You never know how large your house is or how many things your husband and child possess until you spend the fag end of your day picking up and putting away plastic bottles, towels, eyeglasses, animal figurines and tiny underpants.
Also by the same yardstick you never know how long the days are when there’s always some laundry waiting (either to be washed, or folded and put away) and your child insists on NOT sleeping.
Since I blog about most things, why sweep this particular issue under the carpet? Why indeed! So here goes-
I’ve been trying to find a space for myself (metaphorically) where I can relax and also burn some calories and maybe rid myself of the lard that’s been lovingly accumulated over the years. But more than becoming less-lardy I really want to destress.
One of the advantages of living in a gated community is that there are always vendors who are open to coming almost up to our doorstep and market their services. One such angel of mercy comes in from Artistic Yoga and I found that it spoke to me. Not eloquently or at length but it spoke to me. There’s something about being able to see the break of dawn right in front of you while you grunt and sweat and try to cajole unused muscles (aka my whole body) to bend and stretch and all the while hearing- DON’T FORGET TO BREATH!!
The cool morning air was in my face, the sweat was dripping into little plinks on the floor and I was in the zone. Twilight methinks but I was in the zone. I forgot home and hearth and tried to just go with the bends and turns that will one day help me turn into a human pretzel. Or not.
But it’s a start and one I hope I can keep to. The instructor was kind…he sees more out of shape housewives than he lets on but am sure in a day or two he’ll turn into a drill sergeant too and we’ll be doing the yoga version of Yo Grunt and Sir! Yes! Sir while I try to channel in the energies of the cosmos and clear my head 5 days a week. The instructor did ask me about my goals and any illnesses, problems that I had, any particular strengths I thought I had et al. Now if there was an award for exercising the tongue muscles I’d win that one hands down pat!
Watch this space for more posts on aches, pains and discovery of new muscles.
If you believe in karma that is. Else you can just believe in bad luck or stoically soldier through life’s tough spots. A specific group of people across the world, who are strangers to each other but actually united in their erm…”difficulties” are the parents to preschoolers. I believe they cease to be group members when the child turns 6 and then come together again during the teenage years.
Anyhow, during one of my imploding moments (a have a few throughout the week) I was trying to understand, WHY ME? And I realized that the only answer that made sense was that the universe was screwing with me. Why else would I be doubly blessed with a hybrid of a monkey and a parrot for a child?
From the spilt chocolate milk to the clothes he dumped into the washing machine (without separating the colored from the whites) just to help me out or the bodywash he emptied by putting it in his tub to make MORE BUBBLES (in his words)…it all seems like the cosmos conspiring against me time and again.
But I have news for you universe…he’ll eventually move out and I’ll retire from active parenting and become gaga (with happiness or old age is yet to be determined) and then he’ll be your problem!
What goes around. Comes around.
Author’s Note: This blog post was written as a means of blowing of tension which normally would have been accomplished with an alcoholic beverage and vocabulary normally frowned upon by childhood experts and shrinks (and my husband). But I still do blame the universe.
OK people, be prepared for an out and out rant today. There’s a global phenomenon that men laugh and also mutter oaths about- The Woman Driver. The way this paragon of road (un)worthiness is portrayed you’d think she was a combination of a sloth or a slug who was inching forward in traffic while other people were aging in the process, or she was a hurricane on wheels; blowing away everyone in her path and piling up a huge body count in the process.
Now the question demands to be asked- Why am I ranting this fine, breezy morning instead of celebrating my rare and soon-to-be finished hours of me-time? Well I met the other half of the paragon viz The Male Driver.
While dropping MLM to school this morning I came across some beautiful examples of flagrant disregard for traffic rules, human and animal life to boot! And it’s not merely the speed demons on bikes or the vans bearing goods that indulged in such displays…it was nothing less than a Beemer…so you see, we have classy people getting into the act as well!
I have sadly come across too many people who sneer at women drivers, my husband unfortunately falls into these ranks despite him knowing better and ideally fearing for his life. But I fail to understand why a man’s gender isn’t singled out when he makes driving booboos. Do we women possess some kind of mutated driving chromosomes which make us “inept” or unsavvy drivers?
If we’re pointing fingers lets do it collectively at a group of incompetent or rash drivers overall. Why drag the gender bit into it? Because let’s face it, there are WAY many more males driving globally and getting into 7-car pile-ups or even ending up on car chases with cops than females from the look of it. So either those people are all cross-dressing men or maybe men too come into their fair share of driving no-nos.
As for the argument of men being from Mars and women from Venus- just remember that in the end we’re all aliens under the same sun!
Here endeth the lesson.
I came across an article in this morning’s Times of India’s Sunday section- Did Hermione choose the wrong partner?
The article by itself has little to do with being in toto about Harry Potter but more about compatibility and similarities in couples or could-have, should-have, would-have been couples and the choices that they ultimately end up making.
In a country like India where alliances are usually fixed taking into account similarity of background, family finances, religion et al, people can still end up being very different from each other temperamentally. The commonalities are usually in place to help the newly weds and their immediate families adjust (in theory). The more similarities you find in getting to know each other, the ice breaking goes that much better and there’s less new ground to cover or less surprises I guess.
For the multitude of people who end up choosing their own partners (from diverse AND similar backgrounds); they are propelled by a lot of reasons, emotional and practical, but I believe that we take the step into matrimony/long-term relationships because being with a particular person seems to be the right thing to do at a particular juncture.
Sure, people talk about being able to envision a life time with whom they love and picket fences, or condos in a high-rise, but getting through the day-to-day is what’s real and what’s palpable therefore does end up guiding our steps more than we realize. Because what you think of the future is merely a projection of your hopes, dreams and wishes drawn out of what’s transpiring in the present.
I have seen people who I never thought would actually fit each other personality-wise or those who would never seek each other out, get together and manage to hack it over the years. And even if a relationship doesn’t last until death do them apart, for some having had companionship, affection, support, passion, laughter in their lives is often counted as a success too.
Bottom line? I believe that when people choose a partner, they go by what makes sense to them emotionally and practically at a particular time. It’s circumstances which play a huge role in defining whom we deem fit, deem right or even essential to partner with in life. So…did Hermione choose the wrong partner? Well had she chosen Neville or even Draco it’d have been a series of jaws-dropping across the globe but she chose Ron for reasons known to her and J.K Rowling alone. And in some parallel universe where fictional characters exist long after the books have been written, read and put away, am sure she and Ron are going through their daily dance or skirmishes as a married couple.
Did you choose correctly? That answer can get refined over time. If it makes sense now…run with it. Life has many surprises up her sleeve and you don’t need all the answers right away 🙂
I’ll admit it here and possibly have it engraved on a metal plate and hang it somewhere prominently…NO ONE CAN SHOCK ME AS MUCH AS MY CHILD!
While I was dropping him to school this morning he suddenly got very excited and shouted out, ” LOOK! FUCKS!” I nearly had a WTF moment myself and carefully asked him, ” What did you say?” To which the pat came the reply, ” TWO FUCKS!” By this time I had a sinking feeling in my stomach and was wondering how to tell Red that our only child had been initiated in the unholy world of profanity when the tiny paws that pass for MLM’s hands gripped my ponytail and started tugging to show me the “fucks”. And I saw them…2 dogs with small bodies, bushy tails and pointy ears like that of a FOX! DUH! DUH! DUH!
So like every ostensibly responsible mother I started to enunciate FOX properly and asked him to repeat after me but to no avail. And 15 minute car trips are hardly long enough to pass on life lessons let alone pronunciations so I let it be for then. But I’ve roped in his teachers so they can help him change his verbal outlook towards this poor poor animal who unknowingly almost caused a mother to screech to a stop in the middle of commuter traffic in the morning.
Oh FOX!
The following content has been rated GG (goody-goody and slightly gagworthy).
Spoiler alert- expect mother love and nothing else.
Dear Monkeyboy,
Ever since I saw that little button nose in the sonogram I knew you’d be the cutest person in the whole world. And while you weren’t the chubbiest kid ever born, the pearly luster of your nails, the curled up little toes that were even tinier than your father and I imagined, were perfect and and we couldn’t have asked for any more.
As you grew up you not only brought worry and fatigue in your wake but also an overpowering urge to keep you safe, cocooned and as a cherubic infant for all time since my life was that much prettier a place with those luminous eyes, the drooly mouth and the padded rump and the drunken baby gait you had while learning to walk.
Your high-pitched giggle, rapture at cartoons, utter joy at just spotting an ice cream is so pure, so unalloyed it makes me want to stop time and just watch you LIVE.
Trying to help you grow into your own person is a daunting task but one I embrace happily since I’m convinced that whoever you grow up to be…the moment I see you sleep with those beautiful long lashes almost grazing your face, I’ll be taken back to the image of my cherubic little man who made faces in his sleep and who held out plump little hands wanting to be lifted up for a hug and a kiss.
You are beautiful inside and out and I hope your dreams are beautiful tonight and always.
Your (Slightly Emotional) Mother
P.S: Sleep through the nights from now on wards and your mother will be emotional for totally different reasons altogether! XXXs&OOOs
