Of Deaf Leopards&Animal Scat

I’d overslept this morning and headed out to the gym midday, MLM in tow. Boy! That should have tipped me off exactly what would ensue while driving those measly 4 kms. But by all means, let me wax on and wax off Daniel-San!

Sorry, couldn’t help the last bit. Watched the original movie after ages and have been saying Wax-on, Wax-off in my head. Damn you Pat Morita!

Anyhow, among the less than pleasant traits that the offspring has inherited from moi is his urge to listen to the same song till he tires of it. Never mind others are already stuffing their ears with whatever they can to stop the earworm from advancing, but MLM and I remain oblivious to our surroundings and keeping blaring the songs.

After a few weeks of Fugly- Fugly ruling the roost in the car, I was finally given an opportunity to play something I wanted to listen to. A random selection brought up Vault and Hysteria came on. The little man instantly liked it (YAY!) and asked me who was singing. I often think about filtering my words before speaking to him but I was navigating through midday traffic and thoughtlessly said, “Def Leppard”. And we were OFF!

From laughing his hieney off about leopards being deaf to talking about big cats; I heard it all. I heard about animals marking their territory albeit in the uncensored version aka the leopard does “susu” on the tree and then kicks some sand on the tree with his feet backwards et al”.

Note: Anyone who doesn’t know how kids talk might think it was a very special kind of leopard or it was a mutated one, but “with his feet backwards just means with his back feet.

On we go…once he started talking about the big cats, I had to hear about each animal marking it’s territory, one by one. After the leopards came the tigers, lions, cheetahs, the jaguars, the ocelots, the panthers, the pumas and the snow leopards as well.

Just as he was running out of breath and I was pulling into the parking another thought meteorite hit him with a bang! “But why don’t they poop when they pee?” is the question he wanted answered.

As I herded him out of the car and up the steps I thought to myself, this kid is either going to be a naturalist a la Attenborough or he’s going to be a zookeeper! In any case ‘deaf leopards’ is a moment etched firmly in the annals of mother-son time.

Image result for leopard with headphones

The Malady of Summer Holidays

I’ve noticed that there’s a strange and inexplicable condition that happens to kids, especially mine over the summer holidays. They become deaf, louder, motor movements mimic being like marionettes with their strings cut or like mini Boomerang videos. Polar opposites but somehow they seem to be able to switch between them effortlessly enough.

The specific keywords that they don’t seem to comprehend are these:

  1. Get up.
  2. Slow down.
  3. Enough.
  4. No more (pool time, t.v., iPad, laptop, playing with water…till infinity)
  5. Get out of the pool.
  6. It’s late.
  7. Come home.
  8. Go away.
  9. SHUSH.
  10. GO. TO. SLEEP!!

Barring that it’s the same ol’ symptoms of childhood+boredom+curiosity all rolled into one delicious little buck-toothed package of silliness!

Will You Be My Whale?

Outside of the ocean and the ocean parks, Vegas and the other Meccas of gambling probably love the word whales as much as little kids do. Of course the meaning differs but the word whale brings a lot of different things to mind depending upon who is saying it and why.

Associate a woman with a whale and your friends will probably be delivering your eulogy or trying to contact you over a Ouija board one fine rainy night. But there’s loving side to being called a whale. And it can happen like this…imagine one fine day a mother and child are frolicking in the pool. The child is a rambunctious ‘un who takes to the water like an otter and gambols like one too.

He suddenly clings to his mother’s neck and demands a piggyback side all up and down the length of the pool. When his less than thrilled mother asks why, pat comes the reply, “because you’re my whale.” There are very few women who wouldn’t have a brief spell of a body dysmorphic disorder over these words. Especially one who has enough of a body to spare for a few starving people from third world countries.

So the mother tries to put a positive spin on things by saying, “I think I’m more like a dolphin. Don’t you think so? Dolphins are nice.” The child agrees that the dolphins are nice but stoutly (‘cuse the pun!) maintains that the mother is a whale.

When the water around the mother starts to bubble and churn, the child senses some element of danger and asks with a quasi-pouty face, “Will you be my whale?”

The imminent whirlpool ebbs and the newly christened (and no longer smarting) whale gives her cub the desired ride. But a few minutes into the return trip, when the cub just lets go and turns the mom-whale into a floating mattress, the urge to kick a tiny little rump over the horizon surfaces again. Strongly.

But oh that little hopeful face and those wistful words…”will you be my whale”. What mother wouldn’t melt? I almost did. And then I turned up my tail and swam away 🙂