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Archive for the ‘Mom Speak’ Category

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 🙂

 

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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.

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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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Miss you

It’s been a crazy week at work. Going in early, coming back late with meetings all day.

So A and I have missed our morning routine – milk together, breakfast, then the drive to school. And by the time I get home, he’s fast asleep, or I just go and crash.

I crawled into bed at midnight, after my calls. I’d last seen him at 8:30 am. He’s had a mild fever in the evening…

His eyes closed shut, he reaches out, feels my face and asks “Where’s Dad? Who’re you?”.

And my world shatters.

I mumble, “Its me. Mumma. I’m back”

Still asleep, he answers back feebly “I didn’t cry. I didn’t bite. I won’t scratch. Promise.”

It took a while for it to sync in.  Earlier, I’d threatened him I’d go off to office if he threw a tantrum & bit & scratched me. And then I was gone. The whole day. 12 hours.

He was still a bit feverish. He sat in my arms for a while. We went searching for his Gems ball. He had some water. I tucked him in again.

2 minutes later, I came back from the loo. He was sitting up on the pillow. “You went to the bathroom na…. I was very sad… I was waiting for you..”. And I melt into a complete puddle.

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Baba and baby

During the morning prayer this morning, he points to the 2 agarbattis and smugly says “This is Baba and this is Baby!”

Huh!? well, one was tall and the other was short…

Speaking of tall and short, these days when I pick him in my godi, his feet reach down all the way to my knees! I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to carry him around 😦

 

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His best friend

Me: Tumhara best friend kaun hai [who’s your best friend]

Him: Nahi

Me: accha, school mein best friend kaun hai? AK? (the kid he talks abt most)

Him: Nahi. Koi bhi nahi. Mera best friend sirf Mumma hai.

🙂

🙂

On cloud 9 since then 🙂

=========

And my nth attempt to get back to blogging. The lil fellow has grown so much and so fast of late. I’m amazed. And I want to get back to capturing the precious moments – how Goosh has now grown up into Aarav.

 

 

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Fly away

Goosh’s love for aeroplanes continues. Here’s Goosh’s fleet of planes made from play-doh. Thanks Sands!

Goosh's fleet

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