To the Mother with Love

It has been more than a year since my cousin’s wedding and that dreaded phone call from Father. While I presumed that my parents were enjoying the grandeur of a big fat Indian wedding, Mother had been silently nursing a gnawing discomfort in her stomach.

By the end of the three-day celebration and after concerned relatives had packed and left, Mother’s agony pushed her to visit a doctor.

Hospitalisation in a place far from home quickly followed surgery.

Mother has always been petrified of doctors and hospitals. Whenever the situation to visit a doctor arose, she would cook up a list of excuses and if that failed she escaped into the confines of her sacred space — the kitchen — and cooked up a storm.

Entrapped in the trance of her culinary magic, we succumbed to her excuses. In hindsight, we had come to believe that Mother had a solution to all her problems — just as she always had one for ours.

Her efforts were always taken for granted until it was my turn to wear Mother’s hat.

I now know that patience is a virtue and not a boon that a new Mother is granted after the birth of her first child; that none of the objects that are strewn about after a busy morning grew legs and walked back into place and that it takes love, attention and effort to transform a house into a home.

Post her surgery and recovery, we have understood that Mother is no magic machine and like one of us, she too requires to be cared and sometimes coaxed into ensuring that she is well taken care of.

While she has learnt that her one-size-fits-all remedies might only give her more time at the hospital dreading needles and doctors, away from her favourite space — the kitchen — and to find it topsy-turvy after she makes a comeback.

After her new-found life lesson, Mother made that much-needed dental appointment. She must have been a dentist’s dream for she has quickly elevated to becoming a priority patient.

Dear Mothers, your efforts are often taken for granted as it is your children’s way of reassuring themselves that you are always there for them.

While you continue to love, fret and worry for your children even years after they have left home, it will give your children immense happiness and relief if you were to take care of yourself too.

Here is a reminder that you are a woman like no other and will always hold a special place in your children’s heart!

 

Dear Friends,

This is an extract from the article published in the Gulf News. To view the full article please click here.  Wishing your Mommy and all the lovely Mommies in the blogosphere a very happy Mother’s Day. 

 

Fashion-ing the Ideal Parent

Sid can compete with Maggie Noodles where dressing up is concerned.

The exercise consists of snatching the first pair of clothes that falls in his line of vision; this lesser activity multi tasked with more important activities  that usually involve a bat and a ball. The rest of the grooming routine usually requires gentle or loud reminders from one of his parents.

So we were as shocked as he was when he was shortlisted for a Fashion Show at school – the proceeds of which will be used to fund the education of underprivileged children in India.

That evening I caught him staring at the mirror spiking his spiky hair.

By the next morning, I was concerned. He had brought out the entire cupboard on full display matching t-shirts with pants as I am usually known to do.

Later that evening, we sat in the audience and watched him walk the ramp along with his partner, pausing to pose and give a half-smile before making an exit.

On our way back home, he was full of excited banter about the fun time backstage and his new friends.

As soon as we got home, he rushed into the washroom without a reminder. As I looked out of the window to check if the Sun had miraculously set in the East, he appeared to be relieved having washed off the hair gel and make up.

My son was back to being his disheveled self, ready to curl up with a book.

Every experience – the good, the not-so-good and awesome childhood experiences contribute to making our children the adult that they become; developing values that will anchor them to safety whenever the storms of uncertainty and change threaten while reinforcing a solid foundation to building a fulfilling life.

As a mother, I wish to drag my children back into the protective embrace of my womb, but I remind myself that the my greatest gift to them will be the wings of experience that will help them learn to fly high and drink life to the very lees as we guide them unhindered by the weight of our dreams and expectations reliving the fun, silliness and joys of childhood with them.

Wishing you all a Happy Sunday!

Are You Afraid of The Dark?

Little Princess is not!

My ever-so-curious vivacious three-year-old takes all of five minutes to get her eyes adjusted to the dark before she gets on with her games, rhymes and constant banter with Spiderman, dolly plum, batman, an old broken phone (and whatever has caught her fancy) as some of her many nocturnal companions.

An unexpected surge of energy after 9 pm in spite of a long sleepless day had many a time left me baffled wondering if I was not wisely channeling her increasing zest. An evening at the park with some running and activity seemed like a great idea.

The very next day saw an enthusiastic toddler and her Mommy jogging around the park followed by half an hour of playing and sand castle building at the sand pit. I must admit that she enjoyed her time with her friends (that is about every kid in the sand pit) as much as I enjoyed peeking into the lives of friends on the social media without distraction; however, the mere mention of getting back home got her running in circles around the sandpit throwing a fit. It was then that it occurred to me that the only way to get her out was to not mention it at all! When it was time, I just had to gather enough strength and energy to carry a screaming child wriggling to get back to the sand pit (ignoring the strange stares of other parents and the park security).

To my relief, the first day was a success. Little Princess had a hearty dinner and for once, I had the pleasure of tucking her into bed at a time reasonable enough for a toddler (instead of she tucking me up amongst her companions during my many failed attempts).

However, the next day on, I found myself back to dozing off while my super energized, fresh-as-a-daisy toddler went back to her ways.

Now my sleep patterns have adapted to her rhymes, her constant batter and even managing an ‘okay’ or ‘yes’ for her innumerable questions.  I am yet to get used to her forcing my eyelids open to check if I am asleep or screaming secrets into my ear or an accidental kick accompanied by a sweet apology “I am very sorry Mommy”.

The husband suggested, “Maybe we should send her to night school. At least we will know for sure that she will be the brightest kid in her overnight class while we get our quota of beauty sleep.”

Every morning, as I switch off the zillion alarms and stumble out of bed wondering if the sun rose a bit too early, I dare to take a peek at the sleeping form of my Little Angel lost in her dreamy fantasies and I feel the familiar tug at my heartstrings.

A new day has begun!

My Daddy Strongest

I know I am running late. I rush to the school auditorium balancing cranky Little Princess on one hand (who has refused to sit on her pram), a camera and a handbag stuffed with her paraphernalia (that I could require for my two hours away from home) on the other. I barely reach the auditorium when Little Princess chooses that exact moment to throw up (Oh!!!). We rush to the nearest washroom to clean up with practiced speed (considering that this is one job that I have mastered over the weekend). I gather up a very angry toddler and the baby-bag-cum-hand-bag (that accompanies us on our every trip out of home) and rush to the school auditorium to watch Sid give his solo performance for English Elocution.

I manage to find a seat (thanks to sweet mommies who have reserved one for me thoughtfully) and settle down, only to find out that I just missed Sid’s recitation of the poem “Mrs. Stein”. Little Princess who is now fresh and comfortable, unaware of the sudden emotional outburst that I am under, decides to play “head, shoulders, knees and toes” with her new-found friend (another enthusiastic toddler) who is sitting on the seat beside us. A quick decision that ‘Peppa Pig’ on the phone (which is on mute) is better than this budding noisy friendship between the toddlers is made owing to the fact that this newly found toddler game could persuade the school authorities to politely show us mothers and our exuberant toddlers out of the auditorium.

I feel sad, upset, disappointed (so much for all the planning that went in to give him a surprise). My presence during his recital was indeed intended to be a surprise for him or  (if I were more truthful) my way of making up for not being able to help him enough during practice sessions at home for I was too busy cleaning up and attending to Little Princess who was down with a viral infection. One of the ladies say, “everything happens for a reason and definitely for good,” convincingly and on an afterthought adds, “he performed well…too well. He is one of the best so far,” adding to my growing guilt. There is no point crying over spilt milk, I convince myself. Little Princess has calmed down the phone in hand and I am soon absorbed listening to talented children bringing beautiful poetry alive onstage. I see the parents burst with pride as they juggle between recording every detail and waving to get their child’s attention while the children deliver their best on the stage.

This takes me to a time a place back in time when my father and I had walked into my school one late evening for the annual concert. He dropped me off at the green room when one of the nuns in charge pointed at my shoes disapprovingly. I had worn the wrong shoes and we had exactly one hour to begin on stage. He left me with the nun and dashed off home only to get back just in time with the right pair. I remember looking out for him from the stage and then spotting him amongst the other parents in the audience. I was quick to hold my head up higher and deliver my lines better for which I later got to eat two full packets of caramel popcorn from the school canteen. I heard him brag about my performance to his friend who visited home the following day.

It was a moment of absolute pride for me as ‘praise’ did not come easy with my father. He was not one to engage in an open display of affection or endearment. He gave us the best of what he could possibly afford, be it education or a surprise treat. An absolute stickler for discipline, his glare was enough to control two brats – my brother and I – who, for the most part of our childhoods, tested his patience. We secretly named him ‘volcano’ owing to the sudden eruption of anger that burst forth followed by a cold glare after another one of our ‘accidents’ during a game of catch or a remark from the teacher after we simply ‘forgot’ to get our report card signed or mysteriously ‘lost’ the notebook with an incomplete homework or came home an hour later than usual after play when there was an entire lesson to be studied for test the following day or after that fierce fight that followed a bitter argument regarding whose chunk of that shared piece of chocolate was bigger. His insistence on sticking to routines is what I follow up to this day. Our early morning walks around the lake, followed by a few exercises in the park and a quick explanation of the role of physical activity in daily life and its impact on our health is one I continue to follow. Most of what I am today, I owe it to him – his actions, his words of wisdom and his support have been my guiding light during my darkest times.

Sid, after all, did win a trophy for his performance (that I never got to see) at the English Elocution and I stood in the audience and understood what it must be like for my father to see me perform and emerge a winner.

It is a few days past Father’s day, but it is never too late to wish my dearest daddy, my children’s daddy and all the wonderful daddies of the world – Happy Father’s day!!!