Its been a while since I did updates about the girls. So here it goes.

Chula:

She loves to dance. She can dance gracefully and keep decent beat.

When she is focusing on something she bites her lower lip.

She is REALLY good in reading between lines. There are 56 children in her class and new kids join her class all the time. I do not remember all her classmates names. So if I address them as ‘honey’, she pulls me aside and says, ‘Amma her name is [x]. You called her honey. Is that because you don’t know what her name is? Do you want me to introduce her to you?’ This is only the tip of the iceberg. She goes much deeper as to rationalize lots of things that it is actually scary for me.

She has an amazing sense of direction. Considering that I am still working on my left and right, this she definitely got from her appa. This coupled with her fluent reading there are constant requests to go through a specific street to her school. If she mentions a street name and I draw a blank, she promptly says, “Don’t worry amma, just follow my directions. Go past X street. Then slow down. After J make a left on to W Ave. Remember, W Ave does not hit F Ave. So you have to make right on S Ave and then a left on to G. You know G, so you can manage from there amma.” When I ask her how she knows this, she places both her hands in parallel-perpendicular-parallel fashion and explains that A street and B street are parallel/perpendicular(in action, she does not know the terms parallel and perpendicular yet) and hence forth so it all makes sense.

She has an amazing perspective. When she has just turned four, she colored a Caillou print out and next to the it she drew a pair of shoes much bigger than the boy. I made a flippant remark about Caillou’s big giant shoes, she calmly explained that in the frame, Caillou’s shoes are much closer to us and Caillou is standing far away from us and hence the difference in size. She still has this perspective, sense of depth/distance and I see it in her art work.

She is the queen of procrastination. This she gets from me. When I ask her to put a book away in the shelf, it almost invariably goes like this: puts the book away->gets another book->starts reading the book->wants to draw something connected with that book->comes to get a pencil->gets distracted by the easel on her way->starts drawing something on the easel->goes to get the camera to take a picture of her drawing->gets distracted on the way to the technology shelf->goes to her room and starts picking her clothes for the next week of school…….. Me: “No fair, there can be only one procrastintor in a home and that position is taken.”

She thinks her sister loves her, but is not always kind to her. Her fantasy is to have a ‘Mieja tree’ in our backyard, so that there can be many many many more Mieja’s in our home. (More than one Mieja? The very thought makes me shudder.)

She takes poetic license when explaining facts to me and hence my nick to her ‘Dubukku’. Her other nicks are mylapore mayil, annakili, smathu chellam, seeni sakkarai, pokkiri.

She follows rules to the T. While on walks, she reaches intersection and waits for me to cross the road. When outside, she always asks me very politely if she can do something. While in public library, she always tells me before she leaves her spot. While crossing roads, she mumbles to herself, ‘STOP. Look left, Look right. Look left. Make sure it is safe. Now cross, quickly, but no running.’

She is scared of movies, even kid’s movies. The only movie she has seen in theaters is UP and that too she closed her eyes after the first 30 min. Not sleeping, just closing eyes and ears. All she watches is PBSKids programs.

Mieja:

I thought it was a fad. But it has lasted for the past five months and she is still going strong. Chula got a face painting kit for fifth birthday in Dec. Mieja of all people, who hates anything on her face has taken an unusual liking to it. However it is not ‘face’ painting per-se for her, but body art. So the routine now a days is, come back from school -> shower -> face painting body art. The routine hasn’t wavered for the past five months. R thinks his daughter must have been a temple elephant in India in her previous jenmam and this fascination is affectation of her previous jenmam. So far I have painted rainbow, cloud, dolphin, flower, heart, frog, star, butterfly and the list goes on. Even on weekends, when she is dressed in something fancy, she insists that her ensemble is complete only with hand painted bracelets, anklets, necklace and such. R and his temple elephant jokes apart, I am seriously praying that this is not a window in to Mieja’s future in which the said child is covered with tattoos.

The children have taken to Kandhasamy songs, which, I would like to clarify, has absolutely nothing to do with me. It is the husband’s idea of exposing them to the real world (*rolling eyes*). I banned Meow Meow, so I am happy that I have had my say. Mieja in particular loves singing, ‘naan pattu pattu pattu pattu pattu sundari’ in her baby voice and it is quite adorable.

Her current nick names include, but are not limited to Pipi Longstockings, pattu sundari, minor kunju, lord labakkudaas(labakku in short to match the dubukku)

Last month when her patti forced her to say something in Tamil, she said, “Soap-le face podatheenga patti” (Don’t put my face in soap instead of the other way around). She got mad that we laughed, stormed out of the bathroom, closed her naked self in her bedroom and refused to open the door.

The child has emotional blackmail encoded in her DNA. She goes ahead and does something 100% unacceptable, which makes me mad and what does she do? She turns on the water works. Here I am using every ounce of self-control and I ask her, ‘Why did you do that?’ and she has the nerve to answer, ‘Only because I love you amma. I love you, love you and love you. All I do is love you with all my heart and you are mad at me.’ But she is beyond any kind of blackmail. Once my chithi pretended to go back to Boston  because her feelings were hurt by the said child and the automatic response that was uttered was, ‘Stop, you forgot to take your jacket and suitcase. Take everything before leaving.’

She wants me to have another child. When I told her that two is my limit, she offered to move to Antartica and live with the penguins, so that I can have another baby.

She is very particular about her clothes. By the time she gets ready her room is strewn with clothes ALL around. I have learnt not to interfere with her clothing decisions and not to question her methods.

She has definitive idea of the concept of time. She carries on her daily routine without much repeated instructions from me. She is adamant that she will keep her own time and is offended if some one tries to manage her time.

If I tell her that I am not feeling good and ask her to take care of me, she makes me lie of her lap and pats me very gently and sings songs for me. Ever since I fell and broke my tail bone, she has been very protective of me. “Amma, don’t sit on the hard chair. I will get your cushion. Amma be careful, you cannot bend like that. You might fall again.” Every morning begins with Mieja asking me how my tail bone is feeling. Her favorite thing is playing mommy and baby game with me, where I am the baby and she is the mommy taking care of me. Today morning, armed with a rubber sheet, body towel, spray on starch container she insisted on changing the baby’s diaper and I had to declare that we are done playing.

She honestly believes her sister knows more and seeks her for advice, ‘Oh-oh. Chula I have a problem. How do I do this?’ and can tirelessly repeat the same question till her sister throws her hands up in the air, rolls her eyes and agrees to help her.

Dear Mieja:

I have never written public blog letters to you and your sister. I had my reasons. Now, Mieja, this is my letter to you. My first public, blog letter to you. I have my reasons.

If I ever write your biography, the chapter that covers 3.5 years – 4 years of your life will certainly be titled HEART ACHE. To call the past six months as turbulent will be an understatement.

Your motto has always been Vini Vidi Vici – you came, you saw us all and you conquered us all with your laugh, love, expression and attitude. You make me laugh like there is no tomorrow. When I hug you, I feel this sense of contentment swell inside of me. You have multiple facets, all of which I enjoy. Heck, I enjoy even your ‘padagamani'( adamant and aggressive ) side. You have always gone by ‘naan oru mudivu pannital, appuram nane yen pechai ketka maten’ (Translates to: If I decide something, then I will not listen to me convincing myself to change my decision.) and in the past I have found it awfully cute. The thought that this child is my last child softens parents in many ways. It is an abstract feeling that  can only be experienced and cannot be explained.

Any thing goes is definitely not what flies in our house. Your appa and I believe that discipline is not a dirty word. We view it more as setting safe limits within which you and your akka can explore. It will be false to say that we do not have any expectations on you and your akka. Though the two of you are young, we do have expectations, age appropriate expectations on you both. We are not new, inexperienced parents any more. Tantrums neither scare us nor embarrass us. We are level headed to view it as mismatched expectations and  are willing to work through it.

Now, something happened. Or may be many things happened….. I am not sure, but I can only make educated guesses. May be you moved from what Dr.Montessori would call ‘just existing’ to ‘conscious existence’. May be you are trying to learn your limits by pushing our limits. May be you delicate digestive system is still in the process of maturing and you are suffering from the same lactose intolerance and acid reflux that made you scream in pain 24X7 the first two weeks after you were born. May be you are trying to define your niche in house and in school. May be you are trying to run with the top dogs too soon. May be you are competing with your sister. May be you are competing with your self. May be you found that by screaming you get my attention sooner that anything else and decided to take that short cut. May be you are feeling insecure…..

As a result of this, the past six months have been non stop crying and plain unhappiness – mostly for you. What shocked me was the rage, the anger that emanated from you and that you blamed me for your unhappiness. It was not just me, but your teachers also noticed it. What started as hugging my legs and refusing to say goodbye to me when I drop you off in your classroom, only worsened over the past three months. You regressed in certain areas I thought you had already mastered. Your teachers were surprised that you were having separation anxiety after being in same classroom, with the same teachers for the past two years.

We had a conference and discussed certain things that have been sending red flags right, left and center in my mind. Most of the red flags, your teachers said, were ‘preferences’. Strong, rigid and to some extent eccentric, but they did put my mind to ease by saying that there is no cognitive dissonance.

The real slap in the face came to me, when the head teacher of your classroom, the director of your school, a very patient, kind and nurturing soul called me aside and gave me ‘the note’. After an unhappy good bye in the morning, you were sitting with your teacher and she made conversation with you. After long probing you told her that you were MAD at me. Your teacher suggested that you write a letter to me. You dictated. She wrote. And I am holding the note that says, “To mommy, Mommy, I am having fights with you. That makes me sad.” Slap. End of story.

Since then, I have been trying to get a break. One thing I strongly believe is that, when you are desperate for something, the universe conspires to give you exactly what you ask for. It may not be packaged in the way we want it. But you get it. The challenge is to recognize it and make the most of it.

The break I have been asking for came as a real break…. in my tail bone. I fell on the stairs and broke my tail bone. The positive aspect of it is that I get to stay at home and spend some time with you. Real, quality time that is not measure in minutes but in love. I am able to slow down and give you the focus you need without cutting down on the time I spend with your sister.

You will be four in a week. Hoping that the chapter about your fourth year will be titled CONTENTMENT.

More love than you can ever imagine

Amma

Chula is now in to reading. If she sees print, she HAS to read it. It has become a basic need for her. So I leave the child to dress herself for school or bed, what does she do? She is sitting there and reading labels on her clothes. This led to her observation, “Made in China??!!! Hmmm…. It looks like the whole world is made in China.”

When I got married, I did not know how to make hot water. So things like muruku and idiyappam were quite intimidating. I was almost thankful that my mom did not buy me a murukku nazhi (murukku/idiyappam press) as a part of kitchen stuff I carried from India to US. “First become an expert in sambar/rasam and idlis before you venture in to complicated stuff” she said and I thought that it made sense. I still remember the initial idli days when YadaaYadaa and I used to grind the batter together, mostly because we were afraid to do it alone. After numerous rock idlis, doasas that refused to leave the ladle, India map chapathis, we kind of settled in to a generic formula. Soon I was feeling brave to venture in to uncharted territories – medhu vadai, masal vadai, adai, paruppu urndai kuzhambu, usili, modhagam, pidi kozhukattai and the likes of such followed. But I never attempted anything that would require special cooking tools.

After a nearly a year of marriage, I decided to try idiyappam at home. But the problem was the nazhi, I did not have one. So I bought one during my next trip to India. It was a regular aluminum mold, T-shaped, the kind that needs to be pressed on both sides. The handle was so hard that I had to wear mittens to protect my hands. I started experimenting with idiyappam. One day the idiyappam dough was so hard that I had to ask R for help. We both grabbed one side of the press each and applied our full strength to the press. Result, a broken nazhi. Relatives in India were horrified that the dough was so hard that the nazhi broke 🙂

I decided that I am not waiting for the next India trip and purchased from the local Indian stores, the kind that has a rotary handle, for $14.99. Relatives in India were aghast, by the price of the press or by my resolve to keep at idiyappams, I don’t know. I have to say that this press served me rather well. Only three plates came with the press – a single star, a single thin rectangle and multiple fat circles. I made chunky idiyappams, but the taste was all right. Deepawali came and I made murukkus too and was quite happy with the results.

After 5 or so years, R was getting tired of the star murukkus. He really likes the smooth ones. But for some odd reason I never found a nazhi that had the right sized circle holes. It has been 11 years and that is when this came in to our lives.

This nazhi belonged to my MIL. It is almost 75+ years old, made of finest quality Burma rose wood, heavy but smooth from all those years of use. The nazhi used to belong to my MIL’s MIL. Apparently my great MIL’s senior daughters-in-law had dibs on this nazhi and my MIL, the youngest of the daughters-in-law got it, to the heavy dissatisfaction of the other DsIL, I must add 🙂 This nazhi has accompanied my MIL in all her trips to the US. The nazhi and her tattered 50 year old recipe book would definitely be in the top ten things she packs in her suitcase. She has put it to good use all these years I must say. Every time she visited us, my MIL made sure that there was an unending supply of fried goodies for R to munch. She would skip her mid-day siesta and churn out murukku, ribbon or omapodi. This was a regimen she strictly followed every ten days. It was purely her way of telling her grown up son, that she loved him fiercely. Tad too fierce, but hey that’s purely me 😉

Now the nazhi has been passed to me. At first, the impact was minimal. But last Saturday as I was making murukkus, both the mullu murukku and the smooth ones, it finally sank in to me. For my MIL to give up something that she has had for most of her life…..I don’t know….. I felt very emotional about the whole thing. Some things have the power to stir up powerful emotions in a person and the nazhi most definitely did it for me.

Tora Bora lives with her sister Bula/Bieja, their trusty pets Kumar seval (Kumar the rooster) and two parakeets namely Pachai Pazhuppu (pachai = green, pazhuppu = brown) and Ilamsivappu Neelam (ilamsivappu= pink, neelam = blue). She has an arch rival, Looter as in the person who tries to loot things from others.

Looter is not as bad as one would imagine. He is not the typical black or white kind of villain. He has multiple shades of gray, like all of us do. Given the circumstance and his impulsive way of thinking, he makes some regrettable choices.

For example, he steals Tora Bora’s pet fish because he badly wants to take care of something. Then Tora Bora and Kumar seval open the atlas and look for the place that is highlighted and travel there to retrive the fish. Tora Bora gives Looter a valuable lesson, ‘Don’t just take. Ask. If you need something you need to ask/work for it.’

Once Looter stole everything under Tora Bora’s Christmas tree. Tora Bora came down to find an empty tree. Even the lights and decorations were gone. The atlas pointed the duo to Iceland. She tracked Looter and found Looter and his whole family enjoying Tora Bora’s goodies. But Looter did it only because he didn’t have enough time and money to get his own presents for his own family. Tora Bora understood Looter’s plight, she shared her presents but only after reprimanding him for the act.

You get the idea. Every time Looter strays from the path of righteousness, Tora Bora and Kumar Seval step in and do the necessary. But the thing is, Looter never learns. He always relies on his impulse and Tora Bora never gives up on Looter. Unreal, but it is essential for sequels. Besides who is looking for logic? Then a lot of elements have to be cut from the story and we would have a bland, preachy monologue.

Just like Pipi Longstockings, the story focuses only on the children and the pets involved. There is not much mentioned about the parents, school and the likes of it.

Why am I rambling about all this?

This is the girls’ bedtime routine. They come up with a location, something out of random, Lebanon (CA, Why Lebanon you asked and this is the answer), Reykjavik (Iceland), Papua New Guinea…no rhyme or reason for the location. R has to look up something about these places and build a story around the place. He does an excellent job at this. He talks about snow sleds in Iceland, the wonders of Machu Pichu in Peru, the vastness of the Thar desert or the beauty of Taj Mahal in India, the paddy fields in Thailand and so on. He talks about the natural beauty and historic significance of the place/object. He is so good at this that the girls have christened him Storyman. When it is time for bed, they lie in bed and start chanting ‘storyman, storyman, storyman….’ and our dude makes his entrance and stuns them with the story.

As for me, I sit on the couch in the living room and listen to the story. After observing for months, I found that there always a context. The choice of place from the girls is always inspired by something that they heard at school or read in a book or simply mentioned by their friend. Another thing I have observed is that a storyteller can never be extraordinary if he just tells the story. He has to live it, give his interpretation of things, be emotionally involved, only then the story shines. I have heard Tora Bora rescue the arctic squirrels from the mean hunter Bora Palin, the abducted fish pet swimming in the paddy fields of Thailand and making big noise about how he is from the US and the paddy field is not up to his standards and such. R is very guarded and is a man of few words. So for me, it is like a window in to R’s mind. Sometimes it reiterates how different our thinking processes are. Sometimes it pleasantly surprises me with the things we have in common. Sometimes it just makes me laugh, roll on the floor, hold my stomach, tears from eyes laugh, which is what banned my presence in the room and landed me on the couch.

Looking forward to many more stories, Storyman, from the couch of course.

Chula: Amma, tell me about Lebanon.
Me: Errr…Lebanon?
Chula: I want to know about Lebanon.
Me: Okay, why do you want to know about Lebanon?
Chula: Because, I don’t know about Lebanon. That is why I want to know about it.
(Told with a sigh, eyes rolling, hand shaking and intonation as if explaining it to Rainman)
Me: But I don’t know anything about Lebanon
Chula: Googal it amma.
Me: What it?
Chula: Googal it.
Me: What is google Chula?
Chula: It is something that lives in our computer and when we ask a question it tells us an answer.

So we know about Googal, inspite of not introducing Googal formally.

Technorati Tags: google

This has a lot of Tamil content which will be lost in translation. Serious apologies for the non-tamil.

When I was a kid, I remember playing with my friends:

Gopala…Yen Sir ->Yenge pore? ->Kadaikku poren ->Yenna vaanga? ->Roti vaanga ->Yenna roti? ->Bun-roti ->Yenna bun? ->Tea bun ->Yena tea? ->Chakra tea ->Yenna chakaram? ->Vandi chakkaram ->Yenna vandi? ->Mattu vandi ->Yenna madu?…………..

…..and so it goes.

I remember another version, the beginning of which I don’t remember. But it goes something like this…

…Upma ->Yenna uppu? ->Kal uppu ->Yenna kal? ->Ma kal ->Yenna ma? ->Teacher amma ->Yenna teacher? ->Kanakku teacher ->Yena kanakku? ->Veetu Kanakku ->Yenna veedu? ->Maadi veedu ->Yenna maadi? -> Mottai maadi -> Yenna mottai? ->Pazhani mottai.

Basically there are many versions, but the idea is to keep the answer tied to the previous question and forming the basis for the next question. Sort of like word play.

Why this sudden nostalgia? The resident three year old A.K.A Ms.Pipi Longstockings(will tweet later on why this nick) A.K.A Mieja who is a hybrid of why-why girl and the never ending story girl has taken to a never ending loop of questions.

On a regular day this is how it goes:

Amma what are you doing?

I am eating.

What are you eating?

Breakfast.

What breakfast?

Upma?

What upma?

Aval upma.

What is aval?

Beaten rice. Poha.<I explain the whole process of making aval. But all the words I use have clearly circumvented the head, none other than the first two words have entered in to the ear of the said child.>

Why do they beat the rice?

To make aval.

What do you do with the aval?

I make upma.

What do you do with the upma?

I eat it.

For???

Breakfast or for a snack.

Amma, what are you eating?

At which point I am singing in my head “Devuda devuda ezhumalai devuda, chooduda chooduda yindha pakkam chooduda……” Inside my head because I am afraid of questions like what is devuda? What is chooduda? Why are you singing that song? What does that mean?………

Technorati Tags: preschoolers curious about everything, preschoolers asking questions, old tamil word games

Contd from part I.

She is at home because her school is closed for Gandhi Jayanthi. She washed her hair, children stayed off from clawing each other, her best friend was going to stop by and the husband was on his way home…. a good day…an over all sense of elation is prevailing.

She opens the door to check mail and she sees a package.

Her mind races at the speed of light. Books from Amazon? Nope. She didn’t order any. Besides why would Amazon gift-wrap it like this? Gift from India? Yeah right! Dream on greedy person……

She picks the package and looks at the ‘from address’ Wait a min….. Tharini from Winkiesways? Package from T? She has a rough idea as to the ‘why’, but the ‘what’ is still throbbing in her head.

OMG, she loves surprises. She loves presents. She loves opening presents. In fact she loves it sooooo much that as of a year back, she was opening all her kids’ birthday presents. This is like….this is like….pure joy. She feels like a small child. She is shaking and sniffing the package trying to guess what is inside.

Ok, she gives up. Inside her head a voice is screaming ‘OPEN AND OPEN IT ALREADY.’ She runs the tip of her car key at the corners of the box, opens the package and wrapped in a newspaper is ……..

A throw cushion with hand made embroidery
showing a mother and her two children, all three,
full of glee,
under a tree,
not any tree,
but a Banyan tree,
with the Sun all shiny
and the grass dewy,
for it is the blog banner of yours truly 🙂

With the package is a hand written letter taped to a thank you card. The sight of the neat script, that is so precise and beautiful, some how completes the experience. She is thinking ‘Aren’t hand written notes the best?’. She is scanning the notes from top to bottom, savoring the feeling, making the sense of completion last a bit longer.

All this kindness for what? Because she advised T to take it easy and relax?! Apparently yes. T says in her note, “I wanted my ‘Thank You Loads’ gift to be a gesture of the permission for the relaxed time you enabled me to sanction myself and here is the fruitful endeavor.”

All that is running through her mind is, ‘I must be truly blessed. Not just for all the love and kindness that is bestowed on me. But also to be able to recognize, be aware and appreciate the kindness that comes my way.’

Technorati Tags: kindness, thankful

Navarathiri has come and gone. Our golu dolls have been packed and tucked away in plastic boxes. For those who are wondering what I am talking about, navarathiri “means nine nights”. Golu is arranging dolls on steps in one’s house.

So why do South Indians display dolls for nine days during navarathiri? The belief is Goddess Durga, in order to slay the buffalo headed demon Mahisha – who was the embodiment of evil, meditated for nine days in order to gain strength and focus that was required to perform this deed. So dolls of gods and goddess are displayed on the steps. These dolls are considered the durbar of Durga and must not be moved/disturbed for the whole nine days. Special offerings are done very day in order to appease these various assortment of gods and goddesses in one’s home.

Not all South Indians celebrate navarathiri with golu. What used to be a matter of choice in the olden days became a family way of doing things. Growing up, golu was not the norm in my house. So as a child I have made sundal vists and dodged requests to sing. It is believed that people who come to golu have to sing in order to please the gods. But me singing would probably be in direct violation of the first premise that the dolls must not be disturbed. So I have always evaded the requests to sing with my trademark ‘asattu sirippu’. Who ever came up with the theory that all women have singing capabilities and those adhigaprasingi people who think that they can just say, “You have to sing. Otherwise you cannot leave my house.” *Rolling my eyes.* I always felt like answering, “Fine, I will move in….and will sing 24×7. Now THAT will teach you a lesson.”

In R’s house golu was celebrated in flourish. They used to be a joint family with all brothers, their wives and children living in a huge house. So golu was an occasion for the women in the family to express their artistic abilities. They made their own dolls, they created miniature parks and towns using what few things were available around the house. I am talking about 1960, when art and craft stores were non-existent. What with dressing up the kids, welcoming the visitors, golu was a major social thing for them. After R’s grandfather – the patriarch of the family died, the joint family arrangement slowly disintegrated and some how my MIL stopped the golu affair altogether.

I wanted to start golu at home, in order to show Chula and Mieja that we have a cultural equivalent of the Christmas tree. The understanding in the house since Chula has been 2.5 is, ‘You have a Christmas tree in your school. Your friends have a tree at their homes, because they are a tree family. But we are a step family. Every year around Oct we make steps and keep dolls for nine days. This is how our family does things.’ We waited for Mieja to turn three, so that she will not bring the steps down.

Year 2009 marks the first year that we formally start celebrating golu in our house. We did a five step golu and invited very close friends home for vethalai pakku. The idea is to keep the jing-bang relatively small and simple, so that I can sustain the tradition of golu for many years to come.

What one of my friend’s mom told me made a huge impact on me, in fact this was a driving force behind this post. She said,

“Devis, in olden days wore sarees had weapons and went on animals like lions or tigers in order to remove obstacle and to make the world a better place for every one present and for the future generation. You Devis, now a days wear pants, drive cars, but you are still doing the same. You are making the world a better place for your family through your love and you do everything in your capacity to remove all obstacles for your children.”

At that point I started thinking about all the Devis in my life. The more I think of all the support I got, the more I am moved by the love that surrounds me.

My chithi(my mom’s baby sister), who made a trip from Boston, to stay with me for two weeks, because this is my first golu. Though she is my chithi, she is only 12 years older to me. We grew up together and for all practical purposes, as sisters. We skip an entire generation, I call her by her name and Chula and Mieja call her chithi. For every major mile stone in my life, she has been there physically contributing her best. How can she miss my first golu? She did not make this trip to help me, she knows I can very well handle the golu and much more. But she said that she made this trip so that she can keep an eye one me, make sure that I don’t chew more than I can swallow and end up tired and all golued-out( pardon me for the expression ). Every step of the way, she was with me, bringing me back to focus when I spent half a day decorating and redecorating the golu backdrop, urging me to keep things simple, helping me make the prasadams, making kolams with the girls and clearing away the sink at the speed of lightning.

My mother, MIL and my SILs, though they were in India, I know for a fact that their hearts were in my house. Every moment of the nine days, they spent fanaticizing what the children would be doing, how I had arranged the dolls, how many people I would be inviting, how will I balance, work-home-kids-school-golu-visiting friends. Earlier this year my MIL and SILs visited us for about 6 weeks. Before their trip, my mother, my MIL and my SILs combed Chennai with a fine toothcomb in order to get dolls for my golu. How difficult is it to get a specific doll at off golu season, only they would know!

As I looked at my steps, I look at the different dolls I have acquired over the past years. Every single doll that has been displayed has a history behind it. Some highlights are

The electric silver lamps that my mother walked the whole of T.Nagar to buy, the pseudo banana tree that she looked for and drove my father crazy, the marapachi she sent over so that Chula and Mieja would know what kind of dolls she played with when she was a kid, the sandal wood Mahalakshmi my parents bought for our fifth wedding anniversary.

The foam Ganesha that YaadaYaada gave that reminds me of Meija. Something in the innocent hepless eyes or the way the Ganesha manages to loose his bindhi inspite of me super glue-ing the bindhis….

The chettiyar bommais that my first SIL bought. Mieja ALWAYS mixed the head and the body of the male and female and I would walk in to my living room and go, ‘Hmmmm something looks odd, but I cannot quite put my finger to it’.

The last step was for the kids. I gave them full autonomy as to what goes on it. They put all their Perler bead work on the last step. I have to point out to picture 15 in the slide show, the way the cups are hidden behind the house. When I suggested moving the cups in front of the house, I was rightly reprimanded by Chula, “Amma, the cups are not behind the house. They are IN the house. The people are having tea IN the house.” She walked away shaking her head disappointed that her mother couldn’t get this simple perspective.

Picture 16, the gold plated car R got from New Orleans when he went for a conference by himself. The first souvenir he bought back home without me asking ?

And for the laughs, when I asked the girls to get books from the bookshelf for Saraswathi Poojai, they got Twilight as MY book. I pointed that we must keep educational books and Twilight was fiction. They both echoed, “But, but you read this ALL the time?!”. Now you know of my reading tastes and why R calls me ‘thirty year old teenager’ ?

And then there was one act of supreme kindness a good week after navarathiri, that basically taught me that love is omnipresent and omnipotent. I will adjourn it for my next post, because I want you all fresh and alert when you read about it.

Now to my smilebox. Thanks for reading. LOVE, LAUGH, LIVE.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Technorati Tags: navarathiri, golu, nine days

You mention one word to ‘The Very Particular Girl’ and she constructs such vivid mental images that if put in words would fill a book.

The mother says ‘ice cream’ and ‘The Very Particular Girl’ imagines one scoop chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and M&Ms with a cherry on top, in a kids sized waffle cone. This to be had in the Cold Stone Creamery close to her house, sitting at the square table against the wall with three chairs around the table. She visualizes that her mother would be sitting next to her with a white plastic spoon on her hand. She visualizes that she is allowing her mother to swipe her ice cream from time to time and swatting her hands away at other times. She visualizes her younger sister sitting across from her eating vanilla ice cream with sprinkles and M&Ms in a kid sized sugar cone. She had already visualized what clothes the trio would be wearing.

If the mother had said ‘ice cream’ during an outing in which the little sister had not accompanied them…. no problem, she automatically assumes that they would go home, pick up the little one, change clothes and then go to the ice cream shop.

See the way the four-year-old mind works? She constructs an image, actually a movie clip, by gathering snippets from her past experiences. If the reality changes, the movie projection in her mind does not change. Her four-year-old brain is not that agile cognitively, so she changes reality in order to achieve her mental representation.

Of course reality being pretty real, there usually is a mismatch in the end result and the mental projection. Thus resulting in hands-flailing-legs-kicking-rolling-on-the-floor-tantrums. At times the mother has been afraid of ‘The Very Particular Girl’. There is no telling what ‘The Very Particular Girl’ is thinking and after the hoops the mother had jumped to do something that she thought would make ‘The Very Particular Girl’ happy, she had to face-ear-splitting-brain-melting-tantrums. Most disheartening of all, ‘The Very Particular Girl’ would come back home and pronounce the verdict that would descend on the mother like thunder “You made me very unhappy amma.”

After going through painfully small improvisations, one at a time, finally the mother and the ‘The Very Particular Girl’ have settled in to a routine. For anything activity they do, no matter how small it is, they draw up ‘A Plan’. A plan is nothing but a set of expectations, both the mother’s and ‘The Very Particular Girl’s’. Then they analyze what they can do if something unexpected happens and the plan goes haywire. The mother tells/warns at least 1000 times that one can only plan and life can throw surprises. The ‘The Very Particular Girl’ nods her head understandingly. Thanks to the plan, if something upsets ‘The Very Particular Girl’, she says, “But amma, that is not my plan.” The concept of ‘A Plan’ helps put things in perspective not only for the ‘The Very Particular Girl’, but at times also for her mother, because when you are a mother, you tend to just do things. In your heart, you are doing whatever you are doing in the best interest of your family. At times like that the little voice, filled with reproach helps the mother find her balance.

THE END

CAST AND CREDITS(Like you guys didn’t know all along!)
‘The Very Particular Girl’ – Chula
Mother – Yours Truly

Technorati Tags: Toddler tantrum, preschooler tantrums, how a child thinks, why do children throw tantrums