Friday, November 17, 2006


Artnavy tagged me a while ago to do a post on heights. I put it in her comments section too – since I dint have a blog of my own. Now I do – on artnavy’s recommendation here’s my expanded list of heights.

Height of being offensive:
People taking one look at my sonny and saying "O he's such a beautiful boy. He must take after his father!"
Yes, thank you for noticing that I am the ‘not good looking one’ amongst the 2 of us

Height of taste:
Sonny refusing food, but chewing on the paper napkin used to wipe his face.
Or is it that - he prefers the taste of paper to the taste of my cooking!!

Height of intrusiveness:
An acquaintance visiting our home takes one look at the curtains and says "these are lace - how do you guys do it, without the whole world being able to see through the windows?"
Seriously, what will you ask me next?

Height of happiness:
Sonny’s giddy laugh, when we put him in the bucket swing at the park and give him a shove.

Height of blues:
Celebrating festivals just by yourself, far far away from your parents.

Height of wonderment:
When I look at people with 8 or 10 kids, instead of thinking 'how do they manage to raise so many' I wonder 'when and how did they manage to conceive so many?'

Height of possessiveness:
Sonny pushing his father aside, so he can hug his Ma instead.

Height of neatness:
Sonny neatly arranging into piles the contents of the dustbin he has just knocked onto the floor.
What is it, that attracts kids to trash??

Height of peace:
When Sonny sleeps zzzzzzz....

Height of materialism:
My 16 month olds clothes occupy more shelves than my husband and my clothes put together.

Height of depreciation:
My mom lamenting how she hasnt seen her grandson yet- and now he's 16 months old. The fact that she hasn’t seen her own daughter since the last 2 and half years is completely forgotten.

Height of divine justice:
The girl who invariably gave dirty glances to parents of noisy kids at restaurants, is now blessed with a noisy brat herself.

Height of morbidness:
Dried flowers. I just don’t get how people can have dried flowers in their houses. Its such bad Vaastu too.


At 1:49 PM, Blogger Ashish said...

Well, if there is a daughter, people certainly would not want her to look like her father, and ditto for the son

At 4:22 AM, Blogger artnavy said...

i agree with the dried flowers bit- add on the plastic ones as well


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