Nick-man starts school tomorrow. One of his many firsts. I am nervous and feel like holding on to him. As I packed his lunch (two fish cutlets with ketchup and cantelope) and showed him where his snacks were, I imagined him - opening this very same bag in his cafeteria surrounded by new faces. I know he is safe there and will manage just fine, but that does not stop the fluttering of the butterflies in my gut.
Tomorrow is also my first day at my new job. I will miss the familiar faces, my co-workers turned friends whom I shared my bit of life every day for six and half years. I hope I will fit in, fit in quick and hit the ground running.
It bothers me that I am not there to drop Nick-man on his first day of school. As I folded and kept the clothes he will wear tomorrow (brown shorts, orannge tee), I imagined him walking into his class holding his Daddy's hand. Ms. G, his teacher, will greet them both and Mr. Upsi will walk away. Nick, I wish I was there to kiss you then.
I will wait to get back home and share our stories on our first day of school/work.
Alright, my little one - outward and onward. Together let's fly.
Shine on.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
വിഷു കണി
ഇന്ന് വിഷു.
സൂര്യനെയും തോല്‍പ്പിച്ച് ഉണര്‍ന്
വിഷു കണി ഒരുക്കി.
മകനും പുരുഷനും
കണ്ണ് അടച്ചു
തോളില്‍ കൈയിട്ടു
നിന്റെ സന്നിധാനത്തില്‍
എത്തിച്ചു.
പിന്നെ, ഇട്ളിയും ചമ്മന്തിയും
കാപിയും പായസവും
കൈനീട്ടവും.
ധിറുതിയില്‍ കാര്‍ ഓടിച്ചു
ജോല്ലിക് വന്നു
കസേരയില്‍ ഇരുന്നപോള്‍
ഉള്ളില്‍ നിന്നും ഒരു
നെടുവീര്പ്...
ഒരു നൊമ്പരം..
എന്തോ മറന്നതുപോലെ....
കണ്ണാ, നിന്‍ മുഖം
ഒന്ന് നേരെ കാണുകപോലും
ചെയിതില്ല.
ജീവതത്തിന്റെ നെടോട്ടത്തില്‍,
കണ്മുമ്പില്‍ വന്നിട്ടും,
കാണാമറയത് എന്നപോല്‍..
സൂര്യനെയും തോല്‍പ്പിച്ച് ഉണര്‍ന്
വിഷു കണി ഒരുക്കി.
മകനും പുരുഷനും
കണ്ണ് അടച്ചു
തോളില്‍ കൈയിട്ടു
നിന്റെ സന്നിധാനത്തില്‍
എത്തിച്ചു.
പിന്നെ, ഇട്ളിയും ചമ്മന്തിയും
കാപിയും പായസവും
കൈനീട്ടവും.
ധിറുതിയില്‍ കാര്‍ ഓടിച്ചു
ജോല്ലിക് വന്നു
കസേരയില്‍ ഇരുന്നപോള്‍
ഉള്ളില്‍ നിന്നും ഒരു
നെടുവീര്പ്...
ഒരു നൊമ്പരം..
എന്തോ മറന്നതുപോലെ....
കണ്ണാ, നിന്‍ മുഖം
ഒന്ന് നേരെ കാണുകപോലും
ചെയിതില്ല.
ജീവതത്തിന്റെ നെടോട്ടത്തില്‍,
കണ്മുമ്പില്‍ വന്നിട്ടും,
കാണാമറയത് എന്നപോല്‍..
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
In memory of Ashram
From my room, I could see the river Periyar. Sometimes, between the bamboo trees that my father planted on the banks, I could see a country boat sailing by, in a soothing rhythm, craddled by the river. The water, as the oars slide pass through it, made a special rippling sound. I remember sitting on the steps, water gliding my feet, hearing the oars and the distant sound of someone washing their clothes on the banks of the river. No matter how hot a day is, I will be shiedled from the harsh afternoon sun by the bamboo, mango and jackfruit trees. There would be mynahs, crows and occasional kingfishers. All these have now dwindled into the night stories I tell my firsborn, as I struggle to keep myself awake.
I recall the many mornings I woke up, opened the bedroom window and stood there, watching the river. But there were equally (if not more) numerous other times, when in a teenaged hurry, I rushed to my college without a single glance at her. Had I known that within a few years I would be so far away from her, that a gentle afternoon breeze would evoke nostalgia and that to be back again would take weeks of preparation and planning -- had I known all these -- maybe I would have embraced those moments a bit longer.
Ammuma and I shared the bedroom. Our room had two oldwooden beds, kept together, a soft mattress on it and a few pillows. Ammuma slept on the side next to the window facing the river and I slept next to her, facing my study table. There was a small almariah for Ammuma's clothes. It smelled of camphor whenever she opened it. Inside the almariah, there was a chest and she kept old letters and pictures. I loved digging through it every once in a while. There was also the quintessential balm, Bengay, and I used to rub it on her back. My clothes were inside an almariah in a different room. There was also a shelf with my books and on top of the shelf, there was this CD player that did not work properly. A very heavy fluoreschent blue candle holder that Thampi Veliyachan got from his office was kept on the lid of the CD player and that seemed to make it work.
In the evenings, Ammuma will lit the lamp in our pooja room, which was on the upstairs veranda adjacent to our bedroom. On one side of the veranda was our pooja area and a thookumanjam (wooden oonjal/cradle) occupied the rest of the space. The light breeze that swaddled river Periyar would eventually come to us sitting on the thookumanjam. Sometimes I used to lie down on the thookumanjam when she chanted the evening prayers and was always scolded and asked to sit, instead of lying down during the sandhya-neram. We also had a thulasi thara on our front porch and we used to light a small lamp over there too.
I miss her and my home.
Monsoons were extra special. The greenery that surrounded our home, the Periyar that overflowed and gave a fiery look to her, the fury of the winds, the beauty of the rains-- and to watch it all from our veranda -- it tugs my heart and I ache for it..
Ammuma and I stayed together when my parents left to the US after my sister got married. I fought with her every single day, but in the night, I slept embracing her and when she woke me up in the mornings after her pooja, there was a faint smell of bhasmam, saambraani and chandanam. Sometimes I will lie awake in the bed hearing her chants and watching the amber flick that reflected on the glass window from the oil lamp. Sun rise would be a few minutes away and to this day, the calmness I felt on those mornings remain irreplaceable.
Some days, I will decide to go the temple with her and I will promise her so, the night before. I did not always keep my promise. But those days that I did, I would wake up with her, have our tea and take a shower and we would walk to the Narasimha temple or the Manapuram temple. There would be hardly anyone on the streets, a few temple go-ers, early office and tution go-ers. Once inside the sanctum sanatorium of the temple, Ammuma would immerse in her prayers (which I assume were her pleas for a better life for her three children and six grandchildren) and I would stand close to her, letting the peace of dawn engulf me. Sometimes the Nambiar-maash would play his edakka and to stand there, listening to him play was a treat. I am not a religious person, but the divinity I still feel about the temples I used to frequent has been my achor many times afterward.
Not far from our home, but not walkable either, is another temple, supposed to be built by Perumthachan. The temple is beautiful, more so because it remained untouched by Daivasom board to modernize it and retained its original structure. (It has been 9 years since I last visited this temple and perhaps it might have also caught up with the times and would not be as raw as it once was). One evening, I remember being there and the priests were just lighting the lamps on the temple premises. Once inside, it was still a bit dark but that would soon give way to light once the lamps were fully lit. Suddenly someone started singing a keerthanam and I stood there mesmerized. It was most beautiful - something that is still etched in my memory.
There is another memory associated with this same temple: The drive to this temple is a bit tricky and the road (built above an aqueduct) is narrow and allowed only one way traffic. My sister was driving our white Omni van and not being an experienced driver, was a bit fearful of that road. However, Achan asked her to go ahead and drive and not being the one to disobey (that was solely my domain) she did. Half way up the aqueduct, she saw an autorickshaw coming down and got tensed. I wanted to jump out and run, but decided to stay put. The auto driver, seeing a young girl at the wheel, decided to scare her (this is my take on the story) and kept coming forward. My sister was fully tensed and was looking at Dad for advice. I don't recall much what happened afterwards, but our van scratched the auto, a crowd gathered, Dad asked my sister to move and sat on the driver seat and exchanged a few pleasantries with the driver and we drove away.
Sitting here in Dallas, on a bright sun shiny Wednesday afternoon, my thoughts wandered like the floating clouds above me and gave way to this post.
I recall the many mornings I woke up, opened the bedroom window and stood there, watching the river. But there were equally (if not more) numerous other times, when in a teenaged hurry, I rushed to my college without a single glance at her. Had I known that within a few years I would be so far away from her, that a gentle afternoon breeze would evoke nostalgia and that to be back again would take weeks of preparation and planning -- had I known all these -- maybe I would have embraced those moments a bit longer.
Ammuma and I shared the bedroom. Our room had two oldwooden beds, kept together, a soft mattress on it and a few pillows. Ammuma slept on the side next to the window facing the river and I slept next to her, facing my study table. There was a small almariah for Ammuma's clothes. It smelled of camphor whenever she opened it. Inside the almariah, there was a chest and she kept old letters and pictures. I loved digging through it every once in a while. There was also the quintessential balm, Bengay, and I used to rub it on her back. My clothes were inside an almariah in a different room. There was also a shelf with my books and on top of the shelf, there was this CD player that did not work properly. A very heavy fluoreschent blue candle holder that Thampi Veliyachan got from his office was kept on the lid of the CD player and that seemed to make it work.
In the evenings, Ammuma will lit the lamp in our pooja room, which was on the upstairs veranda adjacent to our bedroom. On one side of the veranda was our pooja area and a thookumanjam (wooden oonjal/cradle) occupied the rest of the space. The light breeze that swaddled river Periyar would eventually come to us sitting on the thookumanjam. Sometimes I used to lie down on the thookumanjam when she chanted the evening prayers and was always scolded and asked to sit, instead of lying down during the sandhya-neram. We also had a thulasi thara on our front porch and we used to light a small lamp over there too.
I miss her and my home.
Monsoons were extra special. The greenery that surrounded our home, the Periyar that overflowed and gave a fiery look to her, the fury of the winds, the beauty of the rains-- and to watch it all from our veranda -- it tugs my heart and I ache for it..
Ammuma and I stayed together when my parents left to the US after my sister got married. I fought with her every single day, but in the night, I slept embracing her and when she woke me up in the mornings after her pooja, there was a faint smell of bhasmam, saambraani and chandanam. Sometimes I will lie awake in the bed hearing her chants and watching the amber flick that reflected on the glass window from the oil lamp. Sun rise would be a few minutes away and to this day, the calmness I felt on those mornings remain irreplaceable.
Some days, I will decide to go the temple with her and I will promise her so, the night before. I did not always keep my promise. But those days that I did, I would wake up with her, have our tea and take a shower and we would walk to the Narasimha temple or the Manapuram temple. There would be hardly anyone on the streets, a few temple go-ers, early office and tution go-ers. Once inside the sanctum sanatorium of the temple, Ammuma would immerse in her prayers (which I assume were her pleas for a better life for her three children and six grandchildren) and I would stand close to her, letting the peace of dawn engulf me. Sometimes the Nambiar-maash would play his edakka and to stand there, listening to him play was a treat. I am not a religious person, but the divinity I still feel about the temples I used to frequent has been my achor many times afterward.
Not far from our home, but not walkable either, is another temple, supposed to be built by Perumthachan. The temple is beautiful, more so because it remained untouched by Daivasom board to modernize it and retained its original structure. (It has been 9 years since I last visited this temple and perhaps it might have also caught up with the times and would not be as raw as it once was). One evening, I remember being there and the priests were just lighting the lamps on the temple premises. Once inside, it was still a bit dark but that would soon give way to light once the lamps were fully lit. Suddenly someone started singing a keerthanam and I stood there mesmerized. It was most beautiful - something that is still etched in my memory.
There is another memory associated with this same temple: The drive to this temple is a bit tricky and the road (built above an aqueduct) is narrow and allowed only one way traffic. My sister was driving our white Omni van and not being an experienced driver, was a bit fearful of that road. However, Achan asked her to go ahead and drive and not being the one to disobey (that was solely my domain) she did. Half way up the aqueduct, she saw an autorickshaw coming down and got tensed. I wanted to jump out and run, but decided to stay put. The auto driver, seeing a young girl at the wheel, decided to scare her (this is my take on the story) and kept coming forward. My sister was fully tensed and was looking at Dad for advice. I don't recall much what happened afterwards, but our van scratched the auto, a crowd gathered, Dad asked my sister to move and sat on the driver seat and exchanged a few pleasantries with the driver and we drove away.
Sitting here in Dallas, on a bright sun shiny Wednesday afternoon, my thoughts wandered like the floating clouds above me and gave way to this post.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Subterranean thoughts of a mommy mind
A few weeks ago, I went to Nick-man's school for enrolling him into KinderGarten. As I parked my car and stepped out, holding the file with his paperwork, I was hit by an unknown wave. I looked around, trying to absorb everything around me - the play area where you would be running happily, the alleyway where you would walk quietly, the little metal bench where you might sit waiting for me to come pick you up. It is going to be a new chapter in my life and yours. Come August, you will be walking this corridor, with a pace of someone who belongs to the surroundings he is in.
I walk into the suite and I can feel the tremor in my voice as I ask for the enrollment office. A lady (whom I later leant as the school nurse) directs me to the office and I walk in. I look around anxiously, this time though I am trying to see what would capture your eyes and attention in this room. I spot cowboy boots and hat - maybe you will like that. The school's mascot is Mustang - surely, you would be thrilled with that!
I am handed the application papers and I sit down to write your name, your parents name, contact numbers and address; I fill in the immunization part and all the sundry details. I am in the last page and there are two questions (the exact words skip my mind, but in effect, it asks: - what are your child's strong and weak points; is there anything else we need to know of him?
In three to four lines. I need to desrcibe you.
Before I panic and wonder what I should write, I smile, thinking, had we gone with the original plan of Mr. Upsi doing the enrollment, I would have received an impatient phone call asking me to tell him on the phone what he should write.
But it is I who is in the office. Nothing comes to me but images of you smiling, that twinkle in your eyes, the eagerness in which you want to help me (when I least want it), the way you hug me and kiss me. But I don't intend to write all that and let you be stamped as the child of that lunatic mom! There is still time for that. Times that I will be an embarassment to you. I hope I will remember all those times and embarass you further on your wedding day as I give the toast. Oh yeah, baby! I can already see Mr. Upsi's forced smile and pleading me to calm down and take a seat. And don't you dare get married into a family that understands no Malaylam**. Because one of the songs I plan to dance to is a Mohanlal number and the jokes on my toast will have Tintumom and AanaUrumbu series. You betcha, I will have your mother-in-law run for her money! Oh the joy that awaits me..
Anyways.
So I tell them, that my child is a strickler of rules, when it comes from an authority he considers high of (the school being the top one on his list and no brownies for guessing the bottom of his list). That you have good focus and attention and will see to it that a task is not left unfinished ( I wrote this thinking of the many times I told you that your homework could wait and let's go play and you would inturn tell me that you are almost done and will be with me in one minute, mommy). I remember smiling and watching you - in your own world, your face so rapt and occupied. I remember that surge of love I felt you for you then :)
I told them that you would listen to his teacher and will do what his five year old mind can, to please her.
And I told them, that, you migh be the last person to raise your hand when asked for a volunter. That, you are shy and likes to be within a shell you create. I asked them to push you out of your comfort zone, to challenge you and that a poke from his teacher to stand up and face the crowd is all that might take for you to break that shell.
I hope I told them the right thing.
I want to tell them to take special care of you. To not break your wings before it sprouts. I want them to build a confident you. And oh, would they please watch him and make sure he is not bullied. Because you are not going to pick a fight and when faced with one, you will be timid and scared. I do not know what your instinct would be and that unknown scares me. Because I cannot rush to you, snatch you from them and protect you. Because you are on your own and my hands do not always reach you. I will stroke your hair and kiss you good night, but the next day you are the one facing it solo and I hope you are ready for that.
And I want them to make you ready.
But then, this would be what the million mothers before me sat and thought. This would be what the millions after me would think. For you and the ones like you - are all very special.
I hope you enjoy your days in this new school, Nick-man. I hope you make friends and will learn right from wrong. I hope this transition to big boy is easy on you and I hope you will enjoy this journey.
I hope I can guide you well and when you are up there, I hope you will be happy.
Go give your best shot, son.
** To the Danish daughter-in-law who is reading this now: Come on now, you know I always wanted a Danish girl for him. Malayalees are all so pooof! And yes, please go ahead with your plan and bake that orange glazed pineapple upside down cake for me and yeah, barley sticks for your Dad-in-law.
I walk into the suite and I can feel the tremor in my voice as I ask for the enrollment office. A lady (whom I later leant as the school nurse) directs me to the office and I walk in. I look around anxiously, this time though I am trying to see what would capture your eyes and attention in this room. I spot cowboy boots and hat - maybe you will like that. The school's mascot is Mustang - surely, you would be thrilled with that!
I am handed the application papers and I sit down to write your name, your parents name, contact numbers and address; I fill in the immunization part and all the sundry details. I am in the last page and there are two questions (the exact words skip my mind, but in effect, it asks: - what are your child's strong and weak points; is there anything else we need to know of him?
In three to four lines. I need to desrcibe you.
Before I panic and wonder what I should write, I smile, thinking, had we gone with the original plan of Mr. Upsi doing the enrollment, I would have received an impatient phone call asking me to tell him on the phone what he should write.
But it is I who is in the office. Nothing comes to me but images of you smiling, that twinkle in your eyes, the eagerness in which you want to help me (when I least want it), the way you hug me and kiss me. But I don't intend to write all that and let you be stamped as the child of that lunatic mom! There is still time for that. Times that I will be an embarassment to you. I hope I will remember all those times and embarass you further on your wedding day as I give the toast. Oh yeah, baby! I can already see Mr. Upsi's forced smile and pleading me to calm down and take a seat. And don't you dare get married into a family that understands no Malaylam**. Because one of the songs I plan to dance to is a Mohanlal number and the jokes on my toast will have Tintumom and AanaUrumbu series. You betcha, I will have your mother-in-law run for her money! Oh the joy that awaits me..
Anyways.
So I tell them, that my child is a strickler of rules, when it comes from an authority he considers high of (the school being the top one on his list and no brownies for guessing the bottom of his list). That you have good focus and attention and will see to it that a task is not left unfinished ( I wrote this thinking of the many times I told you that your homework could wait and let's go play and you would inturn tell me that you are almost done and will be with me in one minute, mommy). I remember smiling and watching you - in your own world, your face so rapt and occupied. I remember that surge of love I felt you for you then :)
I told them that you would listen to his teacher and will do what his five year old mind can, to please her.
And I told them, that, you migh be the last person to raise your hand when asked for a volunter. That, you are shy and likes to be within a shell you create. I asked them to push you out of your comfort zone, to challenge you and that a poke from his teacher to stand up and face the crowd is all that might take for you to break that shell.
I hope I told them the right thing.
I want to tell them to take special care of you. To not break your wings before it sprouts. I want them to build a confident you. And oh, would they please watch him and make sure he is not bullied. Because you are not going to pick a fight and when faced with one, you will be timid and scared. I do not know what your instinct would be and that unknown scares me. Because I cannot rush to you, snatch you from them and protect you. Because you are on your own and my hands do not always reach you. I will stroke your hair and kiss you good night, but the next day you are the one facing it solo and I hope you are ready for that.
And I want them to make you ready.
But then, this would be what the million mothers before me sat and thought. This would be what the millions after me would think. For you and the ones like you - are all very special.
I hope you enjoy your days in this new school, Nick-man. I hope you make friends and will learn right from wrong. I hope this transition to big boy is easy on you and I hope you will enjoy this journey.
I hope I can guide you well and when you are up there, I hope you will be happy.
Go give your best shot, son.
** To the Danish daughter-in-law who is reading this now: Come on now, you know I always wanted a Danish girl for him. Malayalees are all so pooof! And yes, please go ahead with your plan and bake that orange glazed pineapple upside down cake for me and yeah, barley sticks for your Dad-in-law.
Friday, March 04, 2011
The inner conundrum
So much, so soon.
But before the windy time sweeps away the dust of my memory, I thought I might as well put my pen to paper. Already much have been delayed and the orange hue of dusk vague my clear bright dawn.
My lil one is no longer little; but a lanky soon-to-be five year old. Five years! Damn it. The new one that crawled into the lil one's territory is a bubbly bundle of energy in a fourteen month old form. Between the two of them, I experience the essentials of life - love, joy, wrath, warmth, anger, sorrow, fear, jealously, excitement - all of it wrapped and handed to me in sometimes as less than a minute. Never a dull moment with the two of them, but some days I am so overwhelmed - I feel like closing my ears, shutting the door and sleep undisturbed for three straight hours and wake up to a clean tidy home with healthy meals prepared and stored in the fridge. What? A girl gotta dream, sistah!
My five year old can be the sweetest boy ever to inhabit Mother Earth and don't you dare tell me all mothers feel that way about their offspring. Hey, you have not met my son, have you? He folds clothes, washes the dirty dishes (and I praise him high and mighty when I spot Mr.Upsi within audible range), look after his baby brother while their mom take a loo-break, eager to please, clean up his toys, finishes his home work with the utmost focus and sits quietly reading his book when asked to.
What? You think I am making this up and is in a mother's paradise?
Again, you haven't met my son, sistah!
But sometimes and this 'sometimes' can vary from 3 days at a stretch to weekday evenings only to weekend afternoons only to all day long. OK, I got that covered alright! So, 'sometimes', this very same gangly five year old can beat the tantrum record of all five year old's combined world-wide. He shouts, disobeys, shows-off, back answers, trigger my this-is-it pulse, whines and cries with that most unpleasant noise ever to trigger my this-is-it pulse again and I cry and plead to God on - why oh why did he inherit all of Mr. Upsi's genes and not an ounce of mine, for surely, mine is far superior than Mr. Upsi's and surely, I do not whine and cry and trigger Mr. Upsi's this-is-it pulse, ever. Like in, ever ever. Do I?
So you are telling me that five year old's are individuals in their own right, albeit a few feet smaller, but that they have their own brain with functions and emotions just like yours and mine? That, they are not an extension(they were, until we cut off the umbilical cord) of parents and that they are not robots to function according to our needs and necessities?
That sounds so wrong, doesn't it?
Surely, kids need to follow the rules and God forbid, they put their thinking shoes on (never mind, we ask them to). They make it sound like our rules were never clear in the first place. Now what - they are questioning us? Such cheekiness.
No, I am not, as a parent, going to change my stance. Uh-ha. Not me. I am the SuperMom and supermoms do not change rules, but stand by their rules. So when my five year old beg and plead with me to stay with him for -just five more minutes mom - and blow the bubbles for him so he could run and burst as many as he can; surely I need to stand by my own rules that it is dinner time and we need to get inside the house NOW and RIGHT now. Succumbing to his pleas is surely a sign of my weakened parenting style and I am not going to burst that bubble of mine, am I?
This is where I am caught most days.
The new age parenting dilemma. Some days I do not even know what the rules are to begin with. I want the best for my boys, no doubt. But that does not come down to providing them with the very best. Sometimes I need to let it all go and teach them the great ancient art of Indian Leisure.
The thing though, that haunts me every now and then, is the self-doubt. Deny it and I am lying. When he is all bright and cheery, I don't even bother to do the self check. But when he is on a tantrum drive and I hear his unreasonable arguments; the monster creeps in. I shout at him not to shout at me. I whack him when he is kicking me. I tell him in the most authoritative way that it is NOT acceptable behaviour.
Moments later, I bathe in guilt and shame. The fear in his eyes when I strike with anger, the way he crouches his scrawny self -- somewhere in between, the uncomfortable feeling of having crushed his spirits. Surely there is another way to get across my point. So I look ahead and wait for my next turn (I don't have to wait too long:)). To be a better person so I could be a better parent. To shield him is to guard my own tongue. To be gentle, for he sees me for what I am and not what I tell him he ought to be.
But whom am I kidding. This cycle will continue but as long as I pause and ponder, I should be good. Maybe it is when I think I cannot change any more and parenting can go to hell, maybe that is when the royal screw goes missing and comes to me in all its glory.
As for my babies - the older one has figured me out, the younger one is learning. We will continue blowing bubbles in the sunshine, we will chase the rabbits and butterflies, we will yelp in joy when the flock of birds pass our sky, we will play tag and hideandseek and ball, inevitably one of us will fall down and cry; and the rest of us will back him up and get him back to his feet....
p.s: this post started with an objective of writing silly little things about my children. But since it is all about me, it ended on a very me-note.
But before the windy time sweeps away the dust of my memory, I thought I might as well put my pen to paper. Already much have been delayed and the orange hue of dusk vague my clear bright dawn.
My lil one is no longer little; but a lanky soon-to-be five year old. Five years! Damn it. The new one that crawled into the lil one's territory is a bubbly bundle of energy in a fourteen month old form. Between the two of them, I experience the essentials of life - love, joy, wrath, warmth, anger, sorrow, fear, jealously, excitement - all of it wrapped and handed to me in sometimes as less than a minute. Never a dull moment with the two of them, but some days I am so overwhelmed - I feel like closing my ears, shutting the door and sleep undisturbed for three straight hours and wake up to a clean tidy home with healthy meals prepared and stored in the fridge. What? A girl gotta dream, sistah!
My five year old can be the sweetest boy ever to inhabit Mother Earth and don't you dare tell me all mothers feel that way about their offspring. Hey, you have not met my son, have you? He folds clothes, washes the dirty dishes (and I praise him high and mighty when I spot Mr.Upsi within audible range), look after his baby brother while their mom take a loo-break, eager to please, clean up his toys, finishes his home work with the utmost focus and sits quietly reading his book when asked to.
What? You think I am making this up and is in a mother's paradise?
Again, you haven't met my son, sistah!
But sometimes and this 'sometimes' can vary from 3 days at a stretch to weekday evenings only to weekend afternoons only to all day long. OK, I got that covered alright! So, 'sometimes', this very same gangly five year old can beat the tantrum record of all five year old's combined world-wide. He shouts, disobeys, shows-off, back answers, trigger my this-is-it pulse, whines and cries with that most unpleasant noise ever to trigger my this-is-it pulse again and I cry and plead to God on - why oh why did he inherit all of Mr. Upsi's genes and not an ounce of mine, for surely, mine is far superior than Mr. Upsi's and surely, I do not whine and cry and trigger Mr. Upsi's this-is-it pulse, ever. Like in, ever ever. Do I?
So you are telling me that five year old's are individuals in their own right, albeit a few feet smaller, but that they have their own brain with functions and emotions just like yours and mine? That, they are not an extension(they were, until we cut off the umbilical cord) of parents and that they are not robots to function according to our needs and necessities?
That sounds so wrong, doesn't it?
Surely, kids need to follow the rules and God forbid, they put their thinking shoes on (never mind, we ask them to). They make it sound like our rules were never clear in the first place. Now what - they are questioning us? Such cheekiness.
No, I am not, as a parent, going to change my stance. Uh-ha. Not me. I am the SuperMom and supermoms do not change rules, but stand by their rules. So when my five year old beg and plead with me to stay with him for -just five more minutes mom - and blow the bubbles for him so he could run and burst as many as he can; surely I need to stand by my own rules that it is dinner time and we need to get inside the house NOW and RIGHT now. Succumbing to his pleas is surely a sign of my weakened parenting style and I am not going to burst that bubble of mine, am I?
This is where I am caught most days.
The new age parenting dilemma. Some days I do not even know what the rules are to begin with. I want the best for my boys, no doubt. But that does not come down to providing them with the very best. Sometimes I need to let it all go and teach them the great ancient art of Indian Leisure.
The thing though, that haunts me every now and then, is the self-doubt. Deny it and I am lying. When he is all bright and cheery, I don't even bother to do the self check. But when he is on a tantrum drive and I hear his unreasonable arguments; the monster creeps in. I shout at him not to shout at me. I whack him when he is kicking me. I tell him in the most authoritative way that it is NOT acceptable behaviour.
Moments later, I bathe in guilt and shame. The fear in his eyes when I strike with anger, the way he crouches his scrawny self -- somewhere in between, the uncomfortable feeling of having crushed his spirits. Surely there is another way to get across my point. So I look ahead and wait for my next turn (I don't have to wait too long:)). To be a better person so I could be a better parent. To shield him is to guard my own tongue. To be gentle, for he sees me for what I am and not what I tell him he ought to be.
But whom am I kidding. This cycle will continue but as long as I pause and ponder, I should be good. Maybe it is when I think I cannot change any more and parenting can go to hell, maybe that is when the royal screw goes missing and comes to me in all its glory.
As for my babies - the older one has figured me out, the younger one is learning. We will continue blowing bubbles in the sunshine, we will chase the rabbits and butterflies, we will yelp in joy when the flock of birds pass our sky, we will play tag and hideandseek and ball, inevitably one of us will fall down and cry; and the rest of us will back him up and get him back to his feet....
p.s: this post started with an objective of writing silly little things about my children. But since it is all about me, it ended on a very me-note.
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