fathers and daughters! uh!

what is it with dads and their daughters?
they strut around like vain peacocks, boasting to all and sundry about their daughter, as if the whole world has nothing better to do than oooh and aah over dad's little pride.
about 9 out of 10 recent births (moi included) i know of, have been baby girls, and 9 out of 9 dads are a little off their rocker!
seriously guys, get over it! the world is full of pretty little girls, their pompous dads and their overwrought mums.
and this is not only aimed at the dad who thinks his 12-week old will start talking 'SOON' because she gurgles loudly!

psst: well, as you can see someone is feeling a little left out of the drama enacted by certain daughters and their dad.

Surprises

Life is full of them. Mostly little ones, and I’ve been lucky to have more of the pleasant variety than otherwise.
Like this:
I was travelling alone with a 9-week-old infant who seeks little else than regular feeds and a comfortable bed, and a 7-year-old being torn away from her grandparents, aunts and a great time.
Yet, everyone -- from the paediatrician and gynaecologist to my family and friends – was worried how I would cope.
Guess what? I had the most uneventful, peaceful flight back to Doha. My girls were absolutely angelic. They made sure the very first time their mum was alone with both of them would be a good time. O read, nibbled, asked me ever so often if she could help. N slept, fed, slept, fed…
Thank you, babies.
Well, I guess I did deserve a break after some nasty surprises that came my way earlier in the year.
Chikun gunya in the third tri, mismanaged diabetes (by my doc in the first 2 tris), a day in labour but ending up with a c-section, a spinal anaesthesia that wore of in the middle of a cut, slow recovery from a double anaesthesia dose, lack of proper domestic help, mum down with chikun gunya too for the better part of my stay in Madras… probably sounds more nightmarish than it actually was.
But it’s a totally different (and much longer) post recounting all that I am thankful for, and the luck that seems to surround and hover over me.
It is terribly indulgent to feel sorry for yourself – and boy did I indulge! Then it was back to business, getting on with life.
So here I am in Doha after 4 months. Not much has changed except that I have one more little person to cheer me up, forgive me my slip ups, make me laugh (and cry) and make me feel inexplicably high ever so often. O’s load has eased a bit I must say, with N taking on a bit of all this work of managing a borderline depressive/hyper/psycho mum.

the job i love

you think you have the job you love, your dream come true...
and then a tiny little nudge, to remind you that what you love most is right at home -- though tiring and tiresome at times -- it is not about realising a dream outside home, but living your life within.
how do i up and get back to 'routine'?!

It’s still a wonderful world to bring a child in to. I think or I hope or I wish or Am I just plain wrong?

Or rather I think, I think. I have to be right on this one. I am bringing a second one out here, in a few months.

I have a couple of friends who have chosen not to have children. Ever. They are both borderline cynical, but one actually loves kids. They managed to convince their respective partners to not procreate, because they think the world can do without another innocent soul being corrupted.

I am not really Ms Sunshine, but I am an optimist; I have a lot to be grateful for. And I still see the world as a wonderful place. Not a perfect one (but then if it is, how will people sell their religion as the path to heaven?), but a beautiful one.

But somewhere deep inside, my Jiminy Cricket asks me if I am sure. Absolutely sure? And I am not.

I think by hugging my child(ren) everyday, dozens of times a day; by listening to them; by teaching them right from wrong; by loving them unconditionally; by educating them; by giving them a good social environment, I am ensuring that they will grow up as good human beings. Who may sometimes falter, who may have flaws, but who will always try to be better.

I feel by doing all this, I justify bringing a child into this world. I am assuming every parent wants to do this too…

So, did the parents of 21-year-old Mohammed Ajmal Mohammed Ameer Kasam really mess up?

Or are hugs and love and education not good enough? Where is his mother? Or for that matter, the families of the other nine youngsters who we know as ‘terrorists’.

What will happen to 2-year-old Moshe? He will never be allowed to forget how his father and ‘heve’ (6 months pregnant at that) died. Eighteen years from now how will he be moulded? How different will he be from the pitiful child crying out for his mother at the funeral service.

Everyday, every moment, there are human achievements and nature's miracles that makes me grateful for being here.
It may be a spider weaving its web, the process of birth, the process of making the baby, a kiss, a lioness chiding its cub with a heavy paw on the head because it’s going astray, pollination, a baby’s laugh, breast feeding, a Bollywood entertainer, a fantastic cricket match, the Mars rover, Chandrayaan, Usain Bolt’s victory dance... and so I think it’s a world worth bringing another child into.

Sadly, everyday there is death and terror.
But like all of us I want to believe it won’t happen to me and mine.
For how long can I continue to believe this?
When will my beliefs be dismantled brutally?
When I board the flight to India?
When I next switch on the TV to watch FRIENDS and stumbled upon a news channel showing a blast somewhere?
When I go shopping for a new bag or underwear?
When I decide to go for an anniversary dinner?
When I am attending a friend’s wedding?
I dread the rude awakening. I hope it never happens.

I want my life to be boring and uneventful.

I want my hugs and kisses to be protection enough for O, Plus and R.

I want to believe that Mohammed Ajmal Mohammed Ameer Kasam has never been soothed by his mother, and didn’t have a normal childhood.

I want Moshe to have someone step in and be his mother and hug him, without crippling him with sympathy and hate.

I want to believe that’s all that the world needs. More hugs.


ETA: A colleague pointed out this video on reading the post. Free hugs. What a wonderful idea indeed.

Badly behaved: The child or the parents?

Warning: Really LONG rant ahead.

The first time I woke up to what it really meant to be an (in)effective parent was when O was barely a few days old. A family friend visited with her 5-year-old, who went totally berserk at the sight of a doll-sized human being. Obviously her first encounter with a baby, and totally unprepared for it.
My mother and I had a tough time protecting O from the little girl’s eager hands. She not only jumped around the bed, but tried to lift O up by her wrist. The mother only kept repeating her daughter’s name, increasing her decibel level with every call, till she finally screamed at the girl and roughly dragged her out.
As much as I felt sad for the wailing child, I was relieved that O was safe.
Later I was wondering what I would have done in that situation, as a mother. I would have first prepared O for the visit. Explained that we were going to see a really tiny little person, who is delicate and can’t be touched, but only admired from afar. And if she still ‘misbehaved’, I would try to beat a hasty retreat without creating a scene, without exposing my child to judgement by all and sundry. I would lecture her, on reaching home.

In the last 7 years, R & I have messed up often enough. But by and large, we have handled O well, we think. We have always been able to take her to the restaurant or cinema or mall. We can fly, and even manage long transits with ease. Even if only one of us is travelling with her. Even when she was a baby. Of course parks and beaches are NEVER a problem with a child.
I explain everything to O. I’ve done it long before she learnt to communicate verbally, herself. She knows the ground rules while visiting people, she knows that she will be punished if she goes back on her commitment to behave... And there are times when she has expressed her reluctance or unhappiness to go someplace and we have still dragged her out -- to the supermarket for instance. Sometimes, you have nothing at home to eat, and you have no choice but to take the child with you to shop. You just have to be a bit more tolerant and innovative on those days.
A bribe works great!
We have had the advantage of bringing her up largely by ourselves (making up for all the other disadvantages of the situation)... so for most part of the year we are spared the excessive pampering of grandparents and aunts.
I am not making O out to be a model child (kakkaiku thann kunju pon kunju*). The truth is far from it. But what I have ensured (or am trying to) is that no one calls her ‘badly behaved’ – in my dictionary that directly translates to ‘bad parenting’.

I have met all kinds of parents (the children are all more or less similar!).

There are parents who seem so in tune with their child’s needs, watching them together is like watching a pro synchronised swimming. It’s perfect. It’s beautiful.

Then there is the majority of us – struggling to do our best and not mess up.

And then there is the class of parents – people I can’t even begin to understand. They take pride in the ‘misbehaviour’ of their child.

I had O’s birthday party recently. A party only for kids.

There were a couple of my friends helping me out with the 16 kids. The kids were AWESOME! Some immediately got into party mood. Some took their time. Some preferred sitting by themselves. One was not comfortable being separated from her mum, but she didn’t throw a tantrum. They were all wonderful. They had fun, they painted and played and ate...
The thing is, I’ve seen some of the kids in a different environment, with their parents, and they were out of control.

Case in point (a composite of various cases really):
Immediately after R & I asked O & her friends not to run around outside the party area, disturbing the others in the cafe, a parent pipes up.

Parent: children should be allowed to run around.
R: Yes, in a park, at the beach, in your home. Not in a public place.
Parent: That’s nonsense. I want my child to be naughty and bratty.
Me (to myself): In your time, in your home. Not if it puts others at an inconvenience.
To prove his point, Parent calls child, and asks him to swim on the floor!
And child does, after nearly toppling a shelf of fragile dinner sets.

This child, till the arrival of the parent, was having fun. Was just like all the other kids. Wanted a bit more popcorn, little less salad; wanted face painting and danced rather cutely for the bunny song; listened to the party organiser when she requested all the kids to remain seated and not run out of the party area. Just a child.

What I realised after many exchanges between the parent and child is this.
The child did not feel he/she had a licence to misbehave because the parent was indulgent.
He/she felt he HAD to misbehave, as the parent expected it, found it cute even! Then there are parents who don’t expect their child to ‘misbehave’, but they do seem to think that’s what children do, so there is no need for disciplining.

Children cry when they are hungry/uncomfortable/sleepy.
Children throw tantrums when they are unwell/ignored/in a strange environment.

All situations that parents should attempt to handle, even if they don’t succeed.

But what if a child is throwing food at people or punches at his/her friends? If the child is destructive? If the child is abusive? Then that calls for serious intervention. Not just for the child, but for the parents too. How do you allow that to happen?

I am not judging the child here. But I AM judging the parents.

There are parents who take such pains, to ensure that their child is not a bother to others; Who take every effort imaginable to make sure that the child is on his/her best behaviour in company. I don't follow too many mommy blogs. In fact, it's only MM's blog that I follow, and in this post she talks about tolerance towards kids, and how she avoids or works around situations that may not be child-friendly.

Yes, as parents, we need to be aware that the apple of our eye could well be a sore point for others.

Here I begin my rant on those who are intolerant of children.
What the heck! Even if you don’t have a child, you were one to begin with. So get over it, and stop glaring at the wailing child and embarrassed mum at the supermarket. Stop sighing loudly at the duo on the plane... Just get over yourself, and give the situation a thought.

I can’t understand people who are intolerant of a wailing child. It’s definitely not music to the ears. But maybe the child is genuinely distressed, and the last thing the parent needs is a dozen pair of disapproving eyes on her while she is trying to console the child. There are places that you should not take your child (8mths-8years) to. And there are places that you should expect children, and expect some adjustment.

The Cinema: If it’s a film for kids, expect kids at the theatre. If you are child-phobic, rent a DVD and watch at home. And if it’s not children’s movie, and your child is not comfortable in a cinema and is bound to create a racket, then YOU rent a DVD and watch it at home.

The Restaurant: If the restaurant doesn’t provide high chairs and kids’ menu, chances are it’s not meant for children. So try and avoid. Even if it’s a child-friendly eatery, it doesn’t mean your child can run around, upset food trays or throw samosas at fellow diners. No-no! A friend of mine carries a little activity bag, and some snacks too. So her child is engaged, while we have a good peaceful meal!

A Party: If the invite doesn’t say X & family, then don’t take your child. I have seen people bring their entire brood to official ceremonies. What the hell! If you are taking your child to someone’s house, make sure children are really welcome out there, and that the hosts are not being merely polite.
Now if it’s a party where kids are present, as adults we have a responsibility too. Don’t get drunk and throw up; don’t smoke around the kids; don’t swear and abuse. Don’t be a pain in the ass.

Trains/Planes/Public Transport: If you don’t want pesky kids around, use your private transport. Don’t use public/mass transport and expect the luxury of child-free environment. So often, on a flight, those that are tolerant of drunken idiots or loud snorers, get all irritable with a crying child. If you don’t want a child travelling with you, fly first or business, or better still charter a jet.
And for the parent, during landing or take off, give the child a toffee to suck on. The air pressure blocks their ears and makes them uncomfortable. Carry their toys and snacks and some books. And stop watching the damn movie on the in flight entertainment and pay attention to your child.

Supermarkets: Best case scenario – no child. Yet, you can’t avoid it sometimes. So it’s ok to bribe. Tell your child that if he/she is on her his/her best behaviour, there is a candy bar or toy waiting at check out. Under no circumstance is pulling down produce from shelves and playing building blocks with it, permissible.

Parks/Beaches: If your child has a lot of pent-up energy, parks and beaches are great. Let them get dirty and grubby and play their energy off. And if there is an adult trying to get some peace and quiet out there, tell them they are in the wrong place.

Malls: Most malls have play areas. Again, bribe them. If you have to shop, then bribe your child with an hour on the rides for good behaviour!

School: If you are teaching young children, you need to be patient. Otherwise get a job as a data processor. A few friends of mine (parents of 4 and 5-year-olds) are so stressed out because their child doesn’t sit still and remain quiet for the 5-6hours at school. Or rather they are stressed out because the teacher complains all the time. Reality check please… How is that even possible? For a child to sit still.
Whenever R & I complained that O was being a bit too ‘active’, my wise mum would ask if we preferred ‘manangati’**

Home: Best place to be in, if you haven’t got the hang of being an effective parent. Stay put at home.

Talk to your child.
They are never too young to understand. You treat them like a responsible little person (not a child) and they behave like a responsible ‘person’.
A friend decided to go for Dostana, leaving behind her 2-year-old with the dad. She didn’t sneak out of home or lie. She explained to her daughter that mommy was going out for a while with her friend. And the little girl waved her good bye!
It may not always be that simple. But what is?

For me explaining and answering questions have always worked. I ALWAYS answer O’s queries (R says I am being politically correct by doing so). Even when I am at the end of my tether and annoyed, I will answer her question. Of course, smart ass has learnt a few tricks based on this, but that’s different post.

Another lesson I’ve learnt & am learning is that nothing triggers a tantrum or misbehaviour like when one is being ignored.
There is no point showering the child with attention when he/she is in the midst of a tantrum – the child is in no mood to reason at that point. But just before, when the child is seeking your attention and you are too busy chatting with your friends or browsing the net or watching a soap/cricket match on telly… you are asking for trouble, pal!

* Roughly, crudely translated: A crow chick is made of gold for its mother.
** Lump of clay.

PS: I started this rant 3 weeks ago, but as usual I had way too much to say, and needed the time to trim and edit my thoughts. So it may read a bit jerky...

Ka-Ching. A peek in to the World without Money. But, no, thank you, I want to have plenty!

On Friday, I took O to the library. Her first visit to a library (barring a car hop in Chennai years ago), and she was quite excited.
Since it was a weekend, the Education City campus where Georgetown University is, was rather quiet. There were a few students lazing around in the library.
She knew she couldn't talk loudly, run around or get chatty with the folks there. She carried her own book to read, since there are no children's books available there.
The problem with O is that her whispers are quite loud. And so I told her unless it’s an emergency she can’t talk at all.
She sat with her Black Beauty till I browsed two rows. By the time I got to the third she was by my side, begging to be allowed to walk around with me. She was touching the books and soaking it all in, and I was feeling rather kicked that she was as enamoured by the rows of books at a university library, as she was by the Barbie nonsense in Toys ‘r’ Us.
I could see that obsession in her eyes that only a fellow book lover can empathise with.
She even managed to identify books she has seen me read. And then she decided to browse the magazines, happy to identify Obama and McCain on covers of magazines, and then totally tickled to find my magazines there too… pointing it out and patting me on the rump.
I was swelling up and was ready to burst – “not bad Umm, you haven’t done so badly as a mother”, I told myself; but (un)fortunately she managed to totally deflate me in the next 15 minutes.
Oh, it’s a long road ahead before I can even begin to congratulate myself.
When I sat down to read the magazine, wondering which other world leaders she would identify, she flipped through people magazine, quickly identifying every second or third picture of a celebrity. There is Miley, here is Grey (Ellen Pompei), here is Sex & the City lady (Sarah Jessica Parker, and oh please let this end), oh and Rachel (of Friends)… I quickly shut the magazine and shushed her… This is way too much Hollywood for a 7-year-old.
I diverted her attention and got her interested in the students on campus, and the opportunities a good education provides. For about 5 minutes.
Finally, I went up to the librarian to check out my books and O couldn’t digest that I was not really paying for the books –
“Even if you are just borrowing, you should pay them money, amma”
Yes, but they don’t take money.
“Oh, then they will really be poor.”
No. They have the money. This is a service that they provide. Something nice they do for the people.
“Even if you don’t give them money?”
Yes.

That’s when it really sunk in that she hasn’t see anything non-monetary yet. There is always a purchase, talk of money, about affording or not affording. She couldn’t believe that you can get something or do something that isn’t based on monetary gratifications.
The only life she is used to is of absolute materialism. As are most of us.
Then so many past conversations came back to haunt me on the drive back home.

Often, when I tell her something is expensive and wasteful, so I will not buy it, she would ask if we were poor! She has asked me so often if we get ‘richer’ will we have a convertible or 4X4? If we were richer, would we live in a big bungalow with a garden?

And here I was thinking that we were quite comfortably off. That our fair sized apartment had everything we needed, we had enough wheels to meet all our requirements… and yet in her mind, this was not ‘rich’.
We have spoken to her about it at length. That some people do have more than others. But what we have is far more than most. That we never want for anything. Obviously the message hasn’t really sunk in.

Only a day before the trip to the library she asked me what was more important, family or money. I have no idea where the question popped up from. “Family,” I said.
“For everyone?”
No for me. Each person has to decide on what is important to them.
“So I can say what I want”
Yes (and with butterflies in my stomach await her answer)
“I think it’s Money and Family for me.” (And she was watching my face for the slightest expression of disapproval and waiting for my response.)
That’s fine if that’s what you think.
“Because we won’t have anything without money.”
Yes. But if you don’t have people around you?
“Yes, that’s why both are important.”
Ok.

I did not want to continue this thread of conversation, because I knew I was on the verge of delivering a long right-wrong lecture. But I think she knew already that I didn’t quite agree with her.

It’s scary. What you are, what you are not; what you say, what you don’t say; what she sees, what she never gets to witness; what you protect her from, what she is exposed to… everything has an impact on her. What influence do parents really have at the end of the day?

O Plus Tales II

O & I are discussing how Plus should address her. I am adamant that she be called O-akka or O-chechi. But O wants to know why she can't just be O to her little sibling.
She addresses all her older cousins by name, because they insisted she does, even though I was not too thrilled about it.

I have three older sisters, and I address the oldest (nearly 13 years my senior) as I-ka. The other 2 are just C & M (9 & 6 years older), as they thought it was not too hip to be addressed as akka. Well, these two wannabe hipsters are also responsible for the long, unusual combination of a name that I have.

I address all my older cousins as akka or anna. I love the way it sounds. Unfortunately, I am amongst the youngest of all the cousins, so don't have anyone calling me akka.

I am trying to explain all this to O -- that sometimes these titles do help in the bonding. That my bond with her I-periamma is that much more special because I address her as akka... and I know because of that she is far more forgiving and tolerant of my quirks than the others.

When I have these conversations with O, R gives me that knowing look which reads: Stop brainwashing her.

The last time he did that I snapped. Many of his younger cousins call him R-achayan, and he seems to enjoy that, and his sister is always addressed as A-chechi, so why give me these looks? I am after all allowing her to choose between chechi and akka.

I've got a clear 3 months to continue with my persuasion. And then another 9-10 months before Plus actually learns to say the word.

Good luck to me.

I Love Being Amma, BECAUSE

Because for the first time in my life, someone was dependent on me.
I am the youngest of 4 kids, so was always babied, and hardly ever depended upon! I ended up marrying someone who is fiercely self-sufficient and independent. And I have no particular wifely skills that made him dependent on me. But as Amma I am needed and loved in the most unbelievably gratifying manner.

Because of her I respect my body and myself more.
I am no longer ashamed of or embarrassed by my body. This body protected her. The breasts, that have always been a matter of discomfort for me, nurtured her. And when I pant or feel unfit, I worry that I may not be the healthy mother she deserves, so I try and set things right. I try and work out, add more greens into my food, cut down the junk. I haven’t fully succeeded in this, but at least she got me trying.

Because for the first time in my life, I am not totally selfish or self-obsessed.
Yes, there are times when for the sake of a nap I would allow the telly to baby sit O. And I often take the easy way out and give her maggi or happy meal for dinner. But by and large, I put her interests above mine, and feel good about it.

Because my work seems less exciting/important than her activities/social life.
In a heartbeat I would turn down an interesting travel assignment or meeting, if it’s her annual day/birthday/sports day/PTA meeting.

Because she has made me aware of the need for financial security.
Till she arrived in our lives, I would fight R’s every effort to save and invest. I want the ‘here and now’ thrill of money. I didn’t want to save for the ‘future’ at the cost of the present. But after O’s arrival, one of the first things I did after I got back to work was start a long-term investment plan.

Because she has made me so much more tolerant and understanding of people.
She is a social animal. She loves to surround herself with people. Friends, neighbours, family… she pines for their company when alone. She makes friends everywhere she goes, and she maintains the relationship so well. Calls, play dates (that she arranges herself), an attempt to include her friends and their mothers in my life. For her sake, I bite down my judgemental, opinionated reactions, and open my mind to better experiences.

Because of her I take more effort to dress well.
Jeans and loose shirts were all that I wore. And then I realised that she liked seeing me dressed up – by dressed up I mean, not look totally like a wash out. She loves the way my sisters and friends match accessories, and take time over their dressing. So now, I do it. Though R is always vocal when he fancies something I wear or a look I sport, it still takes O’s little dance and gushing, for me to get into groove. I spend a few minutes extra over my dressing when I take her out or have to drop her in school. I don’t want her to be embarrassed by how I turn out.

Because of her I am careful about my prejudices and biases.
Even if I can’t get over it totally, I don’t make my hang-ups public. I also try and find a middle ground. I don’t want her to grow up imbibing all my quirks.
Because she forgives me so often and so willingly.
I have a temper. A quick nasty one. And I know it’s not easy to forgive. But she does every time. I feel terrible that she does. Terrible AND nice that she does. Because of which I am constantly working on it, and trying to keep it under control.

Because she reaffirmed the power of the hug.
Hugs any time of the day, for any occasion, or for no reason at all. Fantastic, amazing, incomparable power of the hug.

Because she is a tireless negotiator, who is always teaching me new tactics.
Like she still hasn’t given up convincing me that Barbies are not all bad. Little does she know that I had a set myself till I was 16 or 17! Trying to get me to buy her one, she wanted to know if I would be happy if she selected a dark-skinned, Indian Barbie… and that’s when I realised that she knew my prejudices too well. That I had a problem with the blonde-blue eyed ones she had. She is yet to realise I have a problem with their figure too… But she is a right little diplomat, who explains things to me without losing heart or temper. I am learning, still.

Because she makes me fall in love again and again.

Because you can never be sure of yourself.

Happy Birthday to my O

O turns 7 today. and V completes 7 years as the UMM.
Happy Birthday to my kutty chellam.

Where does education begin?

Today R & I went to O's school for Open Day.
While some of us parked the car at a distance and walked the few 100 metres to the school, the rest were jamming the entrance to the school, creating total traffic chaos.
Not satisfied with having done this, they were blasting their horns and trying to nudge their cars through impossibly narrow openings, paying no heed to the pedestrians.
O (and to a small extent me too -- but my hormones are awry and I am cranky) complained all the way to school on how she was made to walk, while others were being driven to the gates of the school.
R turned angrily at us and said the parents need to be educated first on how to behave on the roads.
We shut up and sweated our way to school and back.
The very same parents who totally disregarded traffic rules and common road sense outside, were so concerned about the education of their child. Some parents spent up to half an hour with the teacher (Grade I, mind you!) worrying about the child's grasp of subjects, potential for success, handwriting and what have you!
Grade I for goodness' sake... What do we know about the child's potential at that age?
They wore out the chairs and the teachers with their long, tiresome quizzing.

"Why so little homework? Why aren't they studying more in school? Why isn't my 6/7-year-old a genius?"
The teachers actually seemed relieved at those parents whose bums barely grazed the seats... 'so my child is decently behaved, and does decent work? thank you, very much, ma'salamah'...

Back out on the road, and the wannabe-parents of geniuses were at their best behaviour -- jumping lanes, honking pedestrians, blocking entrances.

What message are they conveying to their kids? Be obnoxious and self-centred every where, and in school make sure you get cent per cent in all your subjects.

what mould do you fit?

it starts at school... this urge to fit everyone into moulds. not just physiological -- tall, short, beautiful, cute, could-do-with-nose-job!

and it's not just about trying to fit a personality mould either -- cranky, cheerful, angry, selfish, selfless, friendly (we are all one or the other at some point in the day).

then it's the environmental classifications, as well.

O comes back from school telling me how her teacher couldn't understand why i did not share the surname she and her father did.
apparently, she asked her more than once if she was sure my surname was not C.
O handled it well, as we have had this conversation before. because i have explained to her that i prefer keeping my name alone, and when she is old enough, she can call herself as she pleases.

i don't carry any surname at all. My given names are a mouthful by itself, so i dropped my dad's initial/name. in the south, surnames are not really common. you just take your father's first name. or the initial. so i was C. V S for a long time. and when i had to give a name for my bylines when i joined Indian Express, i decided V S would do just great. and marriage to a C-surnamed person, didn't change the resolve.

so already the teacher (whom i totally adore otherwise) is trying to fit my whole family into a mould -- the Cs.

i hate being introduced as Mrs R C -- especially by people who know my name. one of my sisters, who hasn't taken her husband's surname, sent out a communication to all, that her name will not change post-marriage. and when some very stubborn people still send letters or cards to her, addressed Mrs and Mr D or Mrs D, she returns it with a polite note that no Mrs D resides there, but a certain Ms M C does!

you may consider it extreme -- but what do you do when people try to force you into a mould, even when you expressly convey your dislike or disregard for it?

now, i log in to the school website to check O's profile, I see 'Christian' marked against religion. this when we didn't just leave the column blank in the school form, we actually ran a line through it. even the birth certificate we submitted doesn't contain details of religion. but apparently some know-it-all decided that with a surname like C, it has to be a certain religion.

i know i have a huge scene in the making at school -- and R would probably disuade me from doing so, as i have earned quite a reputation there already! -- but i don't want O trying /struggling to fit into all the categorisations thrust upon her. Malayalee/Tamil? Christian/Hindu? Daughter of Journalists=journalist-in-the-making? (oh, goodness forbid, hope not)

there are some things she can't escape, for now.
daughter of V&R, an indian; legacy of uneven teeth and quick temper from mum...
i don't want her burdened with more.

PS: I sent R out on this job, and he explained to the school official that we were a multi-religious family, and did not want any one to be highlighted. the detail was deleted without a protest. -- Sept 21

An armload of worries

My O always goes to sleep on the crook of my arm. My right arm. When she was just a baby, it was my left arm, so that she could hear my heart beat (i remembered a colleague, years ago, telling me that he always put his baby to sleep by laying her across the left side of his chest, as it soothed the lil one). Of late it's the right arm, because I am attached to the left side of the bed. Once she is asleep, I transfer her to her cot, or R does when he comes home and stakes claim to his part of the bed.
The crook of my arm has been hers from the day she was born. Even on days I've had bad neck or back pain, I would cradle her for a short while.

My mother has been advising me to stop this habit for a while... but I haven't been able to. Now I know it's time to wean her off my arm. But how, because I know when Plus makes an appearance s/he will be cradled too... it's the easiest way to put the baby to sleep. By cradling it in your arm, and just letting your body warmth soothe it to sleep. Better than rocking and marching up and down the room.

This is not my only worry -- O is an independent little girl. When she was just 15 months old, R and I took off for a couple of days, leaving her with my mum. And she was fine. She travelled alone to India when she was just 5+ years.
She is reasonable about my work hours, about my schedule, that I am not the cooking-fresh-meals kind of mum (though she wants me to be)... but of late she has been a bit more clingy. She is not very happy about me leaving her at home with the baby sitter late in the evenings. She refuses to listen to reason.

That's when I realise that she is not yet a girl, she is still my little baby, who eagerly awaits another, but yet has her fears. Which she doesn't voice -- probably scared that I will change my mind. After all she has been at us for 2 years now, demanding a bro or sis.
She has made expansive promises on how she will help take care of the baby. I only hope she doesn't dip it in her bath water, holding it by the hair, the way she does her dolls.

I talk to her and try to tell her gently that things will change in a few months, and that she has a role to play too.
A friend suggested that I tell her that she would always be the most special as she came first. But I can't ever do that, given that I'm the youngest of 4, and am never allowed to forget (by my siblings) that I probably was an after thought!

It would be easiest to tell her that everything will be hunky-dory and her Amma will still have all the time in the world for her, even later. Easy, but untrue... I am hoping reasoning and understanding will hold me in good stead.

When I tell her, that it's the turn of Plus to lie in the crook of my arm, I hope she smiles and says go ahead.

But knowing how insecure I can get, I am sure I would take that as a personal rejection as well.

umm o and ?

so i am bored witless... and i sit fooling around with templates, and realise that this Umm O business may cause trouble sometime in the future.
In a few months, I would be Umm O plus another (inshallah!)... And then I will have to work on being fair and politically correct and change my Umm suffixes... am sure the Plus in question would not be bothered for some years at least, but why keep that avenue for misunderstanding open... there are issues enough parents and children deal with, without adding a blogging nomenclature to it.

whoopie breast exam

Watching The View today, I spent about 5 minutes examining Whoopie Goldberg's breasts.
Whoa, hold on. I don't swing that way, though I love Whoopie.

What I was trying to do was, point out the existence of her breasts to my 6-year-old O.

This is what happened: She kept staring at Whoopie and then asked me if it was a man or a woman.

I was surprised she even had a doubt. "Woman," I said.

"But she doesn't have the bump like other women. Like you."

"That's because some have it smaller than the rest. And she is wearing a loose shirt."

"Even then, there is that line on the bump (cleavage, I guess, is what she meant)... see the other women all have that line."

And yes, all the other women were showing cleavage. And I was showing mine too, in my loose house coat.

To her Whoopie as a woman didn't seem appealing, because she didn't show off her 'bump'.

I know I have a long road ahead of me, to explain to her that that's not what femininity is all about. And that it doesn't have to be on display.

I have started by asking her not to call it the 'bump', but 'breasts'.

That was an easy one...

The rest of the ride is going to be 'bumpy'!

what shapes our child

i understand now, and see it in action with my daughter, that a parent's direct approval or disapproval doesn't really count or influence the child.
it is the subtler influences that matter.
it is not only about who your child plays and socialises with... but your approval or disapproval of the friend.
i am not sure if i am clear in what i say.
but i've realised that over the years, what i am or do is a reflection of people my mother or father approved of or respected.
things could have gone real bad, and i may have just decided to do the opposite. and that's where i guess parents' real challenge lies. to ensure that teen rebellion doesn't become a personality trait. that how much ever a child may defy his/her parents, there is the acknowledgement that there is truth to what and tenderness in how, they communicate.

no remote

when u have a child, your dinner comes with free entertainment.
unfortunately, if it is not to your taste you can neither change the channel nor walk out...

still not weaned

that's me
two days ago, the baby cot was dismantled, and a new, bigger one was set up, right next to our double bed.
after 6 years and 3 months of sleeping in the same baby cot, she nods off to sleep without so much as a murmur of nostalgia. me? i stayed up a couple of hours, fretting over my baby, who needs a cot, not a crib.
then today, it was time for the high chair to join the crib on the loft. She hasn't used it in a year, but it tore my heart to put it away. finally we did it today. again, it is i who stares at the vacant space next to the dining table.
it is breast feeding all over again. the night, when she was 14 months old, i decided to give her a sipper of milk instead of the regular feed, she only gave me a quizzical look and grabbed the sipper.
and i spend the next several nights weaning myself off her feeding, as she sipped her milk from the silly pink and blue cup.
grrrrrrrrrrrr!

How screwed up was this guy's childhood?

Philip Larkin - This Be The VerseThey fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

I Fall in Love Again, and Again,

and again.
Every day I wake up falling in love, and there are moments throughout the day that make me fall in love again and again -- a photo, a call, a memory...
Of all the loves I've had and have, this one is the toughest. Most beautiful, yes, yet the toughest.
And like all those who are in love... there is fear. A gut wrenching fear; only difference being, it is not a fear of being let down or being spurned. It is a fear of letting down, of not doing the right thing...
That my words and actions could scar worse than anything else possibly could.
That the total unconditional, uninhibited love thrown so casually my way, is not received as graciously and gratefully as it should be. That the debt I owe for being loved so, will never be paid off... if there is such a thing as debt in love. That this kind of loving will not be forever.
That I maybe too quick to anger, too slow to love; judge too easily, and not care enough; too full of expectations, too little of acceptance.
I fear that when I chide about being careless, before I kiss the wound away, her hurt would remain a longtime after the pain has gone.
And when I ask her to stop talking or humming or singing her nonsense, because I am being disturbed, I fear that I would not be disturbed at all, and left alone.
I fall in love so many times in a day, everyday...
when she calls me at work to just 'talk'
when she is curious about what I do in the gym
when she tells me the marks on my face are gone
when she kisses and hugs me, for no greater reason than because I am there
when even while at play, she reaches out to me
when every time we watch a movie, she switches off all the lights, and grabs a blanket to share... even if we are only watching Lion King for the 500th time!
when she shows unbelievable patience with her colouring
But that is not what I fear...
I fear that I won't love her enough when she doesn't do the cute things and the things I am proud of.
I fear that I may not love her the way she deserves to be loved -- even when she is throwing a tantrum, or embarrassing me
I fear that she may grow up to be me, and learn my prejudices, and forget to love the way a 6-year-old does...
I fear that she will grow up too soon...

with kids there are more questions than answers...

...will anyone disagree?

what's the right thing to do?
Praising your child for everything s/he does or, be selective?
Set the bar high or not?
Get them involved in a lot of activities? Or is that too taxing?
Expect them to succeed or is that putting too much pressure on them?
Explain/answer everything, and they end up being argumentative.
Shout at them, and they grow up angry.
Hit them and they grow up too meek or too violent.
Coddle them too much, and they never do grow up.
Do everything for them, and they are not independent.
Expect them to be independent, and they grow up too quickly.
Not switching the channel when there is a sensuous scene makes them precocious.
Switch the channel, and they become secretively promiscuous.
THEN THE REAL BIG QUESTION
All that you do for your child, what you hope she becomes, when you want her to excel... is it for her. for you. or for the people around you?
is it in competition with other kids/parents?
AND A STILL BIGGER QUESTION
can there be one simple answer to this -- how do we stop ourselves from really messing up our kids?
that they don't carry their upsets/disappointments/betrayals/insecurities into adulthood. just as most of us have...
brings to mind a line from Savage Garden "...I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do..."
I believe that.
Just hope my little one believes that too.