Eleven Years of Motherhood…

…Have been very KIND. And I have my first born to thank for it.

Eleven years ago, to the day, I realized how high my pain threshold was.

Over these past years I’ve realized the depth of a blinding, incoherent love.

Today I am overwhelmed by the thought of protecting the innocence of my first born. She is 11, and very excited to be growing up.

I don’t want her to be my baby forever, because I enjoy too much the lovely person she is growing up to be.

I just don’t want the essence of who she is to be diluted in any way: Her delight at the smallest things, her willingness to express gratitude for the simplest favours/gestures, her sensitivity towards self and others, the strong sense of family (friends included), her quick laugh, and ready forgiveness.

Thank you darling for eleven years of motherhood, which have been a breeze because of how oblivious you have been to my faults and how you choose to magnify my little successes.

Sand Angel

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The surprise that wasn’t, yet was

Be warned! This is a mommy-pride post.

It’s the cutest surprise party I could have asked for. Mainly because, the party itself was no surprise. It’s been in the making for over 3 months, and was held last evening a month after the original schedule.

It was a ‘late’ birthday surprise for me and N (by 1 month and by 4 days respectively).

The party-throwers were O my first born, and her bestie S (who O befriended when they were just 3). Their friend Z was the designated DJ. To do the driving around, R was roped in. My cuz and his wife were the delivery boy/girl.

And so came about the funnest birthday party I’ve had.

It was no surprise because O can’t keep a secret from me; also they needed my help to download songs for which they were to dance, and my permission for the many sleepovers that were required for the practice.

So I did think I knew it all… and that I would pretend to be surprised all the same.

I was banished to the bedroom from 1-5.30 p.m. when the first guests arrived. They even got Nilah ready.

It wouldn’t suffice to say that I was totally stunned by the amazing planning the two 10-year-olds managed. I WAS surprised.

From costumes, the stopgap green room (mismatched sheets over the cupboard), the menu (some of which they made themselves), the decoration for O’s room, that was converted to a stage… and the invite. I wish I could share the invite… Pictures of me, of Nilah, of both of us, and the whole family, with the sweetest post scripts and captions, all put together on smilebox, and sent out to my friends (most of whom did manage to land up).

The dances, the little skit, and how they even managed to ignore the two pesky brats who were getting in their way.

Is this how smoking pot feels? Light, floaty, happy, and at the same time your heart is so heavy and crunched up, you feel you can’t quite breathe?

I didn’t get a chance to hug O (and S) tight enough to thank them, because they managed to use the good mood of all 4 parents on the scene to sneak off to another sleepover.

I am so grateful for the people in my life. So GRATEFUL.

And here are some pics. Not of great quality, as taken on the mobile and the room was ill-lit.

sneaky or smart?

O: I am so excited I can finally borrow a book from the school library tomorrow.

Me: Great.

O: There is this book I want to borrow on dragons, and I hide it in a different shelf everyday, in such a way you can’t see the name. So no one else can take it. Smart no?

I didn’t have the heart to tick her off…

Maximum fun, minimum work

Umm: Tomorrow at school you need to copy everything you missed out today.

Disinterested O: Ok, amma.

Umm: Tell the teacher you were not well and use a free period.

O: Maybe PE class (any reason to skip PE!), that’s when all the absent students do their work. Some finish their work quickly, then talk and play. Some play first, and then finish their writing. Some take breaks after every two minutes.

Umm: What do you do?

O: Oh, I am very good. I keep writing as I keep talking.  

That explains the undotted ‘I’s and uncrossed ‘T’s

slapped by logic

After a long tussle over music control in the car on whether we should play Spanish songs (R’s choice) or Tamil (mine), pms-ing me, lost my temper.

“In music, books, movies, people… really amazing how we can’t come to an agreement. It seems we have nothing in common.”

And from the back seat comes a forceful voice of reason.

“But you have two daughters in common amma, isn’t it?”

Wisdom from O that flipped my heart and churned my stomach.

A reminder to weigh words and action.

R & I were chastened, and it was a quiet drive back home, listening to My Fair Lady (O’s choice).