Salaam Alaikum wa Rahmatullah.
Halfway through Ramadan. The alarm clock went off on time. Bleary-eyed, I stumble to the kitchen to make suhoor, the morning meal that is supposed to sustain us throughout the day of fasting. I stand there in front of the refrigerator, staring at the contents, contemplating what to make. I start rummaging through yogurt containers, none of which actually contain yogurt. Hmm… cucumber salad, leftover pasta, chicken livers. Nope. I open the cupboards that I just cleaned out the other day, casting my eyes over cans of corn and tomatoes. Nuh-uh. Finally my gaze falls on a carton of eggs sitting on the counter. I default to egg sandwich mode. I really don’t want to cook anything but I can’t stand the idea of making a smoothie. The blender would be way too loud, and I know the blueberries had partially thawed before I put them in the freezer and I’d have to hack off a corner from the bag with a butcher knife in order to get enough to use. Sigh. At least I can cook an egg on autopilot.
Skillet on, lube it up, crack eggs, put toast in toaster. Grab cream cheese. Stand over eggs, watching the egg white solidify, breaking the yolks with a corner of the spatula. Jump in surprise as the toast pops up. Flip eggs. Turn off heat. Schmear cream cheese on toast. Deposit eggs on top. Take to table, fetch bottle of water from fridge, place everything in front of husband and son. Sit. Contemplate package of danishes on table. Cream cheese danish? Nah, raspberry, bleh. Open package of danishes and eat anyway. Drink from son’s cup of water. Look at bag of dates. Sigh.
I believe you could say I have hit the suhoor wall. I’m not a morning person. I don’t like to get up in the dark and then have to function. I don’t like to eat when I first wake up. I can barely manage a desultory “salaam alaikum” to my husband and son. I started out okay. Like most people, I began Ramadan in high spirits with high energy. I made nice breakfasts of turkey bacon and eggs. I served delicious high-protein energy drinks and made pretty plates of dates and cheese. I turned on the lights to wake myself up, jollied myself along, and even stayed up after fajr and read Qur’an. For the last few days, though, I’ve been slipping. Now, I’m at the point where suhoor is going to be a ziplock bag full of dates tossed on the table and a cup of water and you darn well better like it, bub. Half of Ramadan left. I think I’d better go to the store to try to find inspiration and something new to make. That or hire a personal chef to take over the duties from here til the end of the month.
I’m sitting here now at the dining room table typing and the adhan is going off on the computer downstairs in the office. It filters through the floorboards and sounds muffled,. I haven’t heard this particular adhan before. Sounds nice. The call to prayer rouses me a bit and I figure I’m ready to go make wudu and pray the fajr. I’ll ask Allah to forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm this morning, and thank Him for providing me with enough food to serve my family, and the electricity with which to cook the eggs, and the fresh clean water to drink. If the baby doesn’t wake up, I might try to go back to sleep, or I might force myself to turn on the light and read for a bit so I don’t get behind on my daily Qur’an portion. First I have to get up from this chair though, so excuse me while I blink the last of the sleep from my eyes and try to find where I left my prayer dress. Yawn. A new day is beginning and though I’m not the most energetic person, I feel good that I did manage to wake up and feed my family a meal, however simple, and spit in the eye of Shaitan who would encourage me to burrow under the covers and go back to sleep. To hell with you, Shaitan. I did it. I woke up. So there.