Swings & Roundabouts

So the annual festival of gluttony and over-eating has been and done with. After months of whipping everyone to a “CHRISTMAS IS COMING” frenzy, the shops are now welcoming people in by the busloads, promising them twin carrots in the form of heavy discounts and less VAT.

But things chez moi cannot be more different. As one or the other of us chooses to fall prey to stray viruses, we are staying firmly put inside the warm walls of our house. The times I feel my wallet flutter against the door, bursting for a foray into the High Street, the spouse sits down with massive tomes, muttering arcane words like “Coursework!”, “Deadline!!” and thwarting my desperate bids for freedom.

To top it, the Boy has one of his bum chums over for a sleepover. Since last evening, they have been raising merry hell, making the Child’s head spin with their mad antics and generally behaving like a pair of paroled hooligans. This morning, they are hard at work, trying to outdo each other on the Wii. The spouse, typically, decamped early, having wisely set up a study date.

So am trying to hold the fort, trying to keep the Boys and the Child away from one another. Which is easier said than done, cos ever since she figured how to switch off the telly, she has been pressing the button off at the most (in)opportune moment, followed swiftly by cries of “MINTYYYYYYY! NOOOOOOOO!!”

As you can imagine, my cup is overflowing with joy. Does anyone care to pop over and babysit for a while? Pretty please?

Pratik’s learning about animals and their habitats at school. He was asked to take a book on them yesterday to share with his friends. So I asked him what he had learnt. Conversation ran thus:

Me: What did you learn about animals then?
P: Did you know that some animals are awake only at night?
Me: Uh-huh.
P: They are called noc-tur-nal, they are.
Me: Very good. Do you know what the animals that are awake during the day called?
P: Normal?

So my son asked me today, when I was feeding his sister:

“Cows and goats eat grass to give milk. So do mums eat grass too?”

Who wants to answer?

So P got his first ever certificate yesterday. He has been attending Kumon maths for the past couple of months. His dad and I were surprised when the teacher told us couple of weeks back that P would be taking his current level test. A test? After just 7 weeks? Oh well, we thought, nice experience.

Imagine our pride when he aced the test! Woo-hoo! So yesterday, he got his ‘Achievement Certificate’ and got his picture taken with it. It was hilarious watching him play to the camera. Now that he is comfortable with this, we decided to sign him up for Kumon English too.

He had the assessment to get over with first, to see where he was at. And my son is such a card, I tell you! A girl, she must be in her A levels or something, was throwing words at him and he had to spell them. Another friend of hers was sitting at the same table, watching him. Every time she gave him a word, P’s instantaneous reaction would be ‘oh that? That is too easy!’

After the third such comment, the girls picked up the refrain and chanted along with him ‘oh it is too easy, innit?’

Anyways, the teacher came and told us he did well and they were ever so pleased with the way he is going. We were both well chuffed, understandably.

I know there have been discussions going on in various mommy bloggers’ websites about the suitability of extra coaching for children and how soon is too soon etc. When I first heard of Kumon, P was in his Foundation class and was 4 and 1/2 and we both deemed him too young for such extra coaching and decided to leave him be. He loves his school and though is a bit of a chatterbox, he still does really well. When we decided to move back to India at the completion of his Infant’s school, we decided that we needed some extra help and enrolled him with Kumon. He also goes for weekly swimming and random football and kickboxing lessons so it is not all work and no play!

Would I continue with it once we are back in Chennai? I don’t know. I want to give him the chance to settle down in the new environs and get used to things first. And then, if he seems fine and if the situation warrants it, then we’ll see.

In the meantime, it sure is fantastic to see him chock full of pride over his certificate, which is already showing signs of wear, thanks to some rather enthusiastic playing last night. He is all set for the bi-annual tests at Kumon and wants to win the Gold, this September. If it makes him happy….

 

My Baby is 6 today! I know, I cannot believe it! I keep looking at him, looking just the same as he did yesterday and the day before and today, suddenly, he is a year older. How surreal is this? Where was the red-faced, wrinkled, squalling baby I held seconds after he was born? When did he go and become this child-person who talks cohesively? What the hell have I done with the years?Already, he is concerned that he is becoming older (!) and that in a few years his voice would break ‘into pieces’! I am not ready for this!In the meantime, happy birthday dear heart! May you spread happiness and cheer around you always. And, more importantly, may you always have it in you.

 

So we had the first scan today, at 12 weeks. I was apprehensive about it for two reasons – any possible anamoly and more importantly, the requisite full bladder. Keeping a litre of water in for more than an hour, when I know my bladder is full is a feat I have never attempted before. My bladder generally works on a ‘see water, will go’ principle. The time I had to sit in a half-day long training with the coffee machine going ‘drip drip drip’ less than two paces behind me was the most torturous thing, bladder-wise, till date.

I downed half litre an hour in advance and kept sipping from a 500 ml bottle the rest of the time in a move to take things easy. As S kept going around in circles (literally) in search of that elusive parking space, I had to hoof it to the Maternity Ultrasound unit. Having so much water sloshing inside me while I was pounding the pavement was painful, let me tell you.

For the first time in the history of my NHS experience, my name was called a mere five minutes after I sat down and wasn’t mangled, chewed and spat out in a way I did not recognise it – another first! Off I went, lay down on the bed and the nice lady with the doofus started prodding me.

‘Ooh a nice full bladder, very good’, was her opening statement.

As I was gritting my teeth tightly at that point, I couldn’t risk any pithy comments.

Next came the dreaded ‘uh oh!’

And I was like ‘what? what? Are there more than one? Wassamatter?’

‘No, no, dear, don’t panic. The baby is just upside down!’

Eh? Sure enough, there the little mite was, showing us her/his bottom. Nice!

So the nice lady tells me to pootle to the loo and do a ‘little wee to the count of 20′ and come back in. ‘No worry, dear, we have got all morning!’ was her parting shot.

I walked in to the loo. How the hell does one do a ‘little wee’ when you have so much liquid inside you that is threatening to do a Niagara if you so much as do a sneeze? It was bloody hard, I tell you, fighting nature.

Back in, take 2. Thankfully the baby had decided to play nice and lie down. But what a difference from Big Bro! P was such a sweetie – he just lay there and let the sonographer do his bit and take piccies. This one seems to be a bit of a drama queen. For the next ten mins, the nice lady kept going ‘ooh don’t you do that, you naughty baby’, ‘come back here!’, ‘oh no you don’t!’, all punctuated with nice deep prods too near my still full bladder.

Finally she got the baby where she wanted and she went out and bellowed for S to come in and join us. As she sat down to show us which is where, the drama queen tried to turn and swim away! Cue another prod. It was a scream to see the lady prodding and the baby posing with a hand on her (got to be a girl!) head, like a tired movie star! It was surreal to see the ickle baby form – with the tiny heart beating like a hammer. Brought back memories of the first time – with P, I was still in the denial stage then and seeing him on the screen was the first step towards accepting that there was a baby in there and he is mine. This time, it was ‘ooh I hope everything is fine’ kind of feeling but wonderful, nonetheless.

P’s opening statement to me at the school gates was ‘did you get the pic of the baby? Where is it?’

Apparently he thought I would be standing there waving the pic like a mad woman. He could hardly contain himself till we came home and I showed him. His face, when confronted with the vague, blurry squiggles was a picture!

‘Is THAT the baby? Really?’ he couldn’t believe it!

He has changed his mind about his choice of a sibling – after weeks of insisting that he wanted a brother only (‘cos girls are slow, Mummy and they squeal!’), he has decided to plump for a sister. And that he is going to be the deciding authority when it comes to naming the baby and buying her stuff – baby cot, buggy, the works. He has even offered to do the nappy change, though I don’t think I will hold him to that!

Ever tried selling one of the stories from Ramayana or Mahabharata to a child today? Especially one raised on a PG or U certificate rating anywhere else but in India? Hair-raising, I tell you. For one, the stories are all way too gory for their bland tastes. Tell them so-on-so chopped the other bloke’s finger or head off and watch young eyes turn into saucers. The whys and whats and loud gasps would take days to stem, leave alone the increased Nightmare Alert.

If your child is not raised on an Indian filmi diet, then the damage is manifold. Stunted far-fetched imagination, refusal to accept outlandish suggestions and the uncanny ability to put their finger on the one point of niggling abnormality are all just a few of the side-effects.

Take Krishna, for example. The whole baby Krishna- Bhoothana story was declared no-no the minute breastfeeding as a concept was introduced. Being an only child, P has led a much sheltered upbringing and the concept of a baby feeding off a lady’s er, chest, brought forth series of shrieks from my young lad. The Kalinga nardhan story also suffered a similar fate, when the gravitational forces (damn the school’s Science week) and the inability of the parents to keep an eye on their child (Krishna, that is) were brought into question.

I actually managed to sneak in a story of Chathrapathi Sivaji during yet another problematic mealtime, in an effort to make him eat his pasta from the corners of the bowl. This did work for a while and then disaster, in the form of Rajini’s super-dooper hit film hit and now the Chathrapathi got mixed up with ‘Vaaji, Vaaji’ and we were back to Square -1.

I am nothing if not persistent. So tried a different tack and told him the story of Ekalavya over breakfast cereal this morning. Buoyed by the fact that I wasn’t met with rapid fire questions that blew holes into the story, I bravely plodded on. Till I came to the part where Drona asks for Ekalavya’s thumb as guru dakshina.

That was when my luck ran out.

“He asked for the boy’s thumb? Why? That is so gross! Did the boy die?”

“Er, no. It was just his thumb.”

“Why did the teacher want it anyway?”

“With the thumb gone, Ekalavya cannot use a bow and arrow anymore and Arjuna would be the champion shooter, that’s why.”

“Eh? So what if he can’t use a bow and arrow or his right hand? He can use his left hand! Or he can use a gun! Pow pow pow! Easy, see?”

Sigh.

My gran and her kind did not know how lucky they were with us, I tell you. Seriously.

So the shaky tooth fell earlier this morning. The first one! WAHEY! Tooth Fairy, armed with a gold coin no less, is expected to put in an appearance around midnight. In the meantime, here’s my little man with his gappy smile.

This morning, P came up with this startling statement:

“I am so happy  I am not a girl – so no one can put babies in my tummy!”

Speechless is what I am.

My son will grow up to be a great interrogator, am sure. He gets down to the res immediately, no faffing around. Last weekend, I was ten minutes into my weekly phone call with my mum when she mentioned that my dad has now taken this job of becoming a grandpa all over again so seriously, he has decided to go in for some false teeth. Apparently, there was some minor disagreement with a tourist bus and the car he was in somewhere on the Madras-Tirupathy highway re whose right of way it was. The car got pranged and thanks to being badgered by P last summer into wearing his seatbelt, he had it on and escaped with minor injuries – knocked a few of his teeth, hence my mom’s remark.

P was sitting beside me when I was getting these details so he was pretty up-to-date. His dad, however, walked in sleepily when I was asking my mum if dad had lost much blood and typically, went “what? what? what happened?”

Before I could react, P quipped: “Thatha had an accident, Daddy. It’s okay – he’s not dead.” Succinct, I call that.

Later that evening, we spoke to my dad. Before we did, though, P wasn’t too sure of his grandpa’s talking abilities.

“He has lost his teeth, Mummy, how is he going to talk? He is just going to say ‘ba, ba, ba!’”

So when my dad came on the line, he was met with a barrage of rapid-fire questions.

P: “Why were you so careless, Thatha? Why didn’t you wear your seatbelt properly? I can!”
My dad: “er….”
P: “So how many teeth did you loose?”
My dad: “…” (inaudible reply)
P: “Oh that many? You can still talk properly. How is that?”
My dad: “er….”
P: “I know why. It is because even though your teeth have all fallen out, you still caught them all in your hands. I know it. That’s why you can still talk. I know these things.”
My dad: “……”
P: “So how much did the Tooth Fairy give you?”
My dad: “???”
P: (exasperated sigh) “You know the Tooth Fairy gives you gold coins when you loose your teeth? How many coins did you get?”
My dad: “er, I don’t think India is on the Tooth Fairy’s radar, P!”
P: (shocked) “really? That sucks!”
My dad: “!!!”

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Now that lots of the older children in Year 2 are coming to school with a gappy smile, P has learnt that he too would start losing his teeth one day. Thanks in equal parts to his teachers, fellow students and Disney, he firmly believes that if he hides the fallen tooth under his pillow, the Tooth Fairy would leave him a shiny gold coin (curse you Disney!) the next morning. True to his Chetty origins, he swiftly calculated that he had 20 teeth in his mouth – a veritable gold mine! He even decided how he was going to put his new found wealth to use!Imagine his dismay when he learnt that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t visit kids in India! As we had been murmuring about returning to the homeland possibly once he finishes Infant school, he is quite frantic! He is busy hatching a plan to lose his teeth by the time he finishes Year 2 and net some profit before setting off home. Last I heard, he is still open to ideas! Anyone has a suggestion, please feel free….

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Conversation this morning ran somewhat like this:S: “Come on, P, hurry up now – wee and brush your teeth quickly!”
P: ……
S: “See you better go to the toilet right now and finish your job. You know your friend is waiting for you!” (He has a play date later on)
P: “What? Where? In the toilet?”
S: *groan*