Cloudy with a chance of suhoor

The past six Ramadans, I rise before the sun does. It’s not to eat suhoor, nor do I prepare it for my husband. I trudge by him as he groggily slurps down a bowl of O’s, we exchange a look of mutual exhaustion. It’s a call that summons me awake, reminding me that there’s something greater than sleep. Motherhood.

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Father’s Duh

Becoming a dad ruined my life. Now, before you fire up an angry e-mail, delete my blog from your bookmarks, or un-follow me on Twitter, let me offer some context. I’ve been a dad for about five-and-a-half years now, and with this past weekend marking the annual occurrence that is Father’s Day, I got to thinking about just how wildly off course my life has veered…

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The tradition of faith

There had always been signs that my father’s faith was extraordinary. When I was younger, I internalized this fact through smaller, pettier things. For instance, if we were out of the house when prayer time came upon us, it didn’t matter if we were shopping or in Disney World, my dad would find a spot to fall to his knees and prostrate in prayer.

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