Life is an adventure

Last week was one of adventures. Firstly to the hospital’s casualty department, which I thought was the domain of young boys. Biryani wondered into the living room while was clearing up the supper, and the boys were on their screens of various types. Then S called me to find her on her back crying but with no sound coming out and blood streaming from her eye. Reminiscent of H’s lip accident, both in location and time of day, I hardly hesitated to call the ambulance, esp. as it was her eye. To cut a long story short we were seen to relatively efficiently and although thankfully no damage done to the eyeball her lids would need stitches, under general anaesthetic. There was no anaesthetist available that time so we came back the next morning. The other doctor decided that in fact there was no need for an operation and Biryani’s sedative (which actually appeared to make no difference to her, she’s from the ‘who needs to sleep’ camp I think. It turned H into a different child when he had one) and you should have seen me in the disposable boiler suit thingy I had to wear in the theatre, which somehow managed to contain my jilbab!
So she’s had a swollen eye for a week or so but now doesn’t look so much like a rugby player.
The difference between this time and H’s injury, was my own relative sense of calm, it wasn’t like it was the first time (M had an accident with a hurled drinks can and his eyes rolled wildly with the shock and that really worried me seeing that for the fist time) and I knew that this was Qadr, and Biryani’s health was in Allah’s hands.

And so, as I once nearly had a truck crash into me on my way to an Islamic camp, and somehow Allah saved me from disaster, the previous emergency did not manage to get in our way of our little adventure to Denmark.
We missed the ferry by 10 minutes to the island we were staying at, so had to find somewhere else to stay, which turned out to be another near island, also requiring a small ferry ride. We had supper in the only restaurant on the island, where the friendly (slightly tipsy) Danish owner cooked for us as if we were her guests. S was in fact v uncomfortable being around people drinking mashaAllah, even if they were the other side of the restaurant, but it was that or buying chocolate from the campsite’s tuck shop I think. The following morning, we mad e it on the ferry by the skin of our teeth to get back to the docks to catch the original ferry. S asked how ferries could float, and Alhamdulillah my DH could give an answer involving Archimedes principle (?!)
At the port, we met our travelling companions (both for this journey and the journey of Islam). Were we like buses?, no headscarf-bearing Muslims to be seen, and then two come at once!
Nervous? A little, but that soon passed as the commonalities of our lives were reality. How is it best to do Islam? How can we nurture our children best? The island was very beautiful and the company a treat, the time passed so quickly.
During the trip I felt reassured about my skills as a mother, reminded of Allah’s creation (the stars seen from a non- light polluted sky were jaw-dropping).
I realised my GCSE in German was of little use in trying to communicate with neighbours. The certificates we can accumulate almost worthless. Swedish, I have no papers for but can get by because sometimes I need to.
We spent a pleasant morning fishing for , well whatever they could catch with their nets in the sea. This turned out to be mostly stones and shells, although S said he'd caught a crab but somebody knocked him and he lost it. I suspect it was a shrimp by the description.
To finish off the adventure we realised that I’d left the portable DVD player on the ferry on the way over. I wasn’t so keen on getting them in the first place and wondered if this was a sign, but when DH enquired it turned out they’d saved them at the island’s docks so would bring them back on the last ferry. So we had a couple of hours to kill, and managed to find a v nice fish restaurant and had my first proper smorgasbord since I’ve been in Scandinavia (we don’t go out for meals with the kids unless it’s to the Muslim restaurants (they understand the accompanying raucous more). It was the first time in a long time I ate my fill, normally I don’t have much of an appetite. I was trying to remember the hadith of leaving a third for water, a third for air, and hope there was some space leftover. The Danes around did seem less uptight about noisy kids than in Sweden and the addition of there being a huge fish tank for them to peer into helped. Outside, waiting for various members of the family to use the bathroom, S decided to ask me about nuclear bombs, and how they work, and whether one could destroy the whole of our city? I tried to calmly answer his queries, and silently hoping his enthusiasm for the subject would die down, as nearby Danish citizens could overhear us!
Then managed to zoom back to port, collect afore-mentioned DVD players and head off into the thick of the Danish traffic. Tired, but very happy and hoping for another time like this, but one that doesn’t pass so quickly inshaAllah.