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.”
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!
“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.
“I wantooowatch chotabim,” boy says.
“But it’s kissna’s burrday today, chotabim is busy making laddoos with his mother.”
“No speaking in whiny voice. Speak normally,” I command.
“Normally,” he whispers.
Mamma pigeon or dadda pigeon?
Ummmmm… a dadda pigeon.
What did he do?
He found onetwofivesixseveneight eggs.
Oh… ok, then?
He ate the eggs.
He ate the flamingo also.
Then he was happy.
“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.