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' ;)