Here is the cat that is my toddler’s inspiration for all intents and purposes.
Here is the cat that is my toddler’s inspiration for all intents and purposes.
Our city just got it’s first Hamleys.
The only thing I checked out of the store was a Hexbug nano. It was an impulse buy I admit, a feeble attempt to protest against the pink club buying barbies by the dozen.
A corner of my heart wanted to pick a barbie too; mostly from the guilt of not giving Meow any girly examples except Tinker Bell; who herself works more like a mechanic than a fairy. At other times, she spends time with Little Krishna and his silly friends, Charlie Chaplin and Mister Maker.
Even though I felt guilty, I was not apprehensive about her liking the little jittery bug that resembles a rather tall cockroach without wings or antenna. She did not disappoint me. The moment it was unpacked from the box and let out on the floor, she ran behind it, caught it between her fingers and threatened me saying that the cockroach in her hand was about to bite me. Then she put it down again and ran behind it for 20 straight minutes. I felt relieved.
She was not afraid of bugs earlier either, but now I can say that she won’t be an easy catch for guys who would want to save her from a cockroach. They’d have to fight something bigger, like a T-Rex.
And oh, she might even own a bug jar and choose to study Entomoloy
It is a testing time for my books.
Of late Meow has picked up the habit of surfing my bookshelf. She can now reach for a book all by herself, loudly call out the dominant color on the cover and fish a bookmark out in no time.
While picking one from the shelf is cake walk for her as well as the books, I should admit that a little part of me dies everytime Meow tries to read and put one back all by herself. My once healthy shelf is now an ER full of paper backs with dog eared covers, naked hard covers in an identity crisis and and other books with painful tears.
In a way I am actually glad about it. Atleast she tries to engage with them rather than having learnt to play subway surf. The only game she(as well as momma) gets to play is the 2d dino jump that appears on a Chrome browser disconnected from the internet.
When I turned at the corner of the street at 8 PM and paced towards home, the first thing that caught my attention was the Meow was out in the middle of the street.
She had squatted comfortably; both her hands were caressing the dirt on the road as if it were an over fed golden retreiver’s neck. My mother was engrossed in her grand daughter’s antics.
I went straight to my mother and argued about why she had let Meow play in the dirt and reminded her that she might get rashes (and also that I am an over reacting parent whose pregnancy hormones quite firmly refused to leave).
She smiled and called on Meow to checkout who had come home.
Meow pointed to the twinkling asphalt particles on the road and cried, “Mummy Chee… Twikkle shar…. Keela.” (The twinkle stars have fallen down.)
So has momma 😦
Working mothers are bound by curse to an eternal world of self pity and guilt. No one can save us when we decide to just go plop into that ocean of loathing; not even Mitch Buchannon.
Today, I had to leave for work after three full days(though most parts of it went in blowing two different noses and reading up about Mucokinetics) of staying at home with Meow.
Her eureka moment of today being Momma’s work day had apparently occured when she spotted me in a neatly pressed kurta instead of the smelly night dress.
When I reached out for my packed bag on the stairs, she was sitting beside it and gave me that look which should ideally have had me texting my manager a dramatic “I quit.” like Anna Kendrick in “Up In the Air” and taking the next flight to Bali with her in tow for a long and peaceful vacation. If only my life was not the equivalent of a fourier transform on a fractional differential equation!
She pleaded. “Mummy. No offi. Peeech.”
I insisted that I’ll have to go to office or that we will not be able to afford any more new dresses or those five blue baloons I promised. She replied in a squeaky voice with tears down her eyes, “Dress vena, baloon vena.” (I don’t want them.) “Peech mummy. No offi.”
What should I do ?
I sat down and asked her to stop crying and be brave, to which she hurriedly wiped tears off her cheeks like an underpaid maid mopping the floor. We sat for some more time.
Then, out of the blue, she told me, “Mummy go offi. Meow wait.” (Go to office I will wait till you come back.)
I can tell that she did not agree for the fear of not getting a new dress or the baloons; but some random action in her brain made her understand that she’ll have to let go of momma for now. She is two and a half and still has a long string of events in life waiting to test her mental fortitude; yet this will forever be my best memory of how naturally resilient the mind of a child her age can be.
Meow, my two year old daughter, came running towards me with a curious looking thing in hand. It was her first time spotting it in the neighborhood. She was delighted. I doubled her joy by blowing that thing softly away from her hands and up in to the air; it made a brief poetic flight before ascending gently near her feet. I know that many more of these will be spotted, treasured and traded by her, just like I did when I was a little above her age. But this first acquaintance is something that I wanted to capture and cherish till eternity, in both our memories; so, I photographed it. I am unsure if she will be as lucky as I am now, when she has a daughter herself.
I’ll tell you why.
The thing she spotted was a fluffy feather. The reason why I felt concerned and ventured so far into the future was because it belonged to a crow. When I was in primary school and took interest in feather spotting, the most frequently spotted feathers belonged to sparrows. Though they were not interesting or colorful, they were abundantly strewn all over the place; in the yards, behind the pendulum wall clocks, window sills, sun shades and even inside our uniform shoes. But I myself have hardly seen any in the recent past. Not just the sparrow feathers, I am unable to locate those of parrots, mynas, pigeons or kingfishers either.
I wonder if Meow’s daughter to be from the future would spot any feathers at all. At this rate, looks like the closest feather like thing she’d spot might belong to cockroaches; the only species resistant to extinction from any urban sprawl (or earth shattering meteorites for that matter). It would not be a pretty sight worth capturing, no?
That my dear readers is what I am worried about.
Isn’t it high time we embraced teeny tiny rooftop bird sanctuaries ?
If you are not the reincarnation of that telephone operator from WWII Nazi Germany, please read on; for those are the only ones who might have risked their life for not answering the damn phone every time it rang.
It is not a cardinal sin if your phone goes unanswered in this millennium, especially when you have other important and interesting things to do. Like paying for broken stuff at cosmetics counter while your toddler grins at you like Marty from Madagascar.
Frequently, I have observed that even though the parent holds the toddler’s hands while talking on the phone, the entire focus is not on the child. It is quite natural for a human being to have a split focus while multi-tasking. But beware that this provides a lapse in your firm hold and the child, waiting for this moment, frees the grip in an instant and flees as though he/she is on roller skates. You would be baffled to realize that the health drink you give them actually works exactly like in the advertisement. And when that happens, our rusty and squeaky joints will be no match to their swiftness. It is mostly fine when this happens indoors but imagine yourself on the sidewalk of a busy road and your toddler decides to run perpendicularly; I’d rather not.
So, when you are out with your kid and the phone rings, do take a moment to check if you have your toddler/preschooler up in your arms; even better, don’t pick the phone until you reach somewhere indoors or strap them in a car seat if you aren’t expecting any urgent calls. The call you are itching to answer will most likely be from that shameless, attention seeking friend who wants to brag about her column getting published(Yes, yes, that was me). A different ring tone just for the family/important colleagues might actually come in handy while segregating which ones to pay attention to.
Despite all this, if that urge to answer the phone at the slightest hint of a call emerges again and again; signing up for a short term contract as a call center representative might be a good idea. For, next time a phone rings, you might pick your skirts/pants and run in the opposite direction.
Today we had ketchup from the squeeze pack for tooth paste. It was red and yummy. Momma also ate her tooth paste today.
Did you scroll down looking for the story about red legs ? I added it so the title could rhyme with “Green ham and eggs”. Momma says that a catchy title is most important in a blog.