tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11340306421896134772024-03-13T18:15:07.385-07:00Journey into the Better Part of LifePadmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.comBlogger134125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-17300283725208986432024-03-13T18:13:00.002-07:002024-03-13T18:14:12.811-07:00Of Assets and Libraries<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2pHcce2G7-BBDMU8wCC9zib6xeojrK-fHUG6zk_Rttdrx7LjFcp6D-gyo-bW-afQgghSCWoAUfxN2y9RAe9kYVX5TgmoP8cJf_cLNEvQM-nAjcjG0Bh1xm_RZbM9YxE_FgDq3GDjzG-0ASMv88oOa7cDshsbdFrDwRyHAuXheHuLRDQtqdgewRx8iJI-v" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2pHcce2G7-BBDMU8wCC9zib6xeojrK-fHUG6zk_Rttdrx7LjFcp6D-gyo-bW-afQgghSCWoAUfxN2y9RAe9kYVX5TgmoP8cJf_cLNEvQM-nAjcjG0Bh1xm_RZbM9YxE_FgDq3GDjzG-0ASMv88oOa7cDshsbdFrDwRyHAuXheHuLRDQtqdgewRx8iJI-v=w376-h376" width="376" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">-- Eavesdropped Conversation --</h3><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>"I am actually an asset, papa" I heard DS tell Ady. <div>"No son, you're a liability. We only spend on you, we don't get anything in return."</div><div>"But I came from mamma for free. You didn't buy me."</div><div>"Well, the doctor did charge to deliver you"</div><div>"Dika is a library, but I bring you so much joy."</div><div>"Yes you do, and so does Dika. Liability." </div><div>"But I am more of an asset than she is. She just stays in her room."</div><div>"Both of you are... Libailities. We pay for everything you do, and you end up wasting everything we feed you."</div><div>"You should only give me what I like then" DS reasoned. </div><div>"Yeah, I don't think only cereal is a healthy choice."</div><div>"You can't give us stuff we don't like, and then say we waste it."</div><div>"Well, that's what you get."</div><div>"Then you're making us waste, papa. You're forcing us to not be assets."</div><div>"No, we give you healthy food, so you can be healthy. You choose...junk."</div><div><br /></div><div>The boys emerged from the room, and DS came running to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Mamma, don't I give you hugs, so many hugs and kisses?" DS was looking for an ally.</div><div>"Yes you do, my baby" I said. "You give the best hugs and kisses."</div><div>"So I am an asset" DS said. </div><div>"Yes, you are" I agreed. </div><div>"Your hugs and kisses are free. Like my hugs and kisses to you." Ady continued.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>"What's happening?" I asked, feigning ignorance.</div><div>"Papa's telling me about assets and librarires, and he's calling me a library."</div><div>"Liability" I corrected. </div><div>"Yes, Liability."</div></div><div>"Oh you're an asset, my child" I hugged him. "You give me so much happiness."</div><div><br /></div><div>"See, Papa?" DS teased his dad. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, you make him eat his veggies now. You're such a liability" Ady dismissed me. </div><div>"Library!" DS corrected him. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Image Credit: https://easy-peasy.ai/ai-image-generator/images/cute-electronic-accounting-calculator-icon-3d-pop-illustration</i></div>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-10625209636255345352024-03-04T22:46:00.003-08:002024-03-04T22:46:29.052-08:00The mania that is Swift!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEZIVTIuAuTu5SjeB885yFeSREoFoizs5Fa-96Qe1QQ6RMMn5Npep6cNpCOBCYGV9fOufLiePZhvR9JbxCgbLlOAef2lkYZ26FTTOWJJ2HMq8EduYTMu1etJiFuI5hkWO-zTIdICBkNB72UJf70Aptdq8uJ2pyGYe9TNess0gr2XGqnYg13YBXT1gpwMlw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="839" data-original-width="839" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEZIVTIuAuTu5SjeB885yFeSREoFoizs5Fa-96Qe1QQ6RMMn5Npep6cNpCOBCYGV9fOufLiePZhvR9JbxCgbLlOAef2lkYZ26FTTOWJJ2HMq8EduYTMu1etJiFuI5hkWO-zTIdICBkNB72UJf70Aptdq8uJ2pyGYe9TNess0gr2XGqnYg13YBXT1gpwMlw" width="240" /></a></div><br />DD has been a Swiftie since she knew music. She would belch
out all her songs, and we’d keep wondering where she’s heard these, as our home
is almost exclusive to Indian music. <p></p><p>Hearing her sing with such passion, we got
her her own Alexa, so she could listen to all her favorite songs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We knew she was obsessed with Swift, because her room had
more pictures of Taylor than of herself or us (wishful thinking of course.) She never really outgrew the ‘phase’. </p><p class="MsoNormal">DS knows what his sister’s favorite song of
the season is, but he doesn’t really like Taylor Swift. She sings ‘too slow’ to
his taste. He likes funky numbers he can dance to. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So this weekend, when the Era’s Tour was here in Singapore,
naturally DD had to go. The excitement was palpable. She went with her friend of course, but the amount of preparation that went in - making bracelets, posters, buying the right outfit...I don't remember the last time, I had prepared so much. Child birth, may be?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I learnt so much about the Swift Culture. ‘The Mother’ as
she is called. I will be honest, when DD said, "I have two mothers, one that
gave birth to me, one that brought me up", I was shattered. While she did quickly
added that I was also bringing her up, when she saw my shocked face, the
damage had already been done. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DD had to do some last-minute shopping, so we hit the mall.
The entire trip was a revelation to me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I saw two girls who had this huge tag saying “F*ck the
Patriarchy.” Not knowing that’s their mother’s song, I gave the girls two huge thumbs
up in support – you know, feminism and women sticking together?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Swiftie!!” the girls cheered. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What?” I asked DD. “That’s her song, ma. It is amazing. You
should hear it. She doesn't only sing about her boyfriends", DD knew what I thought about her. "She sings so many things, about the love for her mother, her best friend's son, about LGBTQ rights."</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I actually did have tears in my eyes at this point. What
sounded like a teen fest, suddenly felt a lot deeper, more meaningful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I saw girls helping each other with the beads for the
bracelets, giving compliments to each other. I saw the passion with which they were
all planning for the concert. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“She’s not just a singer, ‘ma”, DD explained to me. “Her
songs are meaningful, and relatable. There’s something in each song, that will resonate with you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DD in general is a very happy kid, so seeing her all excited
about the concert wasn’t really surprising to me, but it’s the camaraderie that
the girls shared, the enthusiasm with which everyone flew down to Singapore
from all over the world, in fact, a friend of ours flew down all the way from
Seattle too, that was so heartwarming. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I may not be a Swiftie, but I sure appreciate what the
singer is doing to bring everyone together, in a kind and empathetic way. “Swifties
help each other,” DD explained to me. “It’s like an invisible bond.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mamma, since I always hear Dika listening to Taylor Swift,
is she my mother also?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“NO!” I instantly reacted. “Only I am your mother.” And I
held him close to me. “But she can be an aunt to you.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Image credit: DD</p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-57394342383910422152024-02-20T21:04:00.001-08:002024-02-21T10:46:25.199-08:00When it's more fun there<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFzFGvfIcll4GEKgZSOLe636inLY1EN9HR36Gc854Zsgm3HDlfVlUrHPODN0p9k5dXgI_H8ljyxZyQdASvqMdU22LDrsrvg9dPCUredL32cK0gY8ag7btVL3FExZch5HKZP_hApKHrqWM5Bx87FEFi3YtyqOlGc-AX73ttNs0yseK7D8Fwe6DRci_Ds5S/s4032/20240215_192217.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFzFGvfIcll4GEKgZSOLe636inLY1EN9HR36Gc854Zsgm3HDlfVlUrHPODN0p9k5dXgI_H8ljyxZyQdASvqMdU22LDrsrvg9dPCUredL32cK0gY8ag7btVL3FExZch5HKZP_hApKHrqWM5Bx87FEFi3YtyqOlGc-AX73ttNs0yseK7D8Fwe6DRci_Ds5S/s320/20240215_192217.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even before we landed in Sydney, the kids started saying we
should move there. “Why?” I asked picking the carryon baggage from the overhead
bin. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because it’s like Seattle, and they talk a lot with me.” DS
said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And they have a similar social justice system like the US”
said DD, my diversity advocate. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“OK, lets just get a cab and go meet papa.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Can you check where we get taxis?” I asked DS, as soon as we
left the arrivals gate. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He ran behind an airport employee and I lost sight of him
for a bit. DD and I were busy trying to maneuver the luggage to the pick up
spot. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Soon DS came running pointing at the opposite direction. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mamma, I think that guy has lost some teeth.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why do you say that?” I asked. “Did you see in his mouth?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, but he said ‘Aiver they’, when I asked him where the taxis
were. Just like air come out when i talk through my lost teeth, i think air os coming out for him too.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What does that mean?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I think it means ‘over there’" he said. “Because he
pointed in that direction.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Naar” DD said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s another word in the Australian accent.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What does that mean?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No” she smiled. “See, we should move here. It’s so fun.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And that’s how our trip to Sydney began. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The next day was already too late, coz DS wanted to be at
the beach everyday, every hour, and DD wanted to shop till she dropped. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So Manly beach separated the ladies from the gentlemen. DS
had his first brush with body boarding and DD had her first brush with not finding
anything her size. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why is everyone so gigantic?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re tiny” I smiled. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Maybe I’ll get a scarf.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh yeah, that’ll be your perfect size.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Clearly the shopping wasn’t really what she anticipated, so we
settled for a mani-pedi, and lets just say, her pink nails are not really hers.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With all the body boarding, came the sun-burn. Not for the
kid, the dad. So finally somebody agreed that Mom was right in advising to wear
sunblock. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But with all things said, Sydney was an amazing place to visit.
The Blue Mountains were breath taking, the Sydney Opera house checked off my bucket
list, and the beach mania is something that’s not leaving this household
anytime soon. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mamma, why do we have to be home?” DS complains everyday. “The
fun isn’t here, it’s <i>Aiver they.”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-8452628771154427962024-01-28T20:13:00.004-08:002024-01-28T20:24:21.338-08:00Too Many Girls!!<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPO7JvAICKHOXJ8klPTx3JsAgR0bZYIM5hNG_JhpgssxPhIYflig58nbkP4dGdrxXj4gpyhqDyzUwf2iaQI48XKzVc2LVa3xWJm_Ls4DVNIvGDQFZuNECZJE86U5yIo69d7sCIHYo7hs8zcoU6jMfII-vtkFItdUOWpZ1JNy5EvdHzDfHbK1vPcwzxJcnj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1066" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPO7JvAICKHOXJ8klPTx3JsAgR0bZYIM5hNG_JhpgssxPhIYflig58nbkP4dGdrxXj4gpyhqDyzUwf2iaQI48XKzVc2LVa3xWJm_Ls4DVNIvGDQFZuNECZJE86U5yIo69d7sCIHYo7hs8zcoU6jMfII-vtkFItdUOWpZ1JNy5EvdHzDfHbK1vPcwzxJcnj=w369-h442" width="369" /></a></div><p></p><p>DD had a Saturday practice at school. DS had a long day too, with a lot of playtime at home, Amma is here, so he'd been playing with her and Lina Aunty. </p><p>"Ma, can we have dinner outside?" DD messaged me. </p><p>That seemed like a good idea. Amma, DS and I decided to meet DD half way in her favorite restaurant. </p><p>It was a good meal, good ambiance, good company. </p><p>There were a bunch of men behind us, laughing and joking boisterously. </p><p>Suddenly, DS declares to us, "There are too many girls. I am done. I want to be around some boys!"</p><p>"What?" All of us were shocked.</p><p>"Papa is traveling, and there are no boys. It's only girls, girls, girls"</p><p>One of the guys behind us heard and looked over. Clearly he wanted to talk to DS. </p><p>"I don't really want to be around girls anymore. I am going." DS continued, standing up, and trying to walk away from us. </p><p>"Hey, babe", I called after him. "There's a bunch of boys right here, you can talk to."</p><p>"Hey, yeah" said the guy who was following our conversation. "You know, I have 2 boys myself."</p><p>That seemed to calm DS down, who at this point was struggling to set himself free from his sisters' grasps, to - walk away. </p><p>"Why aren't your sons here?" He asked. </p><p>"They're at home." He said, showing some pics of his kids. </p><p>"Do you play any sports?" He asked DS. </p><p>DS couldn't understand his Kiwi accent. "He's asking if you play any sports, babe" I said. </p><p>"Basketball."</p><p>"Ooh, I love playing basketball. My kids play too!"</p><p>"Mamma, can you take his number, and we can have a play date with his sons?"</p><p>And after a good conversation, there was no need to walk away from the girls in the house anymore, or so I thought. </p><p>I also set a </p><p>Ady returned last morning. DS woke up as soon as he heard his dad's voice. </p><p>"Papa, I am glad there's a boy in the house," he ran to hug his dad. </p><p>"What?... I..." and am still finishing that sentence. </p><p><br /></p><p><i>Image Source: https://www.needpix.com/photo/1299933/flower-girl-power-woman-power-florist-female-woman-girl-sign-female-sign</i></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-14034043148671007102024-01-18T22:23:00.000-08:002024-01-18T22:23:44.469-08:00Rules of turning 7<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim3P8Wa3gcK34OUDMtwoJVA6WDYvj_9s-RTbUe33oAWRZTAfw4kN-FtwXvHmOlYDSANco10TCnMOZ4qT6H-PA-GehiRjo7aA30nye2LkCn1_tH8LI1QeOHT5udjwFaJCbP5x46uS_86qqkRfA2AVsknhE8k641YsQ_QYjwW9bP2ONYqOa79ztG4CtEKmPo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="839" data-original-width="1118" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim3P8Wa3gcK34OUDMtwoJVA6WDYvj_9s-RTbUe33oAWRZTAfw4kN-FtwXvHmOlYDSANco10TCnMOZ4qT6H-PA-GehiRjo7aA30nye2LkCn1_tH8LI1QeOHT5udjwFaJCbP5x46uS_86qqkRfA2AVsknhE8k641YsQ_QYjwW9bP2ONYqOa79ztG4CtEKmPo" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><p></p><p>This was possibly the first birthday for DS that he knew and
was aware, that it was organized just for him, outside the home.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He wanted to have a laser tag event, and made his own list
of friends he wanted to invite. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This was actually a birthday of mixed feelings for the
little guy. He was turning 7. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Turning 7 in Singapore meant that you need to sleep by
yourself, and you cannot sleep with your parents anymore. (That’s the rule,
don’t look it up. You’ll just have to take my word for it.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So while he was excited that there’s a day dedicated for him
and all his wishes, a big part of him was also worried that he no longer gets
to sleep with Mamma. (Mamma was equally unhappy by the way, it was Papa’s idea
to enforce the rule, so he doesn’t get kicked in the shins every night.) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He woke up in the morning excited to turn 7, but he wanted
to cuddle some more, because technically, he turned 7, and should not be
sleeping with the parents.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Today is my birthday” he declared coming down the stairs,
to all of us – “so whatever I want gets done.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He said he wanted to eat donuts for breakfast, and we
readily obliged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everything about the day was great. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After an exhausting but wonderful birthday, DS was ready to
retire. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am not going to send him to his room” I remarked to Ady. “It’s
your idea, you deal with it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Alright. I will.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ady was out of DS’s room in 10 minutes. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What happened?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What? He’s fine. He’s following the rules.” He chuckled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“My baby…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He’s a big boy”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s now been almost a week, and my rule-following baby boy
came up to me to snuggle in the morning – “Mamma, can you write to the government
that I can sleep with you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Stay strong!” Ady urged me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We shall see how this night goes.</p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-10973084139080283992024-01-06T23:43:00.002-08:002024-01-06T23:43:53.755-08:00Long Term Commitment<p>We were in India for the past few weeks to celebrate the 50th anniversary milestone of my in-laws. </p><p>DD and DS got to meet a whole set of their paternal cousins, aunts and uncles, grandaunts and grand uncles. Within the first week, his grandma became DS's favorite person in the whole world.</p><p>The entire family was there. Dances by the bonfire, steaming hot paranthas, fresh from the farm salads, and wonderful cackles of excited children were all the elements that made our trip so memorable. </p><p>On the day of the big event, it was amazing to see mom-in-law and dad-in-law all decked up, happy, nervous, shy! They were re-living the day from 50 years ago and it was just the most adorable scene ever. </p><p>On the way to the venue, DS was riding with his grand aunt, grand parents and I. The grand aunt was teasing him, saying she wanted to marry him. "Will you marry me?" she asked. DS looked up at me. </p><p>"Mamma" he said. "I can't marry her." </p><p>"Why?" she asked. "Why won't you marry me?"</p><p>"You need to be married for a long time. But if I marry you, I have to marry very soon. "</p><p>Everybody burst out laughing. </p><p>"Mamma, she is very old. I can't be married only for a short time. I need to be married a long time." he whispered in my ear. </p><p>"She already has a husband, babe" I tried to calm the anxious child. "She's just kidding."</p><p>"I will tell your husband" he threatened her. </p><p>"He'll happily give me away" she laughed. </p><p>And he did. DS did tell his granduncle what his wife did, who promptly did offer her to him. "She may be your favorite person soon."</p><p>"No. Daadi is my favorite person in the whole world."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQgH9Rdw4-p1lODA7atcykQmstLRu0wa4543V7-zOhXMuY3K6ahg9fwBA4sZY70FgVkUOKW9vkufe2ozD2-mUEO2uRu_D4HNAGoe8q_UKYtBvzQJ8EGzo8sI4VCkWoKnA8cMY5a82DMk3G0VPag940hNZ_B4iMYSpSeR_rf3k4ZKryjE6unAAkwNZbLm-/s1024/WhatsApp%20Image%202024-01-07%20at%203.40.09%20PM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQgH9Rdw4-p1lODA7atcykQmstLRu0wa4543V7-zOhXMuY3K6ahg9fwBA4sZY70FgVkUOKW9vkufe2ozD2-mUEO2uRu_D4HNAGoe8q_UKYtBvzQJ8EGzo8sI4VCkWoKnA8cMY5a82DMk3G0VPag940hNZ_B4iMYSpSeR_rf3k4ZKryjE6unAAkwNZbLm-/w335-h446/WhatsApp%20Image%202024-01-07%20at%203.40.09%20PM.jpeg" width="335" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-35508323305115444612023-12-13T23:36:00.003-08:002023-12-13T23:36:42.262-08:00Let's go back to Seattle<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCBHlQ4liqQbjpgRjyXwvg1r472HvGnME-YxbOZ4ItYrJbKqd5v4viE4XeVbdlNA23HKNfEq4jpz5dUu0XvItAn_UQvl8YON0MnIIU6nYGh0xkh1XNu1ZP64R3NvbF8D0yhmaYXD6uHOOqDgdQmvfwN9l3JytBf_sq7QeaDlWtahwyxjfVVFOeAbF2NZfF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCBHlQ4liqQbjpgRjyXwvg1r472HvGnME-YxbOZ4ItYrJbKqd5v4viE4XeVbdlNA23HKNfEq4jpz5dUu0XvItAn_UQvl8YON0MnIIU6nYGh0xkh1XNu1ZP64R3NvbF8D0yhmaYXD6uHOOqDgdQmvfwN9l3JytBf_sq7QeaDlWtahwyxjfVVFOeAbF2NZfF" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I grew up learning “Home is where your parents are.” So to
me, irrespective of how many years we’ve been in the US or how long we plan to
be in Singapore, yeah we moved to Singapore, home is always where mom is<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- in India. That’s true for Ady too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For my kids however, everything but the US is transient. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DD knows for a fact that she’s here in Singapore only until
high school. She’ll move back at the first available opportunity. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know I’ve lost this girl to America, it is her home, her
childhood. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I assumed much to my foolishness that DS wouldn’t be that
way. He’d be a mamma’s boy, and I would be his whole world. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He especially hates it, when we go to crowded places. We’d virtually
be tormenting him to his soul if we took him to visit Little India. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Book a flight now, I want to go to Seattle now. We can’t
stay here. This is not a nice place at all. There are too many bugs biting me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That part is true. Bugs somehow do seem to bite his skinny
legs. Bugs that would never bother you. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We’ll go after a few years, sweetheart.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Noooo…I’ll go with Dika.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What? No, I won’t be able to take care of you. And I’ll have
my own classes, and school. What about your school? Where will we stay? I may not
go back to Seattle.” DD thought through her entire future. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Fine, you don’t have to come for shopping.” I’d offer to
assuage DS. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And to eat. I don’t want to come to any restaurant.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why not? You like idli and dosa?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, but I don’t like everybody else.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What?” I asked confused. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“All the Indian grown ups keep telling me to finish my food
in the restaurants. They tell me to eat my vegetables.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was referring to a time when a waiter was trying to help us
by ‘encouraging’ him to wipe his plate clean. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DS hates disappointing people. So he hates it even more when
he can avoid disappointing someone who he doesn’t even know. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t have to listen to them, babe.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Then it’ll hurt their feelings.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But listening to them, is hurting yours.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, let’s book a flight and go back to Seattle. That way no
one will tell me what and how much I should eat.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We can’t go now, babe.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok, can we go at lunch time, when I am hungry?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i>Image Credit: https://www.needpix.com/photo/1456438/homesweethome-home-text-wood-texture-background-wooden-white-free</i></o:p></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-17153753921638229962023-12-05T21:16:00.002-08:002023-12-05T21:16:29.932-08:00Twins!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjROYiP9ISW_HRk4U7siiGVJNCBCQauA9493qs_OJY_MxnFM5QYqJuWDTgQjyeHruvJ7Bt8AmaakKsxQFnXwuxYk4tlzZrj7XGdktEAUyXn9AVv0BDa0Ft0ZHVmeR8WKIh38qRBvNnruxRQjYGZE0hMOTX7P6D9HAEBCkjyu1fpORpDbi4vGWBGbc648a5S" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1588" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjROYiP9ISW_HRk4U7siiGVJNCBCQauA9493qs_OJY_MxnFM5QYqJuWDTgQjyeHruvJ7Bt8AmaakKsxQFnXwuxYk4tlzZrj7XGdktEAUyXn9AVv0BDa0Ft0ZHVmeR8WKIh38qRBvNnruxRQjYGZE0hMOTX7P6D9HAEBCkjyu1fpORpDbi4vGWBGbc648a5S" width="312" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>“Sisters and Brothers are supposed to love each other. That’s
a beautiful bond that will last the rest of your life. You guys need to stop
fighting and focus on building memories…”I began my lecture copying the speech my
mom had given me and my sis.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But he’s breathing so loud, and right next to my ear” DD explained
pushing her brother away. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“She is singing loudly.” DS tried to make his point. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So?...” DD was about to begin another round. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So, nothing!” I quipped. “DD, don’t you remember how badly
you wanted a sibling? You cried almost everyday…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I didn’t cry!” DD said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Fine, but you were very upset, and you wanted a younger
sibling.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She smiled. “That was a great day, when you planned a
scavenger hunt for me to tell me I was going to be an older sister.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, and you were so happy!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, but I was expecting a sister.” And almost immediately
she realized she may have hurt her brother. “I wanted a sis then”, she said
looking at DS, “because I did not know how awesome you’d be. Now, I am really
happy to have a brother.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">#Parentwin I thought. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But I don’t have a brother!” DS started. “Why do I not have
a brother, and only Dika gets to have a brother?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You get to have a sister.” I said. “Dika doesn’t have her
own sister.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I want to be an older brother. Why does only she get to be
older? I want to be an older brother to a younger brother.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“In that case, I’d like to get a sister as well” DD chimed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mamma, can you give us a brother and a sister?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How quickly that came back to bite me!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And manage another set of crazy fights? No thank you” I
said definitively. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll take care of my brother.” DS said. “I’ll be a better
big brother.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll take care of the sister.” DD chimed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“First take care of each other and stop fighting!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t fight, he does….” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t fight, she sings…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And we were back at it again. But I was thankful. For a
minute there, I almost had double the problem!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Image courtesy - <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/791072486/boy-girl-twins-toddler-or-kids-bella?click_key=399ffbfae47fb4918e508e4960976cac1df55b27%3A791072486&click_sum=426d23d9&external=1&rec_type=ss&ref=landingpage_similar_listing_top-1" target="_blank">Etsy - expecting twins, these outfits sure are cute! </a> Not sponsored in anyway, btw.</i></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-10203034785518964212023-11-27T00:02:00.002-08:002023-11-27T00:02:10.029-08:00How long will I survive?<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMPfm4syQrjadcLlOXLCaiRyAN8aLNyv8Grjj8YtrbEa77hwwDqtLLGyY9QwJV3TwbfpSc8mv6v_N9vH7RLFE3GWz6C8rzk14_fJOunSreeDjOa3-cNJ9MiFMizc94RpVGtykI8SdOLuTF0iCQ8MiyoNt9ekTNPnvN7Wq7uUPYfm899JrVbkYZ-JCLxJDJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMPfm4syQrjadcLlOXLCaiRyAN8aLNyv8Grjj8YtrbEa77hwwDqtLLGyY9QwJV3TwbfpSc8mv6v_N9vH7RLFE3GWz6C8rzk14_fJOunSreeDjOa3-cNJ9MiFMizc94RpVGtykI8SdOLuTF0iCQ8MiyoNt9ekTNPnvN7Wq7uUPYfm899JrVbkYZ-JCLxJDJ=w276-h276" width="276" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>DS loves anything with wheels. Anything. <div>So when we went shopping the other day, he insisted he'll pull the shopping bag. </div><div>"Sure" I said, finding this obsession finally useful. "Just let me know if it becomes heavy and you find it difficult to pull."</div><div>We completed our shopping, and Ady and I were walking ahead of DS. As we were walking the sidewalk, I saw some grates on the road. </div><div>"Son, be careful when you cross here," I told him. "Just use the ramp. Avoid the grates."</div><div>He was so happy he was pulling the bag all by himself, that he didn't hear me. I ran towards him, as he was maneuvering over the grates. I caught his hand just as his leg slipped into the grates. I pulled him up carefully, but the shock of having his leg stuck between the grills really scared him. </div><div>He started crying out loud. I held him close and consoled him. There were no visible traces of an injury. Just a slight scrape. I called Ady, who was a few feet ahead of us. He ran to us hearing his son cry. </div><div>As we inspected his leg together, the scrape started to become more visible with slight traces of blood. </div><div>This scared the little one more. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Hold" I said. "You're fine. It's just a scrape on the skin."</div><div>"But there's blood" he wailed. </div><div>"Let's go to the doctor, just in case" Ady said. "It was an iron grate, and God knows what else was in that ditch"</div><div>"We don't know what was on that ditch?" DS started screaming his lungs out. </div><div>"You'll be fine. There isn't anything." I said. "But we'll go to the doctor, to be doubly sure."</div><div>"Ok, call the ambulance!" He said, slowly calming down. </div><div>"Ambulance?" Ady and I asked in bewilderment. </div><div>"Why ambulance? Can you walk?"</div><div>"Yes, but ambulance will take me to the hospital sooner"</div><div>"Oh my God, he has the mancold!" I signaled to Ady. He smiled. </div><div>"An ambulance won't come for this" Ady said. </div><div>"Why? This is an emergency. There is blood."</div><div>"But it isn't gushing. It's just on the skin. An ambulance would come if there is a lot of blood, or the bone is broken, or...."</div><div>"Is my bone broken?" DS started crying again. </div><div>"No. Babe, if we call the cab, it will come sooner than the ambulance, because it's just around the corner" I offered. </div><div>"But it can't take us sooner, like the ambulance can." DS argued. </div><div>"The hospital is just around the corner, sweetie" I said. </div><div>That seemed to have calmed him. </div><div><br /></div><div>"How long will I survive?" He suddenly asked. </div><div>"What?" </div><div>"How long will I survive with this hurt in my leg?"</div><div>"Sweetheart, you'll live to a 100"</div><div>"But how long will I survive with this?"</div><div>"You mean a scar?"</div><div>"No, what will this hurt do to me? Will I become ok?"</div><div>Oh my God, this boy has a severe case of the manflu! I wondered. </div><div>"Yes. You'll be perfectly fine. You won't even have a scar. We're going to the doctor, just to make sure we're not missing anything."</div><div>"What are you missing?"</div><div>"That's what we're going to find out sweetie."</div><div><br /></div><div>Once we reached the hospital, the doctor looked at the scrape, at us, and back to the scrape. </div><div>"He fell through a sewage grate. He wasn't sure he'd survive" I offered, realizing how foolish we must be looking. </div><div>He smiled, cleaned the wound, and put some ointment on it. </div><div>"It's just a superficial scrape. He must've already had his Tetanus shot. I've cleaned it. So he should be fine. Just clean it again tomorrow."</div><div>"Doctor, can you repeat the part where you said he is fine?"</div><div>He looked at me again, this time as if I was daft. </div><div>"Yeah, he is fine."</div><div>"Did you hear that, sweetie?" I asked. </div><div>He finally smiled. "I can walk?" </div><div>"You've been walking...well, yeah" I said giving up. </div><div>"I am worried" I whispered to Ady. </div><div>"Why? It's just..." he started reassuring. </div><div>"No, not about this. About the person who will marry this boy. I hope that person's a Doctor!"</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Image credit: https://www.rawpixel.com/image/7580094/image-cartoon-illustrations-public-domain</i></div>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-45949144882964265672023-11-21T02:35:00.001-08:002023-11-21T02:35:03.736-08:00Happy Deebavali, Pa<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9GlWDEh_XOxHd91HYSgiPJEgG8DJaPFU7k5kBBrKxVamfed5OCahY2N3YzI6HzMbyMLa-_NukGHPK9Mj_sb8EOuwgCt8hCJMSAc--qf_9gpYwsU43P9XBlz1-VexPZ_5btezHQr168oGhRDNRnQCFkZkIL_I-mnXp1HWGDUPiPhxgRBZoqYc6TzoWyxxz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="1024" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9GlWDEh_XOxHd91HYSgiPJEgG8DJaPFU7k5kBBrKxVamfed5OCahY2N3YzI6HzMbyMLa-_NukGHPK9Mj_sb8EOuwgCt8hCJMSAc--qf_9gpYwsU43P9XBlz1-VexPZ_5btezHQr168oGhRDNRnQCFkZkIL_I-mnXp1HWGDUPiPhxgRBZoqYc6TzoWyxxz=w394-h272" width="394" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Diwali brings in so many memories. The last few Diwalis have
been bitter-sweet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Kids looking forward to the new clothes, the sparklers,
meeting friends and family, and I remembering my childhood, my Appa. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Every Deebavali (that’s what Tamilians call it), Appa would
wake us up at 4:00 AM to burst some crackers to commemorate the death of the
evil Narakasura. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Appa would insist that we take an oil bath – apply oil on
our head and body, and shower with a few drops of the Holy Ganga mixed with
our bucket of water. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ganga snanam aayacha?" was the standard
way Appa and Amma would greet friends and family to wish Happy Deebavali. “Did
you take your bath with the Holy water.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We used to hate waking up so early, but bursting the crackers,
Amma rubbing oil on our heads and us taking our baths and accepting our new
clothes whilst sitting on our old clothes in gratitude, are all traditions etched in my
memory. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My kids also have developed their own memories. They know to
expect Indian sweets, chaat, new clothes and crackers. But I don’t wake them up
at 4:00 AM or rush them to take an oil bath. There’s a chance I don’t do this because
I don’t like waking up so early, but also because my kids are more vocal in
expressing their dissatisfaction with the situation than my sis and I ever
were. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nevertheless, the smell of freshly made delicacies, the
laughter of the kids, M.S. Subbulaxmi in the background, reminds me so much of
Appa doing puja in the morning, Amma by his side. I miss doing namaskaram to him
before accepting our new clothes. I miss getting the prasadam from him, before
he offered an entire plate of Deebavali foods, I miss giving both my sis and I a warm hug and wishing us the best in everything we did. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Appa, I wish you were with us; I wish you would spread the cheer of festivities
like you always did. I wish you held my children and gave them a warm, loving embrace
like you always did to us. I wish I could have so many more Deebavalis with
you. I hope you had your Ganga Snanam ‘pa. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> Image credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/kdinuraj/4012378376</i></o:p></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-45806659405332583322023-11-06T22:52:00.003-08:002023-11-07T00:37:59.776-08:00The Villain of the Story<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdFUn1mCWX8ogwOXP7-TuVC6WWFvrViYkqEg-dsoekFgMoD31IQP2EV41oA-Gydho3iTBedolFz5fSBuO_s-iTp2ynlawqWOtAglfdzB_vKJ1XlgtI58S5hnS6h-seZUYLrAVRMIXLyMBYN6oJeqyFzXmtakb1HXp-ldYvgercJdaKTvUp8sH3PZ9ybQ0M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="828" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdFUn1mCWX8ogwOXP7-TuVC6WWFvrViYkqEg-dsoekFgMoD31IQP2EV41oA-Gydho3iTBedolFz5fSBuO_s-iTp2ynlawqWOtAglfdzB_vKJ1XlgtI58S5hnS6h-seZUYLrAVRMIXLyMBYN6oJeqyFzXmtakb1HXp-ldYvgercJdaKTvUp8sH3PZ9ybQ0M=w466-h223" width="466" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">DS fights with DD – a lot. </p><p class="MsoNormal">She takes up his airtime, when
she talks to us, obviously – she likes talking – a lot, and that eats up into
his time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He won’t talk a lot when she is not around, but when she’s
there, that’s it, that’s the only time he wants to talk, and Dika is “just mean”,
that she “does not let (him) talk at all!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DD has a minor case of Misophonia, so he’ll go chew closer
to her ears. He’ll make loud gulping noises and eat crunchy foods, so she’ll
react. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To her credit, DD does not initiate a fight, but she also
doesn’t let him be. “You need to teach him that he can’t get his way”, she’ll
teach me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I need some peace and calm” I’ll react. “Just let him be.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Tough luck. You taught me to stand up for myself. Now deal
with it!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If I am greying, I’d say the biggest reason is their
bickering. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is how a typical fight gets resolved - <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“DS, let’s just go, you, me and Papa, to some place for a vacation.”
I’ll offer. “Let’s leave Dika at home.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes!”, he’ll exclaim between sobs over some random fight –
maybe she stared at him, or maybe she just existed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why would you do that?” DD will quip back. “But wait, are
you planning to go to the beach? If yes, then yeah, go ahead, I don’t want to
come. But any other place, I want in.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok, let’s go to the beach DS, you love going to the beach.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Let’s not leave Dika behind,” he’ll whimper. “She’ll feel left
out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But that’s what you want?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No. I don’t want her to feel bad. I just want you to scold
her. We can’t leave her behind. I don’t want her to be alone. I love her.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I love you too, DS”, DD’ll hug him. “I love you the most.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, both of you love each other. Mamma made a bad
suggestion.” Ady will swoop in when all’s well. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, Mamma, you made a bad suggestion” DS and DD will
agree. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is how almost all fights end... they’ll bring me in their
fights, somehow resolve it, and make me
the bad guy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hey, if that leads to them becoming a team, bring it on. I
have no qualms about being the villain to their happy sibling story. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p><i>Image credit: https://www.deviantart.com/daviddv1202/art/Revenge-of-the-Disney-Villains-872211233</i></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-35690648720885389612023-10-30T23:47:00.001-07:002023-10-30T23:47:12.934-07:00A little bit of me, a little bit of you<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNv99Xc3jrDVGimprYf5ernKQ7PG54DBtgQGwMS3MvX7d0WQEHruqAI32oANQoLqCITHF5nYp8YsU1zlnuLLzecLmd-jLajqWx2Fxpoc2IGkBJ2ez1NyS3pHbpwPrHwrTQTCr4CarpNcVhzhrnWohm1LcXe_V_DtJGuicYUC93g4JYnzdBRRCoDoMzvRQp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1024" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNv99Xc3jrDVGimprYf5ernKQ7PG54DBtgQGwMS3MvX7d0WQEHruqAI32oANQoLqCITHF5nYp8YsU1zlnuLLzecLmd-jLajqWx2Fxpoc2IGkBJ2ez1NyS3pHbpwPrHwrTQTCr4CarpNcVhzhrnWohm1LcXe_V_DtJGuicYUC93g4JYnzdBRRCoDoMzvRQp=w352-h307" width="352" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>When we realized that I was pregnant with DS, we decided to
announce it through a scavenger hunt to DD. She loves solving puzzles, and she
was the one who lobbied non-stop for a younger sibling, so she deserved to know
the news as soon as we did.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I crafted 10 different puzzles, and she scavenged through
the entire house to solve it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The last clue said “You will no longer be just you, you’ll
now have a different role, a different relationship, and a different
responsibility. You will be the older one, not the only one.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Only child?” she instantly remarked. “I won’t be the only
child anymore?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We smiled. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you pregnant?” she came running to touch my belly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, sweetheart” I said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yay, I am going to become a big sister! When will my little
sister come?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We don’t know if it’ll be a little sister or a little
brother” Ady said. “But whichever one, you’ll still be the older sister.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah” she agreed. “But little sister means, we’ll have a
lot of pink.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am so happy, mamma”, she continued hugging me. “I will no
longer be the only kid in school without a sibling. I will have my own sibling.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes”, I said. “You most definitely will not be the only kid
anymore. You’ll be Akka” I said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Or Didi”, Ady quickly added. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So the baby won’t call me by my name?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, the baby will be the only one who can call you ‘big
sister’, and mean it because they’ll be related to you by blood. My sister
calls me ‘Akka’, and papa calls his sister ‘Didi’”, I said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hmm…I don’t mind the baby calling me by my name”, she pondered.
“But having a special name sure sounds good.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How about…” she continued… “how about the baby call me
Dika, or Akdi?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s a combination of Didi and Akka?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah. So it’ll be a little bit of Tamil and a little bit of
Hindi, because I am part Tamil and part Hindi.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ady and I smiled. We liked the idea. “I think Dika sounds
good” we agreed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And thus was born a newly coined relationship. It is very unique
to what DS calls DD, and we like it that way <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– A little bit of me, and a little bit of him.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <i>Photo credit - Romel - <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/wolfsoul/2072332105">https://www.flickr.com/photos/wolfsoul/2072332105</a></i></o:p></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-72886372751061807482023-10-22T23:46:00.002-07:002023-10-22T23:46:43.263-07:00Doink!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG5XYTxmMXyg4HIdGEV6MGvNWuLtP_kLrcLTSCBkfM_G2tBgmoA71mSzZ3qLYMHvvb7kaujwvGhmm51nC3KWMJz7D-Y8w9JdWvTUyQWnbqSCVABLkPuaE302EHD3yGGds95KiVHarH8A6Er5P5fGBQG6JEj6-QNI1fVU_UkD_83LU8eBY4NliIpIrVCwEq" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="620" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG5XYTxmMXyg4HIdGEV6MGvNWuLtP_kLrcLTSCBkfM_G2tBgmoA71mSzZ3qLYMHvvb7kaujwvGhmm51nC3KWMJz7D-Y8w9JdWvTUyQWnbqSCVABLkPuaE302EHD3yGGds95KiVHarH8A6Er5P5fGBQG6JEj6-QNI1fVU_UkD_83LU8eBY4NliIpIrVCwEq=w238-h346" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>DS loves traveling. He specifically likes traveling to resorts
and vacation rentals where there are a ton of games, just like his dad.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember the time and effort Ady took when DS was about 3,
to find a spot which has a lot of space to run around, and golf. While he wasn’t
successful enough to find real golf, at the location we were going to, he
settled for disc golf. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So as one would expect, we dropped our bags, explored the
place, and set off to play a round of disc golf. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We made teams. Dad and daughter, mom and son.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the initial 10 minutes, DS was observing how the game
was being played. He saw his dad and sis throw the disc through the chain rack and
wasn’t really comfortable with the sounds. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Soon, he understood the game, and said he was ready to play.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“OK, take positions” Ady ordered. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I stood right beside DS, so I could swoop down or capture
the discs going above his head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>DD stood
across from her dad to strategically throw the disc into the rack. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DS looked at me and paused. He yelled out to his dad, “Wait,
wait. Don’t throw”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And then he took me by my hand and pulled me behind a tree. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why are you making me stand behind
the tree?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Noticing the move, Ady and DD also moved closer to us. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The disc is very fast, mamma” DS explained. “It will be
very hard when it hits. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ll be safe behind the
tree.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My eyes welled up. Oh, what a lovely little boy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DH was silent. I looked at him and smiled. He smiled back,
then looked at DS – “What about me?” he demanded. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DD and I started laughing. Wonder who’s the dad and who’s the
son!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i>Photo credit: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/55/Disc_golf_-_Laajavuori.jpg</i></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-11179635515513117482023-10-08T21:41:00.042-07:002023-10-31T06:23:37.260-07:00Long Live Tamil!<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoWjbY9qo8rY1CuiH3sqvocpdvXxTL2yk1o53yM4Rxk_9P2Iz9B5YbTKtbTL5JK4pXL5BYJPWhJGv6Z9s4uQDAJP-QptBvVz5S7kUVnn64iKW7SNLgRtiU9NDFXCFPOLVg1sgeQOBZNgE10XcViUL_sWs2ijvpBd8D-PDaHx91m9rlOCGTTdAkJ8IJU97/s256/Nixs_News_Tamil_Logo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="256" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoWjbY9qo8rY1CuiH3sqvocpdvXxTL2yk1o53yM4Rxk_9P2Iz9B5YbTKtbTL5JK4pXL5BYJPWhJGv6Z9s4uQDAJP-QptBvVz5S7kUVnn64iKW7SNLgRtiU9NDFXCFPOLVg1sgeQOBZNgE10XcViUL_sWs2ijvpBd8D-PDaHx91m9rlOCGTTdAkJ8IJU97/s1600/Nixs_News_Tamil_Logo.png" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">When it came to identity, DS somehow was very clear, that he had Indian heritage. He wanted to learn everything about India, - the language, the dances, songs. The only exception to this was food - it was ok to avoid food that wasn't bland and idli shaped.</span></div></div><p>He wanted to learn Hindi. What more could a parent ask for - a willing child who wants to learn more about his culture and his native language. So all that we had to do, was speak to him in Hindi. But of course we didn't. We were so used to speaking in English, that Hindi really, was an effort. Yes, please get judgmental.</p><p>But we had ourselves a persistent kid. He saw me learn Spanish on Duolingo, so he insisted I set him up for Hindi. He religiously did his Hindi lessons everyday, so much so that he was able to understand what we were speaking, and he responded in comprehensible words. </p><p>We were really impressed that the kid, inspite of his lax parents was able to learn a foreign language. A little part of me was having the FOMO reaction because the kid wasn't learning Tamil. But I clearly couldn't ask for more. </p><p>Fast forward to a few months, and PS-II had released. There is one song in particular, which literally praises <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=em+tamil+vaazhga+lyrics+ps2&rlz=1C1ONGR_enSG1065SG1066&oq=em+tami&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUqBggAEEUYOzIGCAAQRRg7MgcIARAAGIAEMgcIAhAAGIAEMgYIAxBFGDkyCAgEEAAYFhgeMggIBRAAGBYYHjIGCAYQRRg8MgYIBxBFGD3SAQgxOTEyajBqN6gCALACAA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:f05cd418,vid:bmfuNBqZ0yc,st:0" target="_blank">Tamil culture and the Chola empire</a>. I kept listening to it over and over. The pride for the language and the Cholan accomplishments was something my dad displayed a lot. He was a proud Tamilian. He, loved the language, the culture, and it's rich history. The song reminded me of him, and how he'd be beaming with pride. I kept listening, so I could hear him sing along. </p><p>I must have heard the song on repeat so many times, that as I was putting DS to bed one night, he asked me - "Mamma, why do you keep listening to the Veera Veera song?"</p><p>"Well, babe, it reminds me of Thatha a lot. The song is about the Tamil language, and I don't have anyone to talk to in Tamil, so I keep listening to it. It makes me very emotional. It makes me feel closer to Thatha and closer to Tamil."</p><p>There was a long pause, and then he said. "I feel sad that you can't talk to us in Tamil Mamma", I could hear him sniffle. "Does Duolingo have Tamil? I want to learn it because it will make you happy."</p><p>I think my allergy has relapsed, my eyes are getting moist again. </p><p><br /></p><p><i>Image credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nixs_News_Tamil_Logo.png</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-35714992979678581342023-09-30T01:29:00.006-07:002023-09-30T02:00:34.170-07:00Mixed Feelings<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsfBnrLAGUdehG3wXLXy-_gImOErXEicXLsQZR8YRorZr_2Lo0hZJhip7y5SKNXtGaT3vvPff0_gRVQmnRBkYD_yOmqmAYhw-K-1c6gnaEj7Xtow9WQPwWFQ8bfHRi-UbT8RoIVjCZ2TuZSw5TcSX2sDB2-CxPeHpm0g7jB5wTbi9DrfR31-nRv-GewoS/s300/emoticon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsfBnrLAGUdehG3wXLXy-_gImOErXEicXLsQZR8YRorZr_2Lo0hZJhip7y5SKNXtGaT3vvPff0_gRVQmnRBkYD_yOmqmAYhw-K-1c6gnaEj7Xtow9WQPwWFQ8bfHRi-UbT8RoIVjCZ2TuZSw5TcSX2sDB2-CxPeHpm0g7jB5wTbi9DrfR31-nRv-GewoS/s1600/emoticon.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Losing a tooth is a big deal in my books. <div>You're getting closer to adulthood, with your body parts being updated to adult parts, with a longer warranty. </div><div>I've had a tough time dealing with DD's tooth loss, and I'm having a harder time dealing with DS's. </div><div>While DD lost most her teeth in succession, DS is taking his time, which I love. </div><div>"Mamma, Arit lost a tooth today", he told me excitedly once, when he came back from school. </div><div>"Oh no!" I reacted, and yes, I reacted badly. </div><div>"Why Mamma?"</div><div>"I..."</div><div>"Why oh no, Mamma?"</div><div>"Not oh no, I guess it's good, but it means, he's growing up. I don't know how I feel about you losing your tooth."</div><div>"But I am 6, I am a big boy."</div><div>"I know. But you're also my baby. Well, maybe I have mixed feelings."</div><div>"What are mixed feelings mamma?"</div><div>"I want you to grow up, but I want you to stay my baby."</div><div>"That is just silly mamma!" he chuckled. </div><div>"I know, sweetie. I don't know how to feel."</div><div><br /></div><div>And the fateful day arrived a week later. </div><div>When I went to school to pick him up, his teacher met me at the door. "I think your son has something to tell you, and he knows how you will react." </div><div>"What?"</div><div>She nodded at DS. </div><div>"Mamma, I know you have mixed feelings, but I have mixed feelings about telling you too. </div><div>I am excited that I lost my tooth, but I am a little sad that you have mixed feelings."</div><div>Oh my heart!</div><div><br /></div><div>"I think I am more excited that you lost your tooth, babe", I lied and hugged him, never wanting to let go of my baby. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Pic source: https://qcontent.co.uk/insights/marketers-mixed-emotions-facebook-emoji/</i></div>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-27018313715610314082023-09-30T01:00:00.006-07:002023-09-30T01:15:35.507-07:00Gullible vs Street-smart<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIZtTEWI-1930mt4mAE9B8lQUbRbnh11SUbaatPsk4PeVQrA4XRimFRAzzCLptN5Yk9wHJB43ay2GOSfcx8ZIFkz-n0x9Z4MDax53ezF944hGsNpKvZE0pYwmnbRS3PTbIDDL9byr-nO3hiWsN8Tk3ff4rDWox_4vhk4MiOjmH6rBN6TjExEuQh_9svZt/s2000/20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1555" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIZtTEWI-1930mt4mAE9B8lQUbRbnh11SUbaatPsk4PeVQrA4XRimFRAzzCLptN5Yk9wHJB43ay2GOSfcx8ZIFkz-n0x9Z4MDax53ezF944hGsNpKvZE0pYwmnbRS3PTbIDDL9byr-nO3hiWsN8Tk3ff4rDWox_4vhk4MiOjmH6rBN6TjExEuQh_9svZt/s320/20.png" width="249" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">When DD lost her tooth, she left her tooth under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy to come and get it. </span></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><p>I wrote such a lovely letter to her saying that the Tooth Fairy was proud of the choices she was making, and to take good care of her new tooth. </p><p>DD would admit a few years later that she knew it was me. But she kept quiet because she wanted the moolah, that comes with a fallen tooth. "Tooth Fairy's cursive was eerily similar to your handwriting," she admitted. </p><p>After she lost like 4 teeth, I told her that the Tooth Fairy only rewards for the top 4, but she insisted that each tooth was special and she needed to save it for the fairy. So that cost me quite a bit. </p><p>With my little, it was much simpler. </p><p>The first tooth, the Tooth Fairy wrote to him in a non-cursive hand-writing and gave him a dollar. He was way too excited and all the parents in the school were very happy with the Tooth Fairy too. </p><p>The second tooth, I told him that we had a family tradition, that we dig the dirt, bury his tooth, and plant a sapling in its place, so you'll know with its growth, how long its been since you lost your tooth. To my surprise, he readily agreed. He dug a hole and added his own tooth, and chose to fill it with an apple seed. </p><p>I compared the way the two kids reacted to not getting money to DD and Ady, without a beat, she replied, "Mamma, there's gullible and there's street smart."</p><p>"He's got a sense of wonder and excitement about everything. I don't think he is gullible." I defended him. </p><p>"You're right", she said. "He's very innocent. He's going to listen to everything you say in excitement and wonder."</p><p>"You think so?" I asked. </p><p>"You know what, you are right!", she smiled, and looked at her dad. "*He* is not gullible." And the two of them burst out laughing. </p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Pic source: https://linguosco.com/word-of-the-week-gullible/</i></p><p><br /></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-32313080085129964582023-09-28T22:33:00.002-07:002023-11-07T00:46:55.841-08:00He knows!<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJ7HD2CeF-7gz2O6uflfW6Hn9XpcqfjMqM8AoFtTrxDaALdjCNP7e9hIynrU4DwgUGRawdodDqhPMvi2dzDqh0lH3Kcp3GmZNBTAAtI-AUxK4L5C_xZ_eMwGxsCsi8N34yq3vBRQnwoEzBt_KYH8ddSTScT89nZ3KissuYsmxBpadQlyWOCW-gGTk-64FO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="444" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJ7HD2CeF-7gz2O6uflfW6Hn9XpcqfjMqM8AoFtTrxDaALdjCNP7e9hIynrU4DwgUGRawdodDqhPMvi2dzDqh0lH3Kcp3GmZNBTAAtI-AUxK4L5C_xZ_eMwGxsCsi8N34yq3vBRQnwoEzBt_KYH8ddSTScT89nZ3KissuYsmxBpadQlyWOCW-gGTk-64FO" width="229" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>The last post was kind of a teaser to my current life. </p><p>The warm embrace of the sister and brother, well, clearly that's what I'd like my social media to think my kids are like, but in reality, let's say 90% of the time, I play the referee, and the 10% that the loving hug happens, it melts my heart so much, that I begin to believe, time and again, that these two are just the perfect pair of siblings. </p><p>So lets start where we left off, well, at least from whereever I can recollect. </p><p>Clearly, I make amazing babies. If DD ran the house, DS is that sensitive soul, who can play you like a fiddle. </p><p>From the time he could express his emotions, he's been absolutely free with them. He can burst into tears over anything. I think he takes it as a challenge to prove his tear ducts are solid. </p><p>If you get mad at him for something he said or did, he'll hug you so tight with those big round tears falling down his cheeks that you instantly feel remorse for being upset with such a wonderful little kid. </p><p>If you've built a thicker skin and know his tricks, he'll hug you hard and say "Tell me you're not mad at me. Tell me you're wrong for getting upset. It's bad to get upset. It's not OK," between his sobs and instant waterfall. </p><p>"Why do you cry so much?" I ask him.</p><p>"So you won't be mad." Well, fairpoint. </p><p>"How is it that when he cries, you immediately calm down, but when I cried, you didn't?" That's DD. </p><p>"Well, he gets tears. Your crying was more of a whining."</p><p>"What's whining?" DS asked. </p><p>"Well, it's all that you do, minus the tears," DD said. "And at a higher pitch" I added. </p><p>He smiled. </p><p>"Why are you smiling?" DD asked. </p><p>"I know how to make Mamma stop getting mad, you still don't."</p><p>"Mom, did you hear that?" DD turned around to look at me. </p><p>"DS! Why would..."</p><p>The dams were open again! That boy has the remote to my reactions. </p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-31167436114344181702023-09-28T22:01:00.001-07:002023-11-07T00:45:05.578-08:00It's really unfair<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoSq01XLbRmRZpsYYYYeSqDHQIaaHrT8P_WdT4iN0UOI4uu_OLm4HJU3A0VZ7ksE4nuKuIjkEVej0Ff9DOoIy-4dBAzr9Jr2ZwihaY1Go89Z4jJ5DRJ_dEA5dhZQMEgm5d_fM_Aijbs8kBjK7YsgDSGMv6W1MqaL5YTe81VajEpvnO7ZWYcZJdSouCztC/s1600/9TR5eXbyc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoSq01XLbRmRZpsYYYYeSqDHQIaaHrT8P_WdT4iN0UOI4uu_OLm4HJU3A0VZ7ksE4nuKuIjkEVej0Ff9DOoIy-4dBAzr9Jr2ZwihaY1Go89Z4jJ5DRJ_dEA5dhZQMEgm5d_fM_Aijbs8kBjK7YsgDSGMv6W1MqaL5YTe81VajEpvnO7ZWYcZJdSouCztC/s320/9TR5eXbyc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <p>Ok, It's been an exceptionally long hiatus. I have very many reasons for not having written, nah journal-ed DD's antics, but they are all, as I have come to realize, excuses. </p><p>DD discovered my blog recently, and asked me a lot of questions about her childhood, and how she loves that she has a memory capsule to look back and learn more about herself and her upbringing. </p><p>She was talking about a couple posts when DS walked in. Yes, DS is now in the picture, and no, not a toddler, but an elementary school going kid. "Mamma, there's nothing about lil bro, here", DD said.</p><p>"Well I did stop writing, way before DS was born."</p><p>"What's not there about me?" DS asked.</p><p> "Well, Mamma had written a lot of stuff about when I was growing up, and now, when I read through, I know how it was liking growing up through her eyes. But there isn't anything about you."</p><p><i>Thank you, Darling. </i></p><p>"Why is there nothing about me, Mamma? Why didn't you write anything about me?"</p><p>A 100 excuses ran through my head, but looking at those big wide eyes, I didn't have the heart to make one up. </p><p>"I'm sorry, babe."</p><p>"Why? All of a sudden?", I looked at DD. "How did you even discover this blog?"</p><p> "He's my brother, and not to forget, another of your offspring!"</p><p> Tears flowed down. "It's not fair. You can't only write about Dika... why won't you write about me?"</p><p>"Well, sweetheart, I will."</p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Image credit: https://clipart-library.com/clipart/big-sister-cliparts-23.htm</i></p>Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-92207418549834233812020-02-03T15:22:00.000-08:002020-02-03T15:22:41.073-08:00When you're motivated<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh the things people do, do get what they want!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the things we've been worrying a lot about, is the lack of Hindi language skills in our children. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They can understand but won't speak. The little one was speaking a good amount of Hindi when the grandparents were around, only to revert to English under his parents. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In our most recent visit to India, we realized that DD cannot really communicate with her cousins in Hindi. By the end of the trip, her cousins started speaking in English, but DD wasn't really doing anything to improve her Hindi. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Enter, the carrot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">DD's been on us for months now, asking for a phone. We've been pretty reluctant for obvious reasons. So the husband used this as an opportunity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The deal is that she needs to speak in Hindi for 3 continuous months, and only in Hindi, with us and those who understand the language, and she will receive a phone!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nothing has ever worked before, but it's been a month now and DD is still talking in Hindi, not using any English words. In fact, we've had to look up words in Hindi to be able to translate it to her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We've never said "Welcome" to anyone in Hindi. What is the response to "Thank you?" "Swagatam?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're learning with her, and it's been very insightful and fun so far.<br />Let's see where this takes us - onward and more fluent?</span><br />
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Image source: Shutterstock.com</div>
Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-85390456172294323332020-01-31T14:55:00.000-08:002020-01-31T14:55:40.338-08:00If only I could fit in a pocket!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had an idea that bringing up girls and boys are different. Hmmph.<br />
I wasn't going to put my kiddos into the stereotypes - let DD play with princesses and Barbie dolls and let BB play with cars and trains. But they just did. DD was obsessed with princesses and fairies and BB loves dinosaurs and monster trucks.<br />
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But the other thing I didn't realize is that boys really love their Mammas. Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before, never really believed the affection would be so deep.<br />
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I love both my kids, but there's something about the connection I have with both of them, that's so different.<br />
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BB always wants to be with me. I love that. I love being around him, holding my little baby, cuddling him, now that I know that they really do grow up so fast. Ask DD.<br />
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BB always says how much he misses me, when I am right next to him. That's adorable. The kid does have some kind of a hold on him Mamma.<br />
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The best part of being his Mamma, he always carries a piece of me, not literally, although, he did tell his teacher at school "I wish I could carry my Mamma in my pocket, but she's too heavy".<br />
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Love that kid!<br />
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Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-41868459526190421672020-01-12T09:34:00.001-08:002020-01-12T09:34:30.318-08:00Happy Birthday, BB!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think there's a huge difference between a first time mom and a second time mom.<br />
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When it was DD's birthday, I planned months in advance. All her birthdays until she turned 9 were painfully planned and executed.<br />
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But with BB, it's a "I'll wing it" approach.<br />
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For the last two years, he's been celebrating his birthday just with DD's friends. This year is no different, just that I'd probably take a cake out there and have him cut if in his pre-school - if it does not snow.<br />
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My theory is that until the kids gets vocal about their birthday needs, we're fine recognizing the day of their birth anyway we feel right. This is a fairly recent theory, I admit, after BB was born, but I think it's well worth it, because I get to have a good night's rest and not worry about party planning.<br />
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So with this birthday, I think there's a new outfit involved, cake, may be cupcakes, but definitely lots of love and hugs galore. That should suffice, right?</div>
Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-28486837718509872762020-01-04T06:00:00.000-08:002020-01-04T06:00:38.850-08:00A New Year's Resolution<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">OK, this post has something to do with a New Year's resolution. We all know how those go, but here's hoping that I am able to stick to it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So a lot has happened over these 3 years. A lot. Some moves were made - both dance and location changes, some additions were made - to the house and to the family, and we lost some things - worthless (well...) and priceless. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's been a year, but I still can't come to terms with it - Appa isn't here anymore - physically. He's always around us, but he's just not readily available anymore to pick my phone and offer financial suggestions or concerns over how over worked I am. I lost my biggest ally, and nothing's the same anymore. Amma is putting on a brave front, I know she is a strong woman, but it pains me to not see Appa with her anymore. I find comfort in the fact that Appa is still around, reminding us that we need to cherish each other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But to give me some solace, Appa was there when we added to our brood. There's a BB (Baby boy) now, and that little one has been such a blessing for us. Looks a lot like DD, but behaves completely differently - so far. He's a total Mamma's boy and I love all the attention I get most of the time. I could use some privacy in the toilet, but as I've learnt with DD, this phase does not come back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That brings me to DD - she has decidedly refused to listen to me, and is growing at a pace I just can't keep up. She always had a mind of her own, and now is more vocal, if that is even possible. She has become a writer of her own accord, publishing stories and poems. She still loves books, although obsesses over a select series. She is getting very close to being obsessed with games on her grandma's phone... more on this in a bit, but since this is seasonal, and only when grandma visits us - I think it's a little contained. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ady is the same - as patient as can be, and my rock in all this madness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There - that's a peep into the three years that were. Stay tuned, for a detailed account of all the craziness that's in the details!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Source: </span><a href="https://sayingimages.com/new-years-resolution-meme/">https://sayingimages.com/new-years-resolution-meme/</a><br />
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Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-9993144217277143692016-03-04T14:40:00.006-08:002016-03-04T14:40:41.707-08:006 Going on 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD is her own person. Not that she ever stopped to listen to any of us, since...birth, but truth be told, she's reaching that stage where it's becoming increasingly difficult to get to her without an argument. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She's in rush to grow up. She wants to be 19, and soon. Why 19? Well, that's because that is the biggest number of a teenager. She wants to be a teenager and what's more awesome than being the oldest teenager?</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f_kZiKevOQY/VtoNwDAkgII/AAAAAAAAZMk/4EF1pmor45k/s1600/girl-160019_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f_kZiKevOQY/VtoNwDAkgII/AAAAAAAAZMk/4EF1pmor45k/s320/girl-160019_1280.png" width="178" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My manager had once advised me that you need to act the next level, to get to the next level. But here's the thing, I never shared that piece of information with my daughter, but she's naturally learnt it. She acts every bit like the 19 year old, I don't have. Here's a sample of her words of wisdom: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Discussion between Dad and daughter:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ady: DD, if you don't listen to me then I'll have to become very strict. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: No Papa, you can't be. You're not that kind of a guy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ady to me: How does she already know about 'kind of guy'? Did you talk to her?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me and DD</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: If I get angry darling, don't get mad, back OK. Just listen. I'll relax soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: You can't tell me what to feel Mamma, those are my feelings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me to myself : Darn those <i>Feelings</i> books!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>DD and her Dad</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: Can I get a make up set for my birthday?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ady: Of course not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: But I want to be a fashion designer or a make up artist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ady: But what about your earlier dream of being an author/ circus artist/ teacher/president?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: I am allowed to change my mind. I am growing up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>By her own admission, she loves arguments. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: "Why DD? why do you love arguments?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: "I don't know, I just do."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: But why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: It's very entertaining. I especially like arguing with you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: Why me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: Because it's fun</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: How can it be fun? It's frustrating.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: OK, let's argue about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>DD on her door</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Do not enter."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I enter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: Mamma, there's a 'Do Not Enter' sign on the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: But I wanted to come in to talk to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: Would you like it when I disobey your request?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: No. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DD: Then when you come in, in spite of the sign, I feel disrespected. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Really! Darn those<i> Feelings</i> books!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Photo Credit: <a href="https://pixabay.com/en/girl-school-child-young-happy-160019/" target="_blank">Pixabay</a>)</span><br />
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Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-24071107038932336122016-01-21T15:19:00.003-08:002016-01-26T13:36:27.657-08:00When You Have a Foreign Name<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People who know DD, know that she has two names. To preserve her privacy (if there's even a chance, now) I'd like to address her, DD. Both her names are tricky here. It's an effort for us and to the listener to ensure that the pronunciation is right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's a struggle really, having a foreign name (sounds so strange to call ourselves foreign), but the truth of the matter is, it is a tongue twister for people here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I suggested DD try and shrink her name up, so she won't have such a hard time enunciating her name in so many permutations and combinations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/---_bOBkLBCU/VqFnHibGLgI/AAAAAAAAY-U/LXGw1ZKmlXM/s1600/4464205726_662b4d3ce2_z.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/---_bOBkLBCU/VqFnHibGLgI/AAAAAAAAY-U/LXGw1ZKmlXM/s400/4464205726_662b4d3ce2_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"But it's <b>MY </b>name" she said. "I want people to know my full name, my real name. I am not going to shrink it<insert name="" of="" shortened="" the="" version="">."</insert></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So the girl doesn't want give up. To anyone who cannot pronounce her name, she spells her name out, urges them to listen when she is explaining and then asks them to repeat after her. She also goes on to explain the meaning of her name(s), as if that will help them pronounce it better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is effective 30% of the time, but well, it's effective 30% of the time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"You can call my mom 'Paddy' she adds immediately after introducing me to anyone."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"That's easy" they'll say. "And for me" I'll agree. I really don't want people to butcher my name into a million pieces. I am ok with Paddy, after all that's what I was called in India too. Thanks <a class="g-profile" href="https://plus.google.com/105098690284922080706" target="_blank">+Nihal Fernandes</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But I do admire the pride that my daughter has in her name and its meaning. She confuses her two names, but for the most part, gets it right!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am proud of you too, darling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/quinnanya/4464205726" target="_blank">Quinn Dombrowski/Flickr</a></span></div>
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Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1134030642189613477.post-53458604505006994812015-11-20T11:48:00.000-08:002015-11-22T20:19:40.161-08:00The Last Word<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As much as I'd hate to admit, DD is seriously changing loyalties. She is gravitating toward the other parent and there's little I can do about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The two play a lot of games, have meaningful in-depth discussions, share a lot of laughter. It is amazing to see the two of them in action. I am there too, just somewhere in the background and fondly remembered when she is hungry or sleepy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Recently, the two of them played 'In a Pickle'. It's not an easy game to explain in a short blog post, but basically it's whoever has a higher value card - word wise, wins. Example, mountain is bigger than building (generally speaking), so the person who played 'mountain' wins. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At one particular point, DD played 'Love' and Ady played 'Life'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They called me to judge. "Which one's bigger Mamma?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Explain yourselves" I said giving them each an opportunity to present their case. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">DD started. "You can be a very small person, but you can love beyond your life. I am small, but I love you, and you are very big. Even after a person dies, their love can stay. So love is bigger than life." she concluded. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Ok, you win!" Ady conceded, without even trying to prove his card was better. He was flooded with tears, he was so moved by what his daughter had to say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"And love moves people" I added, glaring at him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The tears flowed freely for a good 5 minutes and DD felt compelled to talk more about love, and her love for her father. She knew it was her moment, and was thoroughly milking it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Stop it already!" I told Ady. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"These are tears of happiness, Mamma" DD said. "Papa is happy."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I am not crying..." Ady said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yeah, you're just welling up" I said. "My word wins." I didn't want to be the only one who didn't play the game. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: <a href="https://pixabay.com/en/father-daughter-cartoon-together-304309/" target="_blank">Pixabay</a></span></div>
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Padmajahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528060644192761402noreply@blogger.com0