Break ups Always Hurt...

I've moved again...to a different continent, a different country, a different city and, alas, a different blog engine.  It's hard when long term relationships end like that.  For all I know, Wordpress might just be a rebound.  I might be washing my dirty laundry out in the open here but I need to get this out of my system and now! I tried and I tried hard.  I did everything I could to keep this relationship from dying. I gave it my everything. Even a VPN.  But, it wasn't meant to be.  Blogspot just wouldn't respond. Wouldn't even show me it's face.  I kept asking myself, "Why?  Why this indifference? Why the cold shoulder?  What have I done to deserve this?"  Here I was, all excited about moving to China and dying to share this excitement with Blogspot!  And all I got was silence.  Deafening silence! There's only so much a person can beg and plead, you see. So, finally I moved on. With a heavy heart and no choice. 

But, like some people believe, when the guy/gal who runs the place closes the door, he/she opens a window somewhere.  And so, he/she did.  I found a shoulder to lean on, a friend, a confidant at http://brainfullofideas.wordpress.com/.  Although Wordpress is a little fussy about the placement of my pictures on my blog posts, we are getting along fine.  We fight and argue about the pictures every once in a while but, so far, so good.  I have already shared quite a few of my adventures with it and its been a good listener.  But,  I am going to take this as it comes. One step at a time.  If Wordpress doesn't change its attitude towards uploading my pictures and putting them where I want, I might change my mind and move back in with Blogspot.  After all, Blogspot has been good over the past few weeks. I have been testing him and he's been doing fine.  He's apologised and mended his ways (or so I think).  And forgive and forget is never a bad policy, is it?

The travel bug strikes again...

Here we go again...the travel bug is back! And when it's back, it's BACK! It's here to stay.  This little bug is not like the others. It doesn't rest till it gets what it wants. When it strikes, it strikes like none other. Not a little bite that causes a mild rash and some swelling that dies down in a few days. Oh no! Not this one. This one comes like an innocent helpless little creature disguised as a passing thought and before you know it, it has spread to every fibre of you. It's a part of every thought that occurs to you every second of the day. In a few weeks, it manifests into this powerful compulsion that takes control of your life.  Now, the thing to note is that this bug draws it's strength from certain kind of people with certain kind of a mindset. And that's basically us! Hence, the recurrence.

I am sure you have guessed by now that we are on the move again. It's China this time. The first time the bug made it's presence known was around May or June of this year. And by July we were desperate to move.  We had started selling whatever little furniture we had even before we had shortlisted potential destinations. Talk about virulence.  Anyway, as you already know, we never have solid plans. So, in a span of 2 months, we had considered Melbourne, Hyderabad, London, Reading, Beijing and ShangHai!  London, Beijing and Shanghai were neck to neck for a while and eventually London tired out and fell behind. Then it was Beijing vs. Shanghai and after a long (read close to 2 weeks) and difficult struggle, we had a winner! ShangHai!!! 

Like I said, it was a tough choice, but we made it. Based on inputs we got from folks who had been to both cities, the web, books, documentaries etc. etc. Oh! And by the way, Mr. M was the one who figured this out. In a matter of a few weeks.  All by himself.  When it comes to taking informed decisions I like to leave things to the experts and that's my man! An expert in gathering information. Useful information. As for me, I prefer not knowing anything about a place before I go there. I guess I like surprises. Adventures. Blank canvases. And that's what I am when it comes to China! One Big Fat Blank Canvas!!!

WYSIWYG…

What you see is what you get! A simple concept that minime lives by! There is no reading between the lines for her. She has this immense faith in what she hears and sees and derives :)

A few months ago Minime called me a 'mad woman'! To my face! And with a lot of conviction. She knew it beyond all doubts and she had to let me know. So, she did and I was, for a second, taken aback. But I quickly reminded myself that she's a 4 year old (waiting desperately to turn 5), and she probably means something else. So, I asked her what she meant. Her logic was perfect. I was a mad woman because I was always getting mad at her and I am a woman! What can I say? Summer vacations can be tough...

A few weeks ago, we were driving around aimlessly (like we often do) when we passed a bus. It turns out that a transit bus with lots of advertisements and a 5 year old who has spent all summer perfecting her reading skills can be a very fun combination. This particular bus had this huge ad across the door for some store, and it read,"open daily from 9am to 7pm". Soon after we passed that bus, my little one chirped from the back seat,"Amma! That bus door is open from 9am to 7pm!"

M spent all summer interviewing (blame it on the travel bug!). Most of these interviews happened from home and the best of lucks and the hugs and kisses had almost become a ritual now. They absolutely had to be done before every informational and every interview. Needless to say, the hugging and kissing and 'best-of-lucking' took anywhere from 5-15 minutes. Once minime was done, Mr. M would lock himself up in, what came to be known as, the interview room. There was this one time when the 'locking self up' happened a tad bit too early and Minime suddenly realised she hadn't wished him luck. She panicked, ran to the door and banged on it like her life depended on it. And then, without waiting for a response, she shouted out to him in the loudest voice possible, "Appa! Best of luck but I can't hug you coz your interview has already started!"

There was this one time when I was talking to my Amma over the phone and we happened to be talking about bringing up girls. At one point I was telling Amma how I constantly worry about protecting my little angel from all kinds of dogs (read perverts)! The very next instant, I hear Minime say, "Oooohhh! I looooooovvvvvvve dogs!"

A couple of days ago, a friend of ours was telling us how bargaining in China works. As always, Minime was listening carefully, trying to absorb every tiny little detail so she could spend the next couple of days asking us questions about shopping in China. Our friend went on to explain the 2 knife bargaining method (yup! They actually have a name for it) where you ask the price to be slashed by a quarter of the quoted price and then when the shopkeeper gives you a counter offer, you cut that down by half. So, for example, if something costs $100, you quote $25. Then they will give you a counter offer of, let's say, $80. Then you agree to pay about $40 and not a penny more! Now Minime thinks we are poverty-stricken because we don't have $100 to pay for whatever it is that we want to buy and so, we have to plead with the shopkeeper to give it to us for less! She goes,"Why Amma? Because we don't have 100 dollars? We have only 40 dollars?".

What can I say? Kids are funny little things!

Peter Pan was right!

So, I kept my promise and I tried really hard.  I came to a screeching halt on every not-so-fun downhill ride. I wore out the soles on many a shoe but it was worth it. So totally worth it.  I dragged myself up that slippery slope of self-pity every single time and while doing so, I sold myself, ever so breathlessly, the idea that life is good! It was hard. Like my first day on the treadmill...breathless and thirsty and dizzy and so tempted to give up after the first 5 minutes inspite of walking at a pace that other veteran gym-goers might find too slow even for a cool down!

Lessons learnt:
1) Life IS good
2) Swimming does help
3) It's NEVER too late to go after your dreams
4) The voice in the head has no idea what it's talking about
5) When it comes to the voice in the head, there is a 'zip-it-and-throw-the-keys-away' button.

And all these revelations later, I feel like Peter Pan.  Never once did I believe that I could fly just by thinking happy thoughts. But now I know. Happy thoughts matter. In fact happy thoughts are all that matters.    

Imperfect is perfect

My little princess turned 5 a couple of days ago and needless to say I spent the day with an indescribable feeling about how fast she was growing. A knot in my stomach that wouldn't go away. It seems like it wasn't long ago when she almost fit in daddy's palm. Daddy used to fondly call her a palmtop :) But as I sat there thinking about how fast time flew by, I also realised how blessed I am to have the family that I have. Now, life's not perfect and the more I think about it, the more I know that it's perfect in not being perfect (if that makes sense).

So, after a whole day of thinking long and hard (as you all know by now, that's one thing I am almost an expert at!) I decided that I am going to try. Try real hard. I am going to try real hard to stay on the sunny side of life. To remind myself every now and then that life is good. As good as it gets with all it's fun ups and not-so-fun downs. It's going to be tough but every time I am on one of those slippery slopes, heading down at break-neck speed on one of those not-so-fun-downhill-rides, I will do all in my power to come to a screeching halt and drag myself uphill again. No matter how out-of-breath I get! So, at the end of those days, when I am more than ready to drop dead with a smile on my face, I will plop myself down on the bed, lie back and tell the petty and silly little voice in my head to zip it! And I will tell it how happy I am with my imperfect life b'coz perfect is boring. Perfect does not exist. And I would rather have 'wonderful'!!

What are mothers for?

Sometimes A lot of times I feel I am the self appointed 'worrier' of the family.  It's funny how, when I look back, I see that ever since I had a baby, I have spent atleast 62% (if not more) of my time worrying about one thing or the other. Another 20% can be accounted for by sleepless nights.  Then there's the 14.75 % for guilt and the remaining 3.25% is reserved for the joys of motherhood.

I am assuming that's the case with most mothers. And if it's not, I don't want to know because that will only make this lop-sided ratio even more lop-sided. At this time, I cannot afford to allot more than 62% to the Department of Worrying!


As of now all I care about is the 14.75% being wasted on Guilt. Since I cannot do anything about the worry (that's the side-effect of mommyhood) or the sleeplessness (mother nature just made me that way), I figured I might as well work on the guilt. Especially with it being so very irrational and annoying.  Not that I am a very rational person. But this is too much even by my standards!  For example, the other day, long long ago, Mr. M had had a long day at work and was very tired when he got home. Minime wanted him to read her a story.  But, he said no. She came to me next. I was cleaning the kitchen and I was dead tired too. Afterall, I had been working all day. Granted that I was doing menial household stuff but that doesn't make it any less tiring. And to top it off, I am the one whose day starts at 5 a.m.  So, I said no too and then spent the next two or so hours tossing and turning. If you notice (coz I just did) I am feeling guilty right now for having said no to Minime two months ago and hence this whole post trying to justify what I did. On the other hand, a few minutes after the whole 'no-no' episode, what do I see?  Minime is fast asleep, as if she couldn't care less about the story.  And her dear daddy is snoring away to glory. This was in less than five minutes. And here I was almost in tears from the guilt.  I went and checked on her atleast 3-4 times through the rest of the night. I imagined her sobbing with her face buried in her big stuffed doggie (she does that sometimes...I am not a psycho, I swear!). I imagined her talking herself to sleep. I imagined her every possible way except fast asleep. 


And now, I am convinced beyond doubt that the guilt comes with the territory too. I am stuck and for life!    

Boy Oh Boy!

Sometimes, very rarely though, I do feel sorry for boys.  Think about it... As blessed as they might be for having us girls around, sometimes it can be challenging dealing with us.  However, the one thing I realise is that the problem is always the same. Guys just aren't smart enough to figure us out.  And we don't do much to help them out either. They want everything spelt out. They want to be spoon-fed.  We, on the other hand, like it to be a little more fun.  We want them to figure us out. We want them to know instinctively, without us having to tell them, what we want. But, somehow, they never do.

A few weeks ago minime was playing with her kid cousin brother.  Without an inkling of as to why, minime started crying with so much sadness on her face, it worried us for a split-second. Then we saw how lost the little boy looked and we knew exactly what was happening. He had no clue why she was crying. He sincerely believed that he had been at his best behaviour. He waited patiently for the storm to pass. 15 minutes later minime was still mad. None of us knew why. He was pretty sure it had something to do with him but he didn't know what.  She wasn't talking. Not to him. Not to any of us.  5 more minutes passed and she comes and tells me she's angry. "At whom?", I ask. "At myself!", she says. "Why?" "Because I don't have any small toys to play with. I don't want big toys and Aadhi has all the small ones!" (that was poor little Aadhi being a good boy and giving up the big toys for her). "Did you ask him for the small toys?". "No!", she said scoffing at the absurdity of the question.  " Doesn't he know?"  And that is when I realised how unreasonable we can sometimes be.  Not that that realisation is going to bring about any drastic changes in our lives, but at least I admitted that I realised that we can occasionally be unreasonable. Lucky Mr. M!!

S-p-e-l-l-i-n-g-s and S-e-c-r-e-t C-o-d-e-s

What is it with grown-ups and secret codes? We have kids and before we know it we are speaking in code and spelling words out. In no time at all it becomes a habit and then a compulsion. And one day we catch ourselves doing it even on our date night! This whole spelling-thing goes on for years beyond what's needed. Even with everyday not-grown-up-only words like m-i-l-k and c-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e and m-o-v-i-e until one day we come to the realisation that it has stopped working. In fact it stopped working eons ago. And then we are forced to wonder why we didn't notice. Not even when he said," Do you want c-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e?" and a very happy chirpy voice chimed from the back seat,"Yes!".  How did we miss that? And what's more? We actually thought we could get away with speaking in a different language! Hadn't we read in all of the 2963 books that kids pick up languages in no time at all?

The sooner parents learn one lesson, the easier life will get for them. Code languages and signs simply do not work.  A new language, hand gestures, foot gestures, eye movements, hanging upside down, jumping off of the rooftop...none of that will help you keep a secret from a child.  Kids are intelligent. They have a b-r-a-i-n and in top working condition.  In many cases, way better than ours. Sooner or later they catch up. So, now, we are trying to learn to respect minime's intelligence and more importantly trying not to make fools of ourselves.

Little Helper

My little doll is growing up and fast. She wants company and she has it all planned. Here's how her head works and this is how much she thinks. 

Observation: Mommy's tummy was really big when Mini-me was inside. Which means mommy's tummy needs to be big enough to hold a baby in order for mommy to be able to have a baby. 

Problem: Mommy's tummy is big but not enough to hold a baby. So, mommy can't have a baby.

Solution: We can 'buy' a baby from the 'shop'. 

Observation: We are 2 girls and 1 boy. 

Problem: Daddy is the only boy and so he doesn't have company when we girls are out having fun doing girl things. And Mini-me feels sad that daddy might be lonely. 

Solution: We need another boy to keep Daddy company when the 2 girls are out doing girl stuff. So, Baby Boy it is!

Observation: Babies need to be taken care of.

Problem: Mommy doesn't have time. Mini-me doesn't know how to change diapers and she has to go to school. Daddy needs to go to office to 'buy' money to buy food and toys and clothes. 

Solution: The boy needs to be 4 years old. That way he won't need diapers. He can go to school with Mini-me. And  he can play with her. If we can't find a 4 yr. old, we can 'buy' a 3 year old and if  3 yr. olds are 'all done' at the 'shop' we can settle for 2 but anything less than that would be unacceptable.

Observation: Babies need clothes, toys, food etc.

Problem: All of this will cost us some money. 

Solution: To save money, Mini-me can share her toys. She can even let the baby boy own some of her toys. For the rest of the stuff, daddy can 'buy' more money from his workplace! 

Observation: Bringing up a kid is a lot of work.

Problem: Mommy will have to work more

Solution: Mini-me can make mickey mouse pancakes and mini blueberry muffins. She can help her baby brother change clothes. And she will spend so much time taking care of him and playing with him that he won't bother Mommy. She can even help Mommy sign the receipt at the grocery store. She will write neatly and not make a mistake. She can even learn cursive writing so she can write exactly like Mommy :)

And, here she goes. "Mommy! So, when can we go and 'buy' my baby brother?"

  

1...2...3...

It's amazing that kids test your limits and your patience in so many different ways but they never thought of challenging the counting trick.  Parents do it all the time.  "Get off the table before I count to 3 or...1, 2..." and off jumps the child. I have never had to count beyond 2.  Yet.  In fact I sometimes fear that one not-so-fine day minime will decide to call my bluff and I won't remember what comes after 2.  Worse, I might not know what to do. Lock her in the bathroom? She might just run the bath and splash around and have fun. Maybe, lock her in her room? Nah! Too many toys to play with. Time out? Bad idea...she loves time outs. In fact she has always wanted me to put her in time out.  And there's nothing else I can think off. 

But, it's worked for 4 1/2 years. I am hoping it will work for another few.  In fact I think it works because of our innate fear of the unknown.  I have never ever told her what will happen after 3. She has never bothered to ask.  Good for me!  And so, I leave it to her imagination.  Like the the movie 'Pan's Labyrinth' where they show absolutely no violence but the movie feels way more gory than Kill Bill.  All they do is show a mean guy with a knife and another guy's fingers. And they leave the rest to your imagination. Now, knife + fingers = infinite possibilities. And somehow our brains work in such a way that we always imagine the worst possibility.  Same thing.   A counting parent + a poor little child = infinite possibilities and the child's brain, I assume, sees only the worst.  Three cheers for the brain! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip Hip hooray! Hip Hip Hooray!

I'm Back...again!!

So, here I am. After another long break.  This time around, I will be here for a reasonably long time. Or, so I think.  

It's end of school year and my life is back to square one. But, it was mighty fun while it lasted. Like I said earlier, kids are always fun.  Be it the little boy from Kindergarten who wouldn't tell on the pretty little girl from 3rd grade (who beats him up during every recess) because he wants her to like him,  or the girl who just can't stop talking at circle time no matter how hard she tries, or the boy who can't separate fact from fiction (like he went to the zoo over the weekend and saw a tiger that ate some meat that the zoo keeper gave him but the meat was a deer and it came alive in his stomach and tore the tiger's tummy with it's horns and there was blood everywhere and so on and so forth), or the boy who wants to go to the restroom every 10 minitues just so he wouldn't have to do spellings, or the girl who thinks every alphabet makes the sound p, h, and k, or the girl who is so fond of singing in the bathroom and having monologues in front of the mirror that somebody needs to remind her every few seconds that there are 22 other people who can hear her loud and clear just on the other side of that door!

And now, school year is over and I might never see these kids again.  It's a strange feeling but that's life. For a few weeks I might feel like there's a big gaping empty hole in my day but slowly I will figure out ways to fill it up. Whatever I fill it up with might or might not be as much fun, but fill it I will...

I'm Back

Wow! That was quite a break I took. But I have been busy. As always. I have come a little ways with pottery. I have managed to make a few cylindrical things and you won't believe how tricky it is.  But here I am. With hope that's still alive and kicking.

I am back into dancing.  I am reading some awesome books on Montessori and child psychology. I even clened up my precious little fountain pens and got them all ready for note-taking. I went outand bought two journals (they were on sale and they look pretty unlike the 12 odd other drab looking journals stuffed into my closet space). I have made a lot of progress with my kids at school. So, yes, my volunteering work has done some good. And as of now, I conclude from my life experiences that it is way way easier to handle a 5 year old than a 33 year old.  5 year olds are more reasonable, have more conscience, are more sensitive, understand better, empathise better and are capable of exceeding expectations as far as loving and giving goes. What can I say. I simple love them.

And, they are also more honest. Minime truly believes the only thing daddy can do better than her is snap his fingers but she will catch up soon. She does sometimes get tired of taking care of daddy. She has no Idea why dad doesn't make his own breakfast.  She does agree that it is not fair to expect mommy to clean up all the time. And yes! needless to say I love this kid to death and I love her even more for the way she's turning out. Keep it up Kiddo!

Magic

Have you ever seen a potter at work? Now, that's what I call magic. Yes! Potter+Potter's Wheel+Clay = Magic!! Not illusions but real magic. The beauty with which a lump of mud is transformed into a thing of  art never ceases to fascinate me.

Do I really need to tell you in so many words that I signed up for pottery class? I am assuming you also know that I am so glad I did.  Now stop it! Before you let that voice in your head say, "What?! Yet another hobby?", take a sneak peek at yourself and see if you would have done it too. Imagine! Isn't it every human being's dream to be able to get their hands dirty in some squishy soft mud without having to explain the behaviour to other people or feel the need to justify it? Wouldn't you have given anything to be able to play in mud, get your clothes dirty, your hands dirty, forget about the world and just spend 4 precious hours kneading and pinching and shaping dirt? It's like getting a second take at childhood without mommy screaming at you!  Haven't you, as a child, stopped by a puddle of water during the rains and collected the really soft clay from the bottom of the puddle thus having your hands smeared in slush right up to your elbows? How many people get to do that as adults? See? Now you know what I mean!! And if you don't, you need help. Beyond all doubts!!

And that's why I say it is magic at so many levels. The clay is magically transformed into art. You are magically transformed into a child again. The world around you disappears magically. Your heart magically fills with joy... and if I don't come out with the truth now, it will be never. All this magic lasts only till the moment right before it's my turn to sit at the wheel. When the teacher's talking, I get so engrossed in admiring his work, that I magically turn deaf. And before I know it, I am sitting at the wheel.  I don't know how I got there. But, that's when I realise that I haven't heard a word of what was being said and I haven't got a clue how to start. Magically everything gets "un-magicked" (reminds me of a collapsing tower of cards) and my 'mug', after having been worked on for 15 minutes, looks uglier and more misshapen than it did as a lump of clay. 

But, I am not going to give up. If not making pots and vases and other things, I can atleast try and learn to let go! Isn't that what pottery is about. My teacher says it's just mud. Have no attachments to your work. Pottery is supposed to bring out the Zen monk in you. Having said that,  I feel more confident about being able to make mugs that look like mugs than being able to let go. We'll see.

7 Years and No Itch...

7 years! That's how long we have been married. Isn't it around this time that certain people develop some kind of an itch? As far as I can tell, neither of us are showing any signs of major life threatening allergic reactions. No anaphylaxis. No wheezing. No ugly rashes. No devilish red eyes. No swelling. None of that. An occasional sneeze maybe, but that might just be me and my temper. To be honest, though I do not believe in stars having anything to do with how our lives end up, I still like to thank them. Especially since a significant part of my teenage years was spent star gazing :) And I truly believe that I just got lucky.


Now, that is not to say that either of us (or, for that matter, our lives) are perfect. In fact, far from it. He's the kind of guy who suffers from selective vision and hearing who never puts his shoes away and is married to an obsessive compulsive maniac who trips on his shoes every single time. So yeah! It has been a roller coaster and I am pretty sure it will stay that way for a very very long time to come. Especially with a minimalist coder who can't stop using the word 'junk' with reference to the precious stuff that belongs to the hoarder-who-is-always-right. What guts huh? Anyway, there are only so many warnings I can give. After that it will have to be something drastic like a shopping spree with the sole purpose of filling up every inch of the house with whatever I please. I might even move his junk (like his 5 T-shirts, 2 pairs of jeans, and 2 pairs of shoes) to the trunk of our car to make some extra space for my stuff. Or maybe a hunger strike...with a twist (where I do the strike part and he does the hunger part; the key is for this to happen after the shopping spree so he can't eat out) because he isn't showing any signs of improvement and I am not giving in either!!

And just so you know I HATE roller coasters. So, this is going to be the only 'joy' ride (why do they call it that?) I will actually go on willingly, and to a certain extent, happily in this lifetime (I am pretty confident there's no life after death and so I am not going to worry about that for now.)

Meanwhile I have to find the answer to a very important question. Why do people get married? By the way, this is Minime's question for me. I will not deny the fact that I ask myself this question every once in a while too. But this time I am going to pin it on her. She also wanted to know why she is not married to her dad because he is a boy and she is a girl and they are family living in the same house!!!

I Give and I Take...

I am fickle minded! There! I have admitted it (for the nth time). Not only have I admitted it but also that the evidence follows...

The best time of my day (which also happens to be one of the worst) is when I see minime walk away with her teacher. And then to watch him disappear through those double doors (at work)...It's like a double bonus. But again, like I said, these are also the two most emotional moments of my day (amongst the 73 others). There are days when I feel a knot in my stomach. No! I am not kidding you. I am serious. In fact there are even days when I could have had tears well up in my eyes as I watched them go. Ok Fine! I told you I am 'that' kind of a person. But then, I always find some consolation in the fact that when I get back home, I will be alone and there shall be peace and I shall be, let's say, free.

So what if I make the wrong choices everyday, over and over again? So what if I spend approximately 90% of that 'free' time doing things I hate? So what if all I can think about in those few hours of sweet sweet freedom are dirty dishes and dirty clothes and untidy house and messy kitchen and the thing I hate the most...cooking?

Sometimes I think about it and I wonder what my life is worth? What have I done? What am I doing?  Was this the right thing to do? Staying at home, without a job, being a full-time mother and a housewife? I think and I ponder and I wonder but I can never find peace in my answer. I am always of two minds. All I know is that my child likes it and my husband likes it. He says it makes his life better in some (my guess is, twisted) way. But is that all I want to do? Keep giving up on most of the things I love because I either don't have the time or the energy or both for myself? So, every once in a while I decide to do something fun with my life. Chase a dream to the end. Flow with the passion. Needless to say, every time the passion is about something new. Something as random as can be. And everytime, every single time, they have only stood by me and cheered me on. And then, I know why I do it. In a flash, all those wrong choices become right. Because life is all about give and take. I am pretty sure I take just as much as, if not more than, I give. Even so, every single time I have had the intrinsic urge to hop, they have hopped with me. Tirelessly. No questions asked. No complaints lodged. Just pure, relentless, obsessive hopping.

Classification of Homo Sapiens

There are 3 kinds of people in this world. Type 1: those who can fall asleep in less than 15 seconds (that would be Mr. M); Type 2: those who cannot sleep even if their life depended on it (my mum); Type 3: those who can go to sleep alright but if disturbed, wake up possessed by a type 2 (that's me).

Now, this is the story of my life. I am a type 3 married to a type 1 who does not appreciate the fact that he is married to a type 3. Unfortunately for me, Mr. M loves to watch things move. So, when it's dark outside and he cannot see anything move out there, he would just settle for the idiot box. Nope! We do not have a TV but with internet, it's not very different. In fact, in many ways, it's worse.

Don't get me wrong though. I have nothing against this dear man obsessively watching images of people and things move inside of a box. The problem is that sometimes those moving objects do certain things that amuse him. Once amused, he cannot hear himself laugh because of the earphones (which are meant to help me stay asleep). So, he laughs and I toss. After about half an hour of tossing and turning at a distance of less than 20 inches away from him, he finally senses my displeasure. He, being the reasonable man that he is, switches off the laptop almost immediately, apologizes for waking me and before he has finished saying 'sorry',  he's snoring. Come to think of it, I never know if he's actually saying sorry or if that is just his own personal, very cool, style of snoring which I misinterpret.  Anyway, now he's fast asleep and I am wide awake. At 2 in the night. I am mad at him. I do everything in my power to wake him so he can have the pleasure and honour of keeping me company. I eventually succeed. He says, "Think calming thoughts and try to sleep. Otherwise you'll feel screwed up all day." Really?! That's quite an insight huh? I had no idea!! Anyway, after about 3 hours, I finally manage to fall asleep. Lucky me huh? Except that I live in a haunted house (reference:Paranormal activity) and needless to say, Mr. M's prophecy comes true. My day is royally screwed. I swear to myself the second I open my eyes in the morning that I will have my revenge. Someday. At least that's what I hope...

Peace

From what I have learnt over the past 4 and a 1/2 years, true inner peace comes in two flavours. One when something wonderful happens and the other when something awful ends. Seems pretty obvious huh? Now I might sound like an idiot, but it wasn't all that obvious to me until a few days back. A few days back, something happened and I started to think. I know there's nothing new about that. But this time something came out of it. I learnt something about myself. Don't ask me what b'coz I don't have a clue!! And if at this point you are nearly in tears feeling sorry for that poor man who married me almost 7 years ago, go ahead and shed those tears. It is totally worth it and I am with you all the way.

Coming back to the 'something' that happened, a few days back I was cooking and it suddenly dawned upon me that I was actually liking it. Now, hate is a strong word but I am still going to go ahead and use it. I hate cooking!! But on this particular day I was actually kind of liking it. And then suddenly I realised that I was at peace. I had to find out why and almost instinctively I knew I would find the answer if I peeked into my daughter's room. I saw father and daughter snuggled up together in her little kiddie bed reading a book.

And that minute I knew that my life was beautiful. Way more beautiful that I believed it to be. I had found my answer. I was at peace because for once I wasn't tripping on pencils and crayons in the kitchen. For once my recipes and the likes weren't falling off my fridge door because somebody decided to steal all my magnets to make pretend coffee. For once my life wasn't filled with noise from netflix or youtube.  For once there wasn't a voice, already starting to complain about the food even before I was done with the cooking.

I knew then that this was as peaceful as my life will ever get. Kind of like the feeling I get when I return home after dropping these two loves of my life at school and work. Like a refugee returning home after the war has ended and peace has returned.

Them or Us?

5 years ago many people told me that a kid would change my life. Life as I know it will cease to exist. Honestly, I just didn't get it. I don't know if it was the bulging tummy or the hormones playing a trick on me but I simply refused to believe that. I knew life would change. But I didn't think it would be that extreme.  Now I not only know they were right, but also that they were being kind. 

Many a time I feel like I am being controlled by this alien creature that has somehow planted a chip in my head with which it can manipulate me and monitor and control every thought process. I am sure it happened when I zonked out in the labour room minutes before Minime arrived. How else is it possible that the most self centered thoughts, within a matter of seconds, become about Minime? Like this one: "This yarn will be perfect for my scarf...or the handbag she asked me to knit her". Or this one: " I want those blueberry muffins RIGHT NOW...actually let me save them for her".  The tragedy is not that I think about her all the time. The tragedy is that I think about her even when there's 4 box fulls of yarn. The tragedy is that I feel the same way about each and every skein of yarn in those boxes. The tragedy is that I think that way even when there are about 50 muffins left and I want to have just a couple. What is it with mommies? Do we really think 48 muffins are not going to be enough for a 4 year old or that she would want to own 700 thousand handbags? That's why I say, it's not them. It's us and the chip.

Birthdays...

This morning I heard a strange noise which I thought was in my dreams. By the time I came to the realisation that it was for real, it had morphed into crying and a desperate call for Amma.  I ran to Minime's room, sure that she had had a nightmare about monsters.  I asked her what was wrong (I didn't want to put the idea of a nightmare in her head, just in case that wasn't it.) How proud I was when she said she had a 'bad dream'. I felt like a good mother. I was able to tell from the pattern of her cry what she was going through. But greed got the better of me. I wanted more. So, I asked the next question. "What did you see kanna?".  "Somebody was having a birthday", came the reply.  I deserved it. There was no way I would have guessed that!! And with that I hastily climbed down from up where I was and had my feet firmly planted on the ground.

Turns out it's not only my birthday that's an issue. Minime hates birthdays in general. OK. Maybe not all birthdays. But definitey all adult birthdays. She simply hates grown ups having birthdays. It gives her nightmares. Why? No one knows. And I am not sure anybody ever will. 

Kids fascinate me

After having been a full-time mom for 4 1/2 years, this is my first step towards considering building a career. The point where the clouds part just a teeny bit and a single beam of  light shines through. I think I finally know what I want to do with my life. I am sure I have said this about 27.75 times before in the 28 years of my life but this is it.  What do you mean," How do you say something .75 times?".  By stopping 3/4 of the way through the sentence! And now, if you are done interrupting me with your silly questions, may we please get back to the point? Like I said, I just discovered that kids fascinate me. And how does a simple thought like "Wow! these little extra terrestrial creatures are fascinating" translate to 'considering building a career'?

Well...I have been wanting to work for a while now. For the simple reason that I want to. Probably because MiniMe is grown up now. Define grown-up? She's been around for 4 1/2 years. That's grown-up enough for her. So, she needs less of my time and I have too much time on hand. Moreover I am a people person. I am happy on my own but I do need my daily dose of human contact to stay sane. And from what I hear, kids are human too. I know! That sure did come as a surprise.

So, I started volunteering at the local public school. I work with kindergarteners. Around the same time, my daughter's Montessori teacher gave me a class tour. And as you already know, I love psychology. All of this in combination with the cutest things that kids say every once in while led me to this revelation that I actually love these Lilliputian alien type thingies that are actually humans.   They are cute. They are fun. And they are not scared of making mistakes. They say things like,"Round and round the garden like a teddy bear. 1 step. 2 step. Tickle your underwear!!!" with the kind of confidence that would blow your mind! It is only with these creatures that we can have conversations like:
MiniMe: I don't like this car!
Me: Why?
MiniMe: Because the front seats move.
Me: But, they move in all cars.
MiniMe: Oh! Mother Nature made all the cars with seats that move?

Girls!

Girls like dressing up. Most of them. No matter where they are born, or where they grow up. At some point in their life, and that point comes around surprisingly early on in life, they want to wear mommy's makeup and mommy's clothes and mommy's shoes (they always pick the high heels) .  I wonder why. Why is it that we are born programmed to want to dress up? I know girls who don't want to. But they are an alarmingly small group. Look at mini me. I remember secretly dressing up in my mum's pretty sarees and talking to myself in the mirror. Mini me has no sarees to wear but she's doing pretty well with my dupattahs.  

I even see her talking to herself all the time. Just like me. And then I realised that she will never ever be bored in life. Like my sister-in-law pointed out...I am a "DREAMER".  That's what she told me. In quotes, all caps, and bold with an underline. And I am blessed. Because, I dream. And so does my little one.

And I know that boys are hardwired too. My 2 1/2 year old nephew sees the Zoobi Doobi song  from 3 Idiots and goes," Mommy! I like that orange aunty a lot." You guessed right! The 'orange aunty' is the lead actress dancing in the rain in an orange saree :) And my 3 year old neighbour (he was 3 about 15 years ago) came back from his first day at preschool and the only thing that he seemed super happy and excited about was his 'ladki' teacher!! Talk about being born with a one track mind.

The deduction...

Poor little baby. Mini me. She's just stuck for life with these nomadic parents and it sure is confusing the heck out of her. Today she went to the day care for a kid's night out. They took her swimming. When I went back to pick her up, she, very promptly, pointed out that I had forgotten to put her swimming goggles in her bag. What she did not realise was that I hadn't forgotten. I just didn't think she would need them. Mini me "never ever ever never ever never never" puts her head under water. And she claims that if she said never ever non-stop for the entire time it takes us to drive from home to her school, it might not suffice. So, my not giving her the googgles was totally justified. Uh-uh! I had not been my usual self (translating to irresponsible!) ;)

Anyway, when she got back, she demanded an explanation. I tried the truth but I don't think she even heard it (like father like daughter). She asked me if I even knew where her goggles were. I told her they were at home. She goes," Ooooooooh!" (and that's the longest Oh I have ever heard anyone say). " Now I know why. It is in our old house!" It sure was a challenge for her to grasp the truth about the 'old house'. She just couldn't believe that someone else lived there.  And so did all 'their' stuff.  She thinks that every house we have ever lived in is still ours.  We just moved out because the house got messy while we were trying to pack a couple of boxes!!

I had to break the news to her and there was no easy way to it. I crossed my fingers and held my breath and I told her the truth. Again. This time the truth worked. After about 5 minutes of serious deep contemplation, she goes," So, is that why people have so many things in their house ? So, if someone comes to their house they will see the stuff and know it's not their house. And then they will get out and go looking for a house which has their stuff ?"

Right now I think her biggest fear in life is that we might just not remember which house we currently live in :)

Birthday bash...

Thank god (if there is one) for mini me being only 4 years old and much smaller than me. If not, I would literally have had a birthday 'bash'. Really! She's 4 years old and she's 38lbs. She isn't even half my size. Her head doesn't even come up to my waist. And I still get kicked early in the morning by this little lilliput. I swear it wasn't my fault! Not this time.  And no! I am not making this up either. She actually kicked me. She held o to me so she wouldn't lose balance and she kicked me. For the first time in her life. And believe it or not, it was because I was born today. Actually, come to think of it, it was for claiming to be born today. We still haven't been able to establish the fact or prove to her that it is indeed my birthday. We tried. We really did. And we tried mighty hard. But, she just doesn't buy this cock n bull story about my being able to have a birthday without it being hers too :) So, she kicked me for lying to her. She hates me for being given the privilege of picking a restaurant of my choice, and she hates me even more for picking a place that doesn't serve mac n cheese. She doens't like it that I got a camera for a gift (she got one for christmas and now it's not special anymore coz it seems like every tom, dick and harry can get a camera for a gift when it's not even their birthday!!) Anyway, I am hoping she will forget and forgive me by tomorrow morning for being born on a day that she so doesn't approve of...

Colours...

It's funny how life changes once you get married. I had almost forgotten how much I loved colours until about 2 months back when I signed up for a beginner's Acrylic painting class. And then the flood gates opened and it all came back to me. The magic of colours. Shades. Tones. Tints. The play of lights and shadows. The movement of colours in a painting. Transparency. Opacity. The pain of mixing purples. Grey scales. Watercolour paper. Palette knives. The feel of thick acrylics on my fingertips. The joy of having paint stuck under my fingernails and the joy in ruining my only pair of comfortable jeans with dabs of paint. And strange as it may sound, the joy in knowing that those dabs are never going to come off :) But like I said, life happens. First the cooking and laundry and dishwashing happens.  Then the diapers and feeding happens. And then the bedtimes and 'brush your teeth-RIGHT NOW!!' happens. And suddenly, one fine day it dawns upon you that you haven't so much as picked up a paint brush or palette knife in years.

But, I am glad to be back. And I'm glad to be married to a 'minimalist' who doesn't crib about the paint tubes and brushes and palette and paper and scissors and foam sheets and glitter glue and gesso and gloss medium and hair dryer strewn around...

Paranormal Activity...

Living with 4 year olds, especially caring considerate independent "big girl" 4 year olds, sometimes feels like living in a haunted house. With the spook being scared of the dark herself, and the whole house gleaming with night lamps, we sometimes see shadows moving around, floor boards creaking, the water running in the sink. Sometimes, I hear a voice, almost bordering at a cry, call out to me a few times, but when I answer, an I-can't-take-it-anymore, deafening silence is thrown at me. Now I know that the silence is mini-me having resolved her wrestling match with her quilt. Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, we are woken up, rather rudely, with a kick in the gut or a head bang or sometimes even a not-so-subtle slap in the face only to find a dwarf-ish figure fast asleep. And we try to think when exactly did this Lilliput get here and we haven't got a clue. She's so quiet, and such a smooth operator, we never know when she comes or goes. On some days, around dawn, I would get a strong feeling that there's someone in the room. Like someone's staring at me. I open my eyes hoping to end a nightmare and expecting to see nothing. But, there it is. A shadow moving at the foot-end of my cot, crawling into bed and under my quilt. With some good fortune, I have grown up to be someone who neither believes in ghosts nor God. And that's probably why I haven't ended up like that guy in some horror movie who walked through a graveyard at night, heard some coins jingle in his pocket, thought it was the ghost's anklets and died of a heart attack (funny movie, that one!!) . And soon I might write a thesis on 'The Types of Silences that Operate in a Typical Household and How To Identify Them' ;)

Yay!! Happy birthday Fluff :)

Fluff is a year old. Yay!! And Mr. M has a problem with only 3 people having met Fluff.

Oh! and mini me forgot about the book. She hasn't talked about it and I don't think she wants it anymore :)

Hugs and words always work...

Never knew that a fun, bead shopping trip to a local craft store could teach me some very important things about parenting!! We went there to get beads for her math work. We went for beads. But, we the artists can never go in with a list, shop, and leave. We feel compelled to browse. We get ideas. We jot those ideas in a notebook (we always have a notebook in our bag!!). Stuff the notebook in the bag. Get back home.  After a few days we replace the notebook with another notebook (what do you mean 'why'?? We just do! that's all!)   Then the original notebook (like the 5163 other original notebooks) moves on from the bag to the dining table (needless to say we never have a clue how it got there). Then in a few days the book gets so sick and tired of being pushed and shoved that it moves residence to under the dining table.  Not the best place. Lesson learnt. So, move to the book shelf (nope! a book shelf is never a good place for these special notebooks and nope! this one is not going to stay there for long either...). After a few days or maybe weeks, it will find it's way to the shoe rack and then to the coat pocket (it's a pocket book silly :))and then to the bedside table, the window-sill, the underbed storage and at last to it's final destination- the invisible notebook-eating monster's tummy from whence it will reappear after a few years and follow the same pathway unless I am so overwhelmed at finding it that I actually decide to consolidate all my ideas into one big notebook (there are a bunch of 'one' big notebooks too) and recycle the 'original' one.

So, getting back to the point, we went bead shopping, saw some other stuff, jotted down ideas, saw a colouring book, took it (another trick is to never take a shopping basket/trolley at any store other than the grocery store. There is only so much one can hold in one's hand). Then, as I was paying up, mini me saw another book. She obviously wanted it. Her cousin has it. Hmmm... I had to draw the line somewhere. I said, "No".  She said, "why?".  I said, "Because we don't buy everything we see". And then she said the cutest thing ever. She said, " But Amma!  I didn't see it! Now can you buy it for me?".  I so wanted to but it for her but I still said no. She cried and it broke my heart to see her crying over a book that cost 3 bucks.

Mini me doesn't do that very often. She very very rarely throws a tantrum for things she wants us to buy for her. Many a times we have given in to her demands. And this time around I would just have bought her the book gladly. But she gave me the wrong reason. She had to learn that we don't go out and buy everything that other people have. Neither do we buy everything we see and like in a store. And she knows that now.  It just cost me half an hour of my life, tons of hugs and kisses and a lot of patience.  But it was more than worth it. She saw it.  She got the point. And she suggested we went home, sorted her stuff, give away some that she isn't using, make some space for her new book on the book shelf and then go to the book store and get something that she likes. Not something she wants just because she saw it at somebody's place.

Now I know I made the right choice and for once I am proud of my parenting skills :) Now, that's a rarity too.


P.S. It helps to give tons of examples from our own lives too ;)

A Miracle!!

I am thrilled. Excited. Elated. Full of energy. I feel like Eliza Dolittle singing 'I could've danced all night'!! The reason? Oh! I have a pretty darned good reason to feel this happy. I want to scream it out from the mountain tops. You will not believe what happened this morning! Jr. H brushed her teeth. And that's not all. She not only brushed her teeth, but she did it on her own. With paste. In precisely 5 minutes. She did not swallow the paste. And here's the best part...all this without one drop of tear! No 'silence'. No wrestling. No bloodshed. No head injuries or hospitalizations. No blackmails. No threats. None of that. Just pure plain old peace. Non-violence. It's amazing how the quality of my entire day depends on a four year old brushing her teeth!

When kids become teenagers...

Nope! Mine isn't a teenager. Yet. She has a 'good' (and that is what I call wishful thinking) 9 years to go before that.  But she's being nice to me. She's letting me have a sneak peek at what she will be like in her teens.  Most parents might miss taking the hint but not me! Oh no! I get it so totally and clearly that all of my recreational reading is only about kids and how to live with them.

As you know or might have guessed, my daughter turned 4 a few months ago. And there is reason why they call it the 'fearsome fours'.  To me it feels like her birthday was the official declaration of war in my house!

And Mr. M is now our official mediator. I guess he has a strong affinity to 'M' words.  He is the one that intervenes when push comes to shove and might progress to head injury and hospitalization as a result of trying to brush our teeth. He is also of great help when Jr.H insists that she will go to school in her underwear.  He is the one who checks on us when there is maddening silence in the house, the silence not from us being quiet but from us screaming so hard that our voices go above and beyond the frequencies that humans are capable of detecting. Now being able to distinguish between those two types of silences is a very special talent and it takes a lot of practice.

The only problem we have is Mr. M's part time (and needless to say, less important)occupation like his day job which keeps him away from home for a good 8 hours in a day. Take away the time that Jr. H spends at school and we are still left to fend for ourselves and protect ourselves from each other for what seems like eternity but actually amounts to about 4 hours. So, for the sake of those 4 hours, I started reading a very interesting book that many other survivors had recommended. And guess what I found. She is EXACTLY like me!!!