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!
Monday, May 04, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mouthing Off
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.
"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.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
American Born Confused Desi Cat
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.
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.
Friday, March 27, 2009
"If Pappu Can't Dance..."
"..., 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.
Somehow she's not convinced.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Quid Pro Quo
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.
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.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Yoga Epiphanies
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.
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.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
All Those Who're Tired of Reading About Michael Phelps...
... 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.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
You Know You're Old When...
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.
Friday, January 09, 2009
This Tag's in the Bag, Ana!
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!
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!
Monday, December 29, 2008
2008 in Pix (Part 2)
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!
P.S. Happy New 2009 to my fellow bloggers! Wish everyone a joyful, lively year ahead!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Weaning Day
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
What They Hate About Mumbai
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
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/29/opinion/29mehta.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&emc=eta1&adxnnlx=1228239835-INt8tj3itWTx8DdQjAZuTg
Monday, December 01, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Mumbai Madness
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.
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.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
LV4FUN
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
OMG!
"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?
"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?
Monday, November 03, 2008
The Catch-All Post
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!
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!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Why Men Cheat
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.
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.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Got Game?
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...
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...
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