Posting again - for some reason the last part of my post did not get posted...
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The orthopedic surgeon had told us to come in for a check up a week after the surgery to add one more layer to the cast since he had left room for swelling. So we went to his clinic again and KB very happily sat on the bed and waited for the surgeon. When the doctor walked in and asked KB how he was feeling and if he was feeling any pain, KB casually said, "No, I don't feel any pain". And again said, "Why didn't you give me a red cast?". The surgeon said, "Ahh...yeah. Even my daughter (who looked about six) asked me why I didn't give KB a red cast?" (She happened to walk with him during his rounds the day after KB's surgery). He told KB, "OK, we will give you red today". And when they were really ready to put on the next layer, the doctor playfully asked KB, "You want orange?", to which KB surely replied, "Red"! The surgeon smiled and said to him, "Just making sure!". KB looked satisfied with his new cast. I felt quite bad to think that we still had five more weeks to go but I tried hard to tell myself that time will go by fast.
A few days later, I took KB and KG to "Party city", since KB wanted some "worm balloons". After I got that and other such junk in my cart, I walked to the check out line. And I could not believe the coincidence in the conversation I had with two people at the line. The guy behind me asked me "What happened to his arm?" and I told him. He said, "The moment I saw him, I knew...because my son went through the exact same fall - just two feet high - fell awkwardly and had a surgery soon after and was in a cast for six weeks!". Same hospital even. And the woman in front of us heard him talking and said, "My daughter had it even worse...she was only two and she broke her collar bone when she climbed on the kitchen table and fell down...and they could not do any surgery or anything...it just had to heal on its own!".
Can you believe the coincidence - this has never happened to me - I rarely even talk to people while standing at the check out line, especially at party city! And all three of us had gone through the same kind of thing...I could not believe it. I felt as if it happened to make me feel better and to reassure me that KB will be back to normal soon. The other guy said his son is totally back to normal...and even the little kid with the collar bone fracture eventually started using her arm. All is well that ends well!
KB now walks around with his bright red cast. I tell the story of how he fell and what happened to his arm like a broken record since the bright red cast attracts the attention of so many people!
KB just runs around and his sister seems oblivious to any of this. The other day I came out of the bathroom quickly only to see KG happily playing with her brother except that in the process she was literally sitting on him on the couch! I have to guard his arm and make sure it doesn't get rammed into or it doesn't get wet. Each time I feel sorry, I control myself and think about Baby S and how he has now had his one eye removed (His mom emailed me saying the surgery went well) and that I should take this in stride...kids fall, period. They run around and things happen. I am trying hard not to walk on egg shells all the time worrying when either KB or KG will fall from something.
I will end this post with some nice words from Baby S's strong and courageous mother (the baby who had tumors in his one eye). "I cannot wait until he is well, it seems to be such a simple thing considering there are so many children who are just normal and healthy, but I know to be able to raise a normal and healthy child is both a miracle and blessing. I wish you all the strength and blessings that Baby S has taught me to take care of your son and daughter. We will keep your family in our prayers." Her son, all of sixteen months old had taught her to be strong and in turn she is giving me strength. And I pass it on to all of you.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
The bright red cast...
My brother and I waited in the family area talking to the other mom (T) about her baby S. I just stepped out after about half an hour when I saw an OR nurse wheeling out the stroller in which they took KB inside. I asked him how much longer the surgery would take and he said it was already done and they are now putting the cast on him. I was very surprised and relieved to know it was over already. I had expected to wait for an hour and a half. But we had to wait another half an hour for them to allow us into the recovery room. B had to stay with KG in the family area while I went in to see KB. They had a little crib kind of bed made of steel, I guess to prevent kids from falling out etc. KB was still fast asleep under the effect of the anesthesia. The IV needles were still connected and he did not have his shirt on. Just a pillow on top of his chest. He still had his pants and shoes on him. My first instinct was that he would be cold and I asked the nurse about it. She said he wasn't cold since they keep the room temperature warm and he had a pillow on his chest. He looked suddenly so much more grown up in the kind of expression his sleeping face had. It is so hard to put into words.
I went out to the family area and let B in to see KB. While B was waiting there, the nurse tried to wake him up just so they could make sure he was able to recognize us, was able to speak clearly etc before transferring him to the main hospital (out of the surgery unit) for the night.
When KB woke up, he started crying immediately asking for "Mammma". So B told me to rush in and I came running to see KB. As soon as I held his fingers, he was calm. Half awake but clearly recognizing us all. I asked him if he wanted me to sing "Mudakaratha modakam" a song he has heard me sing nearly every day. He said yes. I sang softly into his ears. The nurse was passing by and I asked her how long before we get transferred to the hospital. KB even in his half asleep state was following my singing. He got upset that I was not continuing. So I quickly started singing again. He fell asleep again while I waited there. A few minutes later, he woke up again and looked up and said "Hey, anga paaru, sea horse!" (Look there, a sea horse), pointing a picture above him. After sometime the nurse told us which room we would be moving to at the hospital for an over night stay before being discharged. They wheeled KB as it is in the crib bed and we (myself, B, KG and my brother) followed the nurse to the next building.
The day before the surgery, at the doctor's office, they had asked KB what color cast he would like to get on his fractured elbow. He looked at the spectrum of colors on display and picked "red" instantly. B blames it on my influence. He says I don't even realize how much I gravitate towards red when it comes to clothes. When I saw KB in the recovery room, I was disappointed to see him in a blue cast because they had specifically asked KB what color he wanted but gave him the wrong color. To a child, these things matter. When KB was moved to a bed at the main hospital, he noticed his cast and immediately said, "hey, why didn't they give me red?!". I told him some random reason but KB did not buy it. It was close to 7.00 p.m. already, KG had to be fed. So they left and I was alone with KB. I told the nurse around 8.00 pm that KB had not peed since 2.00 pm. She said that I could give him juice and then if he tolerated it well, we could then coax him to pee. She said it he did not pee even after four more hours, they would then use a catheter. I was again afraid of one more procedure on him, so my immediate goal was to get him to pee after drinking his juice. Thankfully that all went OK and the nurse gave him stickers even for that! KB had a field day because I gave him juice when ever he asked for it. And different flavors each time! Because he hadn't eaten anything all day. We sat and watched some baby Einstein programme on TV and then I read some books and told him stories. He complained of the cast feeling too tight, so they had given him morphine. He was not sleepy at all and said that he would only sleep at home. I somehow convinced him that we could only go home the next morning. Finally around 11.40 pm, he fell asleep. I slept right next to him in his bed itself. I hardly got some two or three hours of sleep that night. But KB slept well for the most part except when he had to get up to go to the bathroom.
The next morning when the surgeon came on rounds, KB answered his questions about how he was feeling etc and immediately said to him, "WHY didn't you give me red?!". The surgeon was really sweet about it and said that he knew at the back of his mind that he had messed up. He then apologized and said one week later, when he put on another layer, he would give KB a red cast. I really appreciated the kindness with which the doctor talked to KB and really understood that these little things matter to the child.
BTW - I am writing all this so I don't forget about it all - I don't mean to bore you all with fine details. I am assuming people will skip over to read the gist if they do read this post! I want to write about the other two moms and the coincidental meeting with two other parents at Party city...but I am too sleepy now to continue. Hope to write about that in the next post.
I went out to the family area and let B in to see KB. While B was waiting there, the nurse tried to wake him up just so they could make sure he was able to recognize us, was able to speak clearly etc before transferring him to the main hospital (out of the surgery unit) for the night.
When KB woke up, he started crying immediately asking for "Mammma". So B told me to rush in and I came running to see KB. As soon as I held his fingers, he was calm. Half awake but clearly recognizing us all. I asked him if he wanted me to sing "Mudakaratha modakam" a song he has heard me sing nearly every day. He said yes. I sang softly into his ears. The nurse was passing by and I asked her how long before we get transferred to the hospital. KB even in his half asleep state was following my singing. He got upset that I was not continuing. So I quickly started singing again. He fell asleep again while I waited there. A few minutes later, he woke up again and looked up and said "Hey, anga paaru, sea horse!" (Look there, a sea horse), pointing a picture above him. After sometime the nurse told us which room we would be moving to at the hospital for an over night stay before being discharged. They wheeled KB as it is in the crib bed and we (myself, B, KG and my brother) followed the nurse to the next building.
The day before the surgery, at the doctor's office, they had asked KB what color cast he would like to get on his fractured elbow. He looked at the spectrum of colors on display and picked "red" instantly. B blames it on my influence. He says I don't even realize how much I gravitate towards red when it comes to clothes. When I saw KB in the recovery room, I was disappointed to see him in a blue cast because they had specifically asked KB what color he wanted but gave him the wrong color. To a child, these things matter. When KB was moved to a bed at the main hospital, he noticed his cast and immediately said, "hey, why didn't they give me red?!". I told him some random reason but KB did not buy it. It was close to 7.00 p.m. already, KG had to be fed. So they left and I was alone with KB. I told the nurse around 8.00 pm that KB had not peed since 2.00 pm. She said that I could give him juice and then if he tolerated it well, we could then coax him to pee. She said it he did not pee even after four more hours, they would then use a catheter. I was again afraid of one more procedure on him, so my immediate goal was to get him to pee after drinking his juice. Thankfully that all went OK and the nurse gave him stickers even for that! KB had a field day because I gave him juice when ever he asked for it. And different flavors each time! Because he hadn't eaten anything all day. We sat and watched some baby Einstein programme on TV and then I read some books and told him stories. He complained of the cast feeling too tight, so they had given him morphine. He was not sleepy at all and said that he would only sleep at home. I somehow convinced him that we could only go home the next morning. Finally around 11.40 pm, he fell asleep. I slept right next to him in his bed itself. I hardly got some two or three hours of sleep that night. But KB slept well for the most part except when he had to get up to go to the bathroom.
The next morning when the surgeon came on rounds, KB answered his questions about how he was feeling etc and immediately said to him, "WHY didn't you give me red?!". The surgeon was really sweet about it and said that he knew at the back of his mind that he had messed up. He then apologized and said one week later, when he put on another layer, he would give KB a red cast. I really appreciated the kindness with which the doctor talked to KB and really understood that these little things matter to the child.
BTW - I am writing all this so I don't forget about it all - I don't mean to bore you all with fine details. I am assuming people will skip over to read the gist if they do read this post! I want to write about the other two moms and the coincidental meeting with two other parents at Party city...but I am too sleepy now to continue. Hope to write about that in the next post.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
The little soldier...
I wanted to write about this whole experience for different reasons. One, writing helps me feel a tiny bit lighter. Two, I wanted to remember how KB reacted to this whole thing and how he amazed me with this mental fortitude in just accepting things as is and truly going forward instead of looking back and moping about how and why he has to go through all this. The kind of resilience you always knew kids had but when seeing it first hand, it really amazes you. Three, I wanted to remember the strength of the other two moms I met there and wanted to write about it for me and all of us to be inspired by and draw strength from to face our own little problems.
Back to the "brave young man" and "little soldier", titles KB truly earned from the nurse who treated him in the ER and also in the recovery room after the surgery. When they took him to take some "pictures" of his hand, KB told me "Amma, X-ray yedukka poraa maa" and the nurse was taken aback by how cool he was about it. He was fascinated by all that was happening around him in the ER. He did not cry while she took the X-rays, he just wanted me next to him, that's all. And while we waited for the doctor he told me, "Amma, I am looking at why every one here is wearing glasses" and then we spent some time looking at who were or were not wearing glasses. The nurse told him "You were so brave, how many stickers do you want?". Very innocently, he replied "Two". She said, "Only two? No. You were so brave, I want to give you five stickers". KB was thrilled and it was touching to see how he was still such a baby.
Before the surgery, they gave him "Versed" a medication used to reduce anxiety and also reduce their short term memory so they wouldn't remember exactly what happened at that instance. The nurse said he would act drunk almost 10 min after he drank it. But KB was fully alert even half an hour after they gave him the medication. I was very nervous because it was now 3.00 p.m. and I had to wheel him into the OR and hand him over to the surgeon. Thankfully he was in the stroller and I just wheeled him there and the nurse took over without him realizing it. It was heart breaking to hand him over and see him disappear behind the double doors. The nurse reassured me "We will take good care of him. We will put a mask on as soon as we go in and he will be asleep". I just prayed that he should be OK and everything should go smoothly. The surgeon had said it would take about an hour and half for the surgery. B immediately went back home to pick up KG and come back with her to the hospital.
My brother and I were waiting in the family room when I bumped into the other mom waiting there. Her older son was the same age as KB and was playing there. Her younger son, 16m old was in the OR while she was waiting there. I asked her what the problem was with her child. Very calmly she said to me "He keeps getting tumors in his eye orbit". My heart sank even hearing those words. Her strength just shook me. Here I was completely falling apart at the thought of KB undergoing surgery for a fractured elbow and here she was like a rock facing such horrors. I asked her, "How do you manage to be so strong?". She said, "Because I faced the worst when they made the diagnosis. But now I am strong because he has no one else. I have to be strong for him. We have been here so many times and each time after surgery, he bounces right back and starts playing his older brother. We are coming back here next week. They are going to take his eye out because if not they said he won't make it". It sent shivers down my spine to hear those words even. I felt as if God sent me to her in that family room to remind me that kids are strong and that I need to be strong for KB too. I felt so badly for that mom, I just wanted to hug her tight. I couldn't find words to describe how inspired I was by her calm strength and courage as a mother.
While driving to the ER, I was telling B that truly it was these moments when we are really parenting. Rest of the times, you feed the kids, they grow up. You sort of just coast along and go with the flow. It is during the moments of extreme highs and lows that you as a parent have to be the fulcrum and hold the child in place and give them the strength to be calm. And in the moments of lows like this one, you are truly tested. You have to bear the pain of seeing your child in pain, of not being in control of their destiny. Some of you wrote about the guilt I might feel. But strangely that is one thing I did not feel much of. Because I truly could not have prevented this unless I kept him in front of my eyes 24/7 without ever doing any other work. He was just sitting in his high chair after dinner chatitng with me while I was loading the dishwasher. As I bent down to load some dishes, I heard him scream in pain. He was getting down when he just slipped and fell awkwardly. From a height of may be 2 feet. It is like an adult tripping while walking. I just had no control over it. I did have very negative thoughts like, "It is my bad karma that is affecting him" etc etc. Truly speaking, I still have those kind of ridiculous thoughts , but what can I do about it. I have to accept that I cannot control every aspect of his destiny. This was the first stark reminder for me that I do no have control over my children's life beyond a certain point. Life just happens and my role is to be there for them no matter what. That is all I can do. And meeting that other mom and hearing her calm words, I realized what a responsibility that was. To be strong when your child is in pain. I have been fighting myself each time I feel pity for KB to see him do things with only one hand. I tell myself, if he is being strong and taking it in stride, it is quite ridiculous of me to feel sorry for him. Why me, why him...yes, I do feel that way. But I tell myself, there is much worse out there. At least God has granted me the mercy of a finite time of six weeks when his hand has to be in a cast and the hope of things being back to normal. Something so many others don't have. I am afraid to even dwell on that thought. I move on quickly to the mundane of every day life so I don't focus on any of this too much.
Will continue...
Back to the "brave young man" and "little soldier", titles KB truly earned from the nurse who treated him in the ER and also in the recovery room after the surgery. When they took him to take some "pictures" of his hand, KB told me "Amma, X-ray yedukka poraa maa" and the nurse was taken aback by how cool he was about it. He was fascinated by all that was happening around him in the ER. He did not cry while she took the X-rays, he just wanted me next to him, that's all. And while we waited for the doctor he told me, "Amma, I am looking at why every one here is wearing glasses" and then we spent some time looking at who were or were not wearing glasses. The nurse told him "You were so brave, how many stickers do you want?". Very innocently, he replied "Two". She said, "Only two? No. You were so brave, I want to give you five stickers". KB was thrilled and it was touching to see how he was still such a baby.
Before the surgery, they gave him "Versed" a medication used to reduce anxiety and also reduce their short term memory so they wouldn't remember exactly what happened at that instance. The nurse said he would act drunk almost 10 min after he drank it. But KB was fully alert even half an hour after they gave him the medication. I was very nervous because it was now 3.00 p.m. and I had to wheel him into the OR and hand him over to the surgeon. Thankfully he was in the stroller and I just wheeled him there and the nurse took over without him realizing it. It was heart breaking to hand him over and see him disappear behind the double doors. The nurse reassured me "We will take good care of him. We will put a mask on as soon as we go in and he will be asleep". I just prayed that he should be OK and everything should go smoothly. The surgeon had said it would take about an hour and half for the surgery. B immediately went back home to pick up KG and come back with her to the hospital.
My brother and I were waiting in the family room when I bumped into the other mom waiting there. Her older son was the same age as KB and was playing there. Her younger son, 16m old was in the OR while she was waiting there. I asked her what the problem was with her child. Very calmly she said to me "He keeps getting tumors in his eye orbit". My heart sank even hearing those words. Her strength just shook me. Here I was completely falling apart at the thought of KB undergoing surgery for a fractured elbow and here she was like a rock facing such horrors. I asked her, "How do you manage to be so strong?". She said, "Because I faced the worst when they made the diagnosis. But now I am strong because he has no one else. I have to be strong for him. We have been here so many times and each time after surgery, he bounces right back and starts playing his older brother. We are coming back here next week. They are going to take his eye out because if not they said he won't make it". It sent shivers down my spine to hear those words even. I felt as if God sent me to her in that family room to remind me that kids are strong and that I need to be strong for KB too. I felt so badly for that mom, I just wanted to hug her tight. I couldn't find words to describe how inspired I was by her calm strength and courage as a mother.
While driving to the ER, I was telling B that truly it was these moments when we are really parenting. Rest of the times, you feed the kids, they grow up. You sort of just coast along and go with the flow. It is during the moments of extreme highs and lows that you as a parent have to be the fulcrum and hold the child in place and give them the strength to be calm. And in the moments of lows like this one, you are truly tested. You have to bear the pain of seeing your child in pain, of not being in control of their destiny. Some of you wrote about the guilt I might feel. But strangely that is one thing I did not feel much of. Because I truly could not have prevented this unless I kept him in front of my eyes 24/7 without ever doing any other work. He was just sitting in his high chair after dinner chatitng with me while I was loading the dishwasher. As I bent down to load some dishes, I heard him scream in pain. He was getting down when he just slipped and fell awkwardly. From a height of may be 2 feet. It is like an adult tripping while walking. I just had no control over it. I did have very negative thoughts like, "It is my bad karma that is affecting him" etc etc. Truly speaking, I still have those kind of ridiculous thoughts , but what can I do about it. I have to accept that I cannot control every aspect of his destiny. This was the first stark reminder for me that I do no have control over my children's life beyond a certain point. Life just happens and my role is to be there for them no matter what. That is all I can do. And meeting that other mom and hearing her calm words, I realized what a responsibility that was. To be strong when your child is in pain. I have been fighting myself each time I feel pity for KB to see him do things with only one hand. I tell myself, if he is being strong and taking it in stride, it is quite ridiculous of me to feel sorry for him. Why me, why him...yes, I do feel that way. But I tell myself, there is much worse out there. At least God has granted me the mercy of a finite time of six weeks when his hand has to be in a cast and the hope of things being back to normal. Something so many others don't have. I am afraid to even dwell on that thought. I move on quickly to the mundane of every day life so I don't focus on any of this too much.
Will continue...
Monday, March 02, 2009
Things change in a split second
I never expected to start writing again. But when your heart feels heavy, you need to pour out. You want to question the unknown and rebuke destiny for how merciless it can be. And that sort of absurdness can only happen in your own space - your diary or in this case your own blog.
My dear little KB (who is now 3.5) fell off his high chair step on Tuesday (Feb 24) night around 9.00 p.m. He uses it just like a chair - it is more convenient for him to sit in it and reach up to the table to read his books while I give him dinner. He climbs in and out of it all the time quite comfortably. But that night he just slipped by chance and fell awkwardly and landed on his elbow. Because we have tiled hard floors in the dining area, the impact resulted in a fractured elbow. I could tell from the way he held his arm that it was serious. So immediately we rushed him to ER. He was so brave and so calm in the ER when they took X-rays and put his hand in a cast. The ER doctor made us wait for over an hour (at 12.00 a.m) while he waited to hear back from the orthopedist. Finally at 1.15 a.m or so he talked to us and said that the orthopedist was insistent that we take KB to a surgeon right the next morning. He said that KB might need surgery to put pins in his elbow to hold the displaced bones in place to make sure he does not suffer arthritis as a young adult. The moment the ER doctor uttered the word "surgery", I literally was fainting. I could not stand, just had to go and sit in the chair. I somehow gathered myself after a few seconds to continue the conversation.
B took Wednesday off and I spent all morning trying to get a referral and an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. I hardly slept because I kept worrying and praying that the surgeon should not look at the x-rays and say that he needs surgery. But sadly that is what happened. He said KB needs to have surgery on Friday (Feb 27) at 3.00 p.m. By then I had cried so much at night etc when KB wasn't seeing me that I was mentally prepared for it. The thought of general anesthesia scared me to no end but I had no choice but to face it. The surgeon was kind enough to squeeze in KB's surgery at a short notice but then he could only do it at 3.00 p.m. Because it had to be done under general anesthesia, I was not allowed to give him any solids from 7.00 a.m. And not even water after 1.00 p.m. I was worried sick as to how I could refuse breakfast and lunch and hold on till 3.00 p.m. But sometimes even in bad times a few crumbs of good luck get thrown your way. KB being the angel that he is, also helped me out so much. His perception of my emotions stuns me at times. Very unusually on Thursday, he woke up from his nap three times and said "Mamma, I love you". And that night he said to me just when he was about to fall asleep "Mamma, I love you the most". I made him take his afternoon nap late and made him go to bed only at 11.30 p.m. My brother flew in to be of moral support to me and I waited him to come before taking KB to bed.
The next morning, I gave KB 8oz of pediasure at 6.30 a.m and then made him go back to bed. Strangely he woke up only at 9.00 a.m. though he usually wakes up by 7.00 a.m. every morning. KG on the other hand woke up very early so I took her to my neighbor's place and made her take her afternoon nap there while we took KB to the hospital. After KB woke up, I gave him a bath very carefully without getting his cast wet. I had to cut a long sleeve shirt to be able to put his sleeve through the cast. Around 10.30 a.m. I gave him 4oz of Motts' juice. The surgeon had told me to keep even the clear liquids to a minimum. I was so paranoid that he should not have a reflux reaction to the anesthesia so I tried to be very strict about keeping the clear fluids also to a minimum. KB was so calm and so mature, not once he asked me for his morning milk or cereal or even for water. I had prepped him the previous night as to what I would give him and he somehow accepted it and did not give me a hard time. We got into the car around 12.30 pm in order to check in at the hospital at 1.00 p.m. The patient interview etc lasted for an hour. We then went into the short stay unit (SSU 4) and there they checked his weight/pulse etc. KB has been playing a lot with his doctor kit so he was quite enjoying the whole scene there. He wore his plastic doctor's glasses while we went into the hospital. A surgeon who was passing by as we entered said to KB, "Those glasses look cool man! Do you want to see my glasses?" and he had a cool magnetic pair that would come apart in the middle and hang around his neck which he showed to KB. KB immediately turned to me and said "I want magnetic glasses too Mamma"!".
To be continued...
My dear little KB (who is now 3.5) fell off his high chair step on Tuesday (Feb 24) night around 9.00 p.m. He uses it just like a chair - it is more convenient for him to sit in it and reach up to the table to read his books while I give him dinner. He climbs in and out of it all the time quite comfortably. But that night he just slipped by chance and fell awkwardly and landed on his elbow. Because we have tiled hard floors in the dining area, the impact resulted in a fractured elbow. I could tell from the way he held his arm that it was serious. So immediately we rushed him to ER. He was so brave and so calm in the ER when they took X-rays and put his hand in a cast. The ER doctor made us wait for over an hour (at 12.00 a.m) while he waited to hear back from the orthopedist. Finally at 1.15 a.m or so he talked to us and said that the orthopedist was insistent that we take KB to a surgeon right the next morning. He said that KB might need surgery to put pins in his elbow to hold the displaced bones in place to make sure he does not suffer arthritis as a young adult. The moment the ER doctor uttered the word "surgery", I literally was fainting. I could not stand, just had to go and sit in the chair. I somehow gathered myself after a few seconds to continue the conversation.
B took Wednesday off and I spent all morning trying to get a referral and an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. I hardly slept because I kept worrying and praying that the surgeon should not look at the x-rays and say that he needs surgery. But sadly that is what happened. He said KB needs to have surgery on Friday (Feb 27) at 3.00 p.m. By then I had cried so much at night etc when KB wasn't seeing me that I was mentally prepared for it. The thought of general anesthesia scared me to no end but I had no choice but to face it. The surgeon was kind enough to squeeze in KB's surgery at a short notice but then he could only do it at 3.00 p.m. Because it had to be done under general anesthesia, I was not allowed to give him any solids from 7.00 a.m. And not even water after 1.00 p.m. I was worried sick as to how I could refuse breakfast and lunch and hold on till 3.00 p.m. But sometimes even in bad times a few crumbs of good luck get thrown your way. KB being the angel that he is, also helped me out so much. His perception of my emotions stuns me at times. Very unusually on Thursday, he woke up from his nap three times and said "Mamma, I love you". And that night he said to me just when he was about to fall asleep "Mamma, I love you the most". I made him take his afternoon nap late and made him go to bed only at 11.30 p.m. My brother flew in to be of moral support to me and I waited him to come before taking KB to bed.
The next morning, I gave KB 8oz of pediasure at 6.30 a.m and then made him go back to bed. Strangely he woke up only at 9.00 a.m. though he usually wakes up by 7.00 a.m. every morning. KG on the other hand woke up very early so I took her to my neighbor's place and made her take her afternoon nap there while we took KB to the hospital. After KB woke up, I gave him a bath very carefully without getting his cast wet. I had to cut a long sleeve shirt to be able to put his sleeve through the cast. Around 10.30 a.m. I gave him 4oz of Motts' juice. The surgeon had told me to keep even the clear liquids to a minimum. I was so paranoid that he should not have a reflux reaction to the anesthesia so I tried to be very strict about keeping the clear fluids also to a minimum. KB was so calm and so mature, not once he asked me for his morning milk or cereal or even for water. I had prepped him the previous night as to what I would give him and he somehow accepted it and did not give me a hard time. We got into the car around 12.30 pm in order to check in at the hospital at 1.00 p.m. The patient interview etc lasted for an hour. We then went into the short stay unit (SSU 4) and there they checked his weight/pulse etc. KB has been playing a lot with his doctor kit so he was quite enjoying the whole scene there. He wore his plastic doctor's glasses while we went into the hospital. A surgeon who was passing by as we entered said to KB, "Those glasses look cool man! Do you want to see my glasses?" and he had a cool magnetic pair that would come apart in the middle and hang around his neck which he showed to KB. KB immediately turned to me and said "I want magnetic glasses too Mamma"!".
To be continued...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy new year!! And goodbye for a while!
Wishing you all a very happy new year! I hope the coming year is filled with many happy moments, lots of laughter, cozy times with family and good health most of all!
I have been wanting to take a blogging break partly because of time issues. But I never could get myself to do it - because what started as a whim became so much a part of my life - I got so involved in the lives of the people I read about. I think about them often and if I did't read any posts from them, I wondered about what was happening at their end. Blogging felt like a life line on some days when the mundane things in life piled on so much that you felt weighed down by it all. Reading about a child's achievement, a travel escapade, a school play, a funny incident, a monthly update all served to cheer me up on those days. And on days I did post, it was exciting to look to see if any one had read it and commented on it. It all became an addiction. I have gotten to know some wonderful people through these blogs and felt a sense of community despite having very little time to meet people and socialize in a group locally. I will miss it all terribly which is why I want to safely call this a blogging break - because I would like to come back to it some day when I feel like it. And hopefully have a few people still visit my site and leave comments and make some connection. I thank very sincerely the people who have read my posts and left me comments and also established a more personal connection through email. I will of course still be accessible on email. I don't want to make this too dramatic for I don't know really if any one will even notice - but for the few who do, I wanted to say a proper good bye before taking a break! Hope the year 2009 is a wonderful one for you and your family!
I have been wanting to take a blogging break partly because of time issues. But I never could get myself to do it - because what started as a whim became so much a part of my life - I got so involved in the lives of the people I read about. I think about them often and if I did't read any posts from them, I wondered about what was happening at their end. Blogging felt like a life line on some days when the mundane things in life piled on so much that you felt weighed down by it all. Reading about a child's achievement, a travel escapade, a school play, a funny incident, a monthly update all served to cheer me up on those days. And on days I did post, it was exciting to look to see if any one had read it and commented on it. It all became an addiction. I have gotten to know some wonderful people through these blogs and felt a sense of community despite having very little time to meet people and socialize in a group locally. I will miss it all terribly which is why I want to safely call this a blogging break - because I would like to come back to it some day when I feel like it. And hopefully have a few people still visit my site and leave comments and make some connection. I thank very sincerely the people who have read my posts and left me comments and also established a more personal connection through email. I will of course still be accessible on email. I don't want to make this too dramatic for I don't know really if any one will even notice - but for the few who do, I wanted to say a proper good bye before taking a break! Hope the year 2009 is a wonderful one for you and your family!
Monday, December 29, 2008
Impulse
Shweta walked passed the vanity sink to get her red sequined Sari from the walk-in closet. She started draping it around her and threw the pallu over her shoulder. For a second she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She wondered for a second if it was really her. She had taken a month off from her graduate studies for her wedding in Delhi. Just six months back she had been toiling in her computer laboratory working late hours and having no thoughts of a wedding. Rajesh walked into her life and changed all of that. She had plenty of talent, had excellent education and sharp features too. Yet she had never felt comfortable in social settings and would retreat to a corner. She never felt that she had the smoothness of conversation that her friend Vidya did. She had envied Vidya for her cool demeanor around her male friends. So many of them had fallen for Vidya while Shweta had always been the friend, the confidante to the men who sought out her friend. They would befriend her to gain access to Vidya.
When Rajesh approached her and asked her out for dinner, she was sure this was about playing messenger to Vidya. She never felt animosity towards her for that but could not help feeling disappointed at the thought when it came to Rajesh. He was the mate she had in her mind. The intelligent look in his eyes, the accessible demeanor, passion for music, being able to converse well in Tamil, he even wore thin rimmed glasses just like the image she had in mind. And to see this guy falling for her friend. Why couldn't this one person have liked her and not Vidya? She cursed herself for her bad luck and bit her lip and tried to conceal her emotions as they sat down to eat.
The rest of the evening and the months that followed still felt like a dream. Rajesh had very simply told her that he liked her and would like to marry her. Straight. No dating, no mind games. To the extent she wondered if there was a catch. If there was something she was missing here. Things fell in place so smoothly that she lost track of time and of herself. For someone who had never dated anyone, to be accepted and desired so sincerely by the man of her dreams made it hard for her keep her feet on the ground. She felt like she really understood what cloud nine meant during those months.
She put the sindoor on her forehead and admired herself. She had started wearing eye liner and lip gloss ever since she got engaged. She had suddenly felt a desire to look beautiful, not just pleasing. She started wearing bright clothes and bold earrings. She stood in front of the vanity mirror and thought of her good luck. She now had a wonderful husband and not just that. She had a mother-in-law who was beyond belief. She treated Shweta like a queen. She gave them space and let them have their time together. She never expected her to cook and praised her singing when Rajesh asked her to sing at family gatherings.
Rajesh and Shweta got into the car and left for Bangalore. Mrs.Govind as she was known to many of her students put her feet up and let herself absorb the vacant feeling in the house. The house guests had finally left that morning and after three weeks of frenzied activity, she had two days to herself. Even her husband had gone out of town on work. She thought of her daughter-in-law. The focus of her son's attention now. Mrs.Govind had raised him well and given him all that she could as a mother. And now her job was done. She felt good but it was bitter sweet. She had been a school principal and had an air of sophistication about her that her daughter-in-law did not. They were wealthy in comparison and had more refined tastes in her opinion. As a daughter-in-law, she felt Shweta was no match for her. She did not speak English with a crisp accent. She looked good but dressed simply. She never wore high heels or sleeveless blouses. They lived in a large bungalow in Delhi but Shweta grew up in a two bedroom flat in Madurai. She does have brains though, Mrs.Govind thought to herself. And she seems to be more at peace with herself than I am at this point, she muttered silently.
She went upstairs to rest up and sort out her muddled thoughts. What is it she wanted out of her daughter-in-law? She was lucky to have Shweta in her life. She knew that. But she felt a feeling of hatred wash over her when she was alone at home. Yes, she was alone. In more than one sense of the word. She had prepared for this mentally and yet she found herself unprepared. As she walked up to her room, she passed by Rajesh's room. Not his room anymore, their room she thought to herself. She walked past the room and suddenly turned back and gave into impulse. She opened the door and walked in to catch a glimpse of Shweta's personal life. Curiosity took over the best of her. The crisp accented, power wielding, bold, wealthy, well dressed Mrs.Govind found herself peering into her new daughter-in-laws suitcase. She felt sick even as she walked in. She opened it gingerly and found jeans and sweaters, couple of books, salwars and Saris tossed in carelessly. Nothing interesting she thought to herself. She got up to leave before she puked at her own behavior completely lacking in culture. Her eyes fell on the little music box on the side pouch. Feeling disgusted with herself, she still pulled it out and opened it. "To my only love" the personal inscription read. She hurriedly put it back unable to stand any of it. She quickly put it back in place and rushed out of her room. She put her head back on the pillow and felt tears rushing down. She turned on her favorite ghazals on the CD player by her bedside and turned around and closed her eyes.
P.S. Fictional, based on hearsay and imagined characters!
When Rajesh approached her and asked her out for dinner, she was sure this was about playing messenger to Vidya. She never felt animosity towards her for that but could not help feeling disappointed at the thought when it came to Rajesh. He was the mate she had in her mind. The intelligent look in his eyes, the accessible demeanor, passion for music, being able to converse well in Tamil, he even wore thin rimmed glasses just like the image she had in mind. And to see this guy falling for her friend. Why couldn't this one person have liked her and not Vidya? She cursed herself for her bad luck and bit her lip and tried to conceal her emotions as they sat down to eat.
The rest of the evening and the months that followed still felt like a dream. Rajesh had very simply told her that he liked her and would like to marry her. Straight. No dating, no mind games. To the extent she wondered if there was a catch. If there was something she was missing here. Things fell in place so smoothly that she lost track of time and of herself. For someone who had never dated anyone, to be accepted and desired so sincerely by the man of her dreams made it hard for her keep her feet on the ground. She felt like she really understood what cloud nine meant during those months.
She put the sindoor on her forehead and admired herself. She had started wearing eye liner and lip gloss ever since she got engaged. She had suddenly felt a desire to look beautiful, not just pleasing. She started wearing bright clothes and bold earrings. She stood in front of the vanity mirror and thought of her good luck. She now had a wonderful husband and not just that. She had a mother-in-law who was beyond belief. She treated Shweta like a queen. She gave them space and let them have their time together. She never expected her to cook and praised her singing when Rajesh asked her to sing at family gatherings.
Rajesh and Shweta got into the car and left for Bangalore. Mrs.Govind as she was known to many of her students put her feet up and let herself absorb the vacant feeling in the house. The house guests had finally left that morning and after three weeks of frenzied activity, she had two days to herself. Even her husband had gone out of town on work. She thought of her daughter-in-law. The focus of her son's attention now. Mrs.Govind had raised him well and given him all that she could as a mother. And now her job was done. She felt good but it was bitter sweet. She had been a school principal and had an air of sophistication about her that her daughter-in-law did not. They were wealthy in comparison and had more refined tastes in her opinion. As a daughter-in-law, she felt Shweta was no match for her. She did not speak English with a crisp accent. She looked good but dressed simply. She never wore high heels or sleeveless blouses. They lived in a large bungalow in Delhi but Shweta grew up in a two bedroom flat in Madurai. She does have brains though, Mrs.Govind thought to herself. And she seems to be more at peace with herself than I am at this point, she muttered silently.
She went upstairs to rest up and sort out her muddled thoughts. What is it she wanted out of her daughter-in-law? She was lucky to have Shweta in her life. She knew that. But she felt a feeling of hatred wash over her when she was alone at home. Yes, she was alone. In more than one sense of the word. She had prepared for this mentally and yet she found herself unprepared. As she walked up to her room, she passed by Rajesh's room. Not his room anymore, their room she thought to herself. She walked past the room and suddenly turned back and gave into impulse. She opened the door and walked in to catch a glimpse of Shweta's personal life. Curiosity took over the best of her. The crisp accented, power wielding, bold, wealthy, well dressed Mrs.Govind found herself peering into her new daughter-in-laws suitcase. She felt sick even as she walked in. She opened it gingerly and found jeans and sweaters, couple of books, salwars and Saris tossed in carelessly. Nothing interesting she thought to herself. She got up to leave before she puked at her own behavior completely lacking in culture. Her eyes fell on the little music box on the side pouch. Feeling disgusted with herself, she still pulled it out and opened it. "To my only love" the personal inscription read. She hurriedly put it back unable to stand any of it. She quickly put it back in place and rushed out of her room. She put her head back on the pillow and felt tears rushing down. She turned on her favorite ghazals on the CD player by her bedside and turned around and closed her eyes.
P.S. Fictional, based on hearsay and imagined characters!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
KB's preschool update II
I wrote this post on Sep.29.08 - nearly three months back. Funny how you worry your brains out about something and then three months later (well much sooner in this case but I am writing about it only now) you have forgotten about the tension you went through then. At that time, I had been wondering what to do about KB's preschool situation. I had chosen that school thinking it was a good fit for KB and I liked the play atmosphere in the school. But then KB cried so much that after a month of trying, the director told me to take a month off and bring him back. I had been quite upset that they called me each time he cried thus not giving him a chance to just cry it out for a few days and eventually get used to school. Well, things just work out in the way they are meant to work out.
I had written about this preschool program that I started taking KB to since early October. For the first three weeks, I used to drop him in the classroom, but I would be walking in the park outside the classroom. KB knew I was in the vicinity. In the beginning of November, when my cousin and her family visited me, she dropped him in school and the whole gang went later to pick him up. My cousin, her husband and two children, my mami - all of them! That was the first day he was dropped off and I was not there in the vicinity. From that point on, either me and B drop him off at school and then I go to pick him up. He looks really happy there. He does some craft every day and he proudly shows it to me. The kids who come there are all between ages three and five - so he gets to interact with younger and older kids and he seems quite comfortable with it.
It reamains to be seen how well he will adjust when he goes to a proper school with longer hours. But for now I am most happy that this is exactly what I wanted out of preschool for KB at age three - one that will make him happy and one where he will do some stuff and have fun doing it. He plays different games each day - duck and goose game or kids soccer etc. They trace one page of some alphabet each day. Just simple tracing games like match the letter to the picture and then trace the letter type stuff. And they read two or three books to them each day while the kids are eating snack. Even after I go to pick him up, he continues playing there for another fifteen minutes! Knock on wood.
Last year, I searched all over the place for a preschool for KB. I might never have picked this place because it wasn't what I was looking for. But the way things turned out, KB made his choice and somehow it seems like the best thing that could have happened for now. Am hoping the next school he goes to for age four (he turns four in Aug 09), the transition goes smoothly. I decided not to move him to another school in Jan itself but to wait till July of 09. I don't know if he is missing out on serious learning but I don't feel like rocking the boat now. KB is enjoying himself, so I just want to let it be! Well, the little man seems to make his own choices anyway!
I had written about this preschool program that I started taking KB to since early October. For the first three weeks, I used to drop him in the classroom, but I would be walking in the park outside the classroom. KB knew I was in the vicinity. In the beginning of November, when my cousin and her family visited me, she dropped him in school and the whole gang went later to pick him up. My cousin, her husband and two children, my mami - all of them! That was the first day he was dropped off and I was not there in the vicinity. From that point on, either me and B drop him off at school and then I go to pick him up. He looks really happy there. He does some craft every day and he proudly shows it to me. The kids who come there are all between ages three and five - so he gets to interact with younger and older kids and he seems quite comfortable with it.
It reamains to be seen how well he will adjust when he goes to a proper school with longer hours. But for now I am most happy that this is exactly what I wanted out of preschool for KB at age three - one that will make him happy and one where he will do some stuff and have fun doing it. He plays different games each day - duck and goose game or kids soccer etc. They trace one page of some alphabet each day. Just simple tracing games like match the letter to the picture and then trace the letter type stuff. And they read two or three books to them each day while the kids are eating snack. Even after I go to pick him up, he continues playing there for another fifteen minutes! Knock on wood.
Last year, I searched all over the place for a preschool for KB. I might never have picked this place because it wasn't what I was looking for. But the way things turned out, KB made his choice and somehow it seems like the best thing that could have happened for now. Am hoping the next school he goes to for age four (he turns four in Aug 09), the transition goes smoothly. I decided not to move him to another school in Jan itself but to wait till July of 09. I don't know if he is missing out on serious learning but I don't feel like rocking the boat now. KB is enjoying himself, so I just want to let it be! Well, the little man seems to make his own choices anyway!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Award
![[Award.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6I0O630fFUpjpNJGoTzpwVrOiu6LZYEKxm9qFkOE9bIorWqsSUbxStFi7XXoDI-BliHiaYc5way9UIYinUf3ShLIsjwHqgG4LMqWxPRD7kGd14SyD3XZYw6r2Nosi99ldikA/s1600/Award.jpg)
These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to more bloggers who must choose more and include this text into the body of their award.
Thanks to CA and to Mammamia for this award. They truly deserve this award. I would have passed it on to them had not received this award already!
I pass it on to these people who also are truly deserving of this award. They are warm, down to earth and always make you feel like you can drop them a line even if you don't know them and you have this feeling that they will respond with warmth. Even if you don't actually write to them, you get that kind of feeling from their writing.
Ranjani
SS
Kodi's mom
Collection of stars (who has stopped blogging for a while!)
Bangalore mom
Dipali
Neera
MNamma
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Once a parent, always a parent...
I think back to the days when I was a student. I had this image of finishing school, getting a job, getting married, having kids etc. I have older siblings so I saw them go through it all even as I was a young girl in middle school. I had spent good amount of time playing with and cuddling and enjoying my nieces and nephews. I remember how my first nephew used to cry his guts out on some days when he was left alone with us (when his parents went out) and we would pray that his then nanny should be still in the neighborhood so we could go get her to calm him down. Which she could really do like magic. Or how my sister used to sound out words to my niece when she was a preschooler - like "sss ah t" (for sat) etc while giving her dinner. And how my other sister told her husband they would just have to cancel their trip to India because they forgot to put my nephew's "Nebulizer" in the van (he was asthmatic) on the way to the airport stopping at my brother's place on the way. My brother made calls to local pharmacies and managed to find one that would sell them one right away. I remember my second brother concealing his anxiety and praying to God standing in his pooja room while my nephew went through a temporary but severe phase of alopecia. And I think back on those little and big moments now and see it more clearly - what it means to be a parent. How you can't help but celebrate your children's every acheivement and how their every little pain is yours to bear as well.
I read this post by Mad Momma and I could feel her joy. And really felt pride at the little boy's accomplishment on getting potty trained and being able to carry on this basic function independently. I read this post by Tharini just now (and these somewhat prompted me to write this post) and I felt like physically reaching out and patting Winkie on his back for such a commendable job. On what? On being able to go through the tedious process of wearing the whole set of winter gear patiently and correctly. And to actually not take up his mom on the offer of getting dropped off in school. What more reward does a parent want than knowing the child is learning to fly on his own? These posts might have seemed like posts on trivial every day things from a giddy mom before I became a mom myself. I don't know - just wondering if I would have appreciated as much what each of these things mean to a parent before I became one myself. It is indeed a giddy feeling when your child is able to do the simplest of things on his own. From latching on perfectly as an infant to nurse, being able to look at your eyes and smile, to roll over, to roll a ball, to saying mamma, to look at the birds in awe, to point to the moon on a summer night...every moment, a celebration. Deep within. That is only shared in equal magnitude by the other parent. In the look they give each other and knowing that the other person too feels like jumping in delight. And in that feeling deep within when you feel like you are blessed infinitely - that your child is able to do every simple thing that we take for granted. But as a parent, you do feel pride when you read about children who you get to know through blogs - in some sense you watch them grow - in a different way - through the written word. You imagine their personalities and you marvel at the little things they do. I still remember some of Winkie's art work, Ayaan's arrangement of flowers, Beanie talking clear words at a very early age, Sooraj's lovely gift for his mother...so many little things like that. These are children I have not met but only read about them through the mommy blogs. I relate to the pride the mother's feel when they write about them because that is what being a parent does to you. And it makes you realize what an important task you have at hand. That of raising children. Precious little ones that are moulded to a large extent by how much nurturing the parents are able to provide them.
I read this recently and agreed with No 1 on the list. To be able to provide your child with abundant love and to make the child feel secure in his/her early childhood years is an important task at hand. You know you love the child, but to make the child know that and to make him feel secure as a person is much harder than teaching academic concepts in my opinion. It sometimes fills me with anxiety when B remarks jokingly to me as to how much KB is influenced by my every action. While I sometimes loose my temper and yell at B in the middle of an argument, I see KB absorbing all my tones and inflections. And it later shows up in his own actions in some other instance. It is hard to become a saint as a parent. I console myself that KB has to know me as me and not as some saint that I am not in reality. Anger is as much as part of me as love is. I have to try to be good as much as I tell KB to be good. It is the trying that is even more important than winning or losing. I have to first convince myself of it before I teach KB that. But in all of the trials I go through in raising my children to the best of my ability, I realize how much I am growing in the spirit of the word as a person. They have enriched my life like nothing else has in the past and I pray that I have the courage and will to accept them as they are when they grow up and not set rigid expectations as to who they should become. I feel a sense of gratitude towards destiny for allowing me the privilege of being a parent. It takes being one to know what it means in the truest sense of the word.
I read this post by Mad Momma and I could feel her joy. And really felt pride at the little boy's accomplishment on getting potty trained and being able to carry on this basic function independently. I read this post by Tharini just now (and these somewhat prompted me to write this post) and I felt like physically reaching out and patting Winkie on his back for such a commendable job. On what? On being able to go through the tedious process of wearing the whole set of winter gear patiently and correctly. And to actually not take up his mom on the offer of getting dropped off in school. What more reward does a parent want than knowing the child is learning to fly on his own? These posts might have seemed like posts on trivial every day things from a giddy mom before I became a mom myself. I don't know - just wondering if I would have appreciated as much what each of these things mean to a parent before I became one myself. It is indeed a giddy feeling when your child is able to do the simplest of things on his own. From latching on perfectly as an infant to nurse, being able to look at your eyes and smile, to roll over, to roll a ball, to saying mamma, to look at the birds in awe, to point to the moon on a summer night...every moment, a celebration. Deep within. That is only shared in equal magnitude by the other parent. In the look they give each other and knowing that the other person too feels like jumping in delight. And in that feeling deep within when you feel like you are blessed infinitely - that your child is able to do every simple thing that we take for granted. But as a parent, you do feel pride when you read about children who you get to know through blogs - in some sense you watch them grow - in a different way - through the written word. You imagine their personalities and you marvel at the little things they do. I still remember some of Winkie's art work, Ayaan's arrangement of flowers, Beanie talking clear words at a very early age, Sooraj's lovely gift for his mother...so many little things like that. These are children I have not met but only read about them through the mommy blogs. I relate to the pride the mother's feel when they write about them because that is what being a parent does to you. And it makes you realize what an important task you have at hand. That of raising children. Precious little ones that are moulded to a large extent by how much nurturing the parents are able to provide them.
I read this recently and agreed with No 1 on the list. To be able to provide your child with abundant love and to make the child feel secure in his/her early childhood years is an important task at hand. You know you love the child, but to make the child know that and to make him feel secure as a person is much harder than teaching academic concepts in my opinion. It sometimes fills me with anxiety when B remarks jokingly to me as to how much KB is influenced by my every action. While I sometimes loose my temper and yell at B in the middle of an argument, I see KB absorbing all my tones and inflections. And it later shows up in his own actions in some other instance. It is hard to become a saint as a parent. I console myself that KB has to know me as me and not as some saint that I am not in reality. Anger is as much as part of me as love is. I have to try to be good as much as I tell KB to be good. It is the trying that is even more important than winning or losing. I have to first convince myself of it before I teach KB that. But in all of the trials I go through in raising my children to the best of my ability, I realize how much I am growing in the spirit of the word as a person. They have enriched my life like nothing else has in the past and I pray that I have the courage and will to accept them as they are when they grow up and not set rigid expectations as to who they should become. I feel a sense of gratitude towards destiny for allowing me the privilege of being a parent. It takes being one to know what it means in the truest sense of the word.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The jet lands on...
Australia!
That's our new continents game. I got a "Do it yourself kit" for KB where they have pre cut pieces to assemble a jet plane, race car, bird house etc. It is a lot of fun because he gets to smooth out the wood with sand paper and then paint it and then glue the pieces together to make a jet or race car.
We made the jet yesterday - he had a lot of fun painting it and was quite amused when he mixed (they only had five colors in the kit) blue and yellow and found that it turned green. He woke up this morning and told me about it with the tone of "Did you know, Mamma?".
After KG went to bed, KB and I were playing around with his newly created jet plane. I pretended like it took off and was high up in the air and I turned around and asked him which continent it was going to land on. He said, "North America"! I pretended that the couch was North America and I landed his jet plane on it. But I remembered his continents table mat he had and brought it out. KB really got into the game once I brought this out and then he took over the jet plane. I would say, "Oh, the jet plane is landing in Australia" and he would land the plane there. Then he took a piece of paper and pretended that it was the key to open the jet plane and he then let the people out. He proceeded to say that the people were all tired and needed some coffee. So he turned to the couch and made some coffee after heating some water and adding some coffee powder. (Looks like he only makes black coffee!). I then told him how awesome his coffee was and he said, "People Saptutaa maa coffee'aa" (People finished the coffee). He then went to the pretend sink and dumped their mugs in there. Then the "people" rang the door bell and I welcomed them to Australia and they all apparently had a great time there.
The jet plane took off again and I would say "Antartica" and he would land it in Antartica (on the mat). And he decided it was too cold there and so made them hot chocolate. Juice for those who landed in Africa. A bowl of soup for those who landed in Europe. And a loud welcome to the people who landed in each of these places and great hospitality with all these drinks served as soon as they set foot on the continent!
It was great fun being a part of this make believe world where every thing was so simple and straight forward and there were no lines in between to be read or rifles to be feared. It was a blissful half an hour for me. B returned home from work and KB enacted the whole scene for him with great excitement.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Feeling of home...
It is the Thanksgiving weekend. While Mumbai is dealing with endless hours of terror, we (especially those of us who do not have CNN) are flooded with advertisements for local Black Friday offers. My cousin, her husband and her adorable young daughter were visiting us after many months of failed attempts - random events coming in the way of their plans each time. India's 9/11 on 26/11. We talked about it to each other on the phone. Emailed friends who had relatives in Mumbai. I read news reports and blogs and watched NDTV's coverage late at night while the rest of the family slept. You read and read and read...yet that reality is so far away. You can feel the terror in your bones when you are physically there. But it feels almost farcical to think that I actually feel the terror that the people there in Mumbai felt. Life here goes on as usual. What do you do? Do you not entertain your guests? Do you not let your children enjoy a holiday break? You feel and yet you go on. And that makes you feel like you don't really care. Very unsettling feeling.
Prices slashed big time for plasma screen TVs. It is all over the news. Advertisements bombard us on TV. In all the years that I have lived in America, I had never stepped out on Black Friday for shopping deals. I am not much of a shopper but I had been curious about the Black Friday frenzy always. I was amused by tales of how an Indian neighbor of one of our relatives stormed into some department store to grab the rice cooker that was selling for $5.00 or some such insanely low price but had to contend with another hand placed on the only piece left, a Chinese person who loved rice just as much I suppose. They battled it out and the Indian person had the satisfaction of emerging the winner after experiencing the thrill of the chase when in fact he could have afforded to buy a very expensive rice cooker at full price.
I watched NDTV late into the night. I could not believe my eyes when they were showing this one commando on Nariman house shooting away - I was confused if this was the norm - to show such strategic operations on live TV?! I read blog posts and newspaper articles and went to bed very late at night. I had wanted to get some thing in particular for my cousin's daughter and I knew that I would not have much time during the day to go get it for her without her insisting on coming with me (in which case my cousin would have insisted I not get her one more gift). I knew Kohls was opening it's doors at 4.00 a.m. for Black Friday specials and I thought it would be a good time to go and get it over with before the kids woke up. I woke up at 5.30 a.m. and got ready and drove to Kohls at 6.00 a.m.
My first time going to shop at such an unearthly hour. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the parking lot completely full and I had to go around and around and finally found a spot in the far end of the lot. I walked in and saw that there were no shopping carts or bags available. I didn't need one since I was only going to get some trinkets for my niece. I paused and looked at some, didn't find what I had in mind and decided to walk to the children's section. I got there and saw that people were all standing in line and shopping. Wait, no - they were not shopping. They had finished shopping and were waiting in line to pay. That was the line snaking through three long sides of the store leading to the cash registers. I had never seen anything like this before. And honestly I didn't even think these were any great deals. I instantly decided to return home since it was just not worth standing in such a long line to get a couple of tee shirts or trinkets.
It was early dawn when I was driving back home. It was Shobha De on NPR talking about the Mumbai situation. About how she used to stand outside the Taj hotel when she was a little girl and wonder if she would ever be able to afford even going into that place let alone be married there. And that her daughter was to get married there 10 days from now and that she "absolutely" would go ahead with those plans if the hotel were to be back in business etc. Mumbai on my mind all along. Even as I blankly drove to Kohls and back. But in a strange way so removed from it all. Like there are times when you know someone you love is no more but the reality does not sink in at all because you are so far away from it and just cannot feel it physically. I had that feeling when my cousin passed away from sudden complication from her cancer, a month after my father passed away. My father's demise was very real to me because I saw him physically that way. But my cousin, I still cannot come to grips with that reality. That when I go back home, she will not be there at her lovely home.
I came back home and went upstairs to see what the kids were upto. KB had woken up to go the bathroom and had asked for me and had cried when he saw I was not home. But he calmed down in a minute and was in bed just when I walked in to the room. I did not even wait to change back into my night pants again. I just got into bed and asked KB to come from his little toddler bed and sleep in our bed. KG was asleep in her crib. The room was dark. It was nice and cool. I pulled the comforter over myself and KB and snuggled close to him. He has had a cough for a week now. He coughs mainly as soon as he wakes up or is in the lying down position. I made him sleep in an inclined position on two pillows and rubbed his back. I thought of the little child and her mother who were rescued. I really did feel for them. That kind of terror when you don't know if your child is going to be safe the next minute must be gruesome. I honestly felt a feeling of thanks - to the powers that be - to have the pleasure and privilege of being able to snuggle next to my child and provide him the comfort for a minor cough and feel a sense of home in that moment. I wonder if the terrorists know of such feelings - is it that they were not loved? Why would they do this to innocent people? To innocent children? The world is too complex, the questions too many, answers too few. But that moment felt full and happy and I clutched at it thinking once again about how vulnerable we all are and how people must have been enjoying such moments when terror struck them in Mumbai. I can never comprehend the mind of such terrorists who would be willing to destroy families mercilessly. With such conflicting emotions, I pulled KB closer and prayed for their safety in this cruel world and fell asleep for another half an hour.
Prices slashed big time for plasma screen TVs. It is all over the news. Advertisements bombard us on TV. In all the years that I have lived in America, I had never stepped out on Black Friday for shopping deals. I am not much of a shopper but I had been curious about the Black Friday frenzy always. I was amused by tales of how an Indian neighbor of one of our relatives stormed into some department store to grab the rice cooker that was selling for $5.00 or some such insanely low price but had to contend with another hand placed on the only piece left, a Chinese person who loved rice just as much I suppose. They battled it out and the Indian person had the satisfaction of emerging the winner after experiencing the thrill of the chase when in fact he could have afforded to buy a very expensive rice cooker at full price.
I watched NDTV late into the night. I could not believe my eyes when they were showing this one commando on Nariman house shooting away - I was confused if this was the norm - to show such strategic operations on live TV?! I read blog posts and newspaper articles and went to bed very late at night. I had wanted to get some thing in particular for my cousin's daughter and I knew that I would not have much time during the day to go get it for her without her insisting on coming with me (in which case my cousin would have insisted I not get her one more gift). I knew Kohls was opening it's doors at 4.00 a.m. for Black Friday specials and I thought it would be a good time to go and get it over with before the kids woke up. I woke up at 5.30 a.m. and got ready and drove to Kohls at 6.00 a.m.
My first time going to shop at such an unearthly hour. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the parking lot completely full and I had to go around and around and finally found a spot in the far end of the lot. I walked in and saw that there were no shopping carts or bags available. I didn't need one since I was only going to get some trinkets for my niece. I paused and looked at some, didn't find what I had in mind and decided to walk to the children's section. I got there and saw that people were all standing in line and shopping. Wait, no - they were not shopping. They had finished shopping and were waiting in line to pay. That was the line snaking through three long sides of the store leading to the cash registers. I had never seen anything like this before. And honestly I didn't even think these were any great deals. I instantly decided to return home since it was just not worth standing in such a long line to get a couple of tee shirts or trinkets.
It was early dawn when I was driving back home. It was Shobha De on NPR talking about the Mumbai situation. About how she used to stand outside the Taj hotel when she was a little girl and wonder if she would ever be able to afford even going into that place let alone be married there. And that her daughter was to get married there 10 days from now and that she "absolutely" would go ahead with those plans if the hotel were to be back in business etc. Mumbai on my mind all along. Even as I blankly drove to Kohls and back. But in a strange way so removed from it all. Like there are times when you know someone you love is no more but the reality does not sink in at all because you are so far away from it and just cannot feel it physically. I had that feeling when my cousin passed away from sudden complication from her cancer, a month after my father passed away. My father's demise was very real to me because I saw him physically that way. But my cousin, I still cannot come to grips with that reality. That when I go back home, she will not be there at her lovely home.
I came back home and went upstairs to see what the kids were upto. KB had woken up to go the bathroom and had asked for me and had cried when he saw I was not home. But he calmed down in a minute and was in bed just when I walked in to the room. I did not even wait to change back into my night pants again. I just got into bed and asked KB to come from his little toddler bed and sleep in our bed. KG was asleep in her crib. The room was dark. It was nice and cool. I pulled the comforter over myself and KB and snuggled close to him. He has had a cough for a week now. He coughs mainly as soon as he wakes up or is in the lying down position. I made him sleep in an inclined position on two pillows and rubbed his back. I thought of the little child and her mother who were rescued. I really did feel for them. That kind of terror when you don't know if your child is going to be safe the next minute must be gruesome. I honestly felt a feeling of thanks - to the powers that be - to have the pleasure and privilege of being able to snuggle next to my child and provide him the comfort for a minor cough and feel a sense of home in that moment. I wonder if the terrorists know of such feelings - is it that they were not loved? Why would they do this to innocent people? To innocent children? The world is too complex, the questions too many, answers too few. But that moment felt full and happy and I clutched at it thinking once again about how vulnerable we all are and how people must have been enjoying such moments when terror struck them in Mumbai. I can never comprehend the mind of such terrorists who would be willing to destroy families mercilessly. With such conflicting emotions, I pulled KB closer and prayed for their safety in this cruel world and fell asleep for another half an hour.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Life - stories and games - that's all it is.
I have been out of the blog loop for a while. Partly because after a long time, I have started sitting downstairs either reading the newspaper or magazines or watching TV which I had not done in a very very long time. B and I used to be "Law and Order" junkies but it has been a very long time (probably a year) since we sat down to watch an episode. He falls asleep when he takes KB upstairs to sleep and I don't enjoy watching it alone . I started staying downstairs to watch election related news and some nice PBS specials they had around then. And somehow that again got me started on a little TV watching after every one went upstairs to sleep.
Back to the main story - since this post is all about stories. KB's obsession with "sthories" (as he says it) is something I wanted to write about. Everything to him is either a game or a story. He goes to bed every night listening to a story - title suggested either by him or by me. And wakes up and tells me the story he heard the previous night. (This morning he told me "The Deicer" story). And during the day he makes me tell so many stories that I am beginning to forget where reality begins or ends. For ex, I was driving back with KB after doing some grocery shopping. On the way, we saw a young teenager being given a ticket by the cop. I told KB casually that that "Anna" was being given a ticket because he drove past a red light. (I just checked the recording and remembered what I told him!). KB pauses to think and immediately says, "Sollu maa, Andha Anna story sollu maa". And then the prompting (from KB) starts.
Me: Andha Anna drive panninde irundhan. (That "Anna" was driving). Suddenly he drove past a red light, traffic vandhundrukkarcheye (he beat the red light even when there was so much traffic). Police officer andha corner'lendhu pathundhar (police officer was looking from the corner). He turned on his car lights and came behind Anna's car.
KB: Appram Anna?
Me: Appram Anna ange poi car'aa niruthitu police officer'ku wait pannan (he waited for the police officer)
KB: Police officer sonnar Anna kitte?
Me: Police officer sonnar Anna kitte," WHY did you drive like that? You know you can ram into the other cars if you do that. You know you are not supposed to do that", appdintu kochindar. (PO got mad at Anna).
KB: Udne Anna sonnan police officer kitte?
Me: Anna Sonnan, "Sorry police officer, naa inme indha maari panna maatein (won't do it again), I will be careful. I didn't realize I was driving so fast"
KB: Police officer sonnar...
Me: Police officer sonnar, I am going to give you a ticket. I will let you go this one time. But if you do it again, I will be very upset".
KB: Appram, Anna?
Me: Anna OK sollitu, car'le yerindu chamatha careful'aa drive pannindu ponan! That's it. That's the end of the police officer and Anna story. (Anna got into the car and like a good boy he drove away carefully).
You can imagine many many such incidents that happen every day. Each one is a story. My cousin and her family and my mami were visiting us for a week. We went to a farm where the four kids were playing on a hay stack. One of them scraped his leg while jumping from a tall one. And there it was - the story of that evening. And that night KB's bed time story was "The litte boy and the hay stack". We go to the beach and on the way to the parking lot, KB sees a man changing the tire in his pick up truck. All along the drive back, KB asked me to tell him the story of "The repair truck". I went to visit a friend today and her son cried saying his finger hurt and she looked at it and said that some thing might have poked him. So on the drive back it was the story of why the kutti boy cried.
If KB is sitting at his little table and painting he says, "Mamma, naa painting game vladinkein maa" (am playing painting game). If he is doing some tracing of letters he says, "Mamma I am playing tracing game ma". He sings some random tune and I sing along with him he says "Singing game vladlam maa" (Let's play singing game). If he and KG pass something like a juice carton to each other when they are sitting in their car seats, he says "Passing game vladrom maa".
I wish I could keep life this simple. What ever happens around me, it's a story that I am witnessing. What ever work I do, it's a game I am playing!
There is so much I think of writing about the things they do, but I just don't get to it. I thought I should at least write down about this "story" phase that KB is going through so I don't entirely forget this a year from now. This was a kid I used to worry as to why he only liked lift the flap type books and not story books. Now every picture he sees in either the magazine or the newspaper is a story, every random thing he sees as we drive by is a story and this is apart from the stories he actually reads in books and stories we make up for him at bed time. I managed to record a mini session with him reciting some stories. Including "Malia and Sasha get a puppy dog" where "Obama Uncle" goes to the animal shelter and gets them a Black dog with white spots and they all take a plane and go to the White house!.
He dreams of stories too I think. He stirred in his sleep (the restless sleeper that he is) and when I patted him, he said, "Fire story sollu maa" because he saw an Olympic torch like thing on the roof of a restaurant that evening before he went to bed. When I mentioned the word flame in that story, he said, "Yen throat'la kooda flame irukku". And I thought to myself, "Wow, he has a sore throat and he says his throat is in flames?". I was totally puzzled. Until I talked to B and discovered that B had told him the story of how B has a sore throat too and how the phlegm (which KB thought was the same as flame) made his throat ache.
If any of you want story ideas, feel free to email me, I will come up with random gibberish stories for you since I have stories coming out of my ears!
Good night!
Back to the main story - since this post is all about stories. KB's obsession with "sthories" (as he says it) is something I wanted to write about. Everything to him is either a game or a story. He goes to bed every night listening to a story - title suggested either by him or by me. And wakes up and tells me the story he heard the previous night. (This morning he told me "The Deicer" story). And during the day he makes me tell so many stories that I am beginning to forget where reality begins or ends. For ex, I was driving back with KB after doing some grocery shopping. On the way, we saw a young teenager being given a ticket by the cop. I told KB casually that that "Anna" was being given a ticket because he drove past a red light. (I just checked the recording and remembered what I told him!). KB pauses to think and immediately says, "Sollu maa, Andha Anna story sollu maa". And then the prompting (from KB) starts.
Me: Andha Anna drive panninde irundhan. (That "Anna" was driving). Suddenly he drove past a red light, traffic vandhundrukkarcheye (he beat the red light even when there was so much traffic). Police officer andha corner'lendhu pathundhar (police officer was looking from the corner). He turned on his car lights and came behind Anna's car.
KB: Appram Anna?
Me: Appram Anna ange poi car'aa niruthitu police officer'ku wait pannan (he waited for the police officer)
KB: Police officer sonnar Anna kitte?
Me: Police officer sonnar Anna kitte," WHY did you drive like that? You know you can ram into the other cars if you do that. You know you are not supposed to do that", appdintu kochindar. (PO got mad at Anna).
KB: Udne Anna sonnan police officer kitte?
Me: Anna Sonnan, "Sorry police officer, naa inme indha maari panna maatein (won't do it again), I will be careful. I didn't realize I was driving so fast"
KB: Police officer sonnar...
Me: Police officer sonnar, I am going to give you a ticket. I will let you go this one time. But if you do it again, I will be very upset".
KB: Appram, Anna?
Me: Anna OK sollitu, car'le yerindu chamatha careful'aa drive pannindu ponan! That's it. That's the end of the police officer and Anna story. (Anna got into the car and like a good boy he drove away carefully).
You can imagine many many such incidents that happen every day. Each one is a story. My cousin and her family and my mami were visiting us for a week. We went to a farm where the four kids were playing on a hay stack. One of them scraped his leg while jumping from a tall one. And there it was - the story of that evening. And that night KB's bed time story was "The litte boy and the hay stack". We go to the beach and on the way to the parking lot, KB sees a man changing the tire in his pick up truck. All along the drive back, KB asked me to tell him the story of "The repair truck". I went to visit a friend today and her son cried saying his finger hurt and she looked at it and said that some thing might have poked him. So on the drive back it was the story of why the kutti boy cried.
If KB is sitting at his little table and painting he says, "Mamma, naa painting game vladinkein maa" (am playing painting game). If he is doing some tracing of letters he says, "Mamma I am playing tracing game ma". He sings some random tune and I sing along with him he says "Singing game vladlam maa" (Let's play singing game). If he and KG pass something like a juice carton to each other when they are sitting in their car seats, he says "Passing game vladrom maa".
I wish I could keep life this simple. What ever happens around me, it's a story that I am witnessing. What ever work I do, it's a game I am playing!
There is so much I think of writing about the things they do, but I just don't get to it. I thought I should at least write down about this "story" phase that KB is going through so I don't entirely forget this a year from now. This was a kid I used to worry as to why he only liked lift the flap type books and not story books. Now every picture he sees in either the magazine or the newspaper is a story, every random thing he sees as we drive by is a story and this is apart from the stories he actually reads in books and stories we make up for him at bed time. I managed to record a mini session with him reciting some stories. Including "Malia and Sasha get a puppy dog" where "Obama Uncle" goes to the animal shelter and gets them a Black dog with white spots and they all take a plane and go to the White house!.
He dreams of stories too I think. He stirred in his sleep (the restless sleeper that he is) and when I patted him, he said, "Fire story sollu maa" because he saw an Olympic torch like thing on the roof of a restaurant that evening before he went to bed. When I mentioned the word flame in that story, he said, "Yen throat'la kooda flame irukku". And I thought to myself, "Wow, he has a sore throat and he says his throat is in flames?". I was totally puzzled. Until I talked to B and discovered that B had told him the story of how B has a sore throat too and how the phlegm (which KB thought was the same as flame) made his throat ache.
If any of you want story ideas, feel free to email me, I will come up with random gibberish stories for you since I have stories coming out of my ears!
Good night!
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
And thus we decide who will lead the nation!
The much anticipated Election day is here. In an hour or so (by the time you read this for sure), it will be close to "prediction" time. And then the exact numbers. The winner at hand. Who will make the first announcement? Will they bungle it up like they did in 2000? No, I guess not.
I went to vote this morning - I had considered early voting or vote by mail but decided to just go to the polling booth. I had actually wanted to take KB along - but practical issues made me decide against it. I had to be there before the place opened to make sure I was back home before B left for work. KB was asleep then. And despite going before the polling place opened, there was a long line - but thankfully it moved quickly and I was back home in about 45 minutes.
It was exciting to vote especially when the whole nation is so excited about having the power to elect their president. Somehow, this time around you can feel the pulse of the nation as it comes together to choose its leader. Even in my family this time around, my nephew has been writing blogs and working non stop campaigning and making calls to voters. Two of my sisters have been volunteering at the campaign booths and all of us siblings have been having so many email discussions and arguments about all this. In a strange way, after having children who are born citizens of this country, I feel a greater sense of belonging here and a greater eagerness to be part of the voting process. I am hoping that by the time the next election comes around, the kids will be more independent and I can actually get involved a lot more and volunteer some time and effort towards all this.
I am sure some of my dear blog pals can guess who I voted for. But in honor of my dad who never used to tell us who he voted for, just for kicks, I too will leave it to guessing.
Waiting for the headlines to strike!
Power to the people!
I went to vote this morning - I had considered early voting or vote by mail but decided to just go to the polling booth. I had actually wanted to take KB along - but practical issues made me decide against it. I had to be there before the place opened to make sure I was back home before B left for work. KB was asleep then. And despite going before the polling place opened, there was a long line - but thankfully it moved quickly and I was back home in about 45 minutes.
It was exciting to vote especially when the whole nation is so excited about having the power to elect their president. Somehow, this time around you can feel the pulse of the nation as it comes together to choose its leader. Even in my family this time around, my nephew has been writing blogs and working non stop campaigning and making calls to voters. Two of my sisters have been volunteering at the campaign booths and all of us siblings have been having so many email discussions and arguments about all this. In a strange way, after having children who are born citizens of this country, I feel a greater sense of belonging here and a greater eagerness to be part of the voting process. I am hoping that by the time the next election comes around, the kids will be more independent and I can actually get involved a lot more and volunteer some time and effort towards all this.
I am sure some of my dear blog pals can guess who I voted for. But in honor of my dad who never used to tell us who he voted for, just for kicks, I too will leave it to guessing.
Waiting for the headlines to strike!
Power to the people!
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Boo!
Hope all of you had a nice Halloween! We had a great time with both kids thoroughly enjoying trick or treating. We visited a bunch of wonderfully decorated haunted houses...humongous spiders on the drive way, fog and smoke coming out of the lawn area, skulls strewn about...as we near the door, boom, a man shouts and jumps out from the side wearing a scary mask. I was leading the pack with two other friends and their three girls behind me, KB and KG.
KB and KG are probably too young to be scared - they looked unruffled by it all. KG's first time trick or treating though she wore a costume last year too. KG dressed up as "Piglet" this year and KB as "Spiderman". Speaking of spooky stuff greeting us at the door, we had KB's "skeleton" art work put up on our front window to greet the trick or treaters.
KB wore the costume to his preschool too (I am just going to call this school M preschool here on). They had a little Halloween parade and the kids went walking through the large field in their costumes. They had cup cakes decorated with green and yellow whipped cream and "bone" candy as toppings. They filled up popcorn into transparent gloves and gave those to the kids as well. Over all, the kids had a great time that day.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
When all you have are memories...
It was Saturday evening. We drove the kids to Lowe's to get new energy saver bulbs for our living room - we had bought the wrong size and finally got down to returning those and buying the right ones. This sort of thing is cause for high excitement for KB. He talks incessantly of the "burst" bulbs and how we need to go to Home D or Lowes to buy new ones. The two kids run around the mammoth store in utter delight and I shamelessly go around screaming like an uncouth villager, "KB, KB, NO NO, not so fast...stop!". And then lose track of him for a second and scream even louder with some threats added in. "Come now or I will leave you and go back home". And the little brat says with complete satisfaction, "Here Amma" and shows his face. Agonizing as it is at times to not be able to shop for a simple thing in peace, I still always take both kids to these places esp late evening when there aren't too many people, because I know how much they enjoy these kind of large stores. Especially when they are in the garden center there, they look so happy amongst all the plants and the little water fall structures.
While driving back home, we stopped at a red light. I turned to see an older man (an Indian) wearing white sneakers and neatly ironed pants and white full sleeved shirt. He had grey hair and was partly bald. It was around 7.30 pm, nearly dark then. That point in the day as it is makes me somewhat melancholic. Somehow the sight of this man reminded me of my father. He would go for long walks dressed the same way. Looking neat in ironed clothes. Many times, I would drop him at a shopping center a little distance away from my place, because it was too long to walk both ways. He would then walk around the open mall area and then walk back home. And sometimes make friends with fellow Indians or with some non-Indians who are either giving out pamphlets for their organization or have some kind of sales pitch. He would listen to them intently and even have questions for them. He would come back home and tell me the details of who said what or which "gentleman" he spoke to at the mall. I saw this man standing at the traffic light and I could bring back the picture of my father too doing the same. Waiting at the light and people watching in the meanwhile. I am still not able to get it out of my mind. It made me feel incredibly sad that all I had now was this very blurry image in my head of my father - you wish you could adjust the lens and get a clear glimpse of him in flesh and blood - that feeling when you see the image clearly and all feels right for the moment. I wish he had come with us to Lowes which he was sure to have if he had been alive. I imagine KB and KG constantly playing with him, wanting him to sit next to them and doting on him all the time.
I wish I could cry now but the tears don't come. The pain now is not raw but one that comes in flashes and leaves me feeling sad and nostalgic. He is not there to see my children now. It will be two years this coming January since he passed away. I was going to write a post about my MIL yesterday because it was her second year "Shraddh" ceremony. But seeing this man somehow made me write this post instead. I see so much of my father in KB - almost as if he is there in front of me - when KB does certain things. It is hard to explain but it is the kind of stuff that only the children know about their parents. The mannerisms, the slight lift of the feet while standing by the kitchen counter chatting, the playful smile while telling a joke when the punch line is about to hit you when you least expect it...things like that. Even at this tender age of three, one can see similarities. I am thankful for those moments when I see my father in KB. But I can't help but wish he was there with us...for my children especially. They just don't know what an amazing grand father he would have been for them. I just hope somehow somewhere they will know in just the way they turn out to be as adults.
While driving back home, we stopped at a red light. I turned to see an older man (an Indian) wearing white sneakers and neatly ironed pants and white full sleeved shirt. He had grey hair and was partly bald. It was around 7.30 pm, nearly dark then. That point in the day as it is makes me somewhat melancholic. Somehow the sight of this man reminded me of my father. He would go for long walks dressed the same way. Looking neat in ironed clothes. Many times, I would drop him at a shopping center a little distance away from my place, because it was too long to walk both ways. He would then walk around the open mall area and then walk back home. And sometimes make friends with fellow Indians or with some non-Indians who are either giving out pamphlets for their organization or have some kind of sales pitch. He would listen to them intently and even have questions for them. He would come back home and tell me the details of who said what or which "gentleman" he spoke to at the mall. I saw this man standing at the traffic light and I could bring back the picture of my father too doing the same. Waiting at the light and people watching in the meanwhile. I am still not able to get it out of my mind. It made me feel incredibly sad that all I had now was this very blurry image in my head of my father - you wish you could adjust the lens and get a clear glimpse of him in flesh and blood - that feeling when you see the image clearly and all feels right for the moment. I wish he had come with us to Lowes which he was sure to have if he had been alive. I imagine KB and KG constantly playing with him, wanting him to sit next to them and doting on him all the time.
I wish I could cry now but the tears don't come. The pain now is not raw but one that comes in flashes and leaves me feeling sad and nostalgic. He is not there to see my children now. It will be two years this coming January since he passed away. I was going to write a post about my MIL yesterday because it was her second year "Shraddh" ceremony. But seeing this man somehow made me write this post instead. I see so much of my father in KB - almost as if he is there in front of me - when KB does certain things. It is hard to explain but it is the kind of stuff that only the children know about their parents. The mannerisms, the slight lift of the feet while standing by the kitchen counter chatting, the playful smile while telling a joke when the punch line is about to hit you when you least expect it...things like that. Even at this tender age of three, one can see similarities. I am thankful for those moments when I see my father in KB. But I can't help but wish he was there with us...for my children especially. They just don't know what an amazing grand father he would have been for them. I just hope somehow somewhere they will know in just the way they turn out to be as adults.
Friday, October 24, 2008
When the cruel mother over works the little boy!
I sometimes dish out dramatic dialogues to KB just for the fun of it - partly meaning what I say and partly just to get him going into his "deep thought" mode. One day, B came home late and was exhausted. After a long day of taking care of both kids, especially when both kids had somehow been quite demanding, I had just sat down in the couch after dinner to just catch my breath. B had finished his meal and was loading the remaining dishes in the dishwasher. KB saw a bowl of cheerios that I had kept for KG and just on a whim turned it upside down and spilled it all over that area. Both of us got mighty annoyed at KB for his baby type mischeif and chided him. B grabbed a broom and gathered the spilled stuff and trashed it. As he was doing this I told KB, "Pavam Daddy, ivvlo tired'aa irukarche, you are making him do so much work. Pavam illaya Daddy...edukkaga nee indha maari panre? (Poor Daddy, when he is so tired, you are making him do so much work...why do you do this?).
Two days back:
Soon after the kids had their lunch (after KB returned from his preschool program), I took KG upstairs to change her diaper and take her to her crib for her afternoon nap. Just as I was changing her diaper, I asked KB to get me a facial tissue (which is use to dab a little bit of oil that I sometimes put on her skin) from the drawer.
KB says to me "Pavam KB, tired'aa irukache, he has to go get tissue for you!".
Kids these days!
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Two days back:
Soon after the kids had their lunch (after KB returned from his preschool program), I took KG upstairs to change her diaper and take her to her crib for her afternoon nap. Just as I was changing her diaper, I asked KB to get me a facial tissue (which is use to dab a little bit of oil that I sometimes put on her skin) from the drawer.
KB says to me "Pavam KB, tired'aa irukache, he has to go get tissue for you!".
Kids these days!
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Sunday, October 19, 2008
New art on our wall!
Our foyer area now has this new painting by an artist that B and I just adore. Yes, of course, it is obvious - it is KB's art. It is special to us for couple of reasons. He is so particular about certain things, especially when it comes to getting his hands dirty, that if he touched paint while painting with a brush, he would ask me to wipe it off right away. It would really bother him.
So it is really amazing for me that he managed to actually dip his hands into paint and create some art with it.
This piece is special also because he did this in the new drop off program for preschoolers - when I was not with him in the classroom. This is the fourth time he has gone to this class. The first time I stayed in the classroom. But KG was distracting the other kids, so they told me I had to stay outside the classroom. It is a large classroom with bay windows that opens into a huge lawn of green in the park outside which has really nice play structures. This program runs on T,W,Th,F from 9 to 11.00 a.m. The second time I took KB there, I had no choice but to leave him in the classroom and wait outside in the park area where he could not see me. He cried a couple of times but because that day's activity included playing outside in the park, he calmed down after some time. He saw me in the park and went back into the classroom and stayed there the rest of the time without crying. The third class itself, he went in looking like he was about to cry but stopped crying and had a nice time. On last Friday, the teacher told me that he participated fully and had a really nice time answering their questions and dancing along during the "song and dance" time. They have a craft time every class - he made a jelly fish the first class, a rainbow fish with sparkles (using a paper plate) the next class and this painting the last class.
At this drop off program, they do pretty much all the activities that the school he was in does on a regular day. Story time, snack time, play time, song time and in fact they have a dedicated craft time where they have a particular activity planned for the day. The difference is that this is not called a preschool only because it is a drop off program for which you can pay for each day. So it may not be the same set of kids each day. I am now actually considering sticking to this program for the rest of the year rather than going back to his old school. I really liked his old school but I guess there is that fear that he may cry again there and partly a mild resentment towards them for not having tried hard enough (to give KB the chance to get used to the school rather ask me to take a break for a month and then bring him back).
At some level I feel the point of going to a preschool at age three is to get exposed to other kids, socialize a little and be away from the secure feeling of a home environment for sometime. This program provides all of that. The only thing it doesn't provide is a steady set of school friends - kids who come every day to this class. KB anyway meets a few of his friends couple of times a week. And he has KG at home to play with, fight with and learn survival skills with too! (On a side note, he nearly gave us a heart attack when all of a sudden he just pushed KG's rocket rider to the muddy area in our yard and she fell and hit her head on the wooden fence. Thank heavens she didn't hit the edge too hard or she would have been in the hospital now bleeding away! Surely they are both learning some serious playground survival skills here!).
I have not decided fully on staying on in this program but this is what I am inclined to do. He is having a great time here. The teachers are all recent college graduates working for the city who conduct this program. They are young and energetic and all of them are licensed and have some early childhood education. I feel a little nervous when I talk to hyper-super moms who will only send their kids to Montessori where they could potentially learn a lot more academic stuff. I don't know if KB will lag behind in that respect when he turns four but for now this seems more than enough to me. And bottom line to me, he looked really happy at this place the last two classes. The teachers address him by his first name and give him high-fives and seat him on their lap and what not. I wanted a place that will nurture him and make him happy. If it continues this way and he looks happy, I am inclined to forgo my (hard won) admission into the other school and stick with this for age three.
And that is the story of the new art work adorning our foyer wall!
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Laughing game, story time...
KB loves to be silly and loves to laugh. He gets into laugh mode and just cannot stop sometimes. Much like how I used to be as a child. One day when I was giving him his cereal, just when we were close to being done, I suddenly broke into laughter (fake) - buahhh....ahhh....ahhh...and pretended like it was uncontrollable laughter and then I stopped. He was so taken aback by this sudden outburst but he clearly loved it because he just started laughing loudly - but his laughter was real. KG saw us both laughing (when he really laughed, I found it funny was laughing too) and even though she had no clue what this was about - she came to the high chair and started chortling and laughing herself. It was overall so much fun. KB of course got addicted to this laughing game. When I took KG upstairs and changed her diaper and then put her on the bed to just run around, KB said to me, "Mamma, buaahh pannu" (laugh like that). And all over again we went through it and we were all laughing like looney bins! :)
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Story time:
B used to either whistle tunes or just sing children's songs for KB when he pats him to sleep for the night. We dont' read to them during bed time. All reading happens downstairs before he gets into bed. One day I suggested to B that he should tell KB stories for bedtime. KB used to enjoy stories I told him at random times during the day. So for a few days B used to look up children's stories on the internet and then tell KB modified versions of these stories. It usually revolved around some animal stories. Tortoise and the hare type stories. One day, I asked KB what story he wanted B to tell him that night. And KB suggested some random title like "The crab and the whale" or some such title. And that night B just made up a story about the crab and the whale. It so happened that the next day I came up with a title for the story for that night. Since then it has become a routine for us. KB and I take turns in suggesting a story for B to tell him at night. And each time we come up with a title KB says "I don't know Daddy if can handle it (he puts the "If" after daddy)". And I have to say, "I don't know !". And then KB says, "Daddy can handle it"! KB enjoys these random little stories we make up (mostly B, some days it is me) during his bed time. Every morning, he tells me the story. He cuts out all the frills and just gets to the meat of the story. Some days, he gets into it and tells me the story with his own frills attached.
One night it was my turn (KB never forgets whose turn it is to suggest the story) to come up with a story title. I suggested "Bubbles and the dog" randomly. I thought B would be getting KB into bed but it turned out he had some work so I had to do it. This is the gist of the story.
"There was a little boy named John. He was going to turn three years old. His dad asked him "What do you want for your birthday, little John?". John told him that he wanted bubbles to blow and a water table in the yard. His dad said, "Sure, we will get you bubbles and a water table for your birthday".
John liked to go to Grove park. It had a ladder that he could climb without any help from his dad. (based on the park that KB likes to go to where he climbs a curved ladder).
One day at the park, when he came down the slide he saw two little puppy dogs. John and his little sister loved playing with those puppies. John was sad to leave the puppies behind when he had to leave the park. The lady said that she could not take care of both puppies and would be happy if John wanted one. But his dad told John they had to leave the park.
On the day before his birthday, John's dad asked him why he looked sad. John said to him, "Dad, I don't want bubble or water table, I want that puppy. Please Please Please dad".
"But John, you said you wanted them. You love bubbles and you loved playing with the water table at Adam's house. Are you sure you don't want them?"
John exclaimed, "Daddy, i only want that puppy, I don't want anything else".
On the day of his birthday, after John cut the cake and the kids sang him a birthday song, John's dad said to him ,"John, come to the yard, I have a surprise for you".
John went to the yard and saw the little puppy sitting by the big plant. "Arf, Arf" the puppy said and ran to John. John petted the puppy and said, "Wooooooww, Daddy! I love this puppy".
(At this point KB's eyes open wide with excitement as well).
"Thank you Daddy", John says.
Daddy asks John, "What would you like to name the puppy?".
John jumps up and down in joy and then turns to his daddy and says, " I want to call the dog "Bubbles", daddy.
John and his little sister and "Bubbles" played in the yard for a long time that day.
That's it , the end!
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KB loves hearing this story over and over and he just loves the feeling of surprise and celebration. He liked this story so much that he asks me to say it to him even during the day sometimes. In all both myself and KB enjoy this new routine (about two months now) of coming up with random titles and having B tell him those stories and then hearing about it the next morning.
Last night it was "The Lamp and the car". (B made up this story where the little boy goes and meddles in his mom's closet and happens to find an old lamp. He rubs it by mistake and a robot comes out of it. And the robot tells him he can give him three things. And the little boy says he wants a car. And the robot says, "Yes, Master" and so on. KB imitates B and changes his voice to sound robotic and says "Yes, master!". I just look forward to KB's rendition of these stories each morning. Tomorrow morning, I will get to hear the story of "The dog and the ball".
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Story time:
B used to either whistle tunes or just sing children's songs for KB when he pats him to sleep for the night. We dont' read to them during bed time. All reading happens downstairs before he gets into bed. One day I suggested to B that he should tell KB stories for bedtime. KB used to enjoy stories I told him at random times during the day. So for a few days B used to look up children's stories on the internet and then tell KB modified versions of these stories. It usually revolved around some animal stories. Tortoise and the hare type stories. One day, I asked KB what story he wanted B to tell him that night. And KB suggested some random title like "The crab and the whale" or some such title. And that night B just made up a story about the crab and the whale. It so happened that the next day I came up with a title for the story for that night. Since then it has become a routine for us. KB and I take turns in suggesting a story for B to tell him at night. And each time we come up with a title KB says "I don't know Daddy if can handle it (he puts the "If" after daddy)". And I have to say, "I don't know !". And then KB says, "Daddy can handle it"! KB enjoys these random little stories we make up (mostly B, some days it is me) during his bed time. Every morning, he tells me the story. He cuts out all the frills and just gets to the meat of the story. Some days, he gets into it and tells me the story with his own frills attached.
One night it was my turn (KB never forgets whose turn it is to suggest the story) to come up with a story title. I suggested "Bubbles and the dog" randomly. I thought B would be getting KB into bed but it turned out he had some work so I had to do it. This is the gist of the story.
"There was a little boy named John. He was going to turn three years old. His dad asked him "What do you want for your birthday, little John?". John told him that he wanted bubbles to blow and a water table in the yard. His dad said, "Sure, we will get you bubbles and a water table for your birthday".
John liked to go to Grove park. It had a ladder that he could climb without any help from his dad. (based on the park that KB likes to go to where he climbs a curved ladder).
One day at the park, when he came down the slide he saw two little puppy dogs. John and his little sister loved playing with those puppies. John was sad to leave the puppies behind when he had to leave the park. The lady said that she could not take care of both puppies and would be happy if John wanted one. But his dad told John they had to leave the park.
On the day before his birthday, John's dad asked him why he looked sad. John said to him, "Dad, I don't want bubble or water table, I want that puppy. Please Please Please dad".
"But John, you said you wanted them. You love bubbles and you loved playing with the water table at Adam's house. Are you sure you don't want them?"
John exclaimed, "Daddy, i only want that puppy, I don't want anything else".
On the day of his birthday, after John cut the cake and the kids sang him a birthday song, John's dad said to him ,"John, come to the yard, I have a surprise for you".
John went to the yard and saw the little puppy sitting by the big plant. "Arf, Arf" the puppy said and ran to John. John petted the puppy and said, "Wooooooww, Daddy! I love this puppy".
(At this point KB's eyes open wide with excitement as well).
"Thank you Daddy", John says.
Daddy asks John, "What would you like to name the puppy?".
John jumps up and down in joy and then turns to his daddy and says, " I want to call the dog "Bubbles", daddy.
John and his little sister and "Bubbles" played in the yard for a long time that day.
That's it , the end!
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KB loves hearing this story over and over and he just loves the feeling of surprise and celebration. He liked this story so much that he asks me to say it to him even during the day sometimes. In all both myself and KB enjoy this new routine (about two months now) of coming up with random titles and having B tell him those stories and then hearing about it the next morning.
Last night it was "The Lamp and the car". (B made up this story where the little boy goes and meddles in his mom's closet and happens to find an old lamp. He rubs it by mistake and a robot comes out of it. And the robot tells him he can give him three things. And the little boy says he wants a car. And the robot says, "Yes, Master" and so on. KB imitates B and changes his voice to sound robotic and says "Yes, master!". I just look forward to KB's rendition of these stories each morning. Tomorrow morning, I will get to hear the story of "The dog and the ball".
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What the eyes don't tell you...
I often wonder when I hear about suicide cases if really no one close to that person could have sensed a break point about to happen. The point where a person cannot cope. A point when he can justify taking his own life and under even more horrifying circumstances also that of others. I hear of murder/suicide cases or read about it in newspapers every now and then and just think about this in passing and move on with every day routine. But when I read this, it just felt so close to home.
Just the name - an Indian name. A south Indian who speaks the same language. Somehow I always thought only complete whackos who grow up in strained families end up doing really horrible acts of violence. To think that someone who grew up in a regular Indian family and had a loving wife and otherwise normal life could do this?! It turned out that this guy was my sister's close friend's cousin. The said friend used to talk to him very often. And she had no idea something so violent was brewing in him. All for the sake of money? Or the perception that one needs a lot of money to even make it worth living?
I happened to read this post earlier today. At that time I didn't think too much about the exercise. But it seems like a good one for kids to go through. And adults too. To clear up the junk in our own heads as to what is really important in life and what is not. What is a need and what is a want. And what needs and wants merit worrying about either having it or not having it.
There is loss of life every second in this world. So in that sense, amongst many many horrible acts of violence you hear about, this is yet another one. But somehow talking about it with my sister who actually knows these people and has talked to the wife of this person many times brings this so close to home. And it makes me wonder how one can look at a person and just never really know what is going on in their head. On the surface this guy's life was going quite well. He was not even bankrupt at that time he decided to end his life. He had had a pretty good life, a wonderful wife and three perfectly healthy happy children. And yet he could not see clearly how privileged he was and could only focus on that point in his life and decided it was not worth continuing on. It is so sad and tragic that I almost wish we could go back in time and save him and his family.
Long ago, I had posted a story of a young newly married woman who committed suicide because she could not cope with the loss of her husband in the Sep 11 crash. Sad and tragic as it is, somehow I am personally even able to understand that. But I just don't get how Karthik Rajaram could do this to himself and to his family all because he lost some money. He was a brilliant person and could have gotten a job with time. And then I realize it has to be a cumulative effect - years of prioritizing winning over playing the game and doing the best. Years of chasing the next goal without pausing to smell the roses. It is not just him, it is the society we live in and the people we associate with too. It is hard to tell another successful Indian neighbor, that you, the success story you are perceived as, has lost a job. They will be sorry for you but you feel right at the end of that sentence, there is pity, the kind of pity you loathe. (I have known people who went through this a few years back. Some of them who took it in stride are now back on track and much more successful than those who did hold on to their jobs then). The kind of look that says,well, I am in a good position myself, but I do feel sorry for you. It is when I hear such stories that I feel disgusted by how we spend so much time inviting people to each other's houses for Navratri or Diwali and exchange gifts and such but how much do we really know people? How much do we really care for each other? Are we really there for each other? Beyond pithy statements and pats on the back. Just my random thoughts in my moment of sadness over this story. When I think of the little seven year old, my heart just bleeds. To have died such a violent death. I hope he killed the mother first so at least she did not have to endure the worst kind of suffering I can imagine - to see her children being killed by their own father.
It scares me to think that being brilliant or being an over achiever or having all the perceived notions of a successful life also doesn't mean that the person is a self assured person. And then I tell myself that I need to remind myself of this when I raise my children. When I feel the peer pressure to put them in more and more classes so they keep up with the next door kids. I need to raise the child as a whole and not a facet of the child that will bring him/her degrees and money. And this is not to say any of this is his parent's fault (from what I heard he lost his mother when he was a little child). It is yet another reminder of how grateful we ought to be for the many blessings we have thus far and a prayer that our children, who in their adult life are likely to bear the burden of a lot of the economic crisis we are in now, will have it in them to face life with grace and courage. Well, a prayer for myself too that I am able to face life's ups and downs with courage.
Just the name - an Indian name. A south Indian who speaks the same language. Somehow I always thought only complete whackos who grow up in strained families end up doing really horrible acts of violence. To think that someone who grew up in a regular Indian family and had a loving wife and otherwise normal life could do this?! It turned out that this guy was my sister's close friend's cousin. The said friend used to talk to him very often. And she had no idea something so violent was brewing in him. All for the sake of money? Or the perception that one needs a lot of money to even make it worth living?
I happened to read this post earlier today. At that time I didn't think too much about the exercise. But it seems like a good one for kids to go through. And adults too. To clear up the junk in our own heads as to what is really important in life and what is not. What is a need and what is a want. And what needs and wants merit worrying about either having it or not having it.
There is loss of life every second in this world. So in that sense, amongst many many horrible acts of violence you hear about, this is yet another one. But somehow talking about it with my sister who actually knows these people and has talked to the wife of this person many times brings this so close to home. And it makes me wonder how one can look at a person and just never really know what is going on in their head. On the surface this guy's life was going quite well. He was not even bankrupt at that time he decided to end his life. He had had a pretty good life, a wonderful wife and three perfectly healthy happy children. And yet he could not see clearly how privileged he was and could only focus on that point in his life and decided it was not worth continuing on. It is so sad and tragic that I almost wish we could go back in time and save him and his family.
Long ago, I had posted a story of a young newly married woman who committed suicide because she could not cope with the loss of her husband in the Sep 11 crash. Sad and tragic as it is, somehow I am personally even able to understand that. But I just don't get how Karthik Rajaram could do this to himself and to his family all because he lost some money. He was a brilliant person and could have gotten a job with time. And then I realize it has to be a cumulative effect - years of prioritizing winning over playing the game and doing the best. Years of chasing the next goal without pausing to smell the roses. It is not just him, it is the society we live in and the people we associate with too. It is hard to tell another successful Indian neighbor, that you, the success story you are perceived as, has lost a job. They will be sorry for you but you feel right at the end of that sentence, there is pity, the kind of pity you loathe. (I have known people who went through this a few years back. Some of them who took it in stride are now back on track and much more successful than those who did hold on to their jobs then). The kind of look that says,well, I am in a good position myself, but I do feel sorry for you. It is when I hear such stories that I feel disgusted by how we spend so much time inviting people to each other's houses for Navratri or Diwali and exchange gifts and such but how much do we really know people? How much do we really care for each other? Are we really there for each other? Beyond pithy statements and pats on the back. Just my random thoughts in my moment of sadness over this story. When I think of the little seven year old, my heart just bleeds. To have died such a violent death. I hope he killed the mother first so at least she did not have to endure the worst kind of suffering I can imagine - to see her children being killed by their own father.
It scares me to think that being brilliant or being an over achiever or having all the perceived notions of a successful life also doesn't mean that the person is a self assured person. And then I tell myself that I need to remind myself of this when I raise my children. When I feel the peer pressure to put them in more and more classes so they keep up with the next door kids. I need to raise the child as a whole and not a facet of the child that will bring him/her degrees and money. And this is not to say any of this is his parent's fault (from what I heard he lost his mother when he was a little child). It is yet another reminder of how grateful we ought to be for the many blessings we have thus far and a prayer that our children, who in their adult life are likely to bear the burden of a lot of the economic crisis we are in now, will have it in them to face life with grace and courage. Well, a prayer for myself too that I am able to face life's ups and downs with courage.
Monday, October 06, 2008
The little girl in a Lengha...
Living in the US without a real home base in India, I don't often get to buy the latest styles in clothes - for myself or for my kids. A cotton Lengha with beautiful work done on it in just the perfect colors for my daughter - I could have only asked my sister to shop for something like that had one of them resided in India. My mom or my cousins/friends send the south Indian pavadais for KG. But a cotton Lengha for her sensitive skin, that is just right for KG - never thought I would have the pleasure of dressing her up in one of those. This Navratri season, when I went to visit a friend and I put this on her, it was sheer pleasure for me for a couple of reasons. One of course as a mother, I just couldn't help but admire KG in this beautiful outfit. Two, when I see her in those clothes, I think of the generous and sweet friend that sent this and feel that intangible connection in our blog lives. The thoughtfulness with which such a lovely gift was sent to a child she has only known through my blog posts makes it so special. It is strange how human bonds can be formed and a certain kinship established even without trying hard. Just from reading about each others children. In knowing how similar we are in many ways and also knowing how different we are as people in other ways. And yet being connected as just friends. If only the world were as simple.
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