Talking to my grandmother a few weeks ago, she informed me that she had a dream where Pedram’s uncle came to visit her and offered her beautiful gold jewelry.  This, to her, meant that I was pregnant.

(the story is that my grandmother, an unrelenting romantic, met Pedram’s uncle when she was young, and developed an intense crush on him.  This crush was brought to the forefront of her many unrealized loves when Pedram and I started dating.  She often says that our marriage is some form of ‘justice’ for her unrequited crush).   Now that Pedram’s uncle has passed away, he often comes to visit my grandmother in her dreams, occasionally bearing gifts.

Pedram, who overheard this conversation on Skype, chimed in, asking Bibi why she was dreaming of his uncle rather than her own late husband.  My grandmother chuckled, and then replied that Pedram should be ashamed, being outdone by my sister’s husband.

You see, Nava’s husband had gotten her pregnant.  Therefore, in my grandmother’s eyes, he has won the race to being the bestest groom of all.  In her opinion.  On the other side of the planet, my 9 month pregnant sister, bloated to the point where her characteristic dimples no longer bespectacled her face, was bemoaning her misfortune to me at all times of day and night.  She was uncomfortable, unable to sleep or even sit comfortably, and was constantly guiding me to never ever, ever, ever, become pregnant.

Yesterday, she gave birth to her little baby boy.  Her water broke in the morning, and she made sure she had her hair done before heading to the hospital.  This was a great decision by her, as her hair was almost as fabulous as the kid in the post-birth pictures.

I know I whine alot about being far away from my family, but these times are the hardest.  I can’t drive over to the hospital and hold my nephew, I can’t hop on a plane and be there in two hours.  I can only facetime with my sister and my mom, and get to see the little nugget through video.  Which is still amazing, considering.  But there is something so unsatisfying about being so far removed from the action, you really feel like life is passing you by, and you are missing all the highlights.

My sister having a baby is a major highlight.  It is the first birth for both sides of my family, the first great-grand child of the baby loving Bibi Soltan, the first new branch of the next generation on the family tree.  I am not sure what it is like for other people, especially people who are not very close to their siblings, but for me, suddenly, everything has changed.  My older sister, who I have known my entire life, whose face is engraved in my mind as a delicate child, is now a mother.  My parents, who have always been the all-knowing authority figures of my life, have now shifted to grandparents.

The book is continuing, but we are all on a new chapter.  And it is crazy, how one little guy, so helpless and fragile, could make it change overnight.

Brother -

Enjoys speaking french eventhough he only knows as much as he learned on a one week trip to Paris six months ago

As a result of that trip, asked me to make him a croque madame.  And bought a ridiculous amount of Gruyere.

Took Rusby for a walk in the rain and cold, allowing Nava and I to stay inside nice and dry.

Invited Rusby to come on the guest bed, allowing my coyote of a dog to snuggle on a bed overnight for the first time.  If he could talk, I am sure that Rusby would ask for a duvet.

Downloaded multiple seasons of my new favorite show and watched them all with me eventhough he didn’t laugh (much.  he definitely laughed).

Made a few killer pizzas from scratch.

Sister -

Walked for many many hours around Montreal (in heels) without ever complaining about it

Bought me groceries while I was at my final yoga challenge class

Watched Bridesmaids with my brother and me and shared her popcorn

Spent her birthday with me (happy birthday Nava!)

Asked for her birthday cake to be lots and lots of chocolate.  Yummy.

Caught me up with all the US gossip and introduced me to some new great TV shows

Brother and sister eating Portugese chicken

Brother and sister at my favorite brunch place

Brother and sister in Montreal.  Best weekend ever.  For me at least.

A quick picture from my time in Seattle. My mom put a vase of some of my favorite flowers in our room. Hyacinths were everywhere, and daffodils were aplenty. The sun even made a good appearance while we were there, and it was beautiful.

Currently in Montreal, Pedram is making me hot chocolate because it is -12 degrees today, and although it is sunny, it is not warm enough for flowers to bloom. So I am not blooming either, staying inside and cuddling on the couch. *

*I would prefer to cuddle watching a romantic movie, but am forced to watch Sweet Sixteen games instead. Who knew a Luxembourger cares about college basketball?

When my mom is here, it doesn’t feel like she is visiting me, as much as I am visiting her in my own home.  I come home to the smell of wonderfully cooked foods that I know I didn’t make, put into plates and bowls that I would never use for that purpose.  The kitchen is no longer my own, I sit and watch while things are whipped together in a certain way, put away in a certain way, and even eaten according to my mom’s liking.  There are plates of dried fruit and sugar cubes piled on a small plate, a napkin placed on top to hide them.  Another plate holds tomatoes and potatoes, which should apparently never be put in the fridge.  Anything that does go in the fridge, however, needs to be first washed, wrapped in towels, and then in a placed in a plastic bag.  I open the fridge to identically wrapped bags, having to open a few before finding what I am looking for.

My dog no longer looks to me but instead follows around my mom everywhere, curious of her actions and eager to see what new treat might fall from her hands.  They have bonded well this past week, going for walks together and building on their mutual affection.  I wake up to her throwing the ball to him in the mornings, talking to him as she prepares breakfast.

I am impressed with how she has handled the Montreal weather, bearing the snow and wind and cold to walk Rusby or go to the supermarket.  She hasn’t complained of it yet, including the extra 20 minutes it takes to put on the boots, and scarf, the hat and gloves.  It has made this week incredibly enjoyable for me, and I am sad she is leaving in a few days.  The only thing that would make it better is if Pedram was also here, because he really deserves this pampering as well.

And now, as a part of the ritual, I am going to finish my fourth cup of tea today, which is a concoction that she made herself with Persian tea, cardamom and other spices, our second cup after our lovely lunch, which will be followed by a short nap and perhaps another cup of tea before we get to the afternoon’s activities.

My mom is here, so we have been Skyping with my dad every night, which is really nice.  I miss him alot here, but it is great to have my mom to keep Rusby and I company, to keep me entertained, and to make great food.  Hopefully my dad can make it for the next visit.

Here my dad is showing me the postcard he received in the mail today.  It was the postcard that Pedram and I sent from Merida, Mexico in December, which took 6 weeks to arrive in Seattle.  Pedram wrote the card in Farsi, and although both my parents were impressed with the note, the mistakes in text were hilarious.

My dad could barely keep a straight face while reading it.  Also, you can barely see it, but I am wearing a scarf I knit myself and my mom helped me complete.  It is wonderful and soft and very fall, which is when I originally planned to finish it.

My mom was in town for a week, overlapping her visit with when Pedram was in Europe for a week so I wouldn’t be too lonely, and Rusby would have someone to throw the ball for him 12 hours a day.  At one point, my mom, exhausted with throwing the ball, suggested that we get a personal ball thrower just for the dog.  They got along wonderfully, with Rusby so distracted by the human food my mom was feeding him (difference between my mom and I?  I buy boneless chicken breasts while my mom buys entire chickens, hacks the chicken into pieces, cooks the giblets and feeds my dog the chicken heart) that he forgot Pedram was gone.

When my mom visits, she takes over the house, which is fine with me for the most part. I love coming home to a house filled with persian food aromas so much that I forgive her for her complaints — that my house is too dark, that my dog sheds too much, etc.  But occasionally I get flashbacks of when I was a stubborn teen and tired of my mom’s rules, especially when she begins to scold me on how I store my parsley in the fridge or the rule to clean dishes immediately.  And then I try to put my mom in her place.

An example includes sekanjabin, one of the oldest persian recipes which includes sweetening vinegar with sugar to create a syrup.  In our house, my mom would play a bowl of sekanjabin in a bowl, and surround it on a tray with several heads of crisp, fresh romaine lettuce, and we would dip the lettuce in the syrup.  It is a refreshing snack, something my family would have often in summer afternoons.  It is unfortunately one of those recipes that I would never think to make myself, but whenever I am at my parents, I enjoy immensely.  In Seattle one time, I was gorging myself on the lettuce dipped in sekanjabin, to look up and see my mom’s disapproving eye.  “Double dipping is prohibited”, she mentioned quietly, trying to discipline me without attracting attention.  “What?” I questioned with sekanjabin dripping from my chin, thinking I misunderstood her.

“Double dipping is prohibited,” she repeated again, this time a little louder.  And then again, “in this house, double-dipping is prohibited.”  It was then that I understood that I could not keep dunking my lettuce back in the bowl, this was clearly an issue.  “Since when?” I asked.  “Since always”, she replied.  Then I made the mistake of surveying everyone else, and realizing that not only am I the only one who double dips, but the rest of my family and Pedram found this fact to be absolutely repulsive.

So when my mom came over here and, to my delight, made some sekanjabin, I told her that in my house double dipping is NOT prohibited (that might be news to Pedram), and that we encourage this type of behavior.  I stood firm in my proclamation, telling her in strong words that this house has different rules, rules that I have made and that everyone else would have to abide to as my guest.  I effectively repealed prohibition, giving refuge to double-dippers everywhere.

Then my mom got her own bowl for dipping.  Am not sure I could count this as a victory.

Me – Hi Bibi!  Happy Naw Ruz!!

Bibi – Happy Naw Ruz to you too.  Hopefully this year you will make me happy with a baby.

Me – Hopefully you will make me happy with a visit!  How are things?  Have people been calling you from around the world?

Bibi – Oh yes!  Your sister called me yesterday, and your parents called me, and all of my friends have been stopping by.  Your father-in-law even called me.

My grandmother then proceeds to giggle like a little girl.  Pedram’s dad calling makes her very happy.

Me – Really?  What did he say?

Bibi – He asked when you were going to give him a grandchild.

Me – Oh really?  What did you tell him?

Bibi – I told him that you were a young woman, and you could do whatever you wanted in your life, and things are different now, and women don’t have to have babies unless they want to.

Me – Thanks Bibi!  I appreciate you defending me.

Bibi – I also told him that maybe you want a child, but Pedram is unable to give you one.  He should look at his own son before criticizing my granddaughter.

Me – Ummm…okay, I guess.  I appreciate you taking the pressure off me.

We then talk for a few more minutes, and then she returns to the subject.

Bibi – So…ummm…is it true or not?  Are you having problems getting pregnant?  Because there are foods that you could be making Pedram to help with that.