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Sunday morning breakfast. Easy. Lazy. Father and son conversation over a lazy breakfast
H: My birthday's coming up next month. What gift will you get for me sweetie.
A's eyes light up, face animated, all excited  - I will get you stars, like the ones in my room! Then you can also put in your room.
The kid's thrilled. The Dad a bit let down.
H: And what other gift will you get for me..
A rushes in to his room and gets a Ben-10 package. Happy Birthday Baba! This is for you. It's very big. It will fit you. It's just like mine. Then you can wear Ben-10 bandi just like me!

Aah.. these melting moments.

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Continuing the lazy Sunday.. It's just 10 am. We've already been up a few hours. Yes, we're like that. The Damn Body clock just doesnt realise it's a Sunday. The maid's gone. The cleaning up chores all done - well atleast the ones I cant turn a blind eye to. Breakfast made by H - soupy noodles. All 3 of us sprawled out on the chitai, with the balcony glass doors wide open. The view opens out to lovely blue white grey monsoon skies, cool wind, the 4 palms swaying away, the yellow genda and the pink xyz adding a dash of color. Kid finishes and jumps off dancing to the balcony. Then stoops down to smell the roses..sorry er genda fool...

I say to H - feels just like a holiday. 
H: Ya. Almost.
Me: a chirpy sigh. What's missing? its such an enchanting moment.
H: Room service!??!

Exercising. At age 3.

You know the kid is growing up too fast when he falls to the floor and copies his Dad doing pushups. Perfectly. Just the right posture. I’ve seen gym instructors and sports coaches break their heads trying to get guys to do the damn thing right. And he goes and simply copies his Dad. Copycat!

Shouldn’t have been a surprise. We’ve been using ‘strength’ & muscles and biceps ‘just like Baba’s as the motivation to get him to drink milk and eat daal. Best intentions. Sigh.

 

Of papaya smugness

Feeling smug. Made papaya jam this morning. In all the morning chaos before heading to work. And papaya achar, yes, achar, y’day morning at 7am.  Pretty pleased with the results too.

All thanks to a persistent 3 yr old who’s been pestering me non-stop since he plucked a chotu raw papaya.

Day 1

“Mumma, i want to eat this”. It’s raw baby. You cant eat it.

“Iska sanji banao na”. Iska sabji bhi nahi banta hai

“Fir kya banta hai. Make pickle na”. No sona, papaya ka pickle nahi banta…

He sulks,  puts it in his bag and carries it home.

Day 2

“Mumma, chalo iska pickle banate hain” – in the most enthusiastic persuasive tone, just the way I do when I try to coax him into doing something.

Repeat above 10 times.

He washes it. Then he goes to the maid. “K aunty, iska pickle banao na”. And they start off in their own version of Marathi, she explaining to him that its not done.

Then I start saying I’d love to, but I dont know how. “Dont worry Mumma. Mujhe aata hai. Mein tumko batata hun”.  He creates a recipe. “Wash karo. Cut karo. Pickle masala dalo. Ready.” Huh! Where’d that come from!

Recite recipe 10 times.

I tell him it’s late, time to sleep, we’ll do it tomorrow.

Day 3

The brat who has to be shaken awake at 8 just in time for school, wakes up by himself at 7am and saunters into the kitchen sleepily rubbing his eyes. I’m making chai. He takes his papaya and climbs up on the counter. Tells me to get some water to soak it. What for I ask him. “To make papaya achar”.

And that’s when I gave in.

I call up my ready reckoner for recipes – my Mom. But  ***gasp** she’s clueless. So we decide to go with the brat’s recipe.

Chopped up half the papaya. Threw in the usual suspects – salt, mirchi, nimboo, saunf, mustard, er “sab masala” as he calls it, and shook it together.  Set in it in the sun the whole day. And wala.. in the evening we actually had a yummy papaya achar ready.

Sheesh. I’m now getting cooking lessons from my son.

Day 4

Similarly make papaya jam with instructions from son.

That’s what Mommy Days are made of :)

 

While Mom’s gone….

I dont know how, but that kid seems to grow exponentially each time I’m not around. Even if its just a 2 day work trip; or a long day at work. I’ve been gone for 24 hrs – on a quick 2 day trip.  And he comes up with these

When I called after landing in BLR
– Mumma, tum bangalore kyon gaye? Tum pune aa jao.
Baby mein na office ke kaam se aayi hun bangalore.
– Accha theek hai. Tum kaam karke aa jao.

Over the phone this morning as Baba fed him milk
– Mumma, I want you here.
I didnt hear him properly and asked him again
– Mumma, I want you here in Pune. Please come na.

Over dinner to Baba
– Abhi mumma ko ye aacha wala aaloo ka sabji nahi milega

Instructions to Baba:
Tum movie chalo na, mein tumhara godi mein duddoo (milk) peyonga.

Son: Hum mumma ko airport lene jayange.
Father: But baby, wo bahut late aaygi. night mein. 10:30.
Son: No problem. Mein sleep nahi kaoonga.
Huh! How did he know 10:30 is late?

Someone please tell him he’s not 3 yet.

 

How much I love you

We have this game where we ask Aarav – baby, do you know how much I love you. And he replies with his arms stretched wide “Soooooooo much”.

H asked him again this morning over breakfast “Baby, do you know how much Baba loves you”.

Pat came the reply. “No. I’m busy now”.

A dream come true

We’re watching a movie and there’s a dance scene. A jive or something like that. I look at H and jump – please please please dance with me”. He continues sitting on the bean bag, eating dinner. A hand reaches out to my knees “Mumma, mein dance karta hun tumhare saath”. His small hands grab mine. Firmly. And lead me on to the dance floor :) Like he knows this is important for Mumma. He jumps and he twirls. He runs around me in sheer delight. All the while holding my hand, firmly. Leading me. In his own dance. Up and down and round about. Throwing in what he’s seen us practise the last few weeks (from the one and only single salsa class we managed to attend). Leading me through gleeful turns and twirls. Round and round the floor in a mad dance till I’m giddy.

Bliss. Just what I’ve been waiting for my whole life – a man who can lead me on the dancefloor. Finally.

You made my day Sweetheart.

Business dinner = Pizza

A=Aarav aka Goosh. “Goosh” has been deprecated now that he’s a big boy ;)
———–
Of late I’ve been having quite a few business dinners. And each time I’m torn – whether to run home to A; or stay back for a somewhat boring business dinner.
The first time H spun a story around it and told A that it’s a boys’ pizza night.
The second time, I caved in; bunked the business dinner and joined them for pizza.
Today, I’m caught. H asked the lil fellow if he’d like to go for pizza. The brat usually jumps for joy at the mere mention of the word. Instead, I’m told, he pulled a straight face and said “let’s wait for mumma.”
Hmm. Now I’m really torn.
How do other working moms deal with this?
And do the ‘working dads’ also routinely face these guilt pangs?

 

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