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On standing up for yourself

I am a non-confrontationist. I’ve been one all my life. During the decade or more of my working life there were a few times when I had a difference of opinion with a colleague, an argument maybe, but mostly I managed without much of a fight. When a co-wroker was specially infuriating I fretted and fumed endlessly but always in solitude or I would unburden myself before the hapless husband. Having done that I would always go back to work the next day with a smile on my face.
When people stepped onto my toes, I’d not just remove my toes I’d also have a smile for them. Nope I wasn’t a Buddha. I resented each unfairness. But I let it go because of my fear – an irrational dread – of creating a scene. I’d back off even if I was right, even more if the other person was rude, loud or overly aggressive. Some of it sprang from being a very self-conscious person. I wrote about it earlier here .
But I thought it was a good philosophy – I mean, why rankle someone when you can get by without?
Then the twins came along. 

It’s one thing to voluntarily subject yourself to unfairness, however small, and a whole different thing to watch the kids being subjected to it either by inclusion (because I wouldn’t stand up for them – ‘Let it go’, I’d say) or because they were picking up what I practiced.

I watched N agreeing with things she didn’t really like, letting people take her for granted, bending backwards for her playmates.

“There really is nothing worse than seeing your weaknesses reflected in your kids.

H was a different story. If I said ‘Let it go’ he’d say ‘But why? Isn’t it unfair.” It was. He was right. It was unfair and dishonest – dishonest to your own self. He bugged me till I had to face up to what I was doing:
“I was being nicest to the nastiest person.
That was the unpleasant truth about me : My best side was reserved for the person most likely to be nasty to me.
Once I knew the truth I could no longer talk myself out of answering some more uncomfortable questions. 
– Is that what I want the twins to be? 
– To give in to bullies (kids or adults) just because they were afraid of a scene? 
– To bear with untrue/unfair allegations because they didn’t want to put up a fight? 
– To give in to pressure because they didn’t know how to protest? 
– To always take the more peaceful, the easier way out of situations?

I knew the answer to that one. 

And I made myself start over. It isn’t easy to let go of a personality trait – one you’ve lived with for decades. However, I have started to ‘take the bull by it’s horns’ to use a cliche. I’m not good at it at all. Repartees don’t come easily to me. I still am dumbstruck by outright rudeness.
Yet I have begun to find my voice sometimes. I register a protest, even if it is a tiny one, even if it is much after the incident, even if it seems a tad out of context. I make myself go back to the offender and say what I have to – that I didn’t think their behaviour was appropriate, that I did not agree with the way they treated me or the kids.

It’s hard but I’m doing it. It’s not perfect either but it’s a start. Sometimes it’s necessary to tell the person stepping on your toes to take his feet elsewhere.

That’s a lesson I want the twins to remember.
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Linking up to Finish the Sentence Friday. Heartfelt thanks to Leah from Little Miss Wordy for this chance at introspection with her sentence prompt ‘Once I knew the truth I could no longer talk myself out of…’ Also thanks to Kristi from Finding Ninee  for hosting.

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To boil or not to boil?

I was at the doctor’s a few days back with an extremely painful neck and
shoulder. Looking at my X-Ray he tut tutted all over it then pronounced
‘Cervical Spondilitis’ – which I believe is pretty common these days. He also
found ‘abysimally low’ levels of Vitamins D and B.
He went on to prescribe,
along with a bunch of medicines, more time outdoors (which I liked), swimming
(which thrilled the kids since I’m never able to make time to take them
swimming) and a bunch of medicines. He also asked me to stop boiling the milk that I had everyday. 
What? Not boil milk?
Hasn’t that been an intrinsic part of my morning routine? Just as it was my
mom’s and her mom’s too.
However, what the doctor
said made sense – If we are drinking pasteurised milk we don’t really need to
boil it. Pasteurisation meant it had been boiled and cooled already, the
bacteria had been taken care of. When we boil it again, he said, we kill the
vitamins, specially those of the B Group.
A look at google pretty
much confirmed what he said but confused me too. I had no clue there was so
much science to boiling milk the correct way. I mean you put it in a pan, put
it on the stove, watch it till it comes up then switch it off. Right?
Wrong. I found a bunch of dos and don’ts and I got so confused that I
wiped them clean off my mind.
I decided to do my own
thinking. 


Here’s why I felt I needed to boil the milk: 
1. The packets are often so dirty that it is difficult to believe the milk they contain is safe.
2. After boiling I
could remove the layer of cream and get toned milk (the fight against
fat, remember?)
3. The milk lasts longer
once it is boiled.
4. And lastly of course – generations of habit.
I have now struck a mid-path
to make sure I get my vitamins:

1. I wash the
packets thoroughly before I cut them open. 
2. I switched to double
toned milk. A friend suggested switching to cow’s milk – I might do that – it’s
lighter on the stomach.
3. I try to consume it on
the same day and boil only what I need to carry over to the next day.
It seems to be working
fine as of now.
So do you boil your milk
or was it only me all this while?

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When I look in the mirror, I see..

 

When I look in the mirror, I see…..

my daughter’s small face peeking from behind me, a smile lighting it up like sunshine,
‘May I please leave my hair open today?’ she asks.
I turn back and look at her, ‘If you’re going to play, you make a pony, you know that.’
‘Okay,’ she agrees reluctantly taking over the mirror.
I move away to see my son dashing down with his shirt half tucked in, hair askew, collar standing.
I make a grab for him, ‘You can’t go down like that. Take two minutes to stand before the mirror and look at yourself.’
‘Excuse me,’ he says to the daughter with mock sweetness, squeezing in beside her, trying to smooth down his hair with one hand while stuffing his shirt into his jeans with the other then dodges me and runs away, collar still standing.
She then takes over the mirror. I watch her tying a neat little pony, meticulously tucking her hair in before skipping off. A sigh and a smile and I get on with my day.

 

When I look in the mirror, I see… 

a cushion flying right at me. I duck and it crashes into its reflection. H tries to look contrite while N chortles, ‘Bad aim!!’ And I turn pretending to be angry only to pick up the offending cushion and join in the fight. I see the look of surprise on the twins’ faces turn to delight as I thump each of them in turn. I win hands down till they decided to team up and have me down in a moment. Finally we all dissolve into laughter and collapse onto the bed in a happy heap.

 

 

When I look in the mirror, I see …. 

 

Deep laugh lines, crows feet by the eyes.
A head of brown hair with some silver surprise.
A few frown lines up there on the forehead
For worries are part of a life well lead.


What I really see is a contented me
a contented me smiling right back at me.


But she has a complaint, or is it a plea?
She’d like to perhaps, see a little more of me.
Yes, I assure her, just a few years more
And then I’ll have time, time galore


For now let me be, for a few years let go,
I can’t stop now lest I miss the kids grow.

 

Once they’ve grown and have learnt to fly
That’s when we’ll talk, we’ll talk – you and I
But until that happens I have little time for you
a glimpse or two will just have to do.

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How to snatch a siesta from the jaws of 4-yr-olds

Long ago when I was in school I read a piece about a dad who
devised games to ensure he got his forty winks each afternoon. I have no clue
why it stayed with me. Perhaps God was preparing me for the twins even when I
was a carefree teen. Faced with long summer afternoons when I couldn’t keep my
eyes open unless I stuck my lids to my brows while the twins bubbled with
unfathomable energy I came up with my own games to keep them busy while I caught my nap. 

Read on and you might find something you can use.

 1. You Lilliputians me Gulliver
So
Gulliver is washed up from the ocean and lies sprawled on the shore (that’s you on
your cool bedroom floor). The Lilliputians (that’s the twins) busy themselves tying him up to sofa
and table legs, making speeches (Who is this giant? Where did he come from?)
and organizing meetings (What should be done with him? How shall we feed him).
And you get your siesta.


2. You Ram/Raavan me Kumbhakaran
Ram
might have come to Sita’s rescue in this classic Indian tale but it was
Kumbhakaran who will come to yours. What’s not to like in a giant who got to
sleep six months a year, ate for the other six and threw in a punch or two
when required? While the kids fight it out as Ram or Raavan you catch your forty
winks. Let the drums beat on and the trumpets be blown, Kumbhakaran shall sleep on.
The nose ticking can get to you once in a while otherwise life’s good. If your
child is anything like my H he’s sorted for Raavan. The other can choose between
the righteous Ram or the tragic Sita.


3. You Prince Charming me Sleeping Beauty
You
of course are the sleeping beauty (whether you’re a mom or a dad is quite immaterial).
Your child is Prince Charming hacking and fighting his way desperately through
the enchanted forest to save you, while you hope and pray he takes his time.
The
other twin poses a bit of a problem. If she is like N she might fancy herself the
princess. All you have to do then, is to convince her that the role offers no chance to show
off her acting prowess (yeah, we parents are creative). And so she shall become
the evil fairy slyly putting obstacles in the noble prince’s path. The prince
is delayed (Yay!) and both are occupied (Double Yay!).


4. You the parlour help me a customer
Set
out interesting looking paraphernalia – a bottle of spray filled with imaginary
water, (there’s nothing worse than being shocked out of a blissful sleep with a
cold spray of water while you’re probably dreaming of deep unending sleep),
some bowls with tiny bits of cream (hand them over the bottle and rest assured
they’ll empty it out) and some slices of cucumber. Find a soft sofa or bed,
close your eyes and bliss out.

Caution:
Don’t let small things like spilt water or half eaten cucumber slices faze you
– you did get your siesta, didn’t you?


5. You captor/saviour me the hostage
This classic game was absolutely designed for parents. One of the kids is your
evil captor and the other your noble savior. Give them soft bits of twine (Stoles,
scarves and dupattas work best) and let them tie you up – make sure you’re
comfortable. Let them drag you to a deep dark cave (essentially your bedroom,
with the curtains drawn and lights switched off). Let them fight it out then
while you sneak in your catnap.

PS: Don’t let gender issues put you off. If you’re ready to play Gulliver/Sleeping Beauty your son/daughter will be Prince or Sita or Raavan happily. Kids have incredible imaginations. And it’s a good place to begin smashing the stereotypes, what say? The siesta is the icing, or was it the cake to begin with?

Happy Napping folks!

This one is done for the prompt ‘How to…’ given by the the wonderful folks at Marathon Bloggers.

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If we were having coffee – 2

If we were having coffee I’d probably be gushing today because I’m H.A.P.P.Y. You’d have to struggle to get in a word but you might as well give up because I’m too excited to let you have your turn. And then when you’d throw up your hands in despair because I wouldn’t be making any sense in my eagerness to explain, I’d calm down enough to tell you that I was  going on a holiday… with friends… just us.

Our coffees would lie untouched as I’d go on about how excited I was because it was the very first time I was doing this in ten whole years – since I had the kids. The only other time I travelled without them was for my sister’s surgery so that didn’t really count (even though it turned out to be a kind of a Roman Holiday for me).

And no matter how much you rolled your eyes (because you’re the cool, calm, collected kind of friend) or tried to say it wasn’t a big deal my spirits would refuse to dampen because it was a big deal.

If we were having coffee I’d tell you of the crazy bunch I’m going with. How one was only thinking about the clothes she’d carry and the pictures we’d click while the other couldn’t stop dreaming of strawberries and cream. And I’d tell you how all I was looking forward to was a clean quiet room to revel in for one whole day.

‘Drink your coffee’, you’d say and then proceed to ask How? What about the kids? And a tiny line of worry would probably cloud my forehead as I’d reach for my coffee and, even though I was feeling a tad unsure, I’d tell you they were well looked after in my absence. As I assured you I’d probably be reassuring myself too.

If we were having coffee I’d tell you about my SIL who had volunteered to take care of the kids. And then as I would think of her calm smiling face the worry lines would melt because I know she’s good with them. She’d make sure N had a tiffin of her choice, she’d run after H mock threatening to embarrass him by hugging him as she dropped him off to school, she’d pamper them silly and they’d probably think I was back too soon.

And as I tell you this I’d fill up with gratitude for a wonderfully supportive family; for having people in my life who step in to lend a hand without my asking; who brush away my guilt trips with their no-nonsense talk.

I’d tell you how grateful I was for the way the kids had handled it with N making me promise to send her selfies ‘on Bua’s phone’ while H had sacrificed a birthday party without much of a tantrum.

As we would drain our cups I’d feel better for having talked to you, for having aired my worries and chased them away. And I’d tell you how grateful I was to have you to share my joys and sorrows always.

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