Two mideast mothers are sitting in a Baghdad cafe chatting over their goat's milk lattes. The older one, Fatima, pulls her bag out and starts flipping through family pictures, and the two begin to reminisce....

"This is my oldest son, Mohamed. He's 24 now," says Fatima.
"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the younger Amira cheerfully.
"He's a martyr now, though," his mum confides soulfully.

"Oh, that's so sad, dear," says Amira.

Fatima continues, "And this is my second son Kalil. He's 21."
"Oh, I remember him as well." says Amira happily. "He had such curly hair when he was born."
"Alas, he's a martyr, too " said Fatima quietly.

"Oh, gracious me...." replied Amira, at a loss for words.

"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He's 18", whispered Fatima.
"Yes," said her friend enthusiastically, "I remember when he first started kindergarten."
"Well, sadly, he's a martyr, also," Fatima said, with tears welling in her eyes.

After a pause and a long sigh, Amira looked wistfully at the photographs and then said to her friend Fatima...
"They blow up so fast, don't they?"