Conversations with a three-year old: Part 3

So I never figured age three was the age of telling the parents, “You better watch out what you were saying, else I am gonna use it right backatcha!”. I learn everyday from our conversations. About wisdom, about listening, about laughing, about caring, about problem-solving, but mainly about listening to your heart. Some of these have also featured as tweets or status updates on facebook, but for those who missed it, here is a flashback:

It’s a Monday. Re has a slow-motion morning. Misses bus. OPU offers to drop us, but works in even slower motion and we eventually land up at school an hour late.
Teacher asks Re, “Why are you late?”.
He replies, “Because the bus was not there!”


Ninni time. Am reading to Re. He is distracting me by pointing to his bruises and scabs. “Look mamma, lion bit me here, and tiger bit me here, and cheetah bit me here and cocodiling bit me here.”
“Really?” I say. “And muksito bit me here,” I point to an imaginary spot.
“Wait mamma, let me sing Flee Fly Muksito and shoo them away!”


Post a play-date, Re and I walk back to our waterlogged building. “So many waters are there,” he said, while he waded through — gumboots, raincoat etal. It makes me smile and feel grateful. For the rain. For water. For life.


“Come let’s have a bath,” I tell Re. “We have to drive all the germs away,”, I say dramatically.

He slaps his body at a few places and says, “mamma, I shooed the germs away. No need for bath.”
Somebody help!


So I convince Re that we haffto go to school even though “it’s still night time mamma,” only to be accosted by a fallen tree where the bus stop is at. I go into my quick plan B mode, making calls, asking the driver to reroute the bus. We are told that we have to walk to the next diversion which seems a few miles away in the downpour. As I lead him away from the scene of the crime, I sense a tug.
“Mamma, the tweee is boken mamma, let’s put sticky tape on it.”
I was like fuck the tape, let’s just flee, but I realised I was a mom now, so I went, “Okay, you go to school, and by the time you come back, I will put sticky tape on it.”


Me to Re: So your teacher tells me you have been dancing in school?
Re: No mamma, I was not dancing in the skooooool, I was dancing in the class onwy.


“Chotabim onwy eating laddoos. He not eating veggiables,” Re declared one day.
Dear chotabim’s mamma, we need to talk. What veggiables, I will make your boy eat fruitables and anyables.


It’s a scrabble Sunday. I had lousy letters, so my first word was DIP.  said, “no mamma, make a bigger one!”
A few words later, I had PERVADE. “Yay, you did it!” he exclaimed.
Thank you scrabble god!


Re wakes up and says, “Mamma I want to dance. Put chipmunks moonie.”
I am like, “god you are such an enthu cutlet.”
He says, “I am not a cutlet, I am a boy.”
Re lying down. Feet up in the air.
“What are you dooving?” I ask.
“I yam resting my feet.”
“But you can rest with with feet down,” I point out.
“But I can rest with my feet up also, no?” he says.I am reminded of a yogassana called Vipritkarni. Perhaps I did too much of that when I was pregnant.
School-bus boarding five min away. It’s one of those slow-motion days.
“I wantooowatch chotabim,” boy says.
“But it’s kissna’s burrday today, chotabim is busy making laddoos with his mother.”
“Then I also wantoooo make laddooos.”
“Maaaaaaahhhmaaaaaayyyhhhh iiiiiiiiiii waaaaanchhooooooo watch dodaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Re whines.
“No speaking in whiny voice. Speak normally,” I command.
“Normally,” he whispers.
It’s story time. Except. Re is telling me one.
Mamma, onceupatime, there was a pigeon.
Mamma pigeon or dadda pigeon?
Ummmmm… a dadda pigeon.
What did he do?
He found onetwofivesixseveneight eggs.
Oh… ok, then?
He ate the eggs.
And then?
He ate the flamingo also.
Then he was happy.
I invent the bus-cookie to make heading for the school bus more exciting in the morning. Re gets two everyday which he chomps on while he waits for the bus. Today, he was still chomping when the bus arrived.
“The bus is here,” I said. “Come kickly!
“But I haffto finish the cookie no?”
Said bus waited for a full two minutes while the cookie was devoured. So much for creative thinking.

5 thoughts on “Conversations with a three-year old: Part 3

  1. wowwww!! I used to write sooo much of the stuff down when my elder cutlet was small… now my younger one is almost 3. there never seems to be any time to write it all down.. at best we manage to make a few videos… LOVE the way you put it all into words. they grow up so fast that I’m already nostalgic for all that grappling with expression and language that they go through. Thats the truly beautiful bit… the lovely language kids use to express themselves. Lovely writing…

  2. Your daily adventures with Re are very similar to mine with my two and a half year old son. Getting him to take a bath is hardest bit of the day and everyday I try to find a new reason to make bath interesting. Today it was pouring water into his toy cement mixer so that it makes imaginary cement!! And about glueing the fallen tree back into one piece, my son wanted me to “fix” the Parle-G biscuit that that he broke into two pieces!! How wonderful, isn’t is?

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