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Exotic flavours of the ad world

“I want Blucon d, mama,” said H one day. Drat! I thought.. the advertising world’s caught up finally. What my dear baby didn’t know was that he’d been drinking ‘Blucon d’ for months together only he called it Nibu Pani. And now when I tried to explain, he thought I didn’t want to give him the real thing… aren’t kids supposed to have faith in their parents? But wait wasn’t it me who taught him to question everything.. me included? Well so then I showed him the pack, which thankfully matched with the one on the telly and peace was restored.
The children had a relatively sanitized television viewing till they turned four. Before that it was just cds or Cbeebies. Enter the furious fours and advertising has hit them like a deluge.
May I have some ‘exotic flavour’? H’s second demand had me stumped. He didn’t quite catch the ad. He didn’t know what ‘exotic’ meant or what ‘flavour’ was but he wanted it. That was a tough one to get out of.
H being the more avid TV watcher gets it worse than N. One day he asked me for chocos with milk. Personally I could never stomach the soggy combination hence I’d never given it to the kids. H however couldn’t get over the chocolate boat zooming on a river of milk and he pestered me no end. A single spoonful quietened him and he’s stuck to the dry chocos ever since.
N baffled me with her constant demand for ‘milky barbiewefa’ which turned out to be Milky Bar with Wafer… whew.
Once while at their grandparents they had a harried Nanu calling on the phone asking us to pick up a chocolate smoothie, whatever that was. In a fit of affection N nicknamed H chocolate smoothie because ‘he’s sweet and has smooth cheeks’. The name comes and goes depending on how much he has harassed her each day.
When I overheard Naisha saying ‘Aye Bunti.. apka sabun slow hai kya?’ I could only be relieved she modified the ‘tera sabun’ to ‘aapka sabun’. Small mercies.
However the award for the all time high irritant goes to the Poppins ad ‘Doon Kya’. I wish I could really give it to that kid for giving it to my kids.
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Fun to be four

Four is a great age to be. Here’s why..
They aren’t really babies any longer so
  • no more bottle boiling
  • no more carrying food/milk to malls
  • no more arduous hours of burping (thank Gawd!)
  • no more having to handle howling kids at night (Generally)
  • no more carrying them around
  • they understand/ share a lot of things
  • they are great fun to talk to
  • they can run small errands (get my phone, switch off the TV, find my keys) of course only when they want to
…. and they aren’t too grown up either so
  • they do not have loads of homework
  • they still love to cuddle and hug and kiss (I so hope they NEVER outgrow that)
  • they still think you are the best (unlike the teens when they’ll get all judgmental)
  • they still think your cooking is out of the world (even I don’t think that)
  • they still don’t seem cheeky or oversmart just cute (another year and cute turns cheeky)
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When husbands take charge

As the clock started its inexorable journey towards the nine o clock deadline the frantic pace of activity increased. Between wrapping up dinner, clearing the table and doing the beds I was trying to get the kids to brush and wash up before bedtime. “How I wish they would sleep on their own”, I complained.
My normally taciturn husband shifted his attention from the telly for a millisecond to comment on my tirade. “You haven’t trained them well,” said he, “They should have been sleeping on their own by now. You need to be strict.”
That was the fuse for my already frayed nerves.
“Train them yourself. Get them to sleep on their own,” I shot back.Not one to refuse a challenge my husband retorted with a, “You just watch”. He proceeded to drive the kids to the bedroom while I walked off to my long untouched laptop.

I opened a half finished article I was working on as I heard him launch on a story starting with a, “One story and then I will go out and you sleep on your own, okay?”
I strained to listen to the response, which seemed certainly lukewarm. I firmly pulled my attention from the kids’ bedroom back to my laptop.

I had barely managed to get the thread of what I’d been typing when two tiny hands waved at me from behind the doorway, “guess whose hands are these,” said a pretend gruff voice and was followed with a bellow “Come right back N.” The hands disappeared instantaneously.

Silence prevailed for some time and was then followed by sounds of loud thumping (apparently my husband was ‘patting’ the kids to sleep, which they’d long outgrown). Predictably enough then came sounds of crying. I blocked out the sounds and doggedly continued to sit at the computer. But not for long.

H was out with the complaint, “papa is smacking us.”
“Tell him not to,” said I as I ordered him back to bed.
Five minutes and it was N’s turn. “Mama can you please put us to sleep?” That, with the sweetest smile ever.
“Sleep with papa, today” said I.
“Papa has ‘germs’ on his face and I don’t like it”, she reasoned, referring to dad’s stubble.
“Well don’t cuddle then, sleep in your own bed,” said I trying to be ‘stern’.
She walked away… then back she came.
“May I give you a huggie before I go, please?” she queried.
“I like your smell,” she pronounced as she extricated herself from my hug. Then with a forlorn look she walked away to the bedroom blowing kisses all the way, which I was supposed to catch and pocket.
From the room I heard H threatening me, “Katti mama.. I’ll never ever talk to you.”

She the ‘poor girl’ he the ‘angry young man’, her pathos his anger – lethal combination. Too much to resist. I put the computer on standby with a sigh. Another year maybe, I promised myself. By five I’ll have them sleeping on their own.

No sooner was I was in the room and daddy was out. As I started on a story I could hear him happily tuning in to his favourite channel.

Back to square one.

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