Two Muslim mothers are sitting in a cafe chatting over a pint  of goat's milk.
The older of the mothers pulls her bag out and starts flipping  through photos
 and they start reminiscing.

"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He's 24 years old  now."
"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the other mother  cheerfully.
"He's a martyr now, though," mum confides.
"Oh, so sad dear,"  says the other.

"And this is my second son Kalid. He's 21."
"Oh, I  remember him," says the other happily. "He had such curly hair when 
he was  born."
"He's a martyr, too," says mum quietly.
"Oh gracious me," says the  other.

"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He's  18," she 
whispers.
"Yes," says the friend enthusiastically, "I remember when  he first started 
school."
"He is a martyr, also," says mum, with tears  in her eyes.

After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother  looks wistfully at 
the photographs and says...
"They blow up so fast,  don't they?"