I am, I exist

And we all give thanks...

2011-11-24T20:49:00.000-08:00

"I am thankful for my little brother because I have someone to play with even when my friends can't." Raina, Thanksgiving 2011.

Happiness

2011-11-04T14:39:00.000-07:00

"Mom, are you happy?" asked 4-year-old Rohan, perched precariously on a chair at the dining table, eating his favorite mac-and-cheese, his eyes huge and round.
The boy's been asking a lot of questions lately.
"Yes, baby, I am," I reply. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," he said.
"Do you know why you are happy?" I probed.
"Because Mommy is here," he said, smiling.
I don't have a heart anymore. It's lying squished, a pile of goo at my son's feet.

It's what we call'em Chez Muser

2011-09-01T22:34:00.000-07:00

Rohan: "Mom, why do you have such big elbows?"

Rohanisms

2011-08-28T15:29:00.000-07:00

It's his turn for some classics.

Tonight: "Mom, tomorrow's going to be another beautiful butterfly day!"

This morning: "Dad, Raina's going to be a vet, and I am going to be a Corvette!"

Couple days ago: "Mom, I'm a dog, Raina's a person, and you are QUEEN of the library!"

Needless to say, the last one is my favorite. If I could rule over a kingdom, it would be one of books. Well said, my boy.

Webster: A Book Review

2011-06-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

Was reading a book tonight to the littlest right before bedtime: Webster, the Littlest Frog. It's about this tiny frog who is always by himself because none of the bigger frogs will let him play. "Scram, shorty!" says one nasty frog. Of course, all ends well with the littlest frog showing the bullies that he may be small, but he's smart.

So Rohan, now having become an angry young man who uses fists first and asks questions later, says, "He should just hit the big frog under the water."

"No hitting, Rohan," I frown. "That's not nice."

"Then he should just kick him," Rohan says.

"No, Rohan! Kicking's not nice either!"

"Then he should just kill him," says my 3-year-old, obviously oblivious to the message here.

"Rohan, no!" I say desperately. "If we want to make friends, we should use our words, not our hands!"

"But if we don't want to make friends, then we shouldn't use words," Mr. Logic replies.

Aargh!

Beating a Hasty Retreat

2011-06-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

"Mom, why do your eyes get stripes?" asked my talkative 3-year-old, one beat before I was going to shut the door to his room leaving him to a blessed nap.
I paused, exasperated. It had been another long morning of chores, general running around, booking stuff for our forthcoming vacation, and taking care of the in-laws (yup, they've been in town since April). Plus I had had a king sized fight with P that had ended in tears.
I really, really was looking forward to Rohan's nap, hoping to escape to a similar oblivion for a half-hour at least. The last thing I wanted to do was answer yet another question.
"I don't know of anyone whose eyes get stripes," I said quickly, moving the door an inch closer to shut.
"Yes they do!" chirped Ro. "If you talk a lot, your eyes get stripes."
"My eyes don't," I said, before shutting the door.
Talk about beating a hasty retreat.
I thought later, I bet a better mom would have paused, dredged up yet some more patience from her never-ending quota and answered thoughtfully after some serious contemplation, which would have led to another seemingly endless conversation about nothing in particular.
Moi, I exited fast. At least this time.
But it's OK to be less than better sometimes, isn't it? It's OK to be unperfect in an unperfect world. I should wax eloquent over this, but I am too sleepy. It's my naptime, so time to beat yet another hasty retreat.

Cuggling, and Other Terms

2011-03-18T21:47:00.000-07:00

My baby is growing up.
This weekend will complete one whole week since his potty training began. It ended soon after, with the Little Man graduating to Big Kid Underwear in an astonishing three days.
Experienced parents say that learning to go potty is like a switch that turns on just when the child is ready. At almost 3 1/2, Rohan was definitely ready. It was all so anticlimactic, I, who'd been consoling myself for months that at least he wouldn't be going to college in diapers, can still hardly believe it.
So before my big kid becomes a big man, which will happen in a similar blink of the eye, I thought I'd better treasure and record all the dear little pronunciations and miswords before they go the way of poopy diapers.
1. "Can I have a toy to cuggle with, mom?" he often asks, putting together cuddle with snuggle.
2. "No, mom, that's a heli-otter," he patiently tells his mom, who stubbornly insists that the thing passing overhead is a plane.
3. "No, mom, I don't want that, mom. No, no, no! Actually, yes," if I make the mistake of asking him if he needs a snack/hotwheel/water/you name it, he doesn't want it until he does.
4. "Do you get that toy for me, mom? Do you?" instead of "would you?"
5. "Sissah!" he calls out to Raina. On the other hand, he is "Wohan."
That's a good start for now.

Day at the Museum

2011-02-22T20:27:00.000-08:00

Open curtain.
Locale: The Natural History museum
Day: Today
Time: Late morning
Dramatis Personae: Senior Citizen Museum Guide, 6-year-old Raina, Age Undisclosed A Muser
(The museum guide stands among fossil displays of various animals of the Pleistocene period.)
Museum Guide (standing between two fossils): And can you tell me which one is a herbivore and which one is a carnivore?
Raina (rapidly): That one is a carnivore because it has two sharp incisors so it can bite into the meat. The other one is the herbivore because it has short flat teeth which helps it eat plants.
Museum Guide and A Muser look a little dazed. (For A Muser, this is a close to permanent facial expression.) Short pause ensues.
Museum Guide (finally): Very impressive. Do you want a job?
Curtain closes on Raina's smile.

May Your Days Be Merry & Bright...

2010-12-22T10:09:00.001-08:00

Merry Christmas and best wishes for a happy, healthy and prosperous 2011 from our home to yours.

Happy Diwali!

2010-11-08T19:32:00.000-08:00

Or as Rohan says it, "Aunty Deepali!"
:)

This Is The Way We Wash Our Hands...

2010-09-21T12:23:00.000-07:00

"Mom, I don't WANT to wash my hands! Mom, that isn't enough soap! Mom, I don't WANT you to sing 'Happy Birthday' while I wash my hands! No, I don't LIKE 'Row, row, row your boat either!' NO, NO, NO! Mom, I want you to sing 'Happy Birthday.' Mom, I NEED more soap! No, Mom, I WANT YOU TO SING 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' While I wash, Mom! I want YOU to turn on the water, Mom! No, I want to wash my own hands, Mom!"

This is the way we wash our hands, wash our hands, wash our hands. This is the way we wash our hands every time each day... thanks to Rohan.

The Function of the Heart

2010-08-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

Every night before sleeping, Raina requests a verse of a Hindi song, followed by the translation.

Usually, I try for kid-friendly songs, but tonight, I just couldn't think of one. So I began singing, "Dil deewana, bin sajana ke, maane na..." Yup, Maine Pyaar Kiya. It's funny the songs one thinks of. Anyhoo, I digress.

So this was the translation: "My crazy heart, without the person I love, doesn't feel happy." I know. Sucky translation. But my daughter doesn't care. Probably because she knows no better.

Ensuing discussion --

Raina: So this basically means that this person's heart isn't happy because the person she loves is not around.

Me: Exactly!

Raina: Because her heart is full of love, right? Because hearts have a lot of love. They pump love. They pump blood too, but in the center is love, and they have blood in the sides, right?

:)

Couldn't resist sharing that nugget.

Packrat

2010-05-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

"No, Raina, you don't get to keep a broken hairclip as treasure. That isn't treasure, that's trash," I explained exasperatedly to my recently turned 6-year-old. Raina would put packrats to shame. Her toy bags (yes, plural) are overflowing with stuff any sensible kindergartner would have dumped as garbage a long time ago.

There are the ubiquitous rocks. Many, many rocks. All indispensable, of course. There are stacks of paper of all shapes and sizes that have been cut out and painted. All sculptural and artistic masterpieces and therefore, unthrowable. Then there are miscellaneous itty-bitties -- pipette bulbs from her dad's workplace, bits of ribbon and string, pieces of shells. The plastic whatnots like hair clips, paper clips, garish rings, beads... Just a casual glance around the playroom is enough to make my fastidious husband shudder.

So I put my foot down recently and explained to Ms. Raina the difference between trash and treasure. Her response? "Mom, it's good to reuse."

???

2010-02-18T19:15:00.000-08:00

Just after a bath tonight, Raina said, "Mommy, since I am a lady, I don't need to be married to have kids, right?"
"Er, no baby, you don't," my eyebrows raised high as heaven.

Just a couple of weeks ago, the topic of being a mommy came up while I was bringing her home from school.
"Mommy, A [Raina's best friend -- a girl] and I are going to live together and not have any babies," R remarked.
I was truly surprised. It was about two years ago that Raina was threatening to have a dozen offspring.
"I thought you wanted to have a bunch of babies," I said. "How come you changed your mind?"
"Well, I don't want to be cut up for the babies to come out," she replied.
"But, but..." I floundered, "you don't always HAVE to be cut up for babies to be born."
"How else are the babies going to come out?"
I sure walked right into that one.
"I will explain it to you when you are older," I answered feebly.
"Maybe when I am 10?" came the pat question.
"Sure, sure, that's a good age."
Phew. Close call there.

Supermoms

2010-02-02T12:01:00.000-08:00

There are many benefits to taking Rohan to the park every morning. One, he stops saying, "Go there! Go there!" -- his morning chant until I give in. Two, there's the power of fresh air, swings and slides to tire a 2-year-old. Three, I get to hang out with other stay-at-home mommies, though there are usually more nannies than mommies at the park. It's also amazing to see the number of grandparents there, keeping up gamely with the little ones, while their parents work. I'm totally envious of these parents. They come really close to getting it all -- career and minimum guilt about leaving their kids behind.
But what I want to talk about are the times I hang out with other SAH mommies. There are the multitaskers, mothers who talk on their cellphones while pushing the swing. Others chat with other moms, while their kids run around. A mom or two just sits in the sidelines, probably enjoying a moment of peace. Then there are the inspiring ones -- the ones with teeny babies in a sling against their chest, patiently explaining to their 2-year-old why they need to share.
These look like Supermoms to me.
I met one at the park today. She had her 10-day-old son on a sling, while her just-turned-2-year-old boy climbed, jumped around and almost broke his neck a few dozen times. And she was telling me how much fun she was having. I think my eyes were wide. I mean, I love babies and all. Cute things, wot. But to deal with a 2-year-old and a newborn at the same time would have me headed to the nearest loony bin. She must have the patience of a saint.
But it seems such a common American trend these days -- to have babies who are months apart. And the moms just deal. Which makes me feel, why do I think it's a big deal to raise a 2-year-old and a 5-year-old? Why is it so hard for me? Why do I need my time away from my kids, my personal space, something "other" than taking care of the kids, without all of which I start getting realllllly snappy?
The plan is to put Rohan in a preschool in September, when he's close to 3 and hopefully potty trained. At which time, I will, also hopefully, work from home as I used to with Raina. But September seems far away, and I am soooooo bored.

Rain

2010-01-18T13:16:00.001-08:00

It's always wonderful when it rains in Southern California. Mainly because it happens so rarely. Life slows down, as if straining to listen, to memorize, the soft rhythm of the raindrops.
Rohan goes, "Raink, raink!"
Raina rushes out, arms aloft and wide, an eager recipient for what the dark clouds may bring. The world greys and glistens, while we dance.
Lights turn on in the daytime, echoing the warm glows inside us. We huddle close, listen to music. I drink tea, and more tea. The kids nap because they feel like napping. And I blog, finally, after months.

Here Comes Trouble

2009-11-12T12:58:00.000-08:00

Typical scenario at breakfast/lunch/dinner:

Mom and Rohan wrestle to keep Rohan on his chair at the dining table. Rohan agrees to stay, provided he's standing or leaning precariously against the back of the chair.
Mom: Rohan, noooooo! Sit properly baby, or you're going to fall!
Rohan: (happily) Fall.
Mom: No fall. Rohan will get an owie.
Rohan agreeably sits down -- for precisely 3 seconds. Then he's leaning on the table, climbs it. Mom firmly picks him up and puts him in his chair.
Mom: (pointing to Rohan's nose) Rohan, you are trouble. TROUBLE.
Rohan: (perplexed) Nose?
Mom: Yes, Rohan's nose.
Rohan (smiling toothily): No. Tubble.
Indeed.
Need I add the terrible two's have begun in full force Chez Muser?

Why Work?

2009-09-03T19:40:00.000-07:00

My neighbor was in a mood today. She keeps going back and forth over her decision to re-join the workforce after having 2 kids, even though she's now been doing it for over a year. Every day after she comes home from work, she says, "I just want to resign. I miss my kids. I should just resign."
Today, she talked about why she went back to work.
"It was just killing my marriage," she confided. "I couldn't stop myself from resenting K. I mean, he had lunch breaks, where he would get to relax. I would be so frazzled by the end of the day, watching the kids."
She talked about her friends who were stay-at-home moms, how they would endlessly bitch about their husbands. Maybe she was waiting for me to make a similar confession.
Instead, I said, "It is hard. It was harder for me when I had just Raina to take care of. Now that I have two, it's easier."
A paradox, I know. But what I mean is that I am now more used to the job.
After Raina was born, the first couple of years were miserable for me. I had been working till a month before her birth, and I sorely missed being outside the home, interacting with fellow adults. Motherhood seemed such an isolating experience to me. And anyone who's ever earned a paycheck can testify that there's a unique satisfaction in making your own money. For not just days but months I resented my husband for being able to say "bye," turn around and head to work. I couldn't sympathize with his concerns at work, simply because I didn't feel I had anything worthwhile to contribute to the discussion. There was nothing exciting going on in my life, or so it felt like to me. In short, I loved my daughter, but I was bored out of my skull.
So when she was 15 months or so, I put her in a home daycare for a few hours a week. It was so liberating to be the one to say "bye" and turn around and leave. It sounds pathetic, I know, but I needed that break from my daughter. I needed to use my brain, interact with grown-ups, make a little money and become a "productive" member of society again.
I continued to freelance from home until Rohan was born. Then I went back to being a full-time stay-at-home mom. Sure, I did a couple of projects from home, but it was too taxing to work during naptime or after the kids went to bed at night. So I gave it up. I could've put Rohan in a daycare instead. I chose not to -- because I was actually having FUN.
Sure there are hard days. It's true that raising two doesn't double but quadruples the workload. The laundry is endless, for example. The dishes, oh my goodness. And then there are worse days when I feel like an unpaid servant.
But I am not one, I remind myself. I am a mom. And I get the chores, but I also get the hugs, the taking care of booboos, the questions, the laughter, the sheer joy of watching my kids be kids, be siblings, bond and grow.
I don't resent my husband anymore for going to work everyday. Some days, I actually feel sorry for him because he's missing out on some fun times. But then when he comes home, I get to recount what the kids were up to all day. And no, I no longer think I have nothing worthwhile to contribute to our discussions anymore.
So if you're a working mom, I want to hear from you. Was resenting your husband part of the reason why you went back to work? Just curious.

No News Is Definitely Bad News...

2009-07-27T13:15:00.000-07:00

... and there's been no news of Pikey for almost 2 months now. We've informed our neighbors, put up fliers, visited the neighborhood animal shelter. I had pinned my hopes on the shelter because Pikey didn't have a tag or a collar and if someone had found her, that's where she would be.
There were lots of cats. Lots of black cats. But none with Pikey's sweet face. None who was 8 years old. None who meowed happily on seeing me and Rohan. So we went back to the car. I buckled Rohan to his seat, sat down behind the wheel and bawled.
There's nothing else for me to do.

Pikey The Explorer

2009-06-26T12:04:00.001-07:00

This Saturday, it will be 2 weeks since we last saw Pikey The Cat.
It's been a long 2 weeks.
Since then, we've wept, called out her name endless times, walking our front yard and back yard.
We were hopeful, at first. Even though the longest Pikey had been out was one night. Always the next morning, we would see her black funny face at our backdoor, meowing piteously, waiting to be let in so that she could run upstairs to our bed, cuddle on soft sheets and take a blissful nap.
When we didn't see her the next morning, we went looking, sure we would hear her meowing behind a garbage can or underneath the car parked on the driveway. When we'd looked and looked, we figured she was hiding somewhere waiting for the dark to make her way home. You see, while Pikey acted like a tiger on the prowl at night, during the day, she was just an itty bitty scared kitty.
So we waited that night. And waited. We checked the back door many times before finally falling asleep. Called out a few more times. Tried not to think of the coyotes the neighbors had seen nearby a few weeks ago. The first tears began to fall.
Of course we didn't tell Raina about our fears.
We told her that Pikey was off on a big adventure, exploring just like Dora.
Rohan thankfully is too small to miss her. Even though he was the one who adored her the most, followed her around like Mary's little lamb. She rarely minded it, often plopping down right next to him, so that he could pat her gently or tug at her tail.

As the days passed, the tears began to fall faster.
P and I recalled the many times Pikey had made us laugh in the 8 years she'd been with us. Recently, she'd made us angry more often than not. Bringing mice home. Clawing the new handmade rug. We'd been impatient with her, complaining about the black hair all over the house that she'd shed. Maybe she decided she'd had enough, P said.
I pointed out to him that through it all, Pikey still slept right on top of him at night. Or next to him. Somewhere within touching distance. That she still got attention in the evenings once the kids were in bed. Pikey time, we called it. She'd plop on a cushion on our laps and get caressed to her heart's content. Then off she'd go to the backyard, and from there to the canyon beyond, hunting mice, doing what cats do.
But when it was time for bed, we'd call out to her and she'd often come running back.
So we've put up some posters in our neighborhood. If anyone's seen a black cat with yellow eyes, skittish but affectionate and very, very loving, please call.
Deep in our hearts, we're still hoping. We see her everywhere, a black blob in the closet shelf, in the shadows of the house at night. But for now, the food and water bowls have been put away.

Raina Proposes

2009-06-18T20:48:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, just when she was about to step into the bath, Raina had something important to say.
"Mom, when I grow up I'm going to marry Z," she said.
Z is Raina's best friend at preschool, and to him, she's the "awesomest" girl he knows. Z's a little younger to Raina, so he started in her class just a few months ago. One day they began chatting, and since then, it's been Z this, Z that Chez Muser. It wasn't hard to figure out why they became such fast friends. Z's parents are from Lahore and his resemblance to Raina is marked.
A couple of weeks after announcing her nuptials, Raina said, "Mom, I'm so glad Z is not my baby brother. Because if he was, I couldn't marry him, and I want to. I asked him today, and he said, 'OK.'"
"Oh, OK," I said weakly. "Good to know."
My 5-year-old girl just made her first proposal.

5 Things I Love About Being A Mom

2009-05-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

1. I get to be always right!

2. I have magic eyes at the back of my head and can shout out without looking, "Rohan! Don't climb that chair! You'll fall!" "Raina, let Rohan have that toy back NOW!"

3. :) It's not only OK to yell, it's part of the job description.

4. I can make foolish faces and play silly games with the excuse that I'm doing it to entertain my bacche.

5. In my kids, I have two willing partners ready to dance it out in the living room any time of the day.

6. And here's an extra: I get to be as sentimental as I want over them, take pictures of them using gazillion angles, hug and squeeze them when I feel like, smother them with kisses, all without feeling a fool.

Thanks for passing on such a wonderful tag, Eve's Lungs! And now doing my dooty and tagging Mystic Margarita, Dipali, Choxbox, Cee Kay and Maggi, who's had a new baby but it's time she got back to blogging so here's the incentive!

Mouthing Off

2009-04-23T12:06:00.000-07:00

Rohan had his 18-month appointment yesterday, and as is usual, the doctor asked me if Rohan says any words.

"Ummm," I began, "He says 'boon-boon' for balloon, and 'car' because he loves cars, and 'mun' for the moon, 'bah' for ball -- he loves balls! -- mama, dada, 'na' for raina his big sister, 'whoo' for shoe, 'vis' for fish..."

"So he says a lot of words," said the pediatrician, seemingly hopeful of stemming the flow of words.

"Uh, yeah," said I, stopping short. I still hadn't told him about 'kak' for truck, and oh god, how could I forget, 'mummm' for Pikey the cat because she says "meow," and as she meows ten thousand times a day, we have to hear "mummmm" ten thousand times too. And "va-va-va" for the dog as in "bow wow wow" and just "wa-wa" for water and most importantly, "duhn!" said while raising his hands to his ears to signify he's done eating something. And then there's "ta-ta-ta" he says, waving one hand to indicate he wants to listen to music while he eats so please could I turn on the iPod.

There's the frantic "Ta! Ta! Ta!" when he wants Mommy to do something but she strangely enough can't understand. But mostly, he manages to get his point across.

I'm sure the doctor would've wanted to hear all about it. He must have been running behind on time.

American Born Confused Desi Cat

2009-04-21T19:23:00.001-07:00

So Raina and I were conversing today while I was folding laundry. I was reminding her that her friend "I" was going to have a baby brother soon. Ergo, we wouldn't be going to NY for a while to see them.
Me: "Aunty is having a hard time figuring out what to name I's new baby brother."
Raina: "I know the perfect name! She should name him 'Sock.'"
Me: "'Sock'?!"
Raina: "Yeah, I like that name."
Me: "I think Aunty wants him to have an Indian name, like I."
Raina: "And like you and me and Rohan and daddy..."
Me: "Yes. All of us have Indian names. Except Pikey (the cat). Poor Pikey. We should have given her an Indian name too."
Raina: "Let's give her an Indian name!"
Me: "We could give her an Indian middle name. Do you have any suggestions?"
Raina: "Parvati. I think we should name her Pikey Parvati."
Me: "I think I'll call her 'Paro'."
Pikey Parvati, you're officially an ABCD cat now.

"If Pappu Can't Dance..."

2009-03-27T18:29:00.000-07:00

"..., Mommy, he really needs to join a dance class so someone can teach him," said Raina this afternoon, while listening to the song. A few days ago, she wanted to know what "saala" meant. That was a hard one. "It's just an exclamation, baby, like oh my gosh," I said, lying through my teeth.
Somehow she's not convinced.

Quid Pro Quo

2009-02-24T19:34:00.001-08:00

It's a truth universally acknowledged that parents of all 4-year-olds threaten and negotiate and occasionally bribe their recalcitrant offspring to get them to do... anything. Anything you want them to do, anything they didn't think of themselves first. Because their initial response is usually some form of "no."
A good portion of my day passes in this way with Raina. (It's no wonder that I find her way more exhausting than my 16-month-old who's at this sweet and cooperative stage. Alas, this too shall pass.)
Today, Miz Raina turned the tables. Or attempted to.
We'd spent the morning at the park and while I was strapping in the kids to their car seats, Raina said, "My mouth is feeling bad." This is a typical prelude to a request for chewing gum. (Digression: The chewing gum is the sugar-free good-for-you kind, but she doesn't know that. If she did, of course, she'd request candy 24/7.)
"No, Raina, you aren't getting any gum," I responded, trying to nip the request in the bud.
"But I want some!" said Raina in her perfected whine.
"Nope. You get gum only as treat and you haven't done anything today to get it. You take a nap, you'll get some," I said.
Raina folded her arms about her and exclaimed, "I'm going to be so mad."
"Feel free," I invited.
And then came The Threat.
"If you don't give me gum, I won't draw pictures for you at school anymore," she said.
Trying hard not to laugh, I said, "That doesn't work with moms, sweetie. It only works with kids."
After a while, I added, "I really like your pictures though."
"Well, I'll draw you some when it's May," she mollified.
Let's see if she sticks to her resolve.

Yoga Epiphanies

2009-02-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

My favorite asana in yoga is the shav-asan. Literally translated, the dead body pose.
And it's not just because I'm such a lazy bones, but because of these thoughts that course in my head during that time. Thoughts that aren't really supposed to be there in the first place as the aim of shav-asan is to have reached that point where my mind is empty of all thoughts, all the noise of living, the bad and the good. The 90 minutes of physical activity that precede the shav-asan, where I push and pull myself "beyond my flexibility" are all leading up to this, the most important of all the poses.
However, anyone who's tried meditating in any form knows it's hard. Emptying the mind of thoughts requires practice. Since I'm at the beginner level (a level I've been at for several years now), I instead let my mind drift. And sometimes, just as the oxygen flows into my brain while I breathe evenly in and out, my mind opens to new thoughts, new perspectives.
The other day during shav-asan, I was looking at a statue of the Nataraj that was placed in a corner of my local Bikram Yoga studio. I have looked at a similar statue for most of my life. In fact, I have one at home. But I think I really looked at it for the first time that day. I observed not only the grace and beauty of the pose, but also the majesty and the dignity. And I thought, here's an example of how one should live one's life. With balance, and beauty and above all, with one's head held high. Not with pride, but with a poise borne out of graceful effort.
Late this morning, my thoughts followed me home from the yoga studio. I was feeling pleasantly tired. After a long bath, I tucked Raina next to my napping husband (Rohan was already down for his afternoon nap), and fighting the urge to join them in bed, I headed downstairs to cook. And as I began prepping for coriander chicken, I let my mind drift. I could've taken a quick nap, I thought. But right now, the kids are asleep, it's really the best time to cook. And I thought a mite wistfully of the time prior to the kids, when during the weekend or a holiday, I could've napped when I wanted. And I let myself wonder what I would feel like today if Raina and Rohan hadn't been. If I'd just gotten back from a yoga class, what I would've done.
I was shocked out of my stupor by how empty I felt.
I know there's more to life than having kids. I know lots of couples who are my age and still don't have any. Some don't even plan to procreate, and that's fine by me. I'm not big on lecturing people on how to live.
But it seems to me that having kids has given my life a purpose it had lacked. I'm not a very ambitious person, but even I'm surprised as to how meaningless my life prior to mommyhood seems now. I remember being quite happy: I was working in a job I enjoyed with people I liked. It wasn't terribly challenging, but it was alright. I was happily married and working on acquiring a sense of responsibility (read: trying to cook and clean).
But being a mother, this is my life's work. Where I'm constantly challenged to be more patient, more knowledgeable, more loving. Where what I do has real, tangible consequences. Where I AM indispensable. What life role could be more satisfying?
Is this biology talking? Maybe it's material for another yoga session.

All Those Who're Tired of Reading About Michael Phelps...

2009-02-07T17:55:00.000-08:00

... say "aye." OK, young man got caught with bong. It happens. The best of us have taken a whiff. And this country's even had a popular president who admitted he "smoked" pot but "didn't inhale." So why go after Phelps? He maybe an 8-time Olympic champion, but he's 23. Fact is, the American media and public like their demigods. And when the gods show they're all too human, it reflects on them for putting their "idols" up on that unworthy pedestal in the first place. They SHOULD be mad at themselves. So go rant in some quiet corner about the unfairness of life. Don't bore us.

You Know You're Old When...

2009-01-29T21:46:00.000-08:00

The Love Anthem of your youth plays on a TV commercial for laundry detergent. Berlin's "Take My Breath Away" from the movie Top Gun is the soundtrack while a man is shown sniffing clothes washed in Gain. Such is life.

This Tag's in the Bag, Ana!

2009-01-09T09:30:00.000-08:00

OK, Ana of Thinking Cramps (check blogroll) had tagged me ages ago, and I promised her that this would be my first tag in 2009. So here goes:

My oldest memory: Waiting up for my parents to come home from a party, so I could complain to them about my leg hurting and they'd give me medicine and tuck me in between them. Bliss!

Ten years ago: Oh man. I was 24. First reporting job in Nowhere, Indiana. No desis in sight. Stressing about getting an H1 work visa, so I could continue working in the US and stay close to my then-boyfriend (now husband) who I'd see over the weekend. Stressing about living within my practically non-existent income. A burger in McDonald's was a once-a-week treat. The good old days. Maybe, maybe not.

My first thought this morning: Dang, is Rohan up already?

If you built a time capsule what would it contain: Dental floss. Someone would need it.

This year: Raina will go to kindergarten. Amazing.

14 years from now: Both my kids will be teenagers. Kill me now and get it over with!

Tagging: Nobody. Most folks get grumpy when I tag them. And those who don't have done this anyways. Cheers!

2008 in Pix (Part 2)

2008-12-29T10:10:00.001-08:00

And so they grow... so, so fast. What a year it's been! Raina learned how to become a big sister; Rohan left his babyhood behind. All's that left are the memories.

P.S. Happy New 2009 to my fellow bloggers! Wish everyone a joyful, lively year ahead!

2008 in Pix (Part 1)

2008-12-28T11:40:00.001-08:00

Weaning Day

2008-12-13T19:38:00.000-08:00

I've been so bad about blogging Rohan's milestones. Other than his 6-month 'birthday' and his first birthday, I've written little about him. But today is a special day and an extra special milestone for both him and his mom. Today's the first day Rohan went 24 hours without breastmilk.

So yup, the little man's weaned. Almost eight months after I thought to wean him. But it's done, without any fuss or muss.

The weaning actually began 3 months ago, when I started giving him formula in a sippy cup. Slowly but surely, the quantity of formula went up; consequently, the breastmilk started slowing down. At that point, I was nursing Rohan 5 times a day. Then about 45 days ago, I decided to quit nursing him to sleep for his morning and afternoon naps. I substituted nursing with books and a song, some gentle rocking. After lots of tears on both sides, he began adjusting to his new routine. Now he loves his books and gets so excited when it gets to be naptime! I know, the excitement defeats the purpose, but he does calm down quickly enough.

Next to go was his nursing session first thing in the morning. He wouldn't take the sippy, being still cranky, so I just began to pick him up from the crib and take him downstairs. There, watching the Christmas tree lights, Rohan drinks his milk.

Then tonight. It was not the day I would have chosen. We were buying a rug for the house, so were out till past his bedtime. So his routine of bath-then-bed was messed up. But I thought I would give it a try. I put him in his comfy blanket sleeper, out came the favorite books, then the song and rocking. When the time came, I put him down, kissed him good night, turned off the light and walked out of the room. Outside, I waited breathlessly for the tears I knew would come.

They didn't.

It's over.

What They Hate About Mumbai

2008-12-02T09:48:00.001-08:00

Whether you agree with Suketu Mehta or not, this is an interesting op-ed piece in the NYTimes. Check it out:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/29/opinion/29mehta.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&emc=eta1&adxnnlx=1228239835-INt8tj3itWTx8DdQjAZuTg

Just Because I Need to Smile...

2008-12-01T12:58:00.001-08:00

Mumbai Madness

2008-11-30T10:08:00.001-08:00

I watched the black smoke billowing from the topmost dome of the Old Taj Hotel in Mumbai beseiged by terrorists armed with AK47s and grenades, filled with heaven knows how many terrified people. And while watching that image on TV, I was assailed by memories of laughter and color, of wedding receptions attended in the ballrooms, a Rotaract dance where I fluttered my hands like a Hawaiian, Wimbledon soirees. The Golden Dragon Chinese restaurant, the destination of so many birthday celebrations and special events, sometimes a restaurant taken to as a special treat after much coaxing. My brother and I would order our food, then slip out, a 100-rupee note clutching our hands, to the Nalanda bookstore, where we would buy a book each after much browsing.
Now the restaurant was the temporary home of a family friend, hiding underneath the table, the lights off, the doors barricaded. He was one of the lucky ones to slip away through the kitchen.
Next the TV images moved to the Oberoi hotel surrounded by commandos, the hotel where I, a college-goer with too much time on my hands, would hang out with my friends at the shopping arcade, looking at shoes, eyebrows shooting up at the prices. The Oberoi, home to a restaurant where I celebrated my 21st birthday with my parents dressed in my first chiffon saree, a bright shade of red. I ate caviar for the first time and drank champagne and got utterly toasted to the amusement of my family. My dad tells me that a lawyer he knew was lined up against that restaurant wall and shot.
The Leopold Cafe, only next to Mondegar's in my affection, with its good food, beer and upstairs dance floor, was where at one time my college friends and I saw the model Ranjeev Mulchandani and giggled endlessly. The walls are riddled with bullets I hear, but Leopold's actually opened its doors again today.
And throughout the 24-hour CNN coverage, I hear the TV host say again and again, "Mumbai has been brought to its knees." And I shake my head angrily and think no. He doesn't know my Mumbai.

LV4FUN

2008-11-20T08:54:00.000-08:00

Now, if I had one of those vanity license plates that adorn almost every car in Southern California, it'd probably say something like above. If it wasn't taken already, i.e. All the fun ones usually are. So if one's going to go through the completely unnecessary expense of having one, it might be worthwhile to really rack the brain and get some creative juice flowing. It should have a point, right? If in these economic times, one decides that a vanity plate is a luxury one can't do without, surely it's worth some effort? Better yet, one can pay someone to come up with something zany, thereby creating jobs and providing that much needed boost the economy needs. Better than a taxpayer bailout. Must write to Obama.

Anyhoo, before I digress any further, the reason why I'm writing about this:

So I was dropping Raina off to preschool this morning and there's this car before me. Really nice black BMW SUV, if you like SUVs that is. Which I don't, but that's neither here nor there. And this really nice BMW had this Arizona vanity plate that read VERYHOT. Really? Now what exactly is really hot? Is it the car (which I may have already mentioned is really nice)? Or the driver? The occupants? Or is it just a reference to the Arizona weather? I've heard it's hot in Arizona. Very hot.

So dude, if you're reading this, a word of advice: If you're going to spend money on a vanity plate, surely you can talk about something more interesting than the weather. Right now, all your vanity plate says about you is that you're dull. Boring. A vanity plate is a good accessory, so make sure it's a clear style statement about you. Coz it's all about you and your vanity, don't you know?

OMG!

2008-11-11T19:35:00.001-08:00

"What the heck?!" exclaimed Raina in disgust.
"Wha?" I looked at her shocked. "Little girls aren't supposed to say, 'What the heck'!"
"What can I say then?" my 4-year-old asked.
"Well, you already say, 'Oh my gosh!' That works fine," I explain.
"No, I like to say, 'Oh my god!' instead," she said. "Because I have 2 gods. One god is on my pillow and I have a god thing in my room."
(Note: She has a pillow on her bed that she hugs that has the picture of Ram. A statue of Krishna and Radha is on her nightstand.)
"But God is in my heart too," she continues.
"God is everywhere," I begin, a litany she's familiar with. God's everywhere, he's in you, you are God, etc.
"Yes!" she interrupts. "He's in my brain and in my eyes. The brain has lots of buttons in it, and I have 2 God buttons in it."
"Yeah," I say slowly. "OK then."
Glad we got that squared away.

We often argue about how many kids she should have when she grows up. She wants 10. I firmly shake my head. We bargain a bit, and now we're down to 2 kids. The reason I claim to have any say in the matter is because she vows to live with us forever. She's never getting married, she's decided. If she does, her husband will also stay with us. But she wants to be a mom for sure. "Being a mom is such fun," she told me this evening. "I can't wait to be a mom!"
"It's a lot of work," I correct. "It's fun but a lot of work."
"I want to do that when I grow up," she said. "I want to do what you do."
"Well, it's important to be more than a mom," I said, visions of teenage pregnancy flitting through my head. "It's important to study, so you can earn money, and when your kids are in school, maybe you would want to go back to work."
Whew.
Is it any wonder I'm braindead by the end of the day?

The Catch-All Post

2008-11-03T19:14:00.000-08:00

OK, a quick review of what's happened in the past month:

1. Obama's leading in all the battleground states, which tells me that he's going to be declared US president fairly early tomorrow evening. Here's keeping all my fingers and toes crossed for him.

2. My parents came. My parents left. Barring a few issues, a good time was had by all.

3. Rohan turned 1. Yes!!!! My little boy is officially one whole year old! And for all those folks who're going to say, oh time's just flown, let me tell you, that has not happened for me. It's been a heckuva long year. I enjoyed his babyhood as much as I could, but I'm glad to see it go. I know, weird me. I'll probably look back on these days with nostalgia, starting when he's a teenager and demanding more money, more clothes and the nice car to take out for a drive. (And the answer to all that is "NO!" Gotta start rehearsing now.)

Not that Rohan's not giving me many opportunities to say "NO!" to him already. He's into everything that he shouldn't be. Electric outlets beckon to him. Door stoppers make inviting twanging noises. Electric cords lure him to chew them. Floor fans are just begging to be poked at. I know he's going to start opening all the kitchen drawers next and dumping stuff out.

As a result, all the housework is half-finished, abandoned in yet another race to get to him before he seriously hurts himself. Of course, he gets hurt all the time. He has black and blue bruises on his forehead today from falling once again while attempting to cruise between his activity table and thin air. Dude, you can't walk by yourself yet. But you get points for trying. Again and again.

He still doesn't weigh much. He's in the 5th percentile for weight, in fact. But short of force-feeding him, there isn't much I can do about that. And yep, he's still nursing, so maybe that's not helping the weight gain any. He does drink some whole milk, though, so the weaning process has begun.

Today he began pointing at everything and saying "Da?" He wants to know the names for everything. I love this age when they're just starting to talk. I can't wait to see what his first word will be. Raina's was "light." Not Ma, not Dad. So let's see what her baby brother comes up with. You can be sure I'll blog about it!

In the meantime, here are some pix of Mr. I'm Now One Year Old! Woohoo!

Why Men Cheat

2008-09-29T08:51:00.001-07:00

So I was reading this interesting story on Yahoo! or someplace about "why men are unfaithful." According to the counselor who conducted some kind of study on unfaithful men, the number one reason why men cheat on their wives is, hold your breath, under-appreciation. Apparently men have a tremendous need to win, and if they feel that they are not "winning" in a relationship, they start to withdraw from their spouse.

So gee, on top of all the number of times we have to say "thank you" just because our husband deigns to put his dish in the sink, we have to figure out other ways to show our appreciation so that he doesn't stray!

OK, I can't complain. My husband not only puts his dishes in the sink, but washes them, loads the dishwasher, wipes down the kitchen counters and swiffers the floor. And I do appreciate it. I do. I am very vocal about my appreciation too. Is the compliment returned? Umm, not so often. In fact, getting a compliment from the husband's a lot like extracting teeth -- a painful experience.

Does that mean I am going to get down and dirty with somebody at the nearest motel? I don't think so! Sounds like an excuse to me.

On the other hand, everyone appreciates being appreciated, right? Cee Kay was ranting in a recent post about a similar thing. The double standard where the husband is praised to the skies by parents, in-laws, etc. for doing work around the house. But the lady of the house can't do enough for her family to be similarly praised. Even the husband, the person who one would think would be supremely aware of what his wife does to keep the family functioning in a well-oiled fashion -- even he seems to take all that work for granted.

It would be so nice to be appreciated by our spouses. Just once in a while. Just a few words is all it takes to make my day. To make all the cooking, cleaning, feeding feel less like chores and more like one's making a difference. Even when people KNOW that they're doing mundane stuff that needs to be done. Just because everyone has to do it, should it be any less of a big deal?

The counselor in the news story had some useful stuff to say too: about how it's important for a husband and wife to shut off the TV and the "Crackberrys" and communicate for about 45 minutes at least 4 times a week. I know if I don't "download" my day to P, I feel dissatisfied. Like I haven't completely de-stressed. And TV, email, blogging (!), cell phones all cut into the time I have with him.

So shut down the electricity and light some candles, people! Maybe we can then have a heart-to-heart about our MUTUAL need for appreciation.

Got Game?

2008-09-13T09:09:00.000-07:00

Pikey The Cat aka Non-Official Lucky Mascot of the Ohio State Football Team is gearing up for the big game tonight against USC...

As you can see here, she's attempting to escape the firm clasp of a determined little player to score the winning touchdown. Trounce the Trojans, Pikey, ummm, Buckeyes! Beanie or no Beanie, Sloopy will hang on...

Palin In Comparison

2008-09-09T20:38:00.000-07:00

American women wanted Hillary Clinton in the White House -- but since they can't have her, they'll settle for the next best thing, Sarah Palin.
If the political pundits are to be believed, that's why Republican presidential hopeful John McCain chose the completely unknown glam queen (she was a runner up for Miss Alaska) as running mate -- hoping to cop the votes of those women feeling disenfranchised after Clinton failed to win the Democratic presidential nomination.
My first thought when I read that was "What the heck was he thinking?" I mean, it's laughable, right?
On the one hand you have (or don't have, as the case turned out) Hillary, strongly intelligent, pro-choice, as experienced in world politics as, well, Bill, with a hefty 8 years under her belt as U.S. senator and ummm, a Democrat.
On the other, you have Sarah, no doubt intelligent (but how do we know that?), anti-abortion, a gun owner (has anyone seen that picture of her proudly posing with that moose she killed?), experienced in world politics because "Alaska is the closest to Russia," courtesy Cindy McCain (who could be First Dumb Blonde Lady -- let's not even go there), experienced to help lead a nation of 250 million because her longest political stint has been as mayor of a town of 7,000 people (though she's been governor now for less than 2 years) and ummm, a Republican.
Sound like twins, don't they?
McCain obviously thinks so. He thinks women either don't care or don't have the requisite intelligence to understand that all Clinton and Palin share is gender. That just because Palin is a woman, Hillary supporters will rally around her, catapulting McCain to the White House. And once there, Palin will just... fade away into the background, letting the man lead. Like she herself said, what does a vice president do anyway?
If Palin ever became vice president, it would be one small step for woman, one giant leap backward for womankind.
So what's the American woman to do? Vote for Obama, I say.
Wish I could.

Thankee, thankee!

2008-09-02T09:12:00.000-07:00

Got this bling from Mamma Mia! Me A Mamma? (mammamiameamamma.blogspot.com). Thanks, Mamma Mia! I am not worthy, etc., but I am truly gratified! You know, I started this blog just for me. Although I'd been a reporter, I was so burnt out I couldn't write about stuff that mattered to me anymore. This blog was an attempt to regain my ability to put my thoughts down. But the true inspiration was Raina.

After her birth, there was just so much about her that I wanted to record. And that spurred me to sit before the computer and blog about Raising Raina. But once I started, it seemed that there was so much I wanted to say, after all. And this blog became more than notes for posterity. It became a journal.

When other folks began to read it and comment on it, I was amazed. This was so much more fun than merely a journal! My blog's now a kind of sharing of thoughts and life incidents with actual, real, live people! And I get to share in their lives too! Sounds an awful lot like friendship to me -- even though I've read that what people blog is not really who they are, that we just see the face they want to portray. Well, who's to say that what they portray is not who they really are? And how do we know who people really are, even when we do meet them face-to-face?

What I'm saying is, this works for me.

OK, now on to passing this wonderful award to some truly deserving folks. Because that's what the rules say. Got to pass it on to 7 more. Most of these folks have already received this award multiple times, but what the heck. Surely they don't get tired of hearing how brilliant their writing is? They are all on my blogroll.

1. Eve's Lungs. For her astute observations.

2. Dipali's Of This and That. For her thoughtful words which transform the everyday to the extraordinary.

3. Terri's Tails. For showing us the world through an ABCDog's humorous eyes.

4. Anamika's Thinking Cramps. For painting pictures through her words.

5, 6, 7, 8, 9. For Cee Kay and Choxbox, Mad Momma, Mystic and CrazyMumma for sharing their own wonderful experience of mommyhood -- including the zillion gaffes we make -- with honesty and humor.

All you ladies are so inspiring! Go forth and pass on the award to blogs that inspire you. The rules are below:

This award is for blogs whose content and/or design are brilliant as well as creative.
The purpose of the prize is to promote as many blogs as possible in the blogosphere.
1. When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back
2. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in their content or design.
3. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Brilliant Weblog’
4. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).
5. And then we pass it on!

Pressing the Panic Button

2008-08-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, how do babies get inside mommies' bellies?"
Dang. Thought I'd been prepared for this. But of course, come crunch time, all I'd carefully researched and rehearsed about explaining the birds and the bees in a manner calculated to satisfy the most exacting little kid seemed to have evaporated leaving a big blank in its place.
"Umm," I murmured, desperately playing for time, while racking the grey cells for something. Anything that didn't include the hardware that acts in the reproduction process.
"When mommies and daddies love each other, they make babies," I said, sounding lame even to me.
"How?" asked my scientifically minded 4-year-old.
"Well, when they get married..." I said, digging a deeper hole for myself.
"But HOW?"
Finally I muttered something about thinking about it and getting back to her.
HELP!
I turn to you, my friends. I know some of you have blogged about this in the past. If so, could you please send me the link? Anyone struck with inspiration can advise. Just don't tell me to tell her like it is. I believe in being as matter-of-fact as possible with Raina, except where human reproduction is concerned. I think she's too small to know what goes where and what actually happens.
There's got to be books about explaining this.

It's Time for... More Rainisms!

2008-07-31T19:33:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, did you know that dinosaurs are in-sting?"
With visions of bees and dinosaurs running in my head, I said what I say often these days when listening to Raina: "Huh?"
"Yes, they are all dead!" piped R.
"Ah! Extinct!" intelligence belatedly dawned.
"Do you know, Mommy, when I discover a dinosaur in the backyard, what I am going to call it?"
"What are you going to call it, Raina?" I asked obligingly.
"Rainatops."
"Huh?" says this very duh mama.
"Yes, because T-rex and Triceratops are already there -- and they're all dead! Mine is going to be a new one, so it's going to be called Rainatops."
"Why not Rainasaurus?" asked her dad.
"OK, the next one I find in the backyard, I'll call Rainasaurus," Raina assured him.

Lately, Raina's been pretty preoccupied by thoughts of death and marriage.
Yesterday, when tucked in bed for the night, she said out of the blue, "Mommy, when people die, do they all die as a family?"
"Well," said Mommy, reluctantly engaging her fatigued brain into gear, "not necessarily. Sometimes, mommies or daddies die, sometimes kids die."
"But if everyone died, I'd be so sad!" R said, her voice beginning to break. "I would be alone and I would sit on the couch and cry and cry because everyone would be dead and I won't be able to marry anybody!"
"Well, I am sure not everyone would die at the same time. You'll find some man to marry."
"I don't want to marry a man! All men are already married!"
"Not all men are married. Your Uncle Mikey's not married."
"Uncle Mikey doesn't want to marry. That's why he's not married. OK, name three men who are not married."
"Huh?" said Mommy, ready to crawl under Raina's comforter and pass out herself. "OK, let me think."
Long pause while Mommy thinks. She can't believe how few single men she knows these days. Then she names three men.
Comforted, R goes to sleep with a big smile on her face.

P.S. Folks, this is post #101!

Nine Months of Rohan

2008-07-27T10:44:00.001-07:00

The boy has officially spent as much time outside the belly as within. So...

He can drink other than breastmilk.

He can eat solids.

And he can partyyyy!

Happy 9 months, Rohan!

We've Moved!

2008-07-13T13:43:00.000-07:00

Deets and pix to follow!

Jingle Rock

2008-06-14T20:10:00.001-07:00

So I was taking a bath this morning, and when I was squeezing out some green liquid soap, a jingle I'd heard about gazillion times on TV when I was a kid came unbidden to my mind. It goes something like this:

"How about a Minty, when you are having fun?
How about a Minty, when you are in the sun?
How about a Minty, just to pass the day?
Just have a Minty, and let it make your day.
Minty! Minty! Minty! Minty! NP Minty!"

Or at least that's how I remember it.

Then later on when I was giving Raina a bath, I came up with another one:

"Bubbles! Bubbles! Bubbles!
Add something special to an ordinary day!"

I used to make my mom get that kiddie soap for me, just because of that commercial.

The memories got me racking my brains for all the jingles I remembered hearing in the bygone years. And boy, there were lots. Lots and lots. I can't seem to get them out of my mind now. So I'm planning to pass on the jingle-bug by mentioning a few.

My all-time favorite jingle:

"We're all in it together for the fun of it
For the taste of it.
Campa Orange flavor
Adds the flavor of fun!"

I remember watching that commercial wistfully. The kids in it seemed to be having such a blast. And hey, that clown, doesn't he remind you now of Ronald McDonald?

Favorite jingle with celebrity:

"Kapil Dev. The tough cricketer with the tough beard. He uses Palmolive Shaving Cream with SGL4.
Kapil Dev: 'Palmolive da jawab nahin!'"
Indeed!

Jingle when heard stays in your head for the rest of the day:

"Marlex pressure cooker. Khana jaldi pakaye, kaisi seeti bajaye.
Marlex! Marlex pressure cooker!"

Most annoying jingle:

It's the Hawkins pressure cooker one. Hands down. Can't recall the exact words, but I still remember Neena Gupta mouthing, "Hawkeenz! Hawkeenz! Hawkeenz!" at the end. Horrible.

Jingle that got the most adolescentish guffaws:

"Jo OK sabun se nhaiye, kamal sa khil jaaye..." with the clincher : "Kaafi bada hai."
That one still makes me scream with laughter.

What jingles from those 'golden years' can you recall?

C'est Moi

2008-06-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

As if everyone didn't know enough about me, Eve's Lungs has tagged me to tell you more! And since I was one of those teenagers who wrote pages and pages about myself in friends' opinion books, I'm dishing it out here. Enjoy... or beware!

I am: a good listener.
I think: way too much and act way too little.
I know: that I am changing every day in every way -- and some changes I don't love.
I want: a life well lived.
I have: nothing. Trying to be less possessive about people and things.
I wish: my kids will be all they can be.
I hate: to schmooze. So I don't do it.
I miss: Bombay. My parents. My brother. My friends.
I fear: for my kids. The world can be an evil place.
I feel: Raina's ribs. That girl is too thin.
I hear: Rohan crying... even when he's not. :(
I smell: the cool evening air, presently.
I crave: chocolate.
I search: for the next step I want my life to take.
I wonder: how Pikey The Cat can sleep all day and night.
I regret: not going into the science field.
I love: people-watching in cafes with P.
I ache: when I see a news article on a missing child.
I care: about planet earth.
I am not: a domestic diva.
I believe: in the healing power of cuddles.
I dance: with Raina and Rohan.
I sing: in my car all the time. Loudly.
I cry: when I'm sick and hurting.
I don’t always: go out of my way for people.
I fight: when I am angry.
I write: because I love words.
I win: fair and square. I hate cheating.
I lose: with a smile and a shrug.
I never: lose hope.
I always: live and let live.
I confuse: my relatives. They just can't peg me.
I listen: to Raina's talks, Rohan's babbles and P's day at work.
I can usually be found: in the library. OK, that was before I had kids.
I am scared: that the worst is yet to come.
I need: my books.
I am happy about: my decision to have two kids.

I pass this on to Anamika, Rads, Cee Kay and Sraikh (asaaan.blogspot.com).

A Tag for Bookworms

2008-06-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

I am such a geek. For days now, I've composed blog posts in my head while nursing Rohan to sleep. Prose that was, of course, brimming with wit and insight. But nothing short of a kick in the derriere would cure me of this inertia to sit before a computer and actually type. Or so I thought, until Anamika tagged me (http://thinkingcramps.blogspot.com).

Anamika, you got me pegged. A tag on books and I'm typing furiously before you can say, "What a lazy lying bum!" This one's so much fun!

OK, the rules:

Pick up the nearest book.
Open to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences.
Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you .

So I grabbed "The Good Women of China: Hidden Voices" by Xinran, which I am presently re-reading. When I read it for the first time, I was depressed for days. Never thought I would read it again. But I'm fresh out of reading material, so yesterday I reluctantly picked it up. Glad I did, for now I'm looking beyond the shock and horror of the true-life accounts in this book and really thinking about this China we don't know.

OK, Page 123, Fifth sentence. Here goes:

"My grandfather was already over seventy when he was imprisoned. He survived his ordeal with an astoundingly strong will. The Red Guards spat or blew their noses into the coarse food and weak tea they brought to their prisoners. An old man who shared a cell with my grandfather died of grief, anger and shame at this treatment, but my grandfather kept a smile on his face. He removed the mucus and spit and ate everything that could be eaten."

I didn't stop at three sentences because it wouldn't make sense. And it's interesting that although the entire book is about the voices and lives of Chinese women, the above lines deal with a man. So although they aren't representative of the content, you may get some idea about the style of the writer (a Chinese journalist, who's a woman).

Thanks for tagging me, Anamika! And I pass this on to Terri's mom (http://terristurf.blogspot.com), Amodini (http://reviewroom.blogspot.com), Cee Kay (http://my2centstoo.blogspot.com), Mystic (http://mysticmargarita.blogspot.com) and Rads (http://kowthas.wordpress.com)!

And the Half-Pint Fashionista Turns Four!

2008-05-13T14:08:00.000-07:00

Pictured with birthday cake featuring her favorite Dora, buddy Boots and that dang Swiper, the sneaky fox, Ms. R completes 4 years. We celebrated her birthday a week early at an indoor playground she loves with roller coasters, swings, slides, bouncy houses, play kitchens. The location was a little on the expensive side, but it sure was wonderful to walk in just with cake and R's favorite chicken nuggets and not have to worry about entertaining 18 (gasp!) kids. Plus, no clean up! Most important of all, the birthday girl had a blast.

Happy birthday, my sweet!

Raina's First Couplet

2008-04-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

So we were sitting down to lunch today and Raina, no doubt inspired by the food on her plate, came up with the following poem:

"Pee and poop are good for you
They tend to come when they want to."

Amen to that.

Happy Six Months, Rohan!

2008-04-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

It's been topsy and turvy, crazy and funny, but I can hardly believe our little boy is 6 months old already! He laughs loudly, grins broadly, with the biggest, largest smiles gifted to his big sister. He loves the silly nonsense she talks to him, grabs her hair and grins when she winces.

Other 6-month notes:

He can roll back -- sometimes -- but not roll over yet, in direct contrast to Raina, who learned to roll over, then cried because she couldn't figure out how to roll back. He can sit if propped up. No signs of crawling yet.

At 14 lbs. 6 oz, he's getting close to the weight Raina was at 4 months, so although he's as tall as she was, he's wayyyyy thinner. In fact, his weight has caused us some anxiety, as he was 14 lbs. for at least a month. We tried upping it by introducing rice cereal -- a disaster so far. Rice seems to constipate him incredibly. Then I tried holding off on solids and beginning the process of weaning him. He took one 2 oz. bottle twice, and that was it. The poor thing got super gassy and bloated. Thinking the type of bottle I was using was making him gassy (Avent), I tried the Playtex nurser with drop-in liners. He wasn't having any. It might be that he's lactose intolerant, so I've stopped eating dairy for now. And of course, given up weaning.

So net net, it's been a bumpy journey foodwise. In honor of his six month birthday, I gave him some sweet potatoes today and am keeping my fingers and toes crossed.

Oh yeah, he's teething too. Everything within reach is grabbed and inserted into that drooly mouth, where it's chewed to satisfaction. He's trying to get his toes into his mouth these days. Should make for a fun meal.

Also after months of crying during baths, he giggles and coos in his baby bath tub and tries to hold on to the water spouting off the shower head. He laughs when I sing, "Row, row, row your boat" to him.

When outdoors, the world is stared at by a pair of big intent brown eyes. But no one can talk to him or deign to touch him. Not unless they want to be treated to a downturned mouth followed by loud bawling. The man has stranger anxiety already.

And finally, though he's on a more or less regular nap schedule now, he's not sleeping through the night yet. I've read message boards where moms proudly claim their babies sleep through the night at 5 weeks. I'm still waiting. Maybe in the next six months? Pretty please? Mommy would so love to sleep for longer than 4 hours at a time.

This evening, Rohan's going to his first beach party. Happy partying, sweetie, with many more to come!

Exercising Restraint

2008-04-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, you want to see how I put lipstick?" asked my almost-4-going-on-almost-14-year-old, brandishing a tube of plastic lipstick in a lurid shade of red her best friend had generously gifted her.
Badly wanting to say, "Er, no," I sighed instead and said, "Sure." Raina carefully applied the plastic on her lips and smacked them. "Well, you can do it this way or the other way," she explained, now exhibiting a plastic lip brush, which she rubbed on the lipstick and then applied to her lips. Followed the action with that resounding smack.
"Mmmmm," I murmured, instead of the WTF? that was trembling on my lips.
This must be what those in the know refer to as a generation or cultural gap. More like a yawning chasm, I think, remembering my own childhood.
My earliest memory of makeup application is charged with tension and elation. I was 8 years old, standing before my mom's vanity mirror, applying her very real lipstick, terrified of the hand I know I would feel on my cheek were she to walk in unserendipitously, yet sharply conscious of the zing of doing something forbidden. I would dust some talcum powder to whiten my face, spritz on a little French perfume. Then I would scrub my face shiny and be back to being 8, dreaming of being 18 and allowed unimaginable freedoms.
The first time I was permitted to wear nailpolish was when I was 14. It was such a big deal because we were actually allowed to wear our grown and polished nails TO SCHOOL!
Fast forward to now, my daughter's already asking if she may have a pedicure like her best friend recently did. At my definite negative, she follows hopefully, "Maybe when I am 8?"
Oh my dear god.
P tells me that it's better this way: she can do the makeup thing earlier than me -- and put it behind her faster than I did. Maybe he's right, but I think my fear runs deeper than the idea that she may become one of those girly-girls who can't look beyond her powdered nose and perfectly manicured nails to think about an education, a career.
Maybe I'm just scared she's growing up too fast. As her experience widens, she learns things I can't control. She does things I don't like. It's scary as heck to see her test her wings. It's too soon, I want to yell. I want to put blinders on her so she can only see the good monsters like Ernie. And I want to hold on to her tight, so tight. I want to throw away that plastic lipstick and lip brush, so I don't see her use the real thing.
And with that, I suddenly realize. I'm becoming like my mother. My mother who still calls me "gudiya" (doll), who still talks to me like I'm a tiny tot instead of a mother of two tots, who just can't grasp her mind around the fact that I'm a grown woman.
Dang it.
As the one thing I promised myself since time immemorial was to not become like my mom, this nonsense has gotta stop. So I guess I'll continue to mutter sotto voce when my daughter dabs lip gloss that she received as a party favor. (A party favor for a 2-year-old girl's birthday!) Maybe my lack of enthusiasm will have a more beneficial effect on R than outright criticism. I can always hope.

5 on 5

2008-03-13T09:56:00.000-07:00

Got tagged over a month ago by Choxbox (thought I'd forgotten all about it, hadn't you?) and have a few minutes before I unload the dishwasher, wash the dishes I couldn't load in the dishwasher, dump clothes for laundry, send the cat out, comb my hair, put away some old clothes for AMVETS... all of which means that yeah, the baby's sleeping, Raina's in preschool and I can wallow luxuriously by the computer.

OK, here are the instructions:

Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better.

If I gotta link 5, you folks are going to have to bear with a bunch of URLs as I STILL haven't figured out how to do the link thing on my IMac. Just sheer laziness. Oh wait, I have the mom of 2 small kids excuse to use! Yeah, baby sleeping, R preschool, got stuff to get done, need to add this to the list. OK, without further ado...

1. Family: Well, I write about Raina and Rohan all the time, but since I've been blogging for a couple of years now, I'm going to delve into the past and come up with a couple of priceless Rainisms -- http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006/03/growing-up.html
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2007/04/rainisms.html
And one on The Cat because she's my first kid:
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2007/01/isnt-she-lovely.html

2. Friends: Hmmm, more about me than my friends, but here they are:
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006_01_01_archive.html
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006/12/heart-versus-head.html

3. Myself: Jeez, this blog's mostly about me in case you hadn't noticed. OK, again from the past:
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006/04/lifes-journey.html
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006/05/straddling-worlds.html

4. My Love: Books! Here are a couple I enjoyed:
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2007/01/ruth-prawer-jhabvalas-my-nine-lives.html
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2007/01/kazuo-ishiguros-never-let-me-go.html

5. Finalement, since I'm to post links on Anything I Like, I choose philosophy and parenting! Yep, more about me and my mental makeup:
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2006/10/dancing-with-daffodils.html
http://www.raisingraina.blogspot.com/2007/06/HUG

I think this tag's done the rounds, but if anyone feels like taking it up, feel free!

This Parenting Stuff

2008-02-26T14:58:00.000-08:00

*Warning: Long, rambling, possibly scatter-brained post.

I am in the middle of re-reading "I Feel Bad About My Neck" -- a collection of essays by Nora Ephron. For those unfamiliar with Ephron, she wrote the screenplays of two of my favorite movies "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleepless in Seattle" (which she also directed), as well as "You've Got Mail" -- Meg Ryan owes her career to Ephron. She's also the author of numerous funny, insightful books, other than this particular collection, which deals with being a woman "of a certain age."

So the reason I'm blogging about E is what she says in one of the essays "Parenting in 3 Stages." In this piece, she talks about how parenting seemed a fairly straightforward business, until the 1960s, when she had kids. Quoting here, "You can blame the women's movement for it -- one of the bedrock tenets of the women's movement was that because so many women were entering the workforce, men and women should share in the raising of children; thus the gender-neutral word 'parenting' and the necessity of elevating child rearing to something more than the endless hours of quantity time it actually consists of.

"Conversely, you can blame the backlash against the women's movement -- lots of women didn't feel like entering into the workforce (or even sharing the raising of children with their husbands), but they felt guilty about this, so they were compelled to elevate full-time parenthood to a sacrament."

She goes on to make her case with lots of examples, including "playing Mozart CDs while you were pregnant, doing without the epidural, and breast-feeding your child until it was old enough to unbutton your blouse." (! So funny!)

This brought to mind a struggle we women, educated, highly qualified mothers, are facing these days. Let me see if I can articulate my thoughts in some cohesive manner.

If you're a stay-at-home mom like moi, chances are you've patted yourself in the back often with a self-satisfied smug smile, because you've sacrificed your no-doubt high falutin' career for The Greater Good. We are martyrs, we are. Not like our own moms, who, let's face it, didn't HAVE a career and barely any education to sacrifice for The Cause. They were parents just because they didn't have anything better to do.

And if you're a working mom, chances are not a day goes by when you don't feel guilty about having a life that doesn't include your kids. So you struggle. You compromise. Maybe you work from home. Maybe you take a pay cut and work part-time. Or you just live with the guilt of Not Watching Your Children Grow or Not Being There For Them.

Where am I going with this? I really don't know. I'm sure I'm not saying this as well as I want to. What comes back to me is this friend I met at a party recently. She's a biologist, who's worked very, very hard for her Ph.D. She's spent a few years as a post-doc. And she's a mom of two kids. She'd just gone part-time and was feeling glum.

"Why is it always we women who have to make these choices?" she complained. "I'm thinking right now that there was no point in my studying so much if all I was going to do was stay at home with the kids. But I feel guilty for working -- I don't even remember my youngest son's childhood. I want to have it all."

I listened, nodding sympathetically. But I disagreed with her on several points. First, her argument that she might as well have done just a B.S. if all it boiled down to was "just" staying at home. I think any and all education enhances one's life experiences, colors beliefs, boosts self-confidence, even a sense of self. If you're rearing a child, you're passing all that wonderful stuff on, so this should be a no-brainer.

Second, I told her she needed to define what "all" was. She wanted to be a full-time professional pouring all her energy and dedication to her job, as well as a mom who was a constant presence in her kids' lives. Since she couldn't be in two places at one time, that was just not possible. So what did she mean by "all"? And by working part-time, hadn't she come as close as she could to having it all? Why not?

She had man-envy. Her husband didn't have to make that choice, she said. I didn't say anything then, but it did get me thinking. Our husbands don't "have it all" either. They aren't always physically there for their kids -- does that mean they care less? If not, where is their sense of guilt? Is the answer that our kids need moms more than they need their dads? Or that they just need one parent to be always physically there? At what point do they stop needing that constant presence?

My mom was always physically there for me -- she was there when I left for school, when I came home to lunch, when I did my homework, when I had my dinner (except for the weekends when she and my dad transmogrified into party animals, but that's another story). Despite all that, I was always closer to my dad.

So, to stay at home or not? If so, for how long? If not, why feel guilty?

The bottom line I think is for the mother to be happy, whatever she's chosen to do. If she's happy, the kids are happy. If she's happy, she has it all. Simplistic? Possibly. But heck, it works for me.

On A Lighter Note

2008-02-21T15:19:00.000-08:00

Raina: "Mommy, I love you so, so much. I love you 49."
Me: "I love you 89."
R: "I love you 100."
Me: "I love you 1500."
R: "I love you 2900."
Me: "I love you 100,000."
R: [nonplussed, then lit up with inspiration] "Mommy, I love you ZERO!"

----------------

"Mommy, did hair fall from your head to your vagina?"

What Did You Do?

2008-02-10T18:41:00.000-08:00

Rather unimaginative title, I know, but I am at my wits' end. So calling all you mommies out there... what did you do when your 3-month-old (or 6-month-old or 9-month-old) refused to take naps?

For the past week, Rohan seems to have decided that he's done with naps. He will NOT sleep. And if he does deign to fall asleep while nursing, he's going to wake up when I put him down on the bassinet. AND if he does not wake up then, he will wake up five minutes later. Or ten. But wake up he will. And start screaming like his mama's putting pins on him.

So I burp him. Or try to get him to pass gas. Or rock him. Or put him in the bouncer. Or talk to him. Or play with him. Few minutes of this, and the bawling starts all over again.

So I change his diaper. Coo. Take him for a walk in the stroller. Or the baby sling. Sing to him. Hum. Whatever, to get the job done. But it's no use.

It's gotten to the point that I've begun to doubt everything -- whether he's getting enough milk, whether I ate something that didn't agree with him, should I give him some formula, what? What is it I am doing wrong? And what should I do to fix it?

I went through something similar with Raina but it was when she was much older, and those were nightmare months of rocking and rocking and singing. And if she woke up, starting all over. Eventually, I just would let her cry herself to sleep. Because I knew she was tired and knew she needed to nap.

The good thing about this problem with Rohan is, come dusk, and he just drops off. He's gone for the night, or most of it anyway. But I am worried that if he continues to not nap during the day, it's eventually going to affect his night sleep.

So I turn to you, blogging mommies. WWYD?

Three Months Since

2008-01-24T10:06:00.001-08:00

I knew life would change after Rohan's birth, not just for me, but for Raina, P and even Pikey The Cat. What I didn't know was HOW. Here are some hows:
1. Everyone tells you having two kids is double the work. And after having one child, every mom knows what's coming when she decides to go for a second one. So everyone tells you it's going to be hard, you know it's going to be hard, you prepare yourself mentally for it, you convince yourself you can deal with it, and when it actually happens... it's still SO DAMN HARD! Yesterday Rohan barely slept all day and was still up at 9 p.m. at night. After dealing with him and Raina the entire day, I was just ready to cry. So I did.
2. The past week has been especially bad as my in-laws left last Thursday for India. I miss them. My mother-in-law would cook everyday and ask me every morning what I felt like eating. My father-in-law did the laundry religiously. When Rohan was cranky and wouldn't sleep or eat, they would accept him gladly. Mummy would coo him to sleep in the bouncer; Papa would carry him on his shoulder and talk to him. When Raina was feeling housebound, Papa would take her with him for his walk to the park. When I couldn't watch the Hanuman movie with her (Raina's latest craze), Raina would cuddle with her Dadiji. Children grow so much easier in a joint family.
3. But I also realized that living in a joint family is not for me. Eventually, I need my space. But that space comes at a price.
4. And presently, that price is having Rohan attached to me like a temporary extra limb, while Raina hovers restlessly around, being constantly shushed by me.
5. The past week has also made me realize that while I'm trying too hard to be the perfect mom for a 3-month-old, I'm trying too less to be the perfect mom for an almost-4-year-old. Am trying to dig up the patience to be a good mom to both, versus a perfect mom to none.
6. Raina LOVES Rohan; she's constantly around him, kissing him, reading to him, singing songs, talking baby talk. She wants to swing him, she wants to cuddle with him on his activity mat. And instead of appreciating it, I'm always telling her to watch out, not so hard, not so loud, be careful, he doesn't like that, don't put that on top of him, be careful, BE CAREFUL! I can't seem to stop myself, even though each time I tell her that, her face falls.
7. While Raina's an angel with the baby, she's being the devil with P and me. Hardly surprising considering the above. Two days ago, she threw a screaming tantrum absolutely refusing to go to bed. I have never heard her scream that way. It wasn't because she was scared to sleep in the dark because she started by smiling at me with a "What are you going to do now?" look on her face. She went to bed only after we threatened to put her in the garage -- and began carrying her there.
8. She's put a bunch of cream in her hair, fiddled with her medicines, refused to eat, created a mess around the house. During one afternoon nap, I found her in bed with about 20 baby wipes. The other day she was wearing three sets of underwear. Some of it's funny, some just scary. Most of it is designated to have me scream at her.
9. P and I are trying to step back from the scolding. I wish we wouldn't expect her to always be obedient and good.
10. Am also trying to get out of the house more often with her and the baby. But the weather's not been cooperating lately.

I tell myself things will get better. We three will get into a routine. Rohan will grow bigger and more independent of me. As he grows more independent, I'll grow more patient and Raina will act out less. The future will come as always, one day at a time.

Playing Favorites

2008-01-09T20:57:00.000-08:00

I've been fuming since yesterday and I know if I don't blog about what's bothering me, I will eventually start tearing my hair out. As I have just a few strands anyway (my hair's what is euphemistically called "fine"), they need protection. So here goes:

Yesterday, I was on the phone with my mom and the conversation went thusly --

Mom: "I got the picture that you sent of Raina and Rohan."
Me: "Finally! And?"
Mom (unenthusiastically) "It was nice. But" -- and here we have some enthusiasm -- "he's not as cute as our Raina. He doesn't give poses like she does, I am sorry. He looks like a gudda (doll in Hindi)."
Me (shocked and confused): "But why are you sorry? A gudda? That's a good thing, isn't it?"
Mom: "He has no expression on his face. Not like humaari Raina (our Raina)."
What? What?
Me: "Mom, how can you compare the two? Why can't you look at him just as a baby, not in comparison with Raina? Of course he's not like Raina -- he's Rohan!"
Mom: "Yes, yes. I am sorry, but..."

But what??? I just don't get this. First, the insensitivity of my own mother. The same mother who's always dramatically maintained how she NEVER MADE ANY DISTINCTION BETWEEN HER DAUGHTER AND HER SON. Even though, said son, besides being a precious male, was way cuter as a baby. How do you tell your daughter that one of her children isn't cute enough? A child who's not even three months old. Even if you're comparing that child to another of her children?
Second, why compare at all? I never got this comparison crap, and have always taken care not to compare Raina to other kids her age. Is it because my mom's heart isn't big enough to love two little kids equally?
I know favoritism exists. I've seen my mother blatantly favor Raina over my brother's little boy and I used to think it's because of the strained relationship that she has with her daughter-in-law. But now I know that's not the case. My mom -- and likely, my dad -- have just got it in their heads that they're fond only of little girls. They just don't like boys. It's senseless, especially when you think how rarely they get to see their son's only child. And they haven't even seen my little boy -- and have pronounced judgment.

I think part of the reaction also stems from jealousy. My mom was with me when Raina was born -- and stayed until she was 4 months old. This time, my in-laws are here -- and my mom, seeing all the pictures of Raina and Rohan with their Dadiji and Dadaji, has been bitten by the green-eyed monster.

Whatever the reasons, her comments really hurt my feelings. Here I was eagerly looking forward to telling her how Rohan laughed two days ago for the very first time! How he looked so cute right after his bath with his blue towel wrapped around him, all clean and warm and happy. How he smiles right in the middle of a feeding as if he's having a blast. And I'd wanted to share with her how gassy he'd been lately. How he hadn't been sleeping all day. How tired I was and how tiresome he sometimes seemed.

At least my mom's comments cured my frustration with Rohan. But I saw myself looking at him differently, hating it, but doing it anyway. Maybe, objectively speaking, he isn't as cute as Raina was as a baby. If that's true, to hell with objectivity.

'Tis The Season To Be Jolly...

2007-12-21T20:38:00.001-08:00

And Rohan's over 2 months old! Sorry for the disappearing act, folks. Life for a do bacchon ki maa (mother of two kiddos) is tres busy. Hope to get a chance to blog more often come the new year. Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all!

Breastfeeding 101

2007-11-16T13:03:00.000-08:00

Courtesy Ms. Raina who apparently had been closely watching her best friend's mom nurse her new baby.

"Mommy, I'll show you how to nurse. You have to lift your t-shirt like this, put your booby forward and the baby has to take the booby in his mouth. Take the booby, baby, TAKE THE BOOBY! Yeah!"

Enthusiastic applause follows.

My personal lactation consultant and breastfeeder cheerleader. How did I get this lucky?

1 Sick Child + 1 Newborn = 0 Blogging Time

2007-11-13T15:35:00.000-08:00

Raina's been down with an ear infection and a bad cough and cold since Diwali. Hope everyone else had a sickness-free festival!

Meet Rohan

2007-10-24T20:57:00.000-07:00

Height: 18 inches (but Daddy says he refused to straighten his legs so it may be closer to 20)

Weight: 6 lbs. 11 oz.

It's been crazy as expected, but one of the worst wildfires in SoCal history has added to the belief that we are so lucky...

Imminent Motherhood

2007-10-18T18:44:00.000-07:00

Baby and Mommy Stats 12 Hours Before Arrival:

Estimated weight: 8 lbs.
Dilation: 1/2 cm
Labor Pains: Often, varying in length and strength
Status: Baby -- Active
Mommy -- Uncomfortably Restless and Aware That This Is Her Last Night As Ek Bacche Ki Maa

Wish me luck!

Food for Thought

2007-10-15T21:13:00.000-07:00

Got the middle name tag from Choxbox -- a week or so ago. Other than pregnancy-related somnolence, have also been suffering from besan-ladoo stuffiness. Yep, the in-laws have arrived, complete with besan ladoos all the way from Amritsar to feed their beloved ladoolike d-i-l. For those anywhere CLOSE to Amritsar or who've relatives there or happen to live a small train ride away (Delhiites?) -- I'd suggest you get to Kanhaya Lal's asap. Those dudes know their besan ladoos. I finished one whole box. Yep, one-whole-box. About 24 besan ladoos. In one week.

So what was I blogging about? Ah, middlename tag from Choxbox. Like most desis, my middle name's my dad's name, so am going with A Muser instead.

A -- Amritsar! Did I mention besan ladoos?
M -- Mumbai. City of my dreams. Land of hogging chocolate mousse at Pot Pourri, idli/sambar at Kamat's or Satkar's, beers at Toto's, dal pakwaan (on Sundays) at Khar Gym, bhelpuri at Pali Hill, mutton rolls at Andora's and Candies, crabs at Mahesh Lunch Home, manchow soup at Sampan (in my opinion the best Chinese joint in town), masala milk at Anando's, frankies in Linking Road. Dang, this can be a post by itself.
U -- Should get off the food topic, huh. OK, U is for Unkind, Unjust, Uncouth, Undignified behavior. The four deadly sins in my bible.
S -- Sense of humor! One of the things I like about myself is my ability to be easily a-mused. But I don't find ethnic jokes amusing. Really.
E -- Elegance. That so not describes my mussed hair, jeans and t-shirt self. But I will start trying, oh, in another five years or so, and hum honge kamyaab ek din.
R -- Rock 'n' roll! Dancing the night away's among my top 2 favorite ways of spending the night. ;)))

Am not tagging anyone because almost all my favorite fellowbloggers have already done this tag! Amodini, hope to get to your tag soon!

What to Expect When You're Expecting

2007-10-05T20:06:00.000-07:00

Here's an article which indicates to me that what doctors tell you NOT to do today, they'll tell you tomorrow to do the exact opposite.

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/10/05/should-pregnant-women-eat-more-seafood/

It's so annoying. It's a good thing I'm such a seafoodie, I've been eating quite a bit throughout my pregnancy anyway. Next the medical world will insist that sushi and sashimi are not only OK for pregnant women to eat, they're ABSOLUTELY VITAL for your baby's health. When it happens, know you first heard it here.

Prepping

2007-10-03T13:39:00.000-07:00

The mind has shut down all sign of cranial activity. The eyes are either closed or looking over the pages of some trashy novel. The ears register only sounds related to babies. The rest is filtered as just so much noise. The world has ebbed away. Is Newt Gingrich threatening to launch a presidential campaign again? Who're the Ohio State Buckeyes playing this weekend? Is Musharraf going to finally resign as army chief? Issues once fodder for intense discussion have fallen by the wayside.

The mouth opens only to recount yet another instance of baby movement to a bored audience. The limbs move only to swipe the credit card at Target or Babies 'r' Us for diapers or onesies. Otherwise, they lay supine, static, like the projections of a sleepy starfish whose dead center is one humongous belly.

This is the status two weeks before the baby's expected arrival. Expect continued inertia.

Nick Knack

2007-09-22T13:41:00.000-07:00

Tagged by Choxbox (choxbox.blogspot.com) to mention the nicknames we call the kids. Nope, not talking about the Unborn One yet; he's mostly still The Baby. I am talking about Pikey The Cat and Raina The Pookie. It's no use pointing out to us that Pikey's not our kid -- she may not have been our first experience in childbirth, but she definitely gave us a taste of childrearing.

We got her when she was 3 months old, and she sat on my lap and meowed all the way home. Once there, she quickly settled in which was obvious by the speediness with which she began making demands -- for lap time, scratch time, play time. Each demand would be underlined by a corresponding meow, which we quickly learned to decipher. Short, staccato meows meant "I'm hungry"; long drawn out meows meant "I really really want something, and you better get it quick otherwise I'm going to scratch the sofa." So it's not surprising that she was nicked The Meow Cat. Pikey itself was a nick for the stately Pilcrow (you know, the paragraph mark on your word doc on the computer).

Other nicks that quickly followed: Pikeymon, Pikery, Peekaroo, Pikeysan, Mikey, Mouse (she's scared of everything, including mice), Silly Billy (billy means cat in Hindi). She answers to them all.

OK, Raina's turn. When she was born, P began calling her The Bug or Bugga because of her big lamplike eyes and teeny nose. I'd call her Smilu and Cheeky for her obvious attributes. Innocuous enough, but the nicks have deteriorated since.

I now call her Cheekoo, Cheekoodee, Pookie (further bastardizing the nick Raina Pooh), Pookeymon, Pookers and sometimes, Pooky Friend (from her favorite Halloween tee with a graphic of "Spooky Friends" which she would mispronounce as Pooky Friends).

But I can't top P, who often calls her Altu (as in Altu-Faltu, meaning useless in Hindi), her baby brother's Faltu and the cat Paltu (pet in Hindi). And then sometimes he calls her "Boogers" -- as in yucky dried snot. What can I say? The man's a creative genius.

Happy 75th Post to Me!

2007-09-19T10:18:00.001-07:00

Wow, when I started this blog, I didn't think I'd be able to come up with anything to write about. I was quite out of practice. But here I am on Post#75.

Wanted to note another funny instance of RainaSpeak here. This conversation occurred in the morning:

Raina: Mommy, look I weigh 31 pounds!
Mommy: Yeah, you're so big!
Raina: But I don't weigh as much as you.
Mommy: That's true. I am bigger.
Raina: Your butt is bigger.

Thanks for pointing that out, daughter o'mine. Especially since Mommy's belly is so big, she doesn't pay any attention to her behind anymore -- there's a reason it's behind, right?

A Fairytale Ending

2007-09-13T08:13:00.000-07:00

So most everyone knows the Sleeping Beauty fairytale, right? Princess is born, party's given but the wicked witch isn't invited. Said wicked witch gatecrashes party, curses baby to die on 16th birthday by pricking finger on spindle of spinning wheel (like she couldn't come up with something a little less complicated). A good fairy changes the curse to falling asleep instead of dying (why couldn't she just nix the curse?) and for good measure, whisks the baby along with her co-fairies to live as a peasant in a forest. Babe grows up hot, falls in love with a prince on her 16th birthday and then is whisked back to the castle to meet mom and dad (why on the dang birthday?) where she of course proceeds to prick her finger, fall asleep until the prince comes rushing in to rescue her after slaying wicked witch. And they all live happily ever after - blahblah.

Lotsa murder and mayhem for a fairytale, wot?

The three-year-old is hooked on Sleeping Beauty presently and doesn't seem to be bothered by the sound of gnashing teeth which her mom makes every time she reads about the dang prince rescuing the idiotic princess. But there were aspects of the story that bothered her, which I found out soon enough.

Raina tends to come out of her room a couple of times after being supposedly tucked in for the night, asking for yet another glass of water or someone to adjust her blankie or whatever. So during one of these night excursions when she said she didn't want to sleep alone, I just pooh-poohed it, told her she was a big girl and she wasn't alone anyway as she was sleeping with Prisha (her stuffed white tiger).

The next day, while we were consuming breakfast, she said, "Mommy, you know when I said that I didn't want to sleep alone last night? It was because I was scared that Maleficient (aka wicked witch) would come to our house and kill my baby brother."

Mommy (rendered temporarily incapable of speech)

Finally founding my voice, I said, "Maleficient is just pretend, baby. She's in the book. And she only cursed the baby because she was mad when she wasn't invited to the party."

Raina: "She is mean and wicked."

Mommy: "Yes. If you wish someone dead, it's a mean and wicked thing to do. But she's only interested in Aurora (aka idiotic princess), not you or your baby brother."

Raina: "I don't like her. Do you like Maleficient?"

Mommy: "No one likes Maleficient."

Whoa. I've read that fairytales are OK to read to kids because it introduces them to a wickedness that they already know exists in the world, but also teaches them that good triumphs over evil. But is age 3 the perfect time to know about the fact of murder -- the wish to kill (in Maleficient), the need to slay (in the prince) -- to bring about that happy ending?

Maybe I'm just looking for another reason to chuck those fairytale books into the trashcan.

Crazy Me

2007-09-08T20:40:00.000-07:00

So I've been tagged by Choxbox aka Namvor (who just began her blog -- congratulations! -- choxbox.blogspot.com) to put down five eccentricities or five reasons why those who know me think I am stark raving nuts and belong in a loony bin. Hmmm, shouldn't be too hard. Here goes:

1. I am the quintessential bookworm. What free time I have, I spend with my nose in a book. I have books on my kitchen counter, dining table, coffee table, all the bedrooms and bathrooms in the house, and some even on the bookshelves. All of which I am presently reading. And if I don't reply to a question, the people in my house have realized that it's because I am daydreaming about a book or several that I am in the process of devouring. My husband opines I am heading towards blindness, but if that ever happens all I can say is, thank goodness for audio books!

2. I HATE talking on the phone. It doesn't matter who's on the other end -- my parents, in-laws, best friends -- I try to keep the conversations short. It's out of a sense of duty that I call my parents every weekend. (And then my mom calls me once during the week.) My best friends know better than to expect a call from me. If I do happen to call, they baldly ask, "Is it my birthday?" (I do call on birthdays.)

3. I don't notice dirt -- either in my house or in other people's homes. It drives my finicky husband crazy that I don't notice the former; my friends love me for never noticing the latter.

4. On the other hand, I always notice a misspelled word in books, newspapers, hoardings, pamphlets. There should've been spelling bees in India, I swear I would have won every single year. OK, maybe at least once.

5. I talk in a sing-song fashion in a voice that's so sweet, it'd give any healthy person diabetes. It's really awful. I wouldn't believe it if I wouldn't have heard myself with my own ears. I also tend to smile at perfect strangers. In fact, I am usually smiling all the time. Loony, see?

That's my five. Would love to tag the usual suspects: Terri's mom, Rads, Mystic Margarita, Cee Kay and Crazy Mumma.

Anniversary

2007-09-06T08:16:00.000-07:00

Twelve years ago this day, I landed in the United States to begin graduate school. It wasn't my first time to the States; I'd come on vacation when I was 10. But I couldn't have been more excited if it had been my first. Finally, at 21 years of age, after being more of a spectator than a participant in my life, I was ready to live. Woohoo! And what a life I wanted to live! One that primarily involved being away from any protective influence, being away from all and everything I held dear. Now I would figure out what I was about.

Life until then had seemed too easy. I had grown up feeling mostly detached from family members and friends. It was a defense mechanism -- if no one got close, no one could hurt me. I see that now; then, I was just uninvolved while I watched the lives of all my family members unravel. Extreme emotion was strange to me, and I often thought rather wistfully how nice it must be to feel strongly about something, anything. Trial by fire was essential to build character, I thought, and if I didn't feel anything, how was I to build my own?

So, although I came to the U.S. ostensibly to study, I mostly came to experience life. I came prepared to be vulnerable and open to new experiences, willing to feel disappointment, anger, sadness, hurt, loneliness all the negative emotion that thusfar seemed to have eluded me. Knowing them, I could finally realize what would make me happy.

Well, I got what I wanted. I made the best of friends -- one of who brought me the loneliest, saddest times I'd experienced. I felt the hurt of being misjudged by people I cared for. My confidence in myself ebbed away as my personal life deteriorated in tandem with my academic life. But I was right about one thing -- my unhappiness forced me to take control of my life. I made some hard academic decisions, like switching from broadcasting to print journalism. I took up a job in a small U.S. town where I was one of three non-white folks. I didn't know a soul.

And along the way, I made some right decisions, like starting to date P, now my husband.

Yes, it's been 12 years since I first met my husband. At first, we were acquaintances who'd occasionally bum cigarettes off each other. Then we became friends who'd go dancing in a group once a while. More than 10 years ago, we began to fall in love.

I chucked my dream of going back to Bombay with nary a thought but to be with P. And though I've missed my city, I've grown to love other places too: some small unassuming Midwestern towns, other big Western cities. At all places, with all experiences, I've learned and grown as a person beyond my wildest expectations.

And by growing, I've eventually discovered the key to my happiness (drumrolls please): It's not about finding out who I am. It's about changing myself to who I want to be.

A dozen years from now, I'm probably still going to live in the U.S., a mommy to one ABCD teenager and one ABCD pre-teen (heaven help me). But few things I hope will remain constant: my need to learn, my desire to grow and to do both with my husband always by my side.

Baby in the Womb

2007-08-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

Went for a 4-D Ultrasound over the weekend, and here are some of the results! Raina kept asking why he was orange.

It was just astonishing to see those chubby cheeks, that tiny nose, those big big eyes, the little fingers and toes squirming around. He had his left foot up to his forehead -- crazy little guy! We saw him open and shut his mouth like a little guppy. One hand was tucked under his plump butt, and when the ultrasound tech tried to zoom in on the family jewels, his other hand promptly covered them up. A shy one -- or maybe just bidding fair to be uncooperative like his Big Sister. (At her 4-D, Raina presented her butt to us viewers. We have a lot of butt pix.)

At one funny point, the tech prodded my belly gently to get him to move his hands, and as she prodded, you could see him grimace and frown, none too happy about the disturbance in his comfy little world. Then he smiled.

We came away stunned and awed. He looks so much like his daddy, it's not fair. At least one kid should look like the mom. But there was relief, as well. He has 10 fingers and 10 toes, and we didn't have to wait for his birth to count them. Is technology amazing or what?

Sex Tag

2007-08-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

Hey, if that headline doesn't make you read this post, nothing will! Have been tagged willy-nilly by Mad Momma (themadmomma/blogspot/com -- can some tech-savvy person puh-leeze tell me how to do the link-thing on a mac?? My posts are littered with URLs *grumble, grumble*). Tag's about how do I have rocking sex -- ok, any sex at all, any way, any kind -- apres-babies. Cool! Sundry tagged bloggers are worried about parents reading this post; moi, I merely have to face the wrath of my very very embarrassed husband. So that makes it OK, of course. ;P

P and I get it on usually on weekend afternoons. Sunny and soporofic weekend afternoons, with the 3-year-old tucked in bed for an afternoon nap. If it's summer, ummmm, the overhead fan's whirring slowly. I don't know what it is about that fan. It makes me feel all sleepy and sexy. So we start off cuddling, thinking we're going to take a nap ourselves. Yeah, right. At some point, we have to get up and lock the bedroom door. After the deed is done, we take that nap we'd been originally planning. Mmmm... nothing like post-making-love naps!

Dunno what we're going to do once Raina stops taking afternoon naps -- we'll probably bribe her. And after Baby 2 emerges in October, in the august company of the in-laws, afternoon sex just may take a backseat. But then, there's always the backseat. Dang, you think that's too much info?

P.S.: Am tagging Terri's mom (terristurf.blogspot.com), Rads (kowthas.blogspot.com) and s.b.!

Introducing Detective Herculee Pikerot

2007-08-21T20:18:00.000-07:00

Detective Herculee Pikerot's green eyes gleamed with a strange light. After much exercise of her uncommonly few grey cells, the criminal had been deduced. It had been no easy work. The crime had been executed to near perfection. After all, it was easy for mere mortals to be taken in by the innocent demeanor of My Little Pony. But the cunning pony had reckoned without the superior intellect of Detective Pikerot. Now Scotland Yard was on its way. All that remained was to hand over the suspect. But how to detain said suspect until the Yard arrived -- tardily, as usual? Pikerot's majestic moustache quivered. In the end, there was only one method.

Some thoughts on NRIs

2007-08-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

Or I should say, some thoughts of NRIs.

I was reading Anamika Mukharji's latest post (righttowrite.blogspot.com) on the 60th Indian Independence Day. In one graf, she pointed out she was tired of Non Resident Indians (NRIs) who criticize India while comfortably enjoying life outside des. Couldn't agree more with her, and I would like to think I refrain for the same reason.

Then I got to thinking about the NRIs I knew. Attend any desi party any time and the favorite topic of conversation isn't India-bashing. It's bashing the U.S. -- the country the desis I know have chosen to live. If they aren't grumbling about how their white boss passed them over for a promotion (racist bastard of course), they are grumbling about the weird habits of their black/Chinese neighbors or the laziness of their Mexican gardener or housecleaner. Which attitude doesn't make them racist bastards, merely superior.

Indian heritage, culture, traditions, food are praised to the skies -- I am talking specifically about Hindus here because my experience is limited to them. On the other hand, NRIs claim Americans have no culture, no history and zero moral and family values. Because these folks may have a bad influence on Indian family values, NRIs do not fraternize with whites (derogatorily referred to as goras) -- forget the Chinese, blacks or Mexicans (you don't want to know how they refer to people belonging to these races). The only friends their children have are the desi offspring of their parents' desi friends. It's either that, or these children know early on not to bring their non-desi school friends home, aware that they won't feel welcome or comfortable.

It's hardly any wonder that these kids grow up confused (everyone's heard them referred to as ABCDs -- American Born Confused Desis). After all, they go to school and have to interact on a daily basis with non-desi kids. Soon they discover that American parents are pretty much the same as desi parents when it comes to doing homework and generally being involved in their kids' lives. Then they go to India for vacations. Thanks to the magnificent portrait their parents have painted of India's beauty and culture, they are doubly shocked to see the Unwashed Masses, the garbage piled on street corners, the careless disregard for the poor, the lame and the destitute. Then they see their parents hobnobbing with the resident Indians, glorying in their NRI status and complaining about the heat, the dirt. When will the country improve? they lament.

Eventually, these kids learn an important lesson: their parents are hypocrites.

Not all NRIs are this bad or racist. But we're all guilty to some extent of creating/participating in little mini-Indias where non-desis are deliberately excluded. If we can't interact normally with our American neighbors -- be they white, Southeast Asian, Hispanic or black -- what example are we setting for our kids? We have to accept that just as we will always be Indian at heart, our kids will always be American. And being American means accepting others, while celebrating what makes each one unique -- that Indian heritage that we will pass on to our children. A heritage to be proud of at all times -- one that acknowledges that tolerance for others is the backbone on which it has been based. Unity in diversity, remember? Indians and Americans should have at least that in common.

Raina The Geek

2007-08-18T21:11:00.000-07:00

In the midst of a crying jag (yes, these are quite frequent), Raina suddenly asks, "How do you spell 'cry'?" Followed by "How do you spell 'tear'?" As the husband says, referring to her mommy's nerdiness, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Nine Weeks and Counting...

2007-08-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

The thing with cliches is that they make so much sense. Like the one about time going fast when you're having fun. In 9 exact weeks at this particular moment, I should be holding my baby boy. I can't believe how fast this pregnancy's gone. After the first trimester, the days have just been zooming by. On the one hand I can't wait to see the baby, though I'm terrified of the nursing, diaper-changing zombiedom that will follow. There's excitement, yet that sinking feeling in the pit of my belly that overwhelms me occasionally. Worry that I'm not prepared, that I'll never find a decent changing table (!), that I've forgotten something crucial for the baby's survival or my sanity.

And right now, I'm just plain clumsy. A couple of weeks ago, when I was going down the stairs in the pitchdark, I missed the last two steps and landed on my big toe. Used up all the cuss words in my vocab. And why hadn't I turned on the light? Oh yeah, common sense has been a recent casualty too. Was limping around with a sprained toe for a few days. Then last night, as I was putting on jammies, I lost balance and fell like a stone. No, more like a mountain. Lady with big belly should not balance on one jammied leg, while putting her other leg through. Another titbit of common sense learned.

On the whole, I'm doing pretty good and have the pregnancy glow down pat. But now that I'm slowly getting used to this pregnancy thing, it's almost at an end. Yesterday I looked at Raina and suddenly realized that the days when it was just going to be the two of us pottering around at home were ending too. She wasn't going to be my only baby for long. And I wish I could buy her a few more months, just to protect her from the pain of change. Mostly the onus is on us to make sure that she adjusts well and gets enough attention. But I tend to be such a bad-tempered, impatient, MEAN person when I'm sleep-deprived. How do I protect her from myself?

Just another worry to tack on the list.

What's in a Name?

2007-08-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

I know -- out of all the Shakespeare quotes that have become cliches, this one is prime. But really, since this post is about a name for my baby boy, I couldn't think of titling it any other way. So sue me.

Am in such a pissy mood these days, this post is one long whine. You've been warned.

Began my final trimester a week or so ago, and my mom's still bombarding me with baby boy names every time we talk. Which is, like, twice a week. Don't know what part of "it needs to be easy for non-desis to understand" that she just doesn't get. Her recent contribution: Moksh. Yeah, try that on any American and watch his eyes glaze. At least it was the first time she'd mentioned that one. She's been trying "Karan" for weeks now. OK, months. And I tell her for the gazillionth time, Karan's going to become "Karen" the first day of school and my 5-year-old boy will come home and murder his mom for naming him so thoughtlessly.

Who knew it was so hard to come up with desi names that's not only easy for non-desis to pronounce, but won't be perverted by the first obnoxious boy my boy meets? My husband's king of coming up with ways names can be perverted. He was the one to warn me about Karan/Karen. When we were thinking names for our daughter, it was he who pointed out how Anusha could be messed around with (Anus-ha, see? Duh Mommy!)

But even he couldn't have predicted how his friends' kid's name could be messed with. Our friends recently had a baby boy who they named Ravi. Simple? Check. Easy to pronounce? Check. So you would think. My daughter still calls him "Robbie." And how could one possibly come up with a way to tease a kid called Ravi? "Ravioli!" announced another friend -- a German-born American. Thanks, dude.

Thinking simplicity, I ran "Aditya" by some friends. They looked at me vacantly. And these are Thai-Americans, mind you, not themselves known for the easiest names. I tried "Varun" by a Filipino-American friend. Similar vacant look. She didn't even try to say it. Varun, for crying out loud. How much easier can one get?

After all this hullabaloo, we've come up with Rohan. Yeah, "row, row, row your boat..." but at least most people can say it OK. And it's got some coolness factor, thanks to The Lord of the Rings. Plus, it's kinda global: When we googled "Rohan," we came up with West Indians, Irish, Sri Lankans... works for us. Of course, my mom hates it. HATES it! So twice a week, she comes up with new ones to change our minds.

Which brings us back to square one. Moksh? God, I need some Nirvana...

Huh?

2007-08-10T20:08:00.001-07:00

Seen on the vanity license plate of a black BMW convertible driven by a gorgeous brunette on a balmy Southern California evening: "IMSMELY." ????

Not for Future Einsteins

2007-08-07T19:43:00.000-07:00

A friend forwarded me this crazy article on time.com (http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1650352,00.html) on kids watching the popular Baby Einstein and Brainy Baby DVDs. In brief, according to a study conducted by University of Washington researchers, babies exposed to the DVDs don't grow smarter than infants not exposed to the DVDs. In fact, they show LESS language development than them.

This would be the moment I would pat myself on the back. I never bought into the hype that watching TV -- any kind of TV -- would make Raina smarter. Instead, we did a lot of talking and playing together -- with a heavy emphasis on music and singing.
Not to boast or anything, but Raina's verbal and vocabulary development has always been far ahead of her peers, and I totally believe it's because of the one-on-one interaction.

Anyhoo, so there I was, getting ready for the back pat with a smug smile forming on my face. Then my mouth fell open. As I continued to read, the article mentioned that the researchers found 40% of infants 3 months and younger REGULARLY watched DVDs, videos or TV. There's more: almost 90% of kids upto 2 years of age spent TWO OR THREE HOURS in front of the television every single day.

Unbefuckinglievable. Excuse the language, but that's pretty dang close to parental negligence. I mean, why have kids if you are going to plop them in front of the TV? I know mommies need to get things done, and sometimes, the TV can be a convenient babysitter, but TWO HOURS EVERY DAY? That's just nuts, people!

Observed

2007-07-31T16:40:00.000-07:00

On being told that if she wanted to indulge in a loud Crying-For-Crying's-Sake tantrum, she needed to seek a room other than one containing her mother, Raina was seen heading to the closet, turning on the light and artistically bawling before the full-length mirror.

The Half-Sleeved Half-Pint

2007-07-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

Ever since we found out that we're having a baby boy, I've been busy digging in the closet for all of Raina's old clothes. Presently, my bedroom is lined with plastic bags of varying sizes filled with R's clothes to give away to all the neighborhood's little girls or to preggie mommies expecting baby girls or to AMVETS. So far, have given away just one -- some of R's 2T stuff -- and the mommy of the little girl I gave it too was astounded that the clothes were in such good shape.

One reason they are in good shape is because R always wears a bib when eating. But the biggest reason is Raina herself.

Ever since Raina turned 18 months old, I've been asking her what she wants to wear. I think it gives her a feeling of control over her life, plus it helps her make decisions. Raina took to it pretty quickly -- and I was glad about that. The downside? Raina would wear the SAME clothes over and over again. I didn't know I could get sooooo sick of seeing my daughter wear the same outfit every third day.

My first resort was to keep a longer gap between laundries. If something was dirty, she couldn't wear it. But even if I did laundry just once a week, it was tiresome to see the same clothes the very next week. She had a Monday outfit, a Tuesday outfit... one for every day of the week. Then I resorted to hiding some clothes that I just could not BEAR to see her in. But then, the whining would start.

A typical morning in our household:

Raina and I standing in front of her closet.

Raina: I want to wear that striped half-sleeve t-shirt with shorts.
Me: How about wearing a dress instead? You haven't worn that in so long.
Raina: No. I want to wear a half-sleeve t-shirt.
Me: (appealing to her vanity) But dresses look so cute on you!
Raina: Half-sleeve t-shirts look cute too. See, it looks so cute!
Me: How about a sleeveless t-shirt? You never wear those and you have so many of them.
Raina: No. I want to wear a half-sleeve t-shirt.
Me: OK. How about a skirt instead of those shorts? You never wear a skirt.
Raina: No. I want shorts!
Me: (Now resorting to blackmail) Raina, I am going to stop buying you any new clothes if you won't wear anything other than half-sleeve t-shirts.
Raina: But I want to wear half-sleeve t-shirts. I want new ones!
Me: (cunningly) Miss Cindy said she would really like to see you in a dress.
Raina: (thoughtfully) Maybe I'll wear a dress tomorrow.

And I have to be satisfied with that. Sometimes, that tomorrow never comes. When it does, she'll wear the SAME dress she always wears when she's in a conciliatory mood. It's like beating my head against a brick wall. But that's the whole point, I guess, to give her control. I just wish she wanted to wear what I wanted her to wear.

Cool quote 2

2007-07-22T20:48:00.000-07:00

Am presently reading Francoise Sagan's "The Painted Lady" -- a funny, heartbreaking book. Came across these lines mentioned right at the start, and wanted to share them:

"What importance can we attach to the things of this world? Friendship? It disappears when the one who is liked comes to grief, or when the one who likes becomes powerful. Love? It is deceived, fleeting, or guilty. Fame? You share it with mediocrity or crime. Fortune? Could that frivolity be called a blessing? All that remains are those so-called happy days which flow past unnoticed in the obscurity of domestic cares, leaving man with the desire neither to lose his life nor to begin it over."
--Chateaubriand, Vie de Rance

My 2 Cents Too

2007-07-20T13:05:00.000-07:00

Cee Kay (my2centstoo.blogspot.com/ -- I can't figure out how to do the link thing on my mac) just did a wonderful post on people she admires and those she judges, and I agree with her so completely, it's hard to come up with some original points. But she wants me to give it a shot, so here's my 2 cents, folks -- first, the judgmental moi:

1. I tend to laugh at strangers who ask me what cars I own, how much a piece of jewellery is worth, how much income my husband brings in as measures of whether it's worth their while to further the acquaintance or not.

2. I look down on those who look down on those who are socially or economically inferior to them. I was taught at an early age to show a basic respect for all, and I look upon social snobs as appallingly ill-mannered and without class.

3. I dislike parents who hit their kids. I am not talking about an occasional tap on the butt for exceptionally bad behavior, but hard slaps that make kids cower. To me, it counts as domestic violence.

4. I judge others who pass judgments on people based on their race, nationality and sexual orientation. I am especially harsh on U.S. resident-Indians who do this, and then complain of racism when their bosses pass them over for a promotion.

5. I cannot stand those with a martyr complex. I grew up with one such person in my house, and am strongly of the opinion that you should make only those "sacrifices" which you can refrain from announcing to all and sundry who will listen and using them as leverage for sympathy.

6. I have a problem with those who publicly criticize their spouse and humiliate them. You have a problem with him/her, talk to them about it, not to the world.

7. I intensely dislike people who have no respect for privacy. It makes me see red.

Now, the admirable folks on my list:

1. I admire those who are content. It takes a special mindset to achieve peace of mind, one that requires a lot of effort.

2. I admire people who are aware of their duty toward those who are dependent on them -- and do it, even when it's often thankless.

3. I admire those who are focused and passionate about their life's work -- not for aggrandizing themselves, but for the pure joy and satisfaction it gives them.

4. I admire people who deal with frustration and stress in their life without constantly bitching to others. Life ain't a bed of roses for nobody.

5. I admire parents of developmentally challenged kids. I can't even begin to fathom their daily worries, frustrations, exhaustion...

6. I admire good writers.

7. I admire go-getters, but not those who go get by trampling all over someone else. I admire a strong character and conscience.

Well, that was easier than I thought!

Anatomy and Philosophy

2007-07-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, what does Henry have on his pee-pee?"

So, it was finally here. The 3-year-old girl had commenced the study of a lifetime on What Makes Boys and Girls Different. I knew it was coming sooner or later -- just didn't realize it was going to be sooner. But I reacted pretty calmly, I think.

"Henry has a penis, baby."

"What's that?"

"All boys have penises for pee-pee. Like all girls have vaginas." Yeah, I'm big on calling a spade a spade.

"Why?"

"Because boys are different from girls."

"So Josh has a penis too? And Jordan has a penis too? And Hugo! And Owen!" she began a list of all the boys she currently knew. Glad we made that clear.

That was pretty easy. But it got me thinking on how I would reply to Raina when she came up with other inevitable questions -- like the one about God.

I've believed in the existence of God most of my life, even though my thinking mind (and scientific husband) played havoc with that belief. On the one hand, I well understood the Big Bang Theory and the randomness of our own life on earth. On the other hand, I just believed that everything happens for a reason, that there's good in all people, that there was something spiritual about feeling one with the world around us. But lately, believing all that just hasn't been adding up for me. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Some people are just born bad -- and will stay bad all their lives. And what does feeling one with nature have to do with a god at all?

These are just a few of gazillion thoughts that dwell in my mind, and I'm far from having any answers. But believing in God stops the questioning, I think.

How do I convey all these thoughts to my little girl? The U.S. is a very God-saturated country -- a Christian God at that. I think I'd like her to know that mankind doesn't have all the answers dealing with our existence, and believing in any god gives people's lives some meaning and purpose. It makes them accept the elements in their lives that's beyond their control. That although I believe all the gods are "equal" in a sense, most people believe their god is better than anyone else's and will try to change her mind if she believes in the "wrong" kind. Then I will tell her about her heritage -- the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses. I will encourage her questions and I will admit when I don't have the answers. And if when she grows up, she decides to believe in God or not, that will be her choice, and I will have to accept it.

When I write this all down, it doesn't seem that answering her about God would be that hard. And if I don't have any definite and satisfactory answers for her, I can at least pass on my questions.

Bummer

2007-07-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

Am feeling a little bummed out today. I took Raina to the pediatric opthalmologist this morning, and it looks like despite all the carrots my 3-year-old's so fond of eating, she's going to need glasses soon. This sucks sooooo bad! Both P and I are nearsighted -- in fact, my glasses favor a soda bottle in appearance -- and I have astigmatism. And it looks like R's got the early beginnings of both nearsightedness and astigmatism.

The doctor recommended that she get glasses in around 18 months. She won't even be 5 years old!

I got glasses when I was 7-8, and I hated them, hated them, hated them... I thought I had to be the ugliest, nerdiest-looking kid on Planet Earth. Then, I have a small snub nose, and everytime I would run and play, my glasses would slide down and I'd have to keep pushing them up. It made me self-conscious, so instead of playing, I'd bury my nose in the nearest book, which didn't improve the eyesight any.

The day I switched to contact lenses is among the happiest in my life -- and that was after 7 very long years.

The doctor said I could start talking to Raina about wearing glasses now, so that 18 months later, she'll be used to the idea. I think her mom is more in need of those 18 months to adjust her attitude towards them. I have to put aside all this silly baggage I am carrying around, so I can make wearing glasses sound cool to her, so she knows that she's still pretty cute, so she knows she can still run as fast as any other kid, so she doesn't become a social moron for the rest of her childhood like her mom.

I know, I know, it's a storm in a teacup, but if I blog about it, I can start dealing with it...

Raina's To-Do List

2007-07-05T13:16:00.001-07:00

You remember when you were a kid and you couldn't wait to become a grown-up for such random joys as wearing high heels and perfume? When you were a teenager and couldn't wait to get out of the house because your parents and siblings were, as usual, impossible to live with and driving you up the wall? And now, as a parent, I want to hold on tight to time because I'm so enjoying watching my girl grow up.

Raina, on the other hand, already has a list going of things she'll do when she grows up. Here are a few fun items on her To-Do-When-Grown-Up list:

1. Drink Diet Coke like her mom. Until then, she regularly feeds her baby doll Baby Diet Coke. Come to think of it, now that Coke has a vitamin version, it might be just a matter of time before it comes out with one that's for toddlers.

2. Wear lipstick and nail polish. Yep, I am one of those moms who doesn't let her preschooler "experiment with makeup." In fact, I can get shrieky about it and realize that I am beginning to sound like my own mom as each day goes by. Aarghhhh!

3. Walk by herself on the road. That's Raina's prime ambition to date.

4. Carry her baby brother. I don't have the heart to point out that when she's a grown-up, her baby brother may be a tad too big for her to hoist around like a bag of potatoes.

5. Have babies. While Raina seems to have understood that she's too small to have her own babies, she does like to say she has a pretend baby in her belly, who by some coincidence, is also due to make his appearance in October. The other day, I placed her hand on my belly so she could feel her brother jump -- he's turning out to be athetic unlike his lazy-ass mom. Then she insisted I reciprocate, saying her baby was moving too. So I played along, putting my hand on her belly and squealing appropriately. Her face just lit up.

She's the funniest thing I've ever met.

Music Madness

2007-06-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Taking a cue from Mad Momma's blog and tagging myself to talk about the songs that hit the Billboard charts the year I turned 18 -- 1992. Those who read this, consider yourself tagged!

Here are the rules:
1. Go to http://www.popculturemadness.com/ or http://www.everyhit.com/
2. Pick the year you turned 18
3. Get nostalgic over the songs of the year
4. Write something about how the songs affected you
5. Pass it on to more music-loving bloggers

Michael Jackson's Black or White: OK, this was likely the last MJ song I loved. I thought the video was especially cool and cutting-edge, and I remember looking at MJ and thinking, boy, if it doesn't matter to him if he's black or white, why the heck does he get whiter every year?

Right Said Fred's I'm Too Sexy: Ooooooh, parttyyyyyyy! This song was played at every party and nightclub I went to! Everyone knew the words.

Vanessa Williams' Save the Best for Last: Have it on CD and still listen to it and still know all the words.

Boyz II Men's End of the Road: Tragic break up song. Sigh, sigh. Brings back bittersweet memories.

Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You: Same as above, except now I find it slightly boring. WH does go on and on. I remember I saw "The Bodyguard" at the Eros Theater near my college in Mumbai. That was unforgettable.

Your turn, folks!

NDN

2007-06-26T15:16:00.000-07:00

If you've ever seen the above decal on U.S. cars, you may have wondered what it means, like me. Last week, I found out. My friend D was visiting from my all-time fave American metro NYC, and she and I went to Anaheim Hills to grab haircuts. Our hair was treated by this amazingly nice hairstylist, who at first glance, appeared as desi as they come.

So while he shampooed my hair, I asked him if he was Indian. He guffawed out loud, saying no one had said that to him before. He wasn't Indian, but NDN (pronounced like the letters) aka American Indian, which he prefers to the "corny" native American. His family has both Kumeyaay (tribe from San Diego) and Chumash (Santa Barbara) blood, and he himself is married to an Apache from New Mexico.

He was discernably proud of his heritage, and I asked him something that had been on my mind for a long time. "Don't you -- and other native Americans -- mind being referred to as 'Indian'?" He shook his head, saying that American Indians had made the term part of their identity a long time ago. He also told me a little of the history behind the word, as he understood it:

Apparently, Christopher Columbus who's credited with "discovering" America for Queen Isabella of Spain was Italian. So his Spanish, apparently, wasn't too hot, and in his journal, he wrote about discovering the children of God in America -- "in Dios" -- which somehow got corrupted to Indian. Also, he'd believed he'd reached India. So it was a combination of factors, he said.

Don't know how far this is true. But I finally get NDN.

Notes on Yashomati

2007-06-24T14:14:00.000-07:00

As you can see below, the mountains at Yosemite were awe-inspiring. The last pic shows P. and Raina frolicking in the icy cold water (yep, that's snow you see in the hills beyond) of Lake Tenaya on our way to Tioga Pass. What you can't see are the gigantic mosquito bites P.'s back was covered with -- no one warned us about the bugs! We are so duh.

Also, what no one warned us about was how hot Yosemite Valley would be. We stayed in 90+ degrees in a wooden cabin (sans a/c, of course, this was our getting-away-to-nature fling), and the heat sapped away what little was there of my energy. As a result, we did a lot of Yosemite via a/c minivan -- very comfy -- and sympathetically watched folks in bicycles puffing up steep hills under a blazing sun. Then, there were the hikers, but never mind about them.

What we were warned about -- repeatedly -- were the bears, who apparently had a tendency to tear up cars that not only contained the processed food we cannot live without, but also innocuous boxes of Wet Ones. So P. hauled all our stuff to our wooden cabin, that looked flimsy but had to be sturdier than the tent cabins also at Curry Village. Sturdy enough to ward off a marauding bear -- that I did not know and was to spend sleepless nights worrying about.

You see, the first night we slept in our tres lumpy beds, I heard one. What I first heard were loud clanging sounds of people beating up pans. Being reasonably intelligent, I concluded that we had at least one bear on the prowl, and lay terrified, eyes wide open, the bedcovers clutched with tense fingers. Then I heard the growling. More clanging and more growls later, shots were fired, probably the rubber bullets that we read about in the Bear Aware fact sheet handed to us at check-in. Then silence. Then I hear this humongous being brushing past my cabin that shook like it was experiencing an earthquake. They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments of extreme fear, but all I could think was "F%$K!!!!!!"

And that was it.

It was probably just an half-hour of drama, but seemed like an aeon. And P. and R. slept through it all. P. was sore about missing all the action and lamented I should've woken him up. I think he's half-crazy. He didn't spend our remaining two nights there with the covers over his head. In the bloody heat, I should reiterate, because we slept with our windows soundly closed (yes, our windows were covered just by a mesh screen when the bear brushed by).

OK, so other than the heat and the bear episode, Yosemite was incredibly beautiful. It was a wonderful experience to sit on the deck outside our cabin enclosed by tall pines. No sounds of TV or music, just an occasional laugh from real live humans hanging outside their cabins playing board games or cards, or reading or watching the twilight fall softly around them, like us. The multitudinous squirrels darted around the pine cones, stopping to munch on some bug or nut. The night brought soft, cool air, scented by pine. We breathed in gulpfuls, and slowly headed out of Yosemite, making plans to be back someday.

Yosemite Pix As Promised

2007-06-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

In Recovery

2007-06-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

Returned last night and we're still in various stages of recovery. We covered 1,100+ miles in eight days, including Los Angeles, Fresno, Monterey, Solvang and trips to and within Yosemite. P.'s at the gym, R's sleeping, Pikey's in cat heaven and Mommy needs to hit the sack -- again. Will post pix as and when there's an energy influx.

Pilgrimage to Yashomati

2007-06-09T14:54:00.000-07:00

Yep, that's how one desi friend touring Amreeka pronounced Yosemite, insisting that she had it on good authority (doubtless another desi touring Amreeka). After all, the pronounciation of Yosemite by a Cali resident was bound to be suspect.

Anyhoo, the family's off leaving Pikey to guard the silver. A bientot!

HUG

2007-06-08T13:09:00.001-07:00

Raina and I were at the library recently, and while she hugged an awfully ugly grey stuffed mouse (whom she loves and regularly visits at the lib.), we cuddled together and read a board book called "HUG" by Jez Alborough. The book's about a little chimp who sees mama elephant hugging baby elephant, mama hippo hugging baby, mama lizard with baby, you get the picture. Each time, the chimp points to them and says, "HUG!" A few frames later, the chimp looks sad because everyone's hugging and he wants one too. Soon, he starts to cry "HUG!" Next thing I know, these big, fat tears are plopping down my arm. "He wants a HUG!" wails my 3-year-old. "Why is he crying?"

I am speechless. "Err, he wants to get a hug from someone who loves him," I stutter. "Where is his MAMA?" she howls. "Right here," I say relieved, pointing to the next page. Mama Chimp yells "Bobo!" Baby Chimp yells back "Mama!" And they run towards each other and hug, very hindi movie style. Raina chuckles through her tears. All the animals hug each other, yelling "HUG!" one last time for good measure. The end.

We checked out the book at her insistence. She read it again, cried again. The third time she read it, she gave the book a hug to comfort Bobo. I am still nonplussed -- should I have read a book that obviously made her sad? Why did she want to read it again if it made her cry? Can kids that little be that empathetic? Is it good for them? I guess the third time she read it, she didn't cry and gave Bobo a hug. Is that about learning to control emotions and take action?

Am scratching my head over it.

Of Nightmares

2007-06-04T05:10:00.000-07:00

It's 5 a.m. and I've been up for more than an hour. What woke me up was a wonderful nightmare about being bit by a waspy-spidery-black thingy, which definitely is up there among the pantheon of night monsters, including serial killers (who've also been my bed buddies offlate).

So waspy-spidery-black thingy bit me and I woke up biting off a scream of pure yuckiness. Then the mindwheels began to churn, the hunger pangs hit, and further sleep being temporarily futile, I am up and blogging while downing a bowl of Kashi Go Lean with milk.

P's up too, only for him, it's usual. He actually wakes up early on some weekdays to go to the gym before heading to work -- a dedication and discipline I admire but have consistently refused to emulate. I love my bed usually and detach myself from it only with the greatest reluctance. Don't know what it is with pregnancy and nightmares. Yet another way for nature to prepare mommies for forthcoming sleepless nights? Nooooo, I am not even in my 3rd trimester -- still got a few months to go.

I see the first glimmer of light from my window. If I want to grab some zzz's, it's now or never.

It's a Boy...

2007-06-01T13:49:00.000-07:00

...oh joy! Both P and I are really thrilled to eventually have one of each, and even Raina quickly reconciled to the idea of having a baby brother -- largely due to Mommy telling Naani Raina that she'll be free to teach him how to sing and talk and eat and take baths. She's especially glad to be able to teach him not to scratch or hit her like Nemesis Henry does at her preschool ("I'll just tell him, 'NO! That's not nice," Raina says emphatically). She's even promised to share ALL her toys with her baby brother! I can't ask for more.

It's interesting that a lot of friends and family reacted not only positively (which was expected), but by saying, "Now, your family's complete." What the heck does that mean? Wouldn't my family have been complete with the addition of a baby girl as well? Or if we'd decided to stick to one child only (and heaven knows we've contemplated that), would we have always been made to feel there was a spot vacant on the table of 4 so to speak? (OK, no one's counting Pikey The Cat, but then she has terrible table manners.)

Just odd little irritants on an otherwise joyful time which we largely spend contemplating boy baby names. :) Suggestions are welcome. The rules are, it's got to have no more than 2 syllables and be easy for non-desis to pronounce.

The Times of India

2007-05-30T09:11:00.000-07:00

I got this e-mail and thought it was so funny, I had to share it on the blog:

OLD VERSION...
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks the ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the ant is warm and well fed. The grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.

MODERN VERSION…
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks the ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.

NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house. Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other grasshoppers demanding that grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter. Amnesty International and Kofi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the grasshopper. The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support for the grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance). Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for "Bharat Bandh" in West Bengal and Kerala demands a Judicial Enquiry. CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among ants and grasshoppers.

Lallu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Finally, the Judicial Committee drafts the Prevention of Terrorism Against Grasshoppers Act [POTAGA], with effect from the beginning of the winter.

Arjun Singh makes Special Reservation for Grasshopper in educational insititutions & in Govt. Services.The ant is fined for failing to comply with POTAGA and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.

Arundhati Roy calls it "a triumph of justice". Lallu calls it 'Socialistic Justice'. CPM calls it the 'revolutionary resurgence of the downtrodden.' Kofi Annan invites the grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.

Many years later... The ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi billion dollar company in Silicon Valley. 100s of grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservations somewhere in India ... As a result of losing a lot of hard working ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.

Happy 33 to Me!

2007-05-27T15:10:00.001-07:00

Now that I've reached the ripe old age of 33, I think it's time to share some of the pearls of wisdom I've gathered in all these years. Without further ado, here they are:

1. There's no God, just a deep need to believe in one.

2. Lower your expectations of others; increase your expectations of yourself.

3. Blood isn't always thicker than water.

4. The best parent is a patient one.

5. Say what you feel, and make it count.

6. Solitude keeps me sane -- and abject laziness.

7. Take the mundane with the marvelous.

8. Just say "Om."

9. Be irreverent, not irrelevant.

10. And the last pearl: Worship your body, if you want others to follow suit. :P