Notes from an almost-empty-nester
It’s never too late to learn, right? As the twins are growing I am trying hard (and failing much too often) to keep up with their ever-evolving lives and the crazily unfolding vocabulary. Each day brings with it a new learning.
Continue reading “Notes from a fossil mom”
If we were having coffee I’d tell you to pour yourself a cup and keep the kettle close by for this is going to be longish conversation. After all it’s been ages since we met up.
Continue reading “If we were having coffee together – 8”
I have come to believe that if India and Pakistan were closeted together somewhere, secluded from the rest of the world, all acrimony would disappear.
Let me explain.
So the other day, N asked H to get her a glass of water. Now usually a seemingly simple request like this one would have been met with point blank refusal mixed with sharp derision and a vociferous recounting of past-grudges along the lines of ‘That day, that time when I had asked you to get my whatever, you didn’t, so why should I?’
Whoever said children with siblings learnt to share and adjust and do things for each other probably never had siblings.
Anyway, so this time, to my absolute astonishment, H did it. He actually walked to the kitchen and got her a glass of water. The Husband almost fell off the sofa where he sat watching the IPL, while I performed the most spirited happy mental jig.
Maybe, just maybe, that sibling theory wasn’t all wrong.
I thought back and realised that over the last few months of lockdown my personal India-Pakistan — H and N — seem to have called a truce. (I can’t even let them get a whiff of this analogy lest I begin a war of which one of them is India and which is Pakistan).
They do small tasks for each other. H gave up his room for N when she needed a larger table for her art work. He also made her a cake-in-a-cup when she was down, more than once. She has helped him clear up his table and lent him random stationery items from her secret stash.
To an outside observer these may seem small things but believe me when I say great wars have been fought over erasers and gel pens of dubious ownership.
Which is why I have looked on these new developments with happy disbelief.
However, if you’re thinking truce would mean a quiet, peaceful, angelic kind of household, you have another think coming. Nope, peace and quiet isn’t the way we do things.
The fights are all but gone, the real fights I mean. However the Tom-and-Jerry thing they have, continues.
Once after a rather intense study session H got up stretched himself then said, ‘I’ll go and trouble N for a bit’. Troubling her is as easy as barging into her room and proceeding to lounge on her bed, waving a Kitkat under her nose and popping it into your own mouth as she reaches out for it then walking at snail’s pace when asked to leave. I almost wait for her protests and they come soon enough and loud enough ending with, ‘Get out of my room’.
N gets back at him by hiding away his things. He’s absolutely terrible at finding anything at all and is soon begging her for help promising to wash up for her after lunch or be her ‘slave’ for one whole day.
And so it goes on.
That aside, I’m listing this as the best thing that happened to me during the lockdown. And I’m totally sold on the idea of close seclusion for converting age-old enemies into friends.
Endnote: If you’re a parent of warring siblings, I want you to know that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Last Endnote: *Hugs* to help you weather the storms till you get there.
I don’t want to wear formals, announces H.
That’s how most of our festive days begin. We have this tussle each year, at every festival. I’ve been giving in to him slowly but surely, bending to his will, letting him have his way. We moved from Kurta pajamas, to short kurtas and trousers and then to a shirt with an Indian jacket and jeans. This year I don’t even have the mind-space to push for that.
I don’t regret it. Not much, at least. I know he’s getting older; he’s a teen and I’ve learnt to choose my battles.
‘Alright’, I tell him, ‘but change out of your shorts and vest’. Crumpled tees and shorts have been his uniform these past few Covid months. I haven’t much bothered. This was but a small trade-off for quiet mornings.
But he isn’t done. ‘Why must I change? ‘What’s wrong with these clothes? They’re clean and that’s what should matter,’ he challenges. He loves a good argument, this son of mine and I indulge him most often, but not today. The cook is on leave and a pile of chores beckon me from the kitchen.
‘This is why I hate festivals,’ he continues.
That gets my attention and stops me on the verge of my don’t-argue-just-go-and-change outburst.
It’s an almost compulsive thing with me, this need to make festivals happy and stress free. Paradoxically, the stress of being stress-free stresses me out.
That is one reason I’ve let go of many traditions. And that’s why H’s remark hits home.
I pull my gaze away from the kitchen, realise I’m frowning and straighten the frown. I will myself to relax as I prepare to gently wade into this sea of arguments.
N walks in holding up a bright orange tee shirt for H. ‘Remember, I gifted you this one? It’s perfect for today. Please please wear it.’
I sigh in relief and quickly push home. ‘Come on H’, I tell him. He gives a huge fake sigh but I know he’s coming around.
As I busy myself with the cooking, I hear them argue.
‘I won’t wear trousers.’
‘But you can’t wear these shorts.’
‘Okay, then I’ll wear my Eminem Tee shirt.’
‘Noooo!! Not on Rakshabandhan. Have you even heard his lyrics? He uses such bad words in his songs.
‘At least he has a message to convey. He’s not just mooning around like your One Direction.’
‘I don’t care. You’re not wearing that ugly black tee. Mamaaaa tell him, pleeease,’ N calls out to me.
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. As I stir the kheer on the stove and get out the dough for the puris, I know already that H will wear what she wants him to, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have his bit of fun. Just as I know N doesn’t really expect me to intervene when she calls out to me.
When I glance into their room I find them giggling together, playing tug-of-war with the unfortunate Eminem teeshirt.
Finally, they’re ready. Much fuss is made out of tying the rakhis. As per their own weird tradition H smears N’s forehead with the kumkum instead of making a neat little teeka. She’s used to it and stands still while I wipe it off and make a small round one instead. ‘I’ll take revenge,’, she says when it’s her turn. That freaks him out a bit. He takes eons to fix the clasp of her rakhi and ends with pushing an entire kaju roll into her mouth. She does the same and we’re done.
As I put away the puja plate I realise I forgot to ask them to cover their heads, as per tradition. I realise I miss doing things the traditional way. I miss the colourful kurta-pajamas, the chaniya cholis, the laddoos, the elaborately decorated puja thali and the sitting down cross-legged on the ground with a handkerchief on the head. I miss it all. I was wrong when I said I didn’t regret letting go of traditions. I do, at least some part of me does.
I want to tell the children: this is your culture, your heritage, your link to the past. Don’t let it go.
I hear them laughing and arguing and I hold back.
Instead, I tell myself, this is change, embrace it.
Image by minxutopia from Pixabay
Valentine’s Day is two days away and I have nothing at all planned for the children. It shouldn’t matter, except that they really look forward to something special. That’s of course my fault entirely for having spoilt them so. However, I do believe we should celebrate every occasion we can, as long as it doesn’t become a compulsion or a pressure. This year with exams coming on early and the pressure of tests and projects, we’re in dire need of cheering up but I’ve hardly had time to think of anything.
That is why I was looking for something quick and easy (and also free) that they would love. I’m taking a cue from something H did once. There’s a little bit of a story here, hear me out and then I’ll share my idea. So the thing is while H is the huggiest child when it comes to immediate family, he’s extremely shy when it comes to friends and extended family. It’s a joke of sorts, with everyone trying to hug him while he runs around trying to avoid them. Once when he was clueless about ideas for his aunt’s birthday, he made ‘Huggie Coupons’ for her which she could ‘encash’ at will in exchange for a hug from him. They were essentially bits of paper with ‘One hug’ written on them since H isn’t the crafty kind but his aunt loved the intent.
That’s what I’ll be doing this year for the children. I’m making coupons which they can encash for special privileges. I like that it gives them a sense of choice, which is something teens are always fighting for. That said, I really thought through my ‘offers’. The option of not being able to fulfil any of them doesn’t exist. Both H and N are absolute Shylocks when it comes to extracting their pound of flesh and I shall forever be labeled ‘unfair’ and a ‘promise breaker’ if I dishonour a coupon.
1. Weekend Movie Night Pick
2. Chore Free Day
3. Order Out Day
Cannot be used the same week as Pizza Night
4. A meal of your choice
24-hour notice required
5. Pizza Night
Cannot be used the same week as Order Out Day
6. Mama Hour
An hour of Mama’s undivided attention for an activity of your choice
We could read along, craft together, watch videos, your pick. It has to be on a weekend.
7. Weekend Coffee Date
8. Weekend Breakfast in Bed
9. Get Your Room Cleaned
10. Weekend trip to the mall
I included this one only because we have a small, very functional kind of mall right next to our apartment complex and I know the children love going to the mall but aren’t big on shopping.
I made my coupons on Canva. Click here if you want to try making your own. This is what they look like. I shall staple them together into a booklet, from which they can be torn out and given.
That’s the cover of the Coupon Booklet
This is a sample of the coupon
There are also loads of love-coupons-for-kids printables on the Net. You could try those. Or you could design your own or, if you want to keep it really simple, cut out squares from fancy paper, write down your ‘offers’ and staple them together into a booklet. Easy Peasy.
And you’re done.
Let me know if you try it.
Note: The coupons work for any age-group of kids and even for adults.