In defense of NO

I was watching a programme on parenting the other day. There was this daddy who seemed quite hands on. “So you think one shouldn’t say ‘no’ too frequently to the kids?” asked the pretty compere. “I think one should completely remove the word ‘no’ from one’s dictionary,” he emphasized. “Kids learn primarily by observation. Too much supervision and saying ‘no’ all the time isn’t healthy,” said he.
No saying no? I imagined Hrit wielding his gada unchecked hammering the walls, the sofa, the bed and occasionally Naisha.. and then Naisha with her scissors and glue stick cutting up and pasting whatever she could lay her hands on…bills, clothes, books, her hair…. No no not possible I thought.
But then I have this problem of constantly evaluating myself and wondering if I’m doing the right thing with my kids. Self doubt is always waiting in the wings. Am I a very inflexible mother? I wondered. 
Well I thought I must at least give the dad’s theory a chance. Then Naisha asked if she could do water colours. It was evening, I was tired, the maid had left for the day and we just had about half an hour before I took them down to play. Besides I had promised myself half hour of writing before we went down. And so ‘No’ was my instinct. “Yes,” I said as I thought of the dad on the telly.
I laid out the newspapers, brought out the colours, paper, paintbrushes and water in the balcony. I left the two of them peacefully mixing colours. Great, I thought, it works. I got out my laptop keeping my promise with myself. As I immersed myself in my writing I was conscious of Hrit going in and out of the balcony and happy laughter. “I should have done this before,” I thought vaguely.

 After a while, done with my piece I went out in the balcony and this is what I saw.

Bliss
All the paints had been mixed together into one black muddle. Glasses of water had been poured to make a small black lake. The newspaper which was supposed to keep the paint off the floor had long since given way and lay in a soggy mess. The hands, feet, clothes hadn’t escaped the black either.
If I could have found the TV dad I would have dunked his head in the black pool. No luck, though. I let go the kids with the mandatory telling off… no losing my head.. pat on the back for that.
Then came the cleaning up. I rushed them to the bathroom and followed them wiping their tiny black footprints all the way. I told them to clean themselves while I cleared up the balcony. When I got back to the bathroom I was welcomed with another black mess – the washbasin, the soap, even the pot…
The idea of going down was given up in favour of a big tub bath. This is called having your cake and eating it too – first enjoy a mess-up and then have fun at the bath.
Bring on the foam
Learnings from the exercise:
1. Keep your Yeses close but your Nos closer.
2. Hands on dads are still just dads!
3. Everything you watch on the telly might not work for you.
4. Listen to everyone but follow your instincts.
5. Have faith in yourself. (Repeat 50 times)
While on ‘No’ I have to add that ‘No’ is certainly not all bad. All my life I’ve read books like ‘Don’t say Yes when you want to say No’. I’ve always found it extremely tough to say No even to strangers or to people who don’t really matter to me. Yes I have, though Hrit Naisha might not believe it. In contrast it comes a bit too easily to them. (Finish your milk: NO, Put down your gada: NO, Switch off the television: NO). It’s tough on me yet I hope they retain their ability to say No when they grow up, rather than turning into people pleasers.
Hrit Naisha if you’re listening.. always remember a ‘No’ clear and strong, will keep you away from a lot of harm. It rhymes too. Yay!

Before I was a mum…

I never

Learnt to connect with the entire baby tribe dismissing them as a noisy, demanding bunch of inconveniences.

Stared back indignantly at co passengers in the flight who seemed to think of kids as a noisy, demanding bunch of inconveniences.

Opened the door with a gada in one hand and a dupatta in the other when the bell rang.

Answered the door with my hair in multiple ponytails because my daughter was practicing ribbon tying.

Slept with a gada, a tiger and a doll on the bed.

Danced around the fire at Lohri

Lay down on my stomach in the society parking lot to pull out a ball from under the car.

Habitually interrupted phone conversations to yell at the kids like a typical ‘smug married’.

Asked the pani puri wala for ‘just puris’ or the icecream man for ‘just cones’.

Walked with 19 kgs in one hand and 13 kgs in the other, on cranky days.

Rejoiced at a one hour window shopping opportunity ALONE…

… Then became deliriously happy when I reached home and was greeted with two very warm hugs.

Cried copiously while watching films like TZP. 

On story telling

Doctors say one should start reading to the kids from the time they are born.. or even when they are still fetuses. By those standards we were late starters.

Initially of course the days were a haze of formula mixing and nappy changing. The only story that appealed to me was that of Sleeping Beauty.. sleeping for a hundred years.. bliss, I thought.

Which one to tell?

Then there was the issue of which one to tell. What with fairy tales peppered with evil step mothers and sisters, the choice was limited. (Take Cinderella, Snow White or for my mythology crazy kids – the Ramayan). There were fathers who abandoned their children in the jungle (Hansel and Gretel), and scary endings galore. The Pied Piper who walked away with the kids gives even me goose bumps or Red Riding Hood who was eaten up by the wolf along with her grandma.. positively a no no.

So what’s a mama to do?

Well tired of trying to pick and choose I simply proceeded to sanitize the stories. First to go were all stepmothers replaced neatly by ‘naughty aunty/queen’. Kaikeyi was just a ‘naughty queen’ in Dashrath’s palace.

Then went the scary endings.. Pied Piper was given his money and made to bring back the children, a hunter heard Red Riding Hood and scared the wolf away (the grandma also runs away instead of being eaten up).

Lastly I did away with the death sequences… the evil queen in Snow White falls off the hill ‘never to be seen again’, The troll in the Three Billy Goats is ‘carried away by the river’, the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk simply ‘breaks his head’.

Yet there are questions..
From Naisha: In Jack and the Beanstalk the giant falls so, “His mama must have been sad.. she was nice, she helped Jack and still Jack hurt her son.” 
This one from Hrit: “When Ravan died was Vibhishan sad?”
And another one from him: “Bad logon ko mar dena chahiye mama?”

The best bet…
… I found were our good old Panchatantra stories. Then there are the Pooh and Dora series which were just perfect.

The doctor says…
The counselor advised me to make up animal stories for the kids. So there are stories about…

A rabbit who used to push other animal kids (for Hrit when he’s naughty in the playground)
A calf who laughed at someone who fell down (for both of them)
A lion cub who learnt to make new friends (for when we moved to Pune)
A teddy bear who is naughty at the doctor’s (to while away time at the clinic)
A pup who wouldn’t come home from play in time (to get them home after playtime)
A Jack story about a boy who is naughty at a birthday party (for when I have to send the kids alone to parties)

However what I’m most proud of is my Cocktail Story.. that’s for the time when Hrit and Naisha both want a story of their choice and there’s time for just one so I give them a cocktail and wonder of wonders — They love it.

Scraped knees at 40

Life with kids is fraught with danger and if one of your kids is a boy.. well God save you. Being born in a small mohalla of old Lucknow precluded much outdoor activity for me through most of my childhood. (The popular games then were kite flying and marble playing.. both of which I didn’t quite take to). I was a nice quiet little girl, reading my Nancy Drews and Little Women, playing Chinese Chequers and Carrom.

I learnt to ride a two-wheeler in my thirties.. so no falling of bikes either. The only violence I ever remember was getting into physical fights with my sister and cousins — the hair pulling and whacking. How we dwelt upon those miniscule scratches! The ‘hurts’ was examined endlessly and reproachful glances exchanged for ages till we finally made up. No scraped knees and elbows for us  all through childhood.

Cut to now… there’s hardly a day when my twins come home without a scraped knee or a bad elbow. Yes.. well I know that’s part of growing up and I’m cool with it as the kids quite seem to take it in their stride. (My daughter will say “see mama ‘bread’ is coming out, but I’m not crying”).

My problem begins when I’m made to join in these games. Coming home with scraped knees at four is fine but at forty.. well it’s a bit strange.

Yesterday I was playing ‘catch and cook’ with my son. I was running with my eyes on him and suddenly zoooooom…. and there I was standing with one leg upto the knee in the gutter. Fortunately the dirty water reached just upto my ankle. I pulled out my soaking wet foot and didn’t even have the luxury of examining how hurt I was.. because my son stood there saying, “Catch me mama, catch me” while my daughter (in total imitation of me) came up with a, “Mama toh brave hai, strong hai.. mama dust your hands and get up quickly” ..Damn!

Then there was the time when my son was learning to ride his bike. He insisted I run with the bike… I would have been okay with it had he been in any real danger but he was riding with side wheels for godsake.. how dangerous could that be? But then who needs logic at three? So there I was running with the bike and then he decided to take an impromptu turn and I tripped royally. Down we went the kid, bike and I. This time I didn’t even think about whether I was hurt — jumped up, picked up the bike then hugged him. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt at all through his jeans.. I on the other hand was limping around for a week and admiring my blacks and blues for days together.

All I hope is that I get better at all this… sooon, or that the kids grow up fast and leave me in peace with my books and my laptop.

The magic of Magic Pot

The best part of having kids is that they make you revisit your childhood. Today I got a magazine for Hrit and Naisha, Magic Pot. Great pick. Has plenty of things for their age – stories, comics, dot to dot, colouring, counting. Great fun. And I went back to the times of Tinkle and Chandamama (Apprently they have survived) – those stories of sustram chustram their booohoohooohoo, patlu moto… great fun.

The best part was that Hrit Naisha liked the magazine. The unavoidable fights were of course there – I’ll colour, no I’ll colour… but I could put up with that. At least it’s better than the ludo damp squib.