms I solved each one according to my best abilities, and Allah is Great, he answered me. By the way, Allah is the Arabic word for God for those of you who don't know. A lot of people think that Muslims worship a different God but they don't. Allah is just the name of God in Arabic.
Oh, guess I should mention that I am a Muslim. ( I guess you have figured that out already) I think a lot of people out there make judgements pretty unfairly. They should learn about things before they pass judgements. I had one girl in my History class...she hates me now because I am Muslim. We were discussing the religions of the world in one unit of our history class a lot of the kids in our class were discussing Muslims. Of course, they have images of militant, wife beating, Arabs who smell like goats and camels....Ridiculous! I had to set them straight (in a nice way of course). I asked them if they knew what Muslims believed...or if they had ever met a real life Muslim...none of them knew or had. They were quite shocked to learn they were talking to a Muslim at that very moment....I had a few insults thrown my way by that particular girl. I felt really sorry for her, because the level of her ignorance overcame her intellect in the most severe way. The rest of the kids however, were really curious, and graciously asked questions of pertinence. We had a good laugh when one boy thought the word Muslim was the word for sheep meat...we laughed so hard, when I told him the word is "Mutton"... I could tell he was embarrassed but it broke the ice, and made for a good laugh and a good pat on the back for him. Even our teacher laughed though she was fuming at the girl for her ill mannered remarks, and then she reminded us all that our freedom as Americans hinges on the rights to religion, speech...etc. Later, she told the girl that she shouldn't talk about things that she isn't well informed upon. I think that is why the girl hates me.
OH WELL! I have learned that to be true to oneself is better than trying to please the world. I have also learned that no matter what, there will always be someone who hates you from the inside out for no good reason. My mother always says, "Don't let other peoples' issues become your own"...So I leave them brood on their own terms. You can't help everyone.

I guess I will close, I always have something to say, but if I say it all now, what will I blog next time?


Until then, Just call me Nora...