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10/04/201015/04/2017

A little sister

“I want a little sister,” demanded Naisha today. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I mean this line is usually heard from company starved single kids, isn’t it? It’s just not fair that I have to deal with two same age kids plus demands like this one. Like almost all other kids she went on to enumerate all the other children who had smaller siblings.. Shubhi has one (wrong.. she was a cousin), Vineesh has one (wrong again.. cousin again), Zaheen has one (Oh well okay she does), Arna has one (Right again).”

Standard requests have standard replies. I think every mom on the face of this earth has thrown this challenge at every kid who has dared to ask for a sibling. This is what is goes like, “Well she will be very small.. will you clean her when she messes up (refering to the poo/pee possibilities)?” This thought can put off grown ups from having kids what’s a small girl like Naisha? However she had a solution. “We’ll show her the pot and tell her this is where she needs to go,” said she. “But she’ll be too small to walk.. she will mess up,” Silence for a while.. then, “Let’s not a get a baby then.” Naisha gave up and promptly went on to enumerate kids who did not have younger siblings. I heaved a sigh of relief.

I then suggested we would get Zamaan, Zaheen’s little brother, home for sometime and my suggestion was met with a high five from Naisha.

Imagine having another baby and landing up with twins again.. Goosebumps!

09/04/201015/04/2017

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.

08/04/201015/04/2017

Missing papa

Changing homes/cities is always traumatic but with the kids it takes on a whole new dimension. Next week we pack out bags for Pune. Sunil has been there for two months now and it’s equally tough handling the kids on my own.
They rarely talk about him or the fact that they are missing him, so I assumed they just didn’t think about him. However I was proved wrong today. The milkman came to take his money and Hrit ran to the door saying “papa papa papa”. Trying not to let the embarrassment show I said with a very straight face, “Beta it’s not papa.” And what does Hrit do? Does he go back quietly? Nope.. he just stands there staring at the milkman repeating like a parrot, “Papa.. papa… papa.” Finish your food, I say with as much firmness as I can muster under the circumstances. He looks at me defiantly, then looks at the milkman and launches into a, “Papa aa gaye,, papa aa gaye,” Thankfully the bearded, bespecaled milkman went along with me and pretended he couldn’t hear Hrit at all.

Sunil really needs to come home.

08/04/201015/04/2017

Give me more

Hrit has come of age.. at least in one area – he developed a taste for aerated drinks. Not a really good thing but it certainly is a sign of growing up.

No thank you
I never wanted the kids to become a part of the Pepsi generation for a long time. And so they had no exposure to any kind of aerated drinks at all. They loved their juices.. unfortunately just the packaged ones as I never had the time for fresh juices.. and I left it at that. In fact when I’d see their older cousins hankering after Pepsi I’d say Thank God Hrit Naisha are not into it.
Each time someone would give them a sip of Pepsi, Hrit would make a really dirty face.. Naisha anyway doesn’t try anything new easily so she was safe.

It’s spicy
Then we went for a birthday party at a pizza chain. On offer were Pizza, bread sticks and Pepsi. (Water too was in short supply). Well Hrit rejected the pizza outright, like I wrote earlier (https://obsessivemom.in/2009/11/11/dal-roti-boy-hri/). One sip of Pepsi and that wierd expression was back on his face.. the expression that said, “Yuk what’s this?” He was more articulate by now so he said, “This is not nice mama.. spicy hai.” The kids came home that day hungry and very thirsty. The hostess, a good friend, was terribly upset. That was the day I decided they should at least be tolerant of fast food. I tried to interest them in burgers , pizzas and yes, even aerated drinks, with little luck. I know I know it was not such a good idea but I can’t keep them away from all this forever, I reasoned. When they’ll grow up they’ll be hung on pizzas and Pepsi in any case, I justified myself.

Not bad
Then we went for another party. Along with the other kids Hrit was handed a glass of Pepsi. I could see him taking small experimental sips. He finished the glass.

I’m loving it!
A few days back we were at a friends place. There was Hrit with glass in hand pointing bravely at the bottle of Pepsi saying, “Black wala juice chahiye.” He refused to have the Frooti. My friends knew how I’d been trying to initiate him and they were all complimenting me. Finally Hrit was a Pepsi boy.

Afterthought
I am not sure I’m happy with myself.. I should be teaching the kids to stand up to peer pressure not give in to it. I did. The fear of upsetting someone.. of appearing impolite, or simply.. of not fitting in, makes us do things best avoided. Here I was hoping the kids would not just eat junk but enjoy it too. Not nice at all. Sorry bachchas.. will try to do better next time. Unfortunately, many things are irreversible and Hrit I think is hooked.

06/04/201015/04/2017

A little faith

I’d been telling the kids about God and that He will always be around to help them when they need Him. They seem to have developed quite some dependence on Him.
Tonight it was near bed time. Story time was approaching. I told Naisha to pick a book and went out to finish clearing the dining table. When I came back I saw Naisha sitting near the storybook cupboard, hands folded, eyes closed, muttering quietly. “What are doing Naisha?” I queried. “I tried to open the drawer but I couldn’t.. so I’m asking God for help,” said she quite confident of divine intervention.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her God had bigger things to do than open story book drawers. I told her He sent me to help and she was convinced. Such faith.