Moments

What is life, without moments? Some stay with you forever. Here are a few that I can never forget.


Scariest Moment Ever:
I was 8 months pregnant. We lived in Montreal, in a house, where the first floor (or ground floor - as we say in India) was occupied by our landlord and landlady - a very caring yet old couple. WE lived on the floor above. There were 2 entrances, which were interconnected, so to give us the privacy of moving about on our own, our landlady usually kept the connecting door closed.
One weekend, the landlady's son came to visit his with his 2 dogs. I am petrified of dogs. Hubby asked landlady to keep the dogs out of the way, since I was huge and scared to boot. We were leaving for a friends place, through our door, when I heard the dogs bark, especially loud. I was commenting to hubby how the dogs must feel being indoors, when the connecting door flew open and out bounded a huge German Shepard. Instinct took over common sense and I turned and ran up the stairs. There are about 14 stairs that lead up to our house upstairs and the door to our house was locked. I could see the door and my brain yelled - now where are you going to run? Before I could reach the door, I tripped and fell. Again instinctively I held my hands down to cushion my belly and now I could smell the dog and hear him at my hip. My brain ran out all the possibilities, premature birth, loosing the baby, tetantus injections... the works. And then like a miracle I felt the dog being literally pulled away and 2 arms helping me up.
Finally I thought, hubby managed to jump up and come to my rescue. But I was wrong. It was my landlady's son. He had run out after his dog and literally pulled him away from me - considering how big and strong German Shepards can be, it was quite a deed. He was all apologies, he literally dropped on his knees to see if I had bruises or cuts or if the baby was fine. Now, hubby arrives. He had remained rooted to the spot - where we were when we were faced by the dog.
I was way too relieved with the outcome to get mad at hubby. But since then I have often ribbed, taunted and jibed at hubby - why didnt he come to my rescue? How come the man who was further away from him managed to bound upstairs and literally saved my baby? And I dont even want to think about what would have happened, if landlady's son hadnt come when he did.

To date, I can remember, the clothes I was wearing, hubby was wearing, landlady's son's face, the dog's eyes, his breath and the way I counted sonny's movements for hours after that.

Hands down scariest moment ever!


Goofiest Moment:
I was applying lipstick, a few weeks ago, in front of the mirror. Now sonny likes to stand and watch mommy dress up. So I open my lips in a O and trace the stick over my lips. I look into the mirror at sonny - and there he is with his mouth in a big O and curling his lips, like I am curling mine.
I just cudnt control myself -and I burst out laughing. Sonny sees mommy tittering away, realises the joke is on him and turns bright red before running away.


Most Embarrassing Moment:
I usually change in sonny's presence - with my back to him. So one day, while changing, I reached out for an inner garment. My hands couldnt find it. so I groped some more. Turned around -to see - sonny holding out the exact inner wear that I had been looking for.
Pact made with self - will change in the bathroom, hereon.


Heart Swelled with Pride Moment:
When we do our groceries for the week, hubby hauls up the stuff to the house door. Then I take the stuff to the kitchen, one by one to put it away. One day, hubby got the stuff indoors and went to relax (man's work done! - needs to relax) in front of the TV. Sonny was observing me take in bag by bag to the kitchen. Next thing I know, sonny's grabbed a huge bag of veggies and is determinedly pulling it towards the kitchen. And he was all of 18 months then. Awwww... I said - finally a man in the house!!!

Why I qualify to be sonny's nanny

Ever since we've come to the Middle East, everywhere I turn all I see is the Madam walking ahead toting a Gucci (or Fendi or whatever) and a Filipino/Indian sub-continent/sub-Saharan woman walking a few steps behind either pushing the stroller or carrying the child or leading the child by hand.

And while madam riffles through the many shop racks, the poor nanny has to keep the child entertained (really which child loves shopping expeditions).

Once we enter the compound - you can see the nanny has a nice uniform (or maybe not) and she basically trails the child hauling all paraphernalia. Tennis rackets, balls, swimming gear, towels, even food containers. Sometimes you see the child riding their bikes and the nannies running after them - just to stuff a morsel in their mouths.

I still remember the shock I was in - the first day I took sonny to the Recreation Center. All around me - were nannies of various shapes, sizes and colors. Where the hell are the moms, I thought. The few moms that I did manage to meet - told me - moms were at the coffee shop - having their 'meet your friend' time. Now if you had a full time maid (and most people here do) - its just easier to make a a schedule where the maid takes the child out in the evening while you - well - you have coffee with your friends. However, I do know of moms - who pay freelance maids 20 SR an hour to take their kids to the park. Pick your jaw off the floor - for many maids have asked me too - if I needed this service.

Of course I politely declined. I didnt need a maid. I had me. Full time nanny to sonny. Housekeeper to hubby. Cook for both. Teacher. Playmate (to both ;) )

And then a few days ago - a kid asked me - where was sonny's mom? Taken off guard, I said - well I am his mom. She refused to believe me. Why not, I asked? You're with him all the time - how can you be his mom? And I dont see you chatting with the other moms. O I said - sonny likes to play here - so we're here. The other moms are inside the cafe - sonny cant play there. She gave me one incredulous look. Where's his dad, she asked me - still not convinced. O he's at work, I said. When will he be back? Soon. Good, she said. The I'll ask him. O be my guest honey.

So I decided to put down the reasons, why I qualify to be categorised as sonny's nanny.
1. I feed him, bathe him, clothe him, diaper him. Have you seen a mom do that?

2. I'm with him all the time. Ok, helicopter moms do that too.

3. When we step out to play - I let him decide the agenda. If he wants swings, we go to the swings, if he wants play indoors - indoors it is. If he wants to head home - we head home. Mommys dont let kids decide the agenda. They have their own agenda. The have to meet friend A at such place and friend B at another place. And the kid has to go with mommy. If not - nanny could you take him where he wants to go?

4. When sonny is tired, and wraps his chubby arms around my knees - I pick him up and we walk home. We talk and I point out flowers and sing songs. Have you ever seen a mommy do that? Only nannies do these weird things.

5. Since all mommies are conferencing at the coffee shop - I only have other nannies to hello hi to. Mommies only talk to other mommies. Only nannies talk to other nannies.

6. When we see other kids - I encourage sonny to say hi to them (he being an exquisite wall flower). Mommies are usually busy talking to notice other kids. Only nannies have the time for such frivolous stuff.

7. If we do manage to run into another mommy - and I do manage to start a conversation, sonny invariably runs off. Fearing for his safety - I run after him, conversation dropped forthwith. Have you ever seen a mommy do that? They have nannies to run after their kids.

8. Mommies have serious hobbies, passions. They take tennis lessons in the morning, gym in the afternoon, golf in the evenings. I am so busy keeping pace with sonny - I have no time to indulge in hobbies. I manage to read a book in 10 days - and I thank the Lord for it.

9. I carry most of sonny's stuff - and he pushes his stroller on his own. Which mommy in her right mind would carry all the stuff herself?

10. I havent taken a single day off in the last 2 years. I am up for 'Best Employee' award.


So you see - the kid was right. Who in their right mind would think I was sonny's mom?

Hubby of course believes, I need to dress a lil more trendily - show some skin, wear a few spaghetti straps, maybe shorts some times - just to differentiate from the chastely dressed nannies. Get my hair colored. Nails done. Dress up like I have all the time in the world. Bah!!!!


P.S.: Moms here are predominantly of European descent. Eastern and Western. Some Arabs too. A sprinkling of Asian moms.

Home is....

What makes a home?

Is it the place where your home is? As in Mumbai is home for me. No matter what I am doing, if the news report says Mumbai, I rush to hear what it’s about. But I no longer live in Mumbai.

Is it the people you live with, that make your home? So then by that logic, we’ve stayed in some 5 cities in the last 15 months, each should feel like home to us. After all our family was together – and that’s all that should have mattered to get a home-like feeling.

Or is it the things that you have in your home? Your possessions, your belongings. The couch, the dining table, the lamps you fought and bought together. But then aren’t these things materialistic? Couches can break, tables can get old and lamps go out of style – and you get rid of them to get new ones. So, does that mean homes are recyclable? Renewable? Transient?

As I unpacked my belongings, I kept thinking. My table. My lamps. My clothes. Each article has a story. Where we bought it, how we transported it, where we used it, the deal we got on it (how can you forget that ?) Each piece of furniture, each scrap, each itty-bitty thing has a memory attached to it. Memories that we packed away and left in storage for 17 long months while we moved from place to place figuring out where we wanted to be, what we wanted to do.


And then it struck me – memories make up a home.

Memories of the place. The heat or the snow storm. The unusually hot day in Dec – when we took off to Boston Commons and saw the ice rink melt. The cold and windy day, we were to fly to India. The hospital where sonny was born.

Memories of the people you were with. Sonny’s first birthday in Schaumburg, Il. And how we shared his birthday cake with the hotel employees – the only people we knew there. The nurses on duty when sonny was born. The nurse who visited me home to teach me the breast-feeding technique.

Memories of your possessions. The scratch on the table. The stain on the mattress caused as one inexperienced mom tried to change her newborn without using a changing pad.


Yes, I thought – that’s what makes a home. The memories that you knowingly or unknowingly form in each place. With the people you are. With belongings you have.

And I sat down and wept – for each memory. For each place that we’ve left behind. For each belonging that we have re-discovered. For all those people who helped make those memories.

And then got up with a resolve – to create more memories here.
To create a home.



P.S.: The amount of crying I am doing these days – I could give Nirupa Roy a run for her…glycerin bottle :)

Horrible Horrible Ma

When sonny was born, hubby and I made a pact - no raising our hand on the child. Both of us had parents who believed in 'spare the rod and spoil the child' philosophy and we both knew and understood how humiliating and frightening it is for a child to be caned or slapped.
And one of hubby's friends put it best - You dont need to prove your adult status to your child by showing how physically strong you are, by beating him/her. When you raise your hand on your child you are just taking out your pent up frustration on a lil person who really does not understand why he/she is being so punished.

Well said. And I am writing this down - just to remind myself of the pact I made with my husband and myself.

The last few days have been a whirl of activity. I had to get the furniture from the house we live in picked up. Our own stuff (a 110 pieces - all cartons and furniture put together) got delivered. We had to supervise the unpacking, make note of the damages if any. And even after the packers left we still had about 30 boxes - which contained clothes and kitchenware, etc that needed to be unpacked. And I was full-term PMS-y.

Sonny has been strictly forbidden from touching the AC control panels. Since the ACs are located at his level, he thinks its his God given duty to either shut it off or re-adjust the controls. And so while all this crazy activity of unpacking and putting away happened - he just walked over to the AC and shut it off. So once I reprimanded him "no touching the AC, ok?". He looked at me - and walked away. 2 mins later - AC is off again. Again he was reminded not to touch the AC. The third time he walked over to the AC and was about to touch the off switch, I reached out from behind him, yanked him away and yelled like a maniac, "how many times am I to tell you?......" blah and more blah which I dont remember, but I figure it was on the lines of me being sick and tired of having to put up with him, etc, etc. As I yelled, I saw he yanked his hand free and took his lil chubby hands and covered his cheeks and said "nyah nyah". Which is sonny speak for "no" and just ran away with huge tears in his eyes.

I was stunned at his response because he is quite used to hearing "no" from me - all the time. Mostly, he just ignores me (thats what happens when you say no - way too often). I surmised that perhaps in the past few days I may have slapped him on his cheeks for touching the AC panels. And while I dont even remember it - he remembers it so vividly, that the memory of it brought on the tears. And the urge to cover up his cheeks to prevent another hit.

And now, I feel like crap - even worse. One for raising my hand on my child. And more importantly two - for having no recollection of it.
And I am writing this down - so that I never ever forget this.

To School or Not to School?

I know all moms of 2 year olds go through this phase of thinking. Mad momma wrote a post on it. So did kodi’s mom. Rohini wrote about how Ayaan was taking well to her decision. And itchy was waiting to have a word with art about it. Tharini the veteran has already had a successful run with Winkie.

I’m talking about sending your pre-schooler to well – pre-school. Its just that time when you realize that your li un has to move out of your protective shadow and make his first foray into the world outside. Will he adjust to it? Will he like it? How will it impact you?

I was happy when I was told that the compound that we live in has a professionally managed preschool, literally 6houses away from mine. That solved a lot of transportation related problems for me.

Before I even visited the pre-school, I knew why I wanted to send him to one:

1. Sonny is socially reticent. To an extreme. The word wall flower falls short. He sticks to his Ma till he soaks in the environment and then he walks away with his stroller to an isolated corner – and will keep running around, pushing his stroller till he is tired to bits. No child, no adult, no game and certainly no food is of any interest. I wanted him to get some social skills, be with other kids.
2. I hoped that the time he was away, I would get a couple of hours to be with myself. My time.

That’s it. No great expectations in the learning department or memorizing department. All that would come later.

With some trepidation, I made an appointment with the pre-school. And checked against each of the criteria I had.

1. Big open, tree covered play area. Good
2. Mid –morning snack taken in the open play area, supervised by the teachers and the helpers. Good
3. Smaller class rooms – with 15 odd kids per class. Iffy.
4. Children seem happy. Good. One kid actually kept interrupting our conversation because he wanted to kiss his teacher. Thrice. He sure must be happy there.

And then they began telling me the rules and regulations for the school.

1. School begins at 8am upto 1pm. That’s 5 hours, for a 2 year old. Sounded a bit too much.
2. The preschool has a uniform. A uniform – for a 2 year old. Holy Christ – whats next??
3. The child must carry a sandwich, a box of cut fruits/veggies, a pack of milk/juice and a can of water everyday. He will be made to finish this during the mid-morning break. Hurray! Finally someone can get food into sonny.
4. The child will have to self-feed. By this time I was laughing. Sonny? Prince sonny? Self-feeding? O this will be one long school day, if they wait for sonny to eat on his own.
5. The child must be toilet trained. Uh-huh! Lazy mommy get off your butt and toilet train your 2 year old!!
6. No child with a sickness is allowed in school – if you send your sick child, you will be called and asked to pick him/her up. That’s a relief to know.

I started telling the director that sonny spoke very little. Certainly none of it was English. We have been very particular about speaking our mother tongue with him. English he was bound to pick up sooner or later. Oh, she said thoughtfully, that’s going to be a problem. Problem? Here I was waiting for a pat on my back for sticking to my roots, instilling love for the mother-tongue, etc. Why is it a problem? She suggests I stop speaking in my mother-tongue and start speaking in English with sonny at home. I look at her, as if she’s lost her head. She says, if you want your child to learn English faster you should be willing to help. If speaking in the mother tongue is so important, speak the same thing twice over – once in the native tongue and once in English. By this time, I have lost my patience, with the lady. I want to point out to her that the Chinese, the Japanese, the Spaniards, the French, the Germans and more than half the goddamn world studies in their native tongue and learns English only after they go to high school. And it’s not like I’m anti-English, I just more pro-Urdu! I thank her and leave.

Over the next few weeks, I meet a lot of other moms who are sending their kids to the same pre-school. Turns out one of the kids doesn’t speak English too. His mom, is as crazy as I am about retaining the mother tongue. But the child has managed to pick up English just by going to school. And no one asked her to speak bi-lingual at home. Another mom, says her kid is not toilet trained. And yet the school has accepted the kid without a comment. A third mother agrees, her son is also “in Pampers” as she calls it.

So now I’m wondering - if the rules mean nothing at all to them. If so, why have them? And now I’m filled with all sorts of doubts about the school. What kind of place makes rules and breaks them selectively? What other rules will they make and break at will? Am I ok with sending sonny here? Hell, whats the alternative? I cant send him outside the compound we live in. So what choice does that leave me with?

So as of this week, sonny’s not going to any pre-school, at least this autumn semester. I believe I have sufficient reason, to keep the apple of my eye, close to me, for the next 4 months. Logical, rational reasons. Nothing to do, with me having big time separation anxieties. Or me being such a sucker for sonny’s tears that the thought of them – makes me melt. Or the fact that I cannot bear the thought of not having a chirpy babbler following me around. Or the fact, that I hate to admit that my lil baby has grown up and now needs people other than his mom. The fact that my life totally revolves around sonny’s activities. And if he’s going to be away for 5 hours each day….what am I going to do? Or am I?

This decision has been pushed until Oct. After that lets see if mom and son have the stomach to stay away from each other.

Judgment Day

Getting there now tagged me to do a post on the things or people or attitudes that I judge. Here's my take on it.

1. Those mothers who are otherwise fit and able and yet have a maid to look after their babies – I judge you (again nothing to do with SAHMs or WOHMs)
2. If you are an Indian immigrant – and if I see you smooching in full public view in the Western Hemisphere – I judge you.
3. All those women whose conversation skills do not extend beyond what they cooked, can cook, look forward to cook – I judge you.
4. Those men – who incessantly talk about how well their moms cook, could cook – I judge you.
5. People who bitch behind other’s back – I judge you. I reckon if you can bitch behind other’s backs, the moment I turn my back, you’ll be bitching about me too.
6. If you talk about always wearing/using branded stuff, I judge you. To me – you need a brand’s personality to prop up your lack of one.
7. When you are called to someone’s place and you fail to show appreciation to the hostess – I judge you. If you don’t like the food, appreciate the décor, or the kids or the home – surely you will find something to appreciate.
8. You dont manage a basic thank you, sorry, please to those below you/lesser than you – I judge you, especially if you are all manners and kindness in front of your peers.
9. If you keep putting down or insulting your spouse, your child, your MIL/DIL in front of others – I judge you big time.
10. If I see you make no efforts towards ensuring that your child is not a general nuisance – I judge you.
11. If you’re a Bachchan – I will judge you. I know this one is ridiculous – but no one said I was perfectly rational.
12. If as a man you’ve walked out of a marriage, leaving behind kids – I judge you. If a woman walks out of a marriage – I say probably the reason was big enough for her to take this drastic step.

Go ahead, judge me!!

All About Me!

Fuzzy has tagged me to write 5 unknown things about me. Unknown? I tried to rack my brains about what facts about me would be unknown – and yet probably be interesting reading about me.

So here goes:

1. I come from a really conservative family. So much so that – my parents insisted I wear only salwar khameez when I went to college. Make-up was a no-no and friendship with guys was frowned upon. And after all that – I decided to make advertising my chosen profession where I spent 6 years.
2. I just cant remember numbers – telephone, sales figures, you name it.
   
3. I curse people who deeply hurt or offend me. Nothing big time (at least that’s what I think) – but stuff like – I hope she looses her credit card or I hope he gets no sex for a full year. And this regard, I consider Phoebe (from Friends) my soul sister.
   
4. I didn’t utter a word till I was about two and half years old. And I haven’t stopped since then :)
   
5. When I was in college, I wanted to adopt 2 little girls. I even had names for them – Mehek and Muskaan. I wonder what happened to that!

I tag art, TAP, iz, @ and tharini

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