Settling in

It's funny. Before we started house hunting in Singapore, we set down a prioritised list of criteria, did many many hours of online research, and spent several days seeing apartments with our increasingly frustrated real estate agent. The evenings were spent comparing notes, refreshing our memories with photographs of the properties we were discussing, and assessing each apartment against the criteria on a spreadsheet. 

And then we walked into this place, and both of us just instantly liked it. It wasn't perfect - in fact, it actually did not meet quite a few of our criteria - but it was the first place that felt like it could be home. And that was how we - rational, model-making, excel-wielding, B-school types - chose our new home. It just felt right. 

So in we moved and discovered that the apartment came with its very own Ugly Naked Guy. Yup. Fellow who lived across from us and liked to sit by his window in his underwear and surf the net. Perfectly positioned to be within our line of sight from our living room and balcony. 

2 weeks into our stay, we realised that we had to do something about it. Imagine, we'd plonk down on the sofa to chat and relax after a long day, and there he would be - Naked Netsurfer, Eyesore Extraordinaire. I sent up some strong complaints prayers. Make him move, I pleaded. Or at least let him put some clothes on. Really, if we had to have a naked neighbour why couldn't he have looked like John Abraham? Now that I would be totally cool with.

Of course the good book says that God helps those who help themselves, so apart from my nightly prayers, I also began to work out what combination of hanging pots and screens on the balcony would block of our view of the bare expanse I did not want to see. But even before I could put that into action, it seemed my prayers were answered. One day I noticed some contractors in his apartment, and within a couple of days he was gone. The husband and I heaved a huge sigh of relief and all is well in our world again.

Well almost. Last week, I was playing with Munch on our balcony and I saw something in another apartment window that had me do a double take. A woman, doing housework - in a bra and thong! Ok, so she's not quite Ugly Naked Guy. For one she's most definitely not a guy. And not ugly either. And apparently she doesn't do naked housework on a regular basis because I haven't seen her since.

But I am rather mad about the whole thing. I'd asked for a John Abrahm lookalike, dammit! Someone up there has a very twisted sense of humour.

Come visit with me

I'm over at Parul's today! Hop on over and say hi! 

I'm fairly sure everyone who reads me reads her too, but just in case you haven't yet discovered one of the wittiest bloggers on the block, do check out some of her other posts. Side-splitting stuff, I tell you.

Of fascists and fish

This morning, Moppet decided she wanted to wear two pony tails to school - one adorned with a green rubberband, the other with a yellow one. I tried to talk some sense into her - at least wear 2 yellows or 2 greens, never mind that neither colour goes with the dress you're wearing.

Brushing aside my conformist ideas regarding head decoration, she proceeded to give me specific instructions about the ponytails: "Yellow one on this side, green on this side, ok?"

Accepting defeat, I followed her instructions and she went off happily to admire herself in the mirror. I plonked myself down beside the husband and grumbled about his mismatched child. As always, he was quick to defend her. "What's wrong with yellow and green bands, huh? Stop being such a hairband fascist!"

Bah! This from the man who is so particular about the space between the stripes on his t-shirts that we have to take callipers along when we go shopping. Who's the fascist here, I ask you?

And talking of fascists, Moppet is turning out to be quite the little authoritarian herself. Last night, she tried to put her father in time-out because he was told her it was bedtime. "No bedtime Papa! You go time-out!" she said, complete with stern look and a little finger pointing to the time-out corner.

And her sparring buddy - Mr Fishy - one of those bouncy inflatable fellows, gets put in the corner regularly when he refuses to cooperate with her, which is most of the time, seeing that the poor fellow cannot help but bounce back when she tries to make him 'go to sleep'.

I must admit it gives me great satisfaction to hear her scream exasperatedly when he pops up for the nth time after she manages to wrestle him to the ground. "Noooo fishy, you lie down. Iss sleeping time! Ok, thassit, you go time-out!"

Ha, my darling little fascist, it's never too soon to learn, what goes around comes around! :-)

The Ten Commandments of New Motherhood

To:
Maggie,
Sleep-deprived mother of two,
A Harried and Chaotic Moment, Manic Street,
The Near Future.

From:
Maggie,
Toddler-survivor and mother of one,
A Calm And Reflective Moment, Zen Street,
The Recent Past.

Dear Mags,

In just a few weeks time (hoping all goes well) you will be upto your ears in bawling babies and excited family members, and calm reflection on second time motherhood will be the last thing on your mind.

So I thought I'd go over those mad first few weeks with Moppet and make a list of what I'd like to do differently this time around.

In those early days, when you feel like everything is spinning out of control, take a 10 second time-out to consider these Commandments:

I. Thou shalt not assume that thou art the only one who can do things just the way they need to be done for the babe. Thou shalt give thy partner a real chance to be a hands-on parent.

II. Thou shalt be more sensitive to thine own needs. Thou shalt not put thy body through the wringer trying to do it all. Thou art not superwoman.

III. Thou shalt call down lightning bolts on anyone who approaches with the babe, saying 'it must be hunger' within 5 minutes of his last feed.

IV. Thou shalt be more flexible about the babe's routine and not let the rest of thy life come to a complete halt.

V. Thou shalt not shush the entire household and tiptoe around the baby while he sleeps. [Ignore this commandment at thine own peril. Dost thou really want TWO children who wake up at the sound of a mouse's sneeze?]

VI. Thou shalt be more relaxed. Babes are tougher than they appear to be.

VII. Thou shalt make time for thy partner. He needs thy love and attention as much as the babes.

VIII. Thou shalt not let random comments about the size, shape, looks, and behaviour of thy babes affect thy sense of worth as a mother.

IX. Thou shalt make time to exercise, even if it is only for 15 minutes a day. The reward of good health and spirit alone is worth it. [But if thou needest material inspiration, consider also the brand new wardrobe thou canst purchase.]

X. Thou shalt not burden thyself with the worries of a future unknown. Glory instead in the sorrows and joys of this moment now and share in it with thy loved ones.

Love,
Me

A Blessed Virus

"Help! It's a virus!"

My first thought when I logged in to Google Reader yesterday and saw 15 unread posts, all with the strange title - Riddle-me-Ree, who can she be?

Without opening any of the posts, I went straight to my internet bible and googled 'riddle-me-ree blog virus'. I got plenty of results of course - you will always find an answer in the bible if you look hard enough - but nothing that suggested that this virus might be dangerous.

Still, as wife to a paranoid technogeek, who's only just managed to learn how to deal with all the firewalls and anti-spying technology he's installed on our PC, I didn't want to be the one who brought home a virus that would wipe out our hard drives with random riddles. So I hesitated and kept refreshing my reader and watched with increasing concern as more posts began to appear with the same title.

And then finally, something different showed up in my reader. Boo had come across the same strange phenomenon in her morning inspection of the momblogs, and had posted of her bafflement in her typical I-demand-to-know-what's-up-right-now style.

Obviously much smarter than I am, she had already partly figured it out, and begun what would end up being an almost 10 hour collaborative effort to solve the mystery. Addressed to the MTB's - Boo enlightened us that this meant Mothers-To-Be - this was an online treasure hunt that spanned blogs, continents, and time-zones and the prize was entry to a blog where an online baby shower was being thrown for us ( Boo, Poppins, Kodi’s Mom, Lavs, Desigirl, Planethalder, Random Vignettes, Rohini and me)

What fun! I headed right back to my reader and began the hunt. Fellow MTBs Poppins and Lavs had been doing some good work ahead of me, and they'd already figured out some tough ones. By the time Kodi's Mom joined in the action, I'd already put together an excel sheet and was getting enjoyably confused by it all.

I had had a long and tiring day and by 11 pm my time, I decided I had better get to bed. But my head was full of bits and pieces of rhymes and clues and I knew there was no point my trying to sleep. So I turned the PC back on and stayed up till we were almost done. At around 2 am, I finally decided the rest could wait till morning, especially since there were some missing clues that had still not been posted.

Rushed to the PC in the morning, teeth unbrushed, and crackeroo! Boo's done it! There were a few loose ends, which Kodi's Mom and I quickly tied up and WOW- we had found the most fabulous pot of gold at the end of our rainbow!

The fun of the hunt itself would have been worth it - but here was a most wonderful site, with love, good wishes, music, and counsel from so many of you. I was in tears when I saw how much time and effort you had all put in for a bunch of women most of you don't even know the real names of.

I am touched beyond words, and all I can say is thank you. Thank you for the thought, the love, the time, the effort, the fun, and the friendship. Much love and virtual hugs to you all.

Introducing Maggie

So it's Maggie by a mile. And what better way to get to know her than by this general questionnaire type tag from Tessie:

Last Movie You Saw In A Theater:
JodhaaAkbar. About 45 minutes too long, but Hrithik Roshan was a revelation - I'd never paid him much attention before. He's totally droolicious!

What Book Are You Reading:
On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Depressing book- would've ditched it but for my OCD of having to finish every book I start.

Favorite Board Game:
Scrabble. Also known as the Get-Ready-For-Divorce game in our household.

Favorite Magazine:
Don't really have one, but The Economist is always an interesting read, and Vanity Fair is fun too.

Favorite Smells:
Wet earth, freshly baked bread, Moppet right after her bath...

Favorite Sound:
Moppet's giggle. It's infectious.

Worst Feeling In The World:
Being alone. No, scratch that - thinking that you're alone.

What Is The First Thing You Think Of When You Wake?
These days it's usually - "Wow, Moppet only woke up thrice/ twice / once last night"

Favorite Fast Food Place:
I don't particularly enjoy fast food, but I love MOS Burger - a Japanese burger chain.

Future Child's Name:
HA HA HA HA! At the rate we're going, it will be Baby Boy [Surname].

Finish This Statement. "If I Had A Lot Of Money I'd...”
Travel round the world.

Do You Drive Fast?
Yes, but don't tell my husband - he thinks I'm a staid old lady type driver, and I'd like to keep that image with him :-)

Do You Sleep With A Stuffed Animal?
Well, there are nights when the husband certainly feels like one.

Storms-Cool Or Scary?
The garden variety thunderstom - totally cool. The horrible ones that cause death and destruction, not so much.

What Was Your First Car?
Suzi

Favorite Drink:
Ice cold water.

Finish This Statement, "If I Had The Time I Would .....”
Travel round the world.

Do You Eat The Stems On Broccoli?
This assumes that I eat broccoli - which I don't.

If You Could Dye Your Hair Any Color, What Would Be Your Choice?
I really wanted a deep, dark, ink blue - the sort which looks black, but shines blue in certain lights. But on the one occasion I went to a fancy salon in Bombay and asked for it, I was persuaded by the stylist to go for hot pink and red streaks instead. It was ok - I particularly enjoyed the looks on the faces of friends, colleagues and family when they saw me - but I'm not doing that again. If I ever see the right shade of blue, I might try it though....

Name All The Different Cities/Towns You Have Lived In.
Chronologically - Hyderabad, Manchester, Brack (Libya), Hyderabad again, Ahmedabad, Bombay, Chennai, Bombay again, and Bangkok.

Favorite Sports To Watch:
English Premier League Football with the husband. Under duress, I must add.

One Nice Thing About The Person Who Sent This To You:
She's a newly in love bride-to-be.

What's Under Your Bed?
A floor that I'm proud to say is as clean as the floor that's not under my bed.

Would You Like To Be Born As Yourself Again?
Sure, just with better hair. And better eyesight. Oh, and while I'm at it, legs like Gisele Bundschen.

Morning Person Or Night Owl?
Actually, I'm a day person. I like to sleep at night, and don't like to nap during the day. Unlike the husband, who if he had his way, would work all night and sleep all day. So when I say we're as different as night and day, you know I mean it literally.

Over Easy Or Sunny Side Up?
Any way you like. I LOVE eggs - can eat them in any shape for every meal of every day.

Favorite Place To Relax:
Home.

Favorite Pie:
I love all sorts of pies - both sweet and savoury.

Favorite Ice Cream Flavor:
Mostly anything chocolate.

Of All The People You Tagged This To, Who's Most Likely To Respond First?
I don't know, maybe
NM?
Or Swati?
Or Timepass?

Happiness

...is spelt c-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e.

Preferably dark, and slightly bitter. It's the answer to all my blues.

That completes this happiness tag from Swati. But having sat on this tag for I don't know how long, I think I should put down some more things that make me happy:

- a good book.

- catching up with an old friend.

- freshly fried sardines. (Stinkily divine!)

- Picking Moppet up from school and watching her face light up when she sees me.

- a well administered foot massage.

- an unexpected, unsolicited kiss from Moppet.

- an unexpected, unsolicited kiss from the husband.

- Saturdays, at home, just the three of us.

It's funny - if I had made this list 5, or even 3 years ago, it would have been so different. There would probably be only a couple of things in common. It seems that in my old age, I'm getting easier and easier to please, although I suspect the husband might not quite agree :-)

Tag's open to anyone who'd like to take it up.

6 things you probably don't want to know about me

Another tag, this time from Sue, that I'm twisting for my own purposes.

The Rules:
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website

I'm going to make this 6 random points about being pregnant. Just because, ok?

1. I'm big. HUGE. Like never before. At a little over 5 months pregnant, my belly button's already turned into an outie, something that didn't happen until the very last month of my first pregnancy. Could it be all the left over fat from the last time? Surely it's not because I'm stuffing my face all hours of the day and night? It's a mystery, I tell you ;-)

2. When I was pregnant with Moppet, I wanted to eat fish a lot. So the husband and I would go to this Konkan restaurant every weekend and I'd order 3 or 4 different types of fish and eat it happily, imagining all the lovely omega-3 oils filling my baby's brain and making her a super-genius. That they didn't take is another matter altogether, but I was happy that my craving coincided so nicely with what was supposed to be good for both the baby and me. This time, I have no specific cravings; it's anything goes. Except when we go out - I always feel like I want to have a banana choc-chip muffin from Starbucks. Don't ask me why!

3. I am sleep-deprived, and I cannot blame Moppet - more's the pity. Unlike the last time, when insomnia hit in the last couple of months and I could still snatch a few hours of sleep sitting in the recliner, this time there's no relief. I make 5 trips to the bathroom, and 2 to kitchen every night, simply to have something to do. I sit up in the dark and glare at my fast-asleep husband, only barely restraining myself from waking him up and saying, 'You're breathing too loudly!'

4. Munch apparently shares my insomnia. He's rarely quiet, and is way more active than I remember Moppet being at this stage. We always thought Moppet was a strong kicker - her Papa was most excited about it, and would keep encouraging her to practice kicking with the left foot in-utero, because 'every football team needs a player with a strong left foot'. Munch however, appears to have taken up Thai kickboxing as his favourite uterine sport. Sometimes, I feel jabs in 3 different places at once. How one little baby with only the normal human number of limbs can achieve that is beyond me, but there you go.

5. Everything makes me cry - a cheesy sad scene in a movie, an old song, a pretty picture, a nice view, Oprah (ok, well that's understandable!) - the waterworks just turn on, even as I'm aware of how ridiculous I'm being.

6. I'm relaxed and enjoying myself. Apart from the insomnia, I've been lucky to have had no other major discomforts so far (touchwood). The first time around I was reading, measuring, thinking, and worrying all the time. Taking ante-natal classes, scribbling notes in a little notebook, practising my lamaze breathing, lecturing the husband on all the things I thought he should know, making lists of all the things I would need... I never took the time to enjoy being pregnant. I'm doing that this time, and you know what? I'm lovin' it!

Tagging all the other pregnant bloggers out there. You can do the tag this way, or in its original format.

Moppet @ 23 months

Since I'm way overdue on Moppet's 22 month update - she completes 23 months today - I'm converting this Crazy 8 tag from Kiran into an update.

(Am taking some liberties with 2 of the sections - '8 things before I die' has become '8 things I do that drives Mama crazy ', and '8 things that attract me to my friends' is now '8 things that make me me')

So here, in Moppet's own words, is the tag

8 Things I am passionate about:
1. Mama. Mama. Mama.
2. Papa. Somewhat.
3. Duddu (Milk)
4. Going ouside. Playing in the park. Playing in the sandpit and making 'Happy to You' cakes.
5. Jumping (inside on the bed, ouside on the trampoline).
6. Colowing. Dwawing.
7. Wearing mis-matched (according to Mama) clothes.
8. Playing Ceebeebies or Dowa on the kampooter.


8 Things I do that drives Mama crazy:
1. I am congenitally stubborn. I can scream non-stop for 2 hours.
2. I hold my food in my mouth and refuse to chew or swallow or spit.
3. I love my duddu but I won't drink it in anything other than my bottle, even though I can drink perfectly well out of a cup or glass.
4. I fight for (and mostly win) the right to wear the clothes I choose. Who dares to say that I can't wear a blue T-shirt, pink skirt and orange pants under it?
5. Everything has its rightful place and function as determined by me. Mama cannot sit in Papa's chair. Papa cannot drink from Mama's cup. Mama cannot use any other pillow but her own. Mama must not wear a button shirt if I so decide. The consequences of ignoring my requests are hard on everyone's eardrums.
6. Only Papa is allowed to brush my teeth - this is part of the rightful place and function rule. So when he travels, Mama and I have BIG fights. Have I said this before? I usually win.
7. I lick the soap off my body when I have my bath. And the lotion later. And then I tell Mama in a stern voice - "No licking soap / lotion".
8. I change the subject when asked about some mischief I've done. Or I pretend not to hear the question.

8 Things I say often:
1. No!
2. Uh-oh!
3. Mama, take off!
(She means get up, and she tells me this every morning at the crack of dawn - MM)
4. Mama, cawwy!
5. Let's go ouside! Come on!
6. Wan some more duddu / chocolate / cheese. No wice! No woti! No apple! No banana!
7. Papa office / Papa essercise. Moppet [s]cool. Mama home!
8. Mama, kampooter! Sit down! Wan some Ceebeebies.


8 Books I've read recently:
1. Richard Scarry's Best First Book Ever!
2. The Fish Who Could Wish - Korky Paul
3. Corduroy - Don Freeman
4. Kipper's A to Z - Mike Inkpen
5. Little Quack's Hide and Seek - Lauren Thompson with Derek Anderson
6. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? - Eric Carle
7. It's too soon! - Nigel McMullen
8. Goodnight Moon - Margaret Wise Brown

8 songs I can (and do!) listen to over and over
1. Jingle Bells - some techno version by a band I don't know.
2. Spiderman - Michael Buble
3. Kasto Mazza - Parineeta Soundtrack
4. Ajab si - Om Shanti Om Soundtrack
5. Hum to Aise Hain - Laaga Chunari Mein Daag Soundtrack
6. Allah ke Bandhe - Waise Bhi Hota Hain Soundtrack
7. Aicha - Outlandish
8. Happy [birthday] to you - as sung by Mama.

8 Things that make me me:
1. That wicked grin. Useful. It's gotten me out of more than a few scrapes.
2. Boundless energy that I generate out of love and fresh air, since I don't eat much.
3. Amazing decisiveness. I know exactly what I want.
4. Incredible stubborness. I know how to get what I want.
5. That ear-piercing scream. Another useful tool.
6. Charm on tap. When the screaming doesn't work.
7. A fierce attachment to the people I love. No particular attachment to any physical object.
8. That curly mop, which I refuse to let Mama brush, tidy, or decorate in any way.


8 People I think should do this tag (Kids or Moms, whichever way you'd like to do it)
Jelly
Cantaloupe
Naren
Mira
Nantu
Sonny Boy
Anirudh
KT

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Who has the funniest face of all?

Wan, Too, Thee, Foe, Fie

This is a quick and fun tag, and it's been passed on to me by at least FIE bloggers that I can remember. So Parul, Kiran, PG, BangaloreMom, and Gauri: here we go

The rules:
Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better. Now don’t forget to read the archived posts and leave comments.

Family:

I take after my father. I look like him, talk like him, and think like him. I know him, because in many ways, I am him. My mom is different. Soft-hearted, sensitive, and slightly timid. So different from my father. So different from me. I loved her - she's impossible not to love - but I did not know her....

Friends:

It is the season for farewells, here in Bangkok, since most company moves are timed to coincide with the end of the school term in June. Several of Moppet's little friends from our building are moving this year - by end July, they will all be gone. Moppet is too young to understand or care, but these kids have become my friends as well and I will miss them...

Me:

Tagged by The Mad Momma! I loved the idea of finding the odd one out. Have got 9 statements - one of them is untrue. Which one do you think it is? 1. I can't cook to save my life. 2. I first got drunk at age 16, on my aunt's homemade Christmas wine,...

My love:

It is a pleasant evening in November. The air smells crisp and fresh, so different from the city air they have been breathing for so long. They are sitting side by side on the verandah looking out at the moonlit lawn...

Anything else:
This is a tough one. Because anything else mostly means Moppet, I have practically the entire year's worth of posts to choose from, and there are several favourites. So I'm going to break the rules of the tag for this last part and link to 3 posts in this section.

This is my girl:

I'm big on planning. I'm always planning - my day, stuff to do on the weekend, my next holiday, my life. The fact that nothing, NOTHING, in my 28 years of life has gone according to 'plan' doesn't bother me. I'm a plan-o-maton. It's what I do. So when I found out that I was pregnant (totally not according to plan!), after the initial hysterics,...

Moppet's first word:

Last evening while I was changing Moppet's diaper and chatting to her, she looked me in the eye and said, clear as a bell: "Mama" Trumpet blasts sounded in my head; in the distance, a choir of angels hit the high notes....

Barney's tragic story:

Far, far away, in an ancient land once called Siam, there lived a little girl. Sixteen moons after she was born, a google-eyed oracle sent warning that the child was a small yet potent version of an erstwhile dark lord, but her parents paid no heed....

That was fun! I think I must be one of the last people to do this tag, so I'll only tag a couple of bloggers I've just started reading. Guys, if you've already done this one, just ignore it.

Mona, over at A Baby Story
Mandira, who blogs at Churningthewordmill
Null Pointer, of Thelastbyte

But I'm an angel

One would think that Fuzzy's wicked tag would be easy for me. After all, she is so fabulously wicked, and I do consider her my twin.

But here's the thing. She's the sexy evil twin with the pitchfork and pointy red horns. Me, I'm the one wearing that shapeless white dress and sanctimonious expression.

As a result, my career in wickedness has not exactly been stellar. I have had a few moments though:

As a 2 year-old, I was a jam freak. Shopping with my mom at a small co-operative store and noticing that she hadn't bought any 'daam', I toddled off to get some myself. Undaunted by the discovery that the rows of glass jam bottles were neatly arranged out of reach, at the top of the shelf, I proceeded to climb the shelf to get one. The shelves not being built for climbing, came crashing to the floor, glass bottles and all. And what did I get for trying to be helpful? 3 stitches and a scar on my forehead that I carry to this day.

In high school, no one ever suspected model-student-me of being the co-author of a popular parody of a Bollywood hit. Each high school teacher had a verse dedicated to her - they provided such rich material for this that it was ridiculously easy to compose the 7 stanza song. It was sung in school for weeks, with modifications and additions made by assorted anonymous song-writers, so that by the time one of the teachers heard it, it was too hard to trace its origins back to the real culprit(s).

In college, I took the state-wide entrance test for MBA admissions - just for fun. By the time I took the test, I already knew that I was going to one of the IIMs, making the results completely irrelevant. I promptly forgot all about it.

So when one morning, my mom answered the door to a reporter from a local newspaper who informed her that her daughter was the highest ranked girl in the state, she was genuinely surprised. She hadn't even known that I'd taken the test. She called me into the living room and we proceeded to stupefy the reporter with the following conversation:

Mom: "Did you take the state MBA entrance test?"
Me: "Oh that! Yeah, a couple of months ago. Why?"
Mom: "Apparently, you're ranked 6th in the state and first among the girls."
Me: "Really? That's not bad. But how'd you know?"
Mom: "She told me."
Me: "Oh, thanks. That's good to know."

The reporter, used to being fed sweets by ecstatic parents, and receiving quotes from students about how hard work and the blessings of God and parents made it all possible, decided that she had got the wrong address.

Reporter: "Are you Ms. P____ M____?"
Me: "Yup, that's me!"
Reporter: "Aren't you happy about this achievement?"
Me: "Sure." (a shrug) "It's a good feeling."

At this point she gave up, and with a mumbled request for a photo (that I said I'd send her but never did), set off in search of more normal rank winners who would give her a better reaction and some quotable quotes. Poor thing.

And then there was the time I danced on a table in a full mess hall at dinner time, dressed as Scary Spice, along with 4 other girls pretending to be the Spice Girls. (Which reminds me, there must be photographic evidence of that somewhere. It must be found and destroyed.)

So you see, I really am an angel. Right?

Right.

Father of the bride

Moppet's Papa and I were stretched out on our matching recliners, watching Moppet potter around the living room with her toys and blocks, and singing 'Happy to you' at the top of her baby voice.

It was a lovely, lazy evening during the festive last days of December, full of warmth and cheer and contentment, so I was particularly shocked to hear Moppet's Papa muse out loud, "Hmm, there's a double barrelled gun in our family. I must remember to get the license transferred to my name."

What?! Did I hear that right?

"Whatever for?" I asked, staring at my boy-faced husband of 5 years, wondering if there was some murderous facet to his personality that I hadn't seen yet.

He rolled his eyes at me, impatient at my inability to see the obvious. "To scare away all her unsuitable boyfriends!" he said, nodding towards Moppet who was engaged in the demure and dainty act of dismantling the roof of her toy castle and smashing it with her plastic maraca.

Ah, of course! I smiled broadly, and then quickly supressed it when I realised that he was not entirely joking. "Not that it looks like she'll need much protecting though", I said, as straight-faced as I could manage. His only response was to shake his head, but the thought 'how little this woman understands' hung thickly in the air.

I do understand, actually. There can never exist any man good enough for your little girl, and that's a fact that every father knows is true. I'm sure my own dad wished he had a double barrelled gun handy when I first brought home that 'someone I think you should meet' . Nevertheless he certainly did his best to scare him off by sheer boredom - the first hour of conversation revolved entirely about the weather in 5 different cities :-) It didn't work though, as is evidenced by the fact that I eventually married that someone and produced the unholy terror otherwise known as Moppet.

I somehow doubt that the double barrelled gun would be any more effective. But for now at least, it provides some reassurance to yet another hapless father.

Wockabye baby

Suki has given me this hot pink Rockin' Girl Blogger award and I cannot tell you how wonderful that is because of all the people who could've given me this award, she is the most qualified. For one, she's a real teen, an age that I can barely remember. Two, she is wise beyond her years (how else would she have recognised my true girly rockingness?) and three, she really, really rocks.


So it's official people. In the words of Moppet (who has some trouble with her rs) Mama wocks! (Ok, it might sound like mamawask to some of you, but believe me, what she's saying is that I rock. I know because I'm her mommy and I'm telling you so.)

This award has done the rounds, and there have been a lot of deserving winners. I'm not sure if any of the bloggers I'm passing this award onto have already won it, but what the heck, a second one won't hurt, right?

I mean if you're already an Oscar-winning actor, and they give you another one what are you going to do? Say thanks, but I already have one? Of course not, you get up on stage and wave the bald headed little fella around, and thank your mummy and your daddy, oh and most of all you thank your peers (ahem, me!) for validating you.

So here are my wockin' girls:

Dotmom: She's brave, she's smart, she's cleverly funny. You don't get more rocking than that.

Fuzzy: She's the twin I was separated from at birth. Really.

Kiran: Don't let her claims of being overweight and over-the-hill fool you. She's just faahbulous, dahlings!

Boo: I don't know how old she really is, but 'girl' fits Boo perfectly, more than any other blogger I know. And of course, she rocks, so she just has to have this award.

Terri: Now Terri's Mom is probably going to go all Aamir Khan on me and give a lecture on how awards mean nothing, but I couldn't resist. She rocks. And so does Terri. (Ok, call it Rockin' Doggie Blogger if you like)

People don't sing when they're feeling sensible

...said W H Auden; a perfect line for Moppet's Papa and me. We're sensible - even practical - about us, and our relationship. We're not romantic at all. Really. Remember the proposal?

But we do have our moments - completely uncharacteristic, slightly goofy, sometimes cheesy, almost-romantic moments. The song story is one such. It doesn't quite qualify as 'our song' - we don't have one - but it's the most likely candidate for this tag.

Now, Moppet's Papa guards his no-nonsense, no-time-for-romance image fiercely, so for the few people who know him that are reading this - please know that this was a very, very, rare occurrence, an aberration, if you will and there have been no further slips in this regard.

It was at the Marketing Fair at B-School, a weekend affair where folks come and play specially designed games that are supposed to work as consumer research. Then we crunch the collected data and draw out (or make up ;-) deep-sounding insights and conclusions and present fancy reports to the sponsors and profs. It is set up as a fair and along with the various project booths, there are the usual food stalls, fair games, a jukebox etc.

So there I was in my booth when suddenly I heard Moppet's Papa's voice blaring out through the loudspeakers with a sweet little message and a song dedication for me. I nearly died of shock. I know that this won't seem like a big deal to many people, but it really was for me because Moppet's Papa is a very private person, and what he did that day was so completely out of character that it could only have meant one thing - he was crazy in love! Certainly not feeling sensible! :-p

Oh and the song? I Want You by Savage Garden.

Tagging anyone who has a song and would like to share it.

The middle name tag

The intrepid Dotmom has handed me the middle name tag.

The three rules to be followed are:
a) The rules must be mentioned in the beginning of the tag.
(Um, why? They'd work just as well at the end, wouldn't they?)

b) You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.
(Well, I don't have an official middle name, although I do have a christian name that exists in no official record but my baptism certificate. Having spent a large portion of my life denying knowledge of that name to my husband and friends, you don't think I'm about to tell you, do you? I thought not. So I'm taking the easy way out and choosing Moppet. Also, I'm in a nostalgic mood today, so I'm going to match off the letters with random details from my past)

c) At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

(Oh dear, I think I'm one of the last people doing this tag. Still, tagging:
MadMomma,
Orchid (whenever she comes out of hibernation),
Parul,
Parul again (just kidding!),
Enigma's Sunita (I know, that's cheating, but I don't know anyone else with an E)
Tharini)

Ok, now that we're done with the rules and stuff, let's get down to business.

M - Maruti 800. Suzi, my first car and first true love, was seven years old when she was given to me on my 18th birthday. She was a very basic model with no air conditioning and no sound system, so on early morning drives, I would just wind down the windows and sing loudly as I drove, feeling the cool breeze on my face and hair. Heaven!

O - Oleander bushes. When I was a kid, my family lived for a few years in a small oasis town in north Africa. In the Sahara. All the buildings in the campus were set around squares lined by Oleander plants in pink and white. Although it was drilled into our heads that they were poisonous, I liked them. They brought colour and life to the dusty grey environment of the campus. It was a happy, carefree time in my life, and seeing Oleander plants always brings back lots of warm childhood memories.

P- Petticoat. What I wore when I went swimming with my granny and cousins in the river (it was more like a large stream, really) near our house in Kerala. Petticoats are thin cotton shifts and are usually white, so once they get wet, they're pretty much useless as body covering. But this was a village, the times more innocent, and it didn't matter to anyone, least of all the bunch of us, splashing, jumping and dunking each other in the stream.

P - Pageant. Yes, I was actually crowned Miss (my school's name) in class X. I got a cheap little crown and a sash and everything! It was at our farewell party, and I had put my name down as a joke, mainly to clown around on stage. I was shocked and hugely embarrassed when I won because I was (and am) under no illusions as far as my looks go. Today, being marginally better groomed, I'd say I'm average looking, but back then as a teenager, I was all bones and teeth and hair, certainly nothing like any beauty queen you've ever seen! Embarrassed as I was, I knew why I had won - they liked me. The judges were a mix of teachers and juniors from school, and I made them laugh with my silly answers to their questions and my refusal to take the whole thing as seriously as the other girls did. I learnt that day that there is such a thing as 'inner beauty', cliched as it may sound, and that there are still plenty of people in the world who can see it.

E - Egg puffs. I've never eaten any as good as the ones made by Real Bakery in Hyderabad. Just thinking about them makes my mouth water. I have searched high and low in every city I've lived in since, and eaten a lot of substandard egg puffs as a consequence, but have never found anything that came close to the Real one.

T - The Mask of Zorro. The first (sort of) movie date I had with a guy. It was pouring that day, and we got drenched just getting from the open car park to the cinema hall. And despite being so wet that any movement in our seats would produce embarrassing squelching sounds, we still enjoyed the movie. And I remember we had hot drinks and snacks at a little cafe nearby afterwards.

Ah, those were the days.

He turns in his grave, the Bard

Ok guys, if after this post you don't hear from me anymore, it probably means that my husband has murdered me and thrown my body into the Chaao Phraya river.

Tharini, this is all your fault! :-)

In the early months of Moppet's life, her Papa came up with the accurate, if unoriginal nickname of 'Poopy'. He'd go nose to nose with her and say 'Hi PooOOoopy', and about half the time she would respond with a grimace and live up to her name.

That wore off by the time she was about 5 or 6 months old and a new nick was created - 'Bumboola'. This one is still used on occasion, usually when she's done something naughty (Come here, Bumboola, you!)

But by and large, he has been wonderfully restrained in the matter of nicknames. He usually calls her by her name or the very innocuous 'Kiddo'.

So if it hadn't been for the fact that poor Moppet has an absolute loon for a mother, she would probably have gone through her childhood unscarred by any over the top monikers.

But alas, that was not to be. I mostly call her Kunji which translates to 'little one'. Variations are Kunjoos, Kunjubaba, Kunjubobs, and sometimes even K-bob, as in 'Whatcha upto K-bob?'

Kuttaapoo, Kuttaapi, and Kuttapai have also been employed at one time or another. Even Kunjukundi, which means 'little butt' (Oh dear, I have so got to take down this post before she learns how to read!)

But worst of all is our song. The last syllable of Moppet's name rhymes with 'me', so our song goes like this:

Mama: Who's Mama's cuddlebunny?
Moppet: Me, me, (her name)!
Mama: Who's Mama's chocolate puddin'?
Moppet: Me, me, (her name)!

You get the idea.

Moppet can't pronounce her name yet, so she only does the 'me, me' part - but she recognises the sing-song tone and usually answers 'me, me' to almost anything I choose to put into the song.

Therefore we have her enthusiastically saying 'me, me' in answer to 'potty queen', 'coconut head', and 'gudlugooba' (which means owl in Telugu), and pretty much anything that pops into my head. Umm, at what age do kids start consciously remembering this stuff? I had better stop before she gets scarred for life!

Now to diffuse the embarrassment by spreading it around a bit. Tagging NM, Cantaloupe's Amma, Rbdans (or DDMom), Mystic Margarita, Sunita, and Choxbox (although you're allowed to decline it if you think n3 might find it too embarrassing).

Quirky? Me?

Tagged by not one, but two funny ladies (and I mean that in a nice way). Y and Kiran have ordered me to list my quirks, and five no less!

Here goes:

1. I'm a nitpickomaniac. I sweat the small stuff. Which is weird, because I'm generally pretty calm about the big stuff. My life can be crumbling about my ears and I will be worrying about whether my slippers need washing.

2. You won't like watching movies with me. I'm always looking for and pointing out logic flaws and mistakes of continuity. I also ask a lot of questions during the movie - Why did he do that? Where did she come from? But how can that be? It drives Moppet's Papa crazy and I understand why, but (so?) I still do it.

3. I need to wave my hands around when I talk. And I'm a chatterbox. As result, talking to me in confined spaces can be a dangerous undertaking. My grandfather used to say that the only way to shut me up was to tie my hands behind my back and I think he was right. I recall now that when Moppet was younger, I didn't talk as much as is normal for me and I guess it was because my hands were full of baby and my mouth was unable to work solo.

4. When I'm reading or watching TV, I chew my lower lip. I mean really, really chew, often to the point of bleeding. I acquired this disgusting habit in my early teens and it has reached a point where I'm not even aware I'm doing it. My mom tried everything - yelling, cajoling, shaming - until she gave up in the hope that when I acquired a boyfriend / husband, he would be able to stop me. But I don't think Moppet's Papa even notices it, so her hopes have now turned to Moppet. I think it will eventually be Moppet who will force me to stop, but she's not old enough to notice yet, so I have a few more years to eat my lower lip in peace.

5. I'm ticklish beyond belief. I have been known to squeal and giggle uncontrollably when Moppet's Papa lets his hand hover (not touch mind you, just hover) over the sole of my foot and says, 'I'm thinking about tickling you'. He, of course, has buffalo hide for skin and is not ticklish at all. So unfair.

So there you have it. What do you think, how high do I rate on the quirkometer? Here's the scale, eleven being the least quirky and fourty-four being the most quirky (Why those numbers, you ask? It's a quirkometer, silly!)

11. Duh?
22. Look, it's alive!
33. A perfect specimen.
44. Excuse me, which planet are you from?

Tagging JLT, Fuzzy, Something To Say, DotMom, Gauri and anyone else who'd like to do this tag.

Whims and fancies

God knows I've complained enough about being unemployed, but it does have its advantages. Like tomorrow, Moppet and I are going to Singapore - just like that! Moppet's Papa is already there, and we'll be joining him for the weekend. Not the kind of almost spur of the moment thingy a working mom could do, eh?

We'll be staying with a brave (some would say foolhardy) friend who I haven't seen in over 6 years. Naturally, I would like to make a fabulous impression, but there's something about the glint in Moppet's eye when I beg her to be good and not embarrass Mama that tells me I had better go and practice my abject apology speech.

Ah well, que sera sera. Leaving you with a picture of Moppet and her current fancies in life:

1. A book called Bright Start, which has lots of photographs of children. Moppet loves flipping through this book, pointing out which kid is crying and showing me how, which one is drinking waatha or joos, which one is sleeping, and so on.

2. Our old digicam. She takes it all over the house and every so often, squints into the lens and says maayil. Since the object being ordered to maayil is usually unable to comply on account of being inanimate, she goes ahead and does it for them.

3. The top obsession of the moment is her pair of hot pink flip-flops. I have a pair of pink slippers that I wear around the house, and Moppet is always yanking them off my feet and attempting to wade around the house in them. So when I saw these slippers, I just had to buy them for her, even though the smallest size they had was too big for her.

She hasn't quite mastered the art of walking in them yet; they fly off her feet as she trots around and I keep hearing exasperated yells of 'chooooooz!' as she runs to pick them up and put them on again. But for all the trouble they're giving her, seeing as she spends more time on her butt, trying to fit them on her feet than actually walking around in them, she absolutely adores them.

I'm going to have to hide them away tonight or she will insist on wearing them to the airport tomorrow, which will be an absolute disaster.

See y'all Monday, folks! Have a nice weekend!

Why Barney NEVER wears pants

Far, far away, in an ancient land once called Siam, there lived a little girl. Sixteen moons after she was born, a google-eyed oracle sent warning that the child was a small yet potent version of an erstwhile dark lord, but her parents paid no heed.

Indeed, it seemed that they might be right, for apart from a single unfortunate incident involving a blue elephant, the little girl showed no signs of any predisposition to evil.

And so it was that they all lived happily together, the little girl, her mother, father, and her best friend - a purple dinosaur called Baani.

It was but an innocent game that started it all. As night drew near, the little girl was preparing to retire to her bedchamber with the assistance of her father. All went well until the little girl decided she did not wish to wear her pantaloons.

Her father, that noble squire, blessed with every virtue but patience, did not take kindly to his daughter's refusal. A quick chase around the bedchamber led to her capture, but his attempts to restrain her and put the pantaloons on her met with resistance so fierce that in exasperation he made a thunderous declaration. Should the she refuse to wear her pantaloons, they would be given to Baani. Seeing that the declaration had no effect, he proceeded to stuff the hapless dinosaur into the little girl's pantaloons even as she watched in horror.

Then all hell broke loose.

It was at this moment that the mother entered the bedchamber. Oh, has ever a mother witnessed a more wretched spectacle?! Her only child, in the throes of a mad rage, screaming and wrestling with a dinosaur in an attempt to tear off his pants!

'Tis true, gentlefolk, and you are right to be shocked. But the wickedness does not end there.

For the mother, far from being horrified, as any gentlewoman ought to be, collapsed in unseemly mirth next to her husband, who was already rolling on the bed, tears of laughter streaming from his eyes.

It was some minutes before either of them thought to rescue Baani from being completely ravaged at the hands of their child. The little girl soon fell into a deep and happy slumber, proudly wearing the retrieved pantaloons.

Baani, however, carries the memory like a scar on his heart to this day. Which is why you will NEVER see him wearing pants of any sort. Ever.