Return(ing) gifts

Birthday parties were simpler when I was a kid. One simply took a little present (something hand made , most of the the time), gave it to the birthday baby, ate a little cake and chips, and then just went home.

Kids' parties now are way more complicated. There's a guest list, fancy invitations, decorations, themes, a menu, games to plan, and last but not the least, return gifts.

Return gifts.... A paradox.... I could go all out for a party.. A spectacular cake, a lipsmacking menu, themed decor and accessories, games that rock.. But if the 'return gift' isn't up to par, I might well have committed the greatest social faux pas. Gone are the days when keeping up with the Joneses meant a gigantic cake and a gourmet dinner at a fancy restaurant. This is the day when one ensures that the return gift is totally beyond compare and remains the talk of town way after the birthday baby has forgotten what flavour of cake was served on D-day.

A couple of years ago, I tried to get creative and hired a potter. The idea was that the kids take turns at the potter's wheel and try their hand at moulding clay. The kids could all take as many turns as they wished. And they got to take their creations home. At the end of the party, one little kid came up say thank you and bye. And asked very nicely, "May I have my return gift please?"

"well, kid, those pots you made are all yours. You can take them home with you."

"I'll do that, thanks, but where's my return gift?"

Huh? Did I misspeak?? Wasn't I communicating coherently?

"Those ARE your return gifts"

That little tyke stomped off in a huff, telling all and sundry that I hadn't got 'proper' return gifts.

My first step towards social hara-kiri.

The next time I had to host a birthday party for one of my daughters, I gave the invitees a notebook and some stationery... pencils, erasers, sharpener and crayons. The mothers of the little invitees all called to compliment me on such sensible and practical return gifts.

But, do I ever learn?? Of course not! A few months down the road, when the next kid had her birthday, I tried to repeat a successful formula. Only to be told by one little tyke, "But didn't you give us the same return gifts last time?", who was then dragged away by his totally embarassed mother.

Recently, one kid in our neighbourhood had a birthday, and all kids who attended got a potted plant. Not a bad idea, if I say so myself. Let the kids remember to water it regularly, take care of it, watch it grow and bloom.

But then I didn't factor in something important. Keeping up with the Joneses.

Today, my kids attended not one but two birthday parties. The sensible mom gave them some really nice DIY craft kits.

And the other.... Shudder... Gave each kid a bowl... With two goldfish in each...

WTF!!!!

I don't want fish at home. But here I am, stuck with 4 critters....

No one we knew, who had fish as pets, wanted to take these off our hands. I didn't know the hostess well enough to take them back to her without making a mountain of a molehill. By this time, there were enough tears to fill up a dam. And of course, daddy dearest can't bear to see his babies cry. He simply HAD to be their hero.

The kids are now proud owners of goldfish. They needed a new and bigger tank. And fish food. And a billion other accessories. We also had logistical issues of transporting fish in open bowls of water back home without splashing water, or fish, out.

After a lot of arguements, we went out and got a fish tank, fish food and other assorted accessories.

And I now own 4 scrawny goldfish.

Lucky me.... Not!

What do I give that kid in return when it's my turn to host my daughters birthday party a few months down the line?

A pirhana for her fist tank? A puppy dog? A hamster? Or better still, a loud talking parrot? What about a violin?? (A note for the uninitiated: listening to a novice, or an untrained person play a violin would be the worst kind of torture... On par with the sound generated by stepping on a cat. Or Nails scraping across a blackboard.)

Ah well. Time to feed some fishy characters. And damn you, whoever invented the concept of "return gifts".

One cannot simply feed and water a few kids before sending them back home anymore. They're to be 'returned' with thanks....

To read or not to read

We're now reading. To be precise, I get my daughter to read aloud to me at bedtime. This is not about her putting me to sleep, but one way to get two birds with one stone. Reading practice and bedtime stories.

A few years ago, I picked up the whole set of Ladybird readers for her. At that time they looked wonderful. Big bold easy-read prints, colourful layouts, and new, bigger words introduced in easy phases.

So far so good, right? We stuck to Tom and Kate and their routines (I wouldn't quite call them adventures) and I would get very easily distracted. And that might have been just me, if the other half hadn't pointed out with all subtlety that "Tom and Kate is so boring. Puts me to sleep."

Did that sound harsh??

May I direct your attention towards your typical reader??


and then to some more of the same?




It's.... dry! To put it very very kindly. Halfway through one reading, we are rendered unsuccessful at concealing any yawns and other signs of utter boredom. But encourage the little one to continue we do. May the force be with her! And in all honesty, I did have to use the force to get her to read her quota for the day.

I asked a few educators and they lauded my choice of reading material. So, well, I let it be.

The other day, I got so fed up, I asked my daughter to pick something she wanted to read aloud. Without hesitation, she picked up a Dr Seuss. And read it out way faster than she would normally. I wondered whether it was because she knew some of the pages off by heart. It wouldn't be too far off the mark as I might have read it aloud to her only about a gazillion times.

Just to put things to test, I got her to pick up another Dr. Seuss book. And she did read much better, with way more interest. Here's an excerpt.



Or from another book..



I asked around, and got some opinions.

It's not serious.
There's no educational value to it.
It's just rhyming nonsense.

It does confuse the heck out of a parent, doesn't it?

But then I'm an avid reader. So is the other half. Does reading HAVE to be serious? Is there any reason reading can't be fun? Can't a school related exercise be made more interesting?

When I feel like reading, do I pick Bertrand Russel? Or do I pick whatever catches my fancy? Do I pick a Drucker and Toffler, or do I pick an Eddings and L'amour?

I ordered a few more Dr. Seuss books online. And got the kid to read it aloud. She read it with so much enthusiasm that I had a tough time getting her to stop in the middle of the book, as it was nearly bedtime. Well, if I was in the middle of a good book, I'd want to finish it before I slept too.

The supposedly 'frivolous reading' wins the battle of the books. I'd rather reading was happy and fun. There's always 'serious', 'value-added' reading to be done at school, so let reading at home be thoroughly frivolous.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, Ellen Goodman from the Detroit Free Press, (all the way back in November 1966) said:
"Dr. Seuss took 220 words, rhymed them and turned out 'The Cat in the Hat', a little volume of absurdity that worked like a karate chop on the weary little world of Dick, Jane and Spot. "

With those profound words in mind, would you like to recommend some reading for kids that doesn't bore the parents to tears?

Teaching science vs the science of teaching

The other half proposes, "No more lame bedtime stories for kid#1. I shall tell her stories about science."

Doesn't sound too bad does it?? Indoctrinating fertile young minds towards science and technology?

So we start with the one of the greatest men of science, Sir Isaac Newton.

OH: Once upon a time there was this dude called Sir Isaac Newton. So Newton sits under this apple tree, and an apple falls on his head. What would we do if that had happened to us?

Kid #1: We would wash the apples first and then eat it.

OH: See, Newton was a scientist.

Kid #1: Like you??

OH: Just like me, but way way smarter. So he started thinking WHY the apple fell DOWN. Do you know why it fell down?

Kid #1: Yes!

OH: Good. Tell me why it fell down.

(At this point of time, the father is thrilled to bits that his 7 year old shows a lot of promise, and a future in science)

Kid #1: See, Appa, the apple hangs BELOW the branch. Because there is a branch above the apple, the apple cannot travel that way, so it has to come down only.. simple!

(Here, as an unbiased observer, I would point out that the kid does know her concepts... about straight lines and all that jazz)

The OH wants to cut this line of thought, and stick with the science of all this.

OH: Baby, if you throw a ball up, does it keep going up?

Kid #1: No, it falls down.

OH: Why does it fall down? Why doesn't it keep going straight up?

Kid #1: Because it doesn't have wings.

There goes that lesson. And we're back to the tried and tested conventional bed time stories.

There are constant attempts to introduce the kids to basic science.

We took them to the Planetarium. There's this little "science park" in the gardens. There they have this colour wheel, painted with the 7 colours of the rainbow, and strips of black and white. The idea here is to touch them and see which colours absorb light, and which colours reflect light. The black strip, needless to say, is hottest to touch, and white is the least hot of the lot.

The OH explains it all in great detail to the little one.

OH: So, Aditi, what will you wear when you go out in the sun.

Kid #1: A hat!

We might be teaching science, but we haven't quite got the science of teaching down pat!

And we're not quite giving up! Tonight the OH plans to tell her the story about James Watt and the steam engine.

Teething issues... reloaded

All through the day I noticed my elder daughter her run to her room every now and then, and lift up her pillow. Then she'd get back to whatever she was doing, with this slightly disappointed look on her face.

Finally, around bedtime, I asked her if something was wrong with her pillow. And she told me she was looking for a coin. Why on earth would you look for a coin under your pillow, I ask her. Did you drop a coin somewhere? Where did you get a coin to start with?

She then gave me this blank don't-you-know-anything look, lifted her pillow again and took out a tooth! My little one lost a tooth this morning and there it was under her pillow.

This was a bit of a dicey situation. When she lost her first tooth over a year ago, we sat her down and explained to her how her milk teeth would now start to drop off, and how a better, stronger tooth would grow back in it's stead. We talked to her about how this was all a part and parcel of growing up, and how her new teeth would be stronger than what she had before. And that a gap toothed smile was a badge of honour, and that she could flaunt it to her heart's content.

Now we hear that some kid in her class her told her not to throw away her tooth the next time it falls, but to place it under her pillow, and see how it would turn into a coin. (Jobless *&$% kid!)

Here's the problem. Do we introduce a tooth fairy into the equation? Do we simply place a coin under the pillow and ask her to put that into her piggy bank and leave it at that? Do I stick to the 'rational' and 'scientific' path that we've been following to date, and explain away the tooth fairy?

Decisions, decisions... and they have to be made in less than 8 hours from now.

The numbers racket

"Amma, how many years am I?" pipes the elder one. "4 years!!!!" she shouts out before I can reply.

For some reason, the elder one is obsessed with age. She has to know "how many years" any given person is. And it need not necessarily be a person.

"Amma, how many years is the baby?"
"Amma, how many years is appa?"
"Amma, how many years is Thatha?"
"Amma, how many years is Paati?"
"Amma, how many years Gowri chitti?"

...and so on and so forth, and wants to know how old every single family member is.

I was on skype with an old friend yesterday, and after I'm done goes... "How many years is Akshay uncle??"

I tell her.... she ponders for a bit and asks..."When I am that many years old can I have a beard too?"

Hmmmm... it had been too easy,... way too easy... "Er... girls don't have beards."

"The beast has a beard in Beauty and the Beast. Is the beast a boy?"

"Yup, the beast is a boy."

"Are all boys beasts??"

I don't want to go there.... so I put on her favourite (of the moment) movie Tonari no Totoro.

After a bit,"Amma, how many years is Totoro?"

"Er... I don't know," and I shut up before I start to try to explain the concept of an ageless forest spirit.

"Is Totoro 53 years?" she asks.

I heave a mental sigh of relief, but too soon. Way too soon.

"Amma, why is Totoro 53 years?"

I have no answer there. I look at that cute curious face, and start to think, no mean feat in these circumstances, let me tell you. "Totoro is Japanese," she tells me. "Do you think my sensei knows how many years Totoro is?"

Saved! I guess sensei really earns her pay. I tell her that she should ask her sensei that question. And as she reasons, sensei and Totoro share the same nationality.

After we're done for the day, she wants her usual bedtime stories. She has to listen to a Kannan kadhai, stories of Sri Krishna as a child. Half way into a story about one of his childhood pranks,

"Amma, how many years is Krishna?"

I think to myself that since she enjoys these childhood pranks series of stories so much, maybe I'll put Him at the same age as Aditi. "He's 4 years old, just like you," I say.

And she starts to wail, "But Appa said he was 6 years."
"Well, he is 6 years, I said 4 by mistake.. how silly of me," say I and try to get her to stop crying.

"But why does Appa think 6 years old?"

That's it. I've had my share of the questions for the day. I get up, go to the other half, and say, "Your daughter has some questions for you..."

And I breathe a sigh of relief.. until she thinks of the next set of questions

Little lessons from little-r people

"Baby, finish everything on your plate, or else I'm calling the Oni..."

That is the sum total of our current dinner-table conversations.

(What's an Oni?? Hmmm... read about it here, if you please.)

Much as I hate to resort to the bogeyman, some days, my patience is torn to shreds way before the sun even contemplates moving to the other hemisphere.

I see a little face that's really sad, and about to burst into tears. But holds the tears back, as she tries to be brave.

Now I feel like pond scum. Lower than pond scum. Maybe like the life forms that pond scum hold in contempt and disdain. I try to set things right.

ME: Tell you what, let's just eat three spoons of this. And then we're off the hook.
Little one (LO): OK Amma... Will that make me a good girl again??

Now I demote myself to what the stuff that pond scum hold in contempt hold in utter disdain.

ME: Shall I count??
LO: OK!

Me: 1... 2....
Me: 2 and a quarter, 2 and a half, 2.75

By this time, the little one is totally perplexed. But the deal was that she eats and I count.

Me: 2.75.. 2.8.. 2.85.. 2.9..
LO: Amma, what are you doing??
Me: Counting, baby... 2.91.. 2.92.. 2.93..
LO: But are those numbers?
Me: Don't talk with food in your mouth. It's rude. 2.96... 2.97
LO: But Amma, what happened to 3?
Me: Did I lose count??
LO: I think so.
Me: Ok.. Lets, start again..
Me: 1.. 2.. 3.. And done. You can go play for a while.
LO: So I don't have to eat more??
Me: Goodness, look at your plate.... it's empty!!! You ate it all in three mouthfuls!!

The little one thinks about it.

LO: Amma, can I show you something?

And plays her favourite video and I sit down to watch it with her, as I promised I would.

When it's over, she turns to me and asks....
"Amma, now can you count to 10 properly?? Shall we do some numbers now? I'll give you a hug if you get it right."

Little people sure know it all.....

What was that name again?

This morning the older one had to be taken to the doctor for some tests. And this being the weekend, dear husband volunteered to take her to the doctor. We've finally found a pediatrician who doesn't speak much English, but writes down in English what he wants to communicate to us. I think this is wonderful. But we're still not used to the staff at that place.

Father and daughter walked into the clinic, handed over all relevant insurance cards, registration cards etc. One lady asked them what they were there for. Arun tried to explain, and finally took a piece of paper and wrote 'urine test' on it.

A few minutes later, another receptionist came up to him. She looked very confused. She handed him Aditi's registration card, handed him the slip of paper, bowed in apology and utter confusion and asked, "I'm sorry, but the registration card says 'Aditi Krishnan' and on this paper you've written 'urine test'. Now which is your daughter's correct name?"

Whe me?

Why?

Watching movies with a 4 year old is really trying.

Why??

Because of all the questions I have to answer. All questions are 'why?' questions.

The little one, and I too, have watched Mulan only about (according to Arun) 29,832 times over the last 2 years. She knows all the songs, knows all the characters, and even knows some of the dialogs.

So far so good?? Well, now lets get to the real fun.

Understand first that my daughter has recently grown into the "why?" stage. So as we watch, someone refers to the villain as 'Shan-Yu'. "Shan-Yu??" she asks in horror. "Shouldn't he have said 'Mr. Shan-Yu' or 'Shan-Yu-san'??" That shows how well we're drilled her in her P's and Q's.

Mulan cuts off her hair, and heads off to battle. "Why is she playing with a knife? Doesn't she know that it's dangerous?"

"Why is Mulan taking a bath at night? Won't she get a fever or catch a cold?"
"Why is Mulan going swimming at night?"
"Why did Capt. Lee take off his shirt?"

... and so on and so forth. Halfway through, my brain shut down, after thinking up easy-to-please answers.

After a while, answering these with "Why do you think that happened?" failed. Very miserably. The first time she looked at me and said, "I want amma to tell me why." When she saw that I took too long to think up an answer, she looked at me asked, "I think amma doesn't knows why." So much for being the all-knowing parent.

But it's my fault. I didn't see it coming. All the obvious signals went off a few months ago, and I ignored them. Recently we saw some shots from Superman Returns on telly, and she asked me, "Why is Superman wearing red undies over his pants?" Before I could recover from a choking fit, she answered, "Didn't his mummy teach him to wear it properly?"

Why me??

The theory of kids

Theoretically, I should get up by 5am, and finish making breakfast, lunch, a different kid-friendly lunch box for school and get it all packed and ready by 7am.

The alarm goes off. Brrr.. I think to myself, 'it's colder than Siberia in here,' and I curl up for a few more minutes. Avani starts to whimper. I feed her and look at the time. Goodness me, it can't be 6:45 already!!!!! Run, run, run! or I'm never going to have time for my morning cuppa.

Theoretically, I wake Aditi at 7am, get her brush her teeth, eat her breakfast, have a shower and get dressed to go to school by 9:05. The bus comes to get her at 9:10. Theoretically, this gives her a lot of time. And she can linger over breakfast. No need to hurry.

Now it's time for negotiations:
'Oh heavens, look at the time! C'mon baby, wake up or you'll miss your bus.'
'No school. I don't want to go to school'
'You GOT to go to school. All your friends are going to be there. You got to go.'

By this time appa is late for work, and Aditi wants 5-huggy-and kissy. And once A has left the wailing starts. 'I want one more huggy-kissy'

This is usually a good time to observe this phenomenon of catastrophic proportions called 'the sympathetic detonation'. The first law of sympathetic detonation states that: 'for every wail from one kid there is an equal or greater wail from the next, and so on and so forth'. By this time the little one is howling her head off, and I'm ready to howl too.

By some miracle, the older one is washed, dressed, fed and I think to myself that I need to be a little more patient. After I've done her hair, she looks at the mirror. And starts crying. 'I don't want my hair done like this. I want it done the other way'. Another dose of sympathetic detonation. When cajolery fails, I resort to ultimatums. That's how I've fixed your hair today, and that's how it's going to be.

As we head down to go wait for the bus, she looks in her bag. 'Yellow?? I want the pink lunch box'... and cries a little. Sympathetic detonation again.

Second law of sympathetic detonation: 'once sympathetic detonation has occured, there're no laws that apply anymore. It rapidly dissolves into utter chaos, and its each woman for herself. The men are clueless, and will remain so'

Theoretically, now I can sit back and relax with the baby. Get her breakfast. Play with her a bit. Give her a leisurely massage and a bath. Rock her to sleep.

How I want to sit back, put my feet up, and take a few deep breaths. But the little one's breakfast can't wait. She's really hungry and is howling. By the time she's been fed, she's also broken enough records to qualify for the spitting olympics. Her spitting's getting more powerful, and I swear the radius of the mess has increased to over 4 feet.

And between keeping the baby amused and getting something done around the house, I also need to get lunch ready.

Theoretically, she sleeps.

Yeah, right!

Theoretically, I now have time to get the laundry done, and other assorted household chores.

Yeah, that too.

Theoretically, I'm done with all this by lunchtime. Then A and I can have a relaxed lunch, and after cleaning up, I have time for a power-nap before Aditi gets home from school.

Nap?? who napped? By the time the bus gets here, I just managed to catch up with my morning backlog!

Theoretically, Avani now has some lunch and amuses herself for a bit while I get a snack or something ready for Aditi when she gets back home.

"Why didn't you give me a cute lunch?"
"I don't want this for a snack. I won't eat that either"
"I want amma to go to Mysore"
"Waaaahhhhhhhh"
Sympathetic detonation occurs... again.

Theoretically, Aditi eats everything on her plate. And settles down to read, draw, play.

Hah!
Now let's talk about a very old game my grandmother taught me. It's called 'aadu-puli-aatam', the game of 'tigers and goats'. I've forgotten how it's played, but my kids have developed a whole new way of playing it. One takes the role of tiger, and the other plays the goat. The tiger attacks the goat without the least provocation. And the goat howls. I step in to intervene, and the tiger starts to roar... er .. howl.
Remember the second law of 'Sympathetic detonation'?

Theoretically, I get dinner ready on time, and we all sit down to dinner on time. We all eat dinner, Aditi does her nightly routine of brushing, changing, and is off to bed by 8pm. A and I get the kitchen cleaned, get Avani fed, and then have time to watch a movie, read a book, listen to some music. And then like the famous nursery rhyme, it's early to bed, early to rise.

Dinner table talk is reduced to eat what's on your plate and love it. The older one is washed, changed and brushed. And makes promises to be a good girl the next day, and tells me how she will be nice to the little baby, and asks me to tell her a bedtime story. I leave the little one with A, and we start our story. Halfway through she doesn't want me there anymore. "I want appa. I want amma to go to Mysore".... there we go. There's a change of guard, a little sympathetic detonation, A rocks the big one to sleep, and I try to get the little one to nap.

By the time both are asleep, A and I look at each other, look at the mess that is the kitchen, look at the disaster in the house, and consign it all to the blazes, and crash out.

Tomorrow is another day.

Of gender, theology and preschoolers

Aditi asked Arun something, and he gave her a very asinine answer. Something on the lines of how Calvin's dad would have answered. I now understand why Calvin's dad is the way he is. Until now I never had to answer questions on life and the universe and everything in between from the perspective of a 4 year old.

Recently, I had a very enlightening conversation with my little one. It went something like this.

A : Amma, are you a girl?
Me: Er.. yes, I guess you could say that.
A : Is paati a girl too? Are both my paatis girls?
Me: Yes, smart girl.
A : And that means Appa, and my two grandfathers are boys.
Me: Hmm.. absolutely.
A : You know, S-chan*, Sh-chan, and K-chan are girls.
(* chan and kun are honorific titles used while addressing little girls and boys respectively)
A : And also, D-kun*, H-kun and Y-kun are boys.
Me: That's absolutely right. Smart girl.
A : Do you know how I know the difference?

Now, whether she knew the difference or not, I wasn't all that prepared to know that.

Me: Er... really??
A : Because they use the 'standing up' potty.

I was right, I was nowhere near ready for this.

A : Amma, the little baby uses a diaper. Then how can you tell whether it is a boy or a girl?

Hmmm... I fully sympathize with Calvin's dad at this point. I totally understand why he answers questions the way he does.

A : Amma, is God a boy or girl??
Me: Huh???
A : Does God use the standing potty or sitting potty.
Me: Ask Appa that. He's a scientist, you know. He knows ALL answers.

Anyone out there care to explain??

A stranger in a stranger land

Not being able to read Japanese, I am as good as illiterate. Never did this hit me so badly as this last week when the little one called for her health checkup.

First time I heard anything about it was when I was told by the translators' pool to show up at X place at Y time with Z things. Then I get a postcard from City Hall telling me to be in A place at Y time with Z things. Well, how am I to be in place A and X at the same time, pray? So its back to the translators' pool who said to get to X.

Clear as mud, what? Well, it's still just that. So I took the little one, and after a daunting search, found the right building. The search was daunting because I had the name of the building written down for me in Japanese script, and I was doing a case of character matching using my written instructions. Then once I decided that I was in the right place, I went in, found the right floor, room etc, and registered the little one who was probably equally bewildered. Then came the flood of important sounding of words.

Apparently this was where the 4-month-olds were having their health screening. Wasn't my kid 6-months old? Er, yes, but this is where I was told to come. More muttering between the staff there. But why didn't you get the 4th month screening done?? Hmm... let me see.. no one told me about it, could that possibly be the reason?? More agitated muttering... Alright, please come this way, and follow these instructions.

So far so good. My little one was pronounced all OK. That was wonderful. Then the health officer asks me, why haven't you given her these shots?

And there I was totally stumped. The last anyone explained to me, City Hall would tell me where and when to go for shots. So, no one told me anything about these shots. Apparently certain shots would be administered by City Hall and I had to arrange for the others. And the person-in-charge tells me, 'oh, here it is on this little book. See, here it clearly states all that.'

That was true. But I pulled out another instruction booklet given to me by City Hall. And I go, 'person-san, this one says (in English) that City Hall will inform me about the vaccinations.' And she looks at the other book (which is totally in Japanese) and goes, 'Ah, that one is outdated. See it clearly stated here (in Japanese) that you need to arrange for that yourself.'

Somehow I managed to drive back home without venting my frustration on any assorted automobiles, telephone or electric poles, got home and totally lost it. Poor A then called his office, asked them to sort out the mess, and ask that we be given updated information, and please be told what we need to do for the next 6 months.

Again, chaos. But City Hall sent you a card to be in place A, why were you at X?

Aaaaarghhhhhh... welcome to the bureaucratically induced insanity.

So the appointment is rescheduled, and I go to place A. And the doctor there helps me fill out a form all in Japanese, giving consent for my daughter to be vaccinated. I signed where I was told to, and sat back and relaxed.

Just before vaccination, forms were being scanned again. Then the person in charge goes, "Sumimasen, inkan arimasen ka?" (Excuse me, but don't you have a seal/chop?) "Arimasen, kochira wa sign shimashita." (No I don't, but I have signed here).

Then muttered discussions again. How I despise those!

Now this is a matter of security. Apparently signatures can be copied.

Well, that's true, but... hmm.. you know, seals can be stolen, replicated?

At the end of the day I had to have a seal to consent, and then some head honcho decided that my thumbprint would be a safer option than a signature. So I was helped to fill out another form. And as I put my thumb impression on that, I could remember scenes from banks back home, when the bank personnel would help illiterate clients write out forms etc, and they would put a thumb impression wherever a signature was needed.

I looked at the bunch of incomprehensible squiggles on the form that I had just signed, and thought: "My parents spend a healthy sum on my education, so I could put my thmub print on a form I don't understand that someone had to fill out for me?"

I finished the vaccination, strapped a totally annoyed baby into her carseat, and turned on some music. And then I suddenly heard "Ei dil, hai mushkil jeena yahan." That made my day. I relaxed, and sang along "zara hat ke, zara bach ke, yeh hai Japan meri jaan."

Verbs and Preschoolers

Since we started to learn Japanese, we stuck with the simple present, present continuous and past tenses in daily conversations. Otherwise our bhejas would have been overloaded and fried to a crisp. With the imperatives, we stuck to the politest form. We figured that the politer we were, we could get away with abysmal vocabulary and grammar.

With Aditi being a fussy eater, a healthy part of mealtime conversation would go something like this...
Me: Aditi, eat your rice.
Aditi: No.
Me: Baby, have some rasam.
Aditi: No.
Me: Eat your vegetables.
Aditi: No.
Me: Aditi, would you like some curd?
Aditi: Yes.

Then she started school. And our Japanese vocabulary of negatives and verb forms grew in leaps in bounds. How?? We had a rule. She was not allowed to use the word "NO". As usual she turned out to be way smarter than us. Now mealtime conversations go something like:

Me: Aditi, Gohan tabette ne (eat your rice).
Aditi: Gohan tabe shinai (I won't eat my rice)
Me: Baby, have some rasam.
Aditi: Rasam wa iranai (I don't want rasam)
Me: Eat your vegetables.
Aditi: Yada (I don't want to)
Me: Aditi, would you like some curd?
Aditi: Yes (Yes)

Ergo, my vocabulary has increased. I can conjugate the verb taberu (to eat) fairly competently in all forms. And using that as a reference, work with other verbs. I can use many forms of negatives.

And my daughter still eats nothing but curds.

Sigh, maybe she photosynthesizes.

Tribulations of a stupid Gaijin

What is Gaijin?
Gaijin - short for Gaikokujin- noun- person from a foreign country.

What Gaijin are we talking about?
Gaijin referred to in headline - yours truly.

Why tribulaitons?
Because I was stupid.

Why was I stupid?
Because something got Lost in Translation.

Now that I've dispensed with the preliminaries, let me start my story.

A few weeks ago, there was the first PTA meeting at Aditi's new Kindergarten. At the PTA, the teacher asked for volunteers. Our translator explained that this was a call for (what I understood was) a homeroom mother kind of thing. And since there were no takers, I volunteered. That should have given me a clue, but like I mentioned before, there's this element of don't-think-just-leap somewhere in my mental make-up.

The first meeting of the homeroom volunteers was called today, and I went with a full dose of enthusiasm. When I walked into the school, there was this classroom readied for the meeting. And it was done up like a corporate boardroom. There was this square-shaped table arrangement, with each participant's place marked with a placard. There was an agenda in front of everyone, and tea and water. That still didn't ring any warning bells.

Next thing I know, speeches, and members started introducing themselves. Something didn't sound right at that point. Weren't we just required to state our names and leave it at that? Each person seemed to have so much to say about themselves. I was the third to speak, I just told the group my name, my daughter's name, what class she was in and sat down. And people were still looking at me, with expressions of "and what else?"

"What else?" That's it people, what else do you want? By then someone was kind enough to translate for me, and told me to talk about what I wanted to achieve as a member of the core committee??

And I started to think..... "Core committee ?? hmmm.. let's see now"... Just a minute! What "Core committee"? No one told me anything about any "core committee"... Isn't this just a meeting of homeroom parents??? For once I was totally speechless, and upheld my right to remain silent and not say anything, and just sat down.

Then the meeting started for real. The accountant (what the ^&*@ is an accountant doing in a PTA?) started reading out long long lists of numbers, that was last year's budget and balance sheet. Then she read out the current year's financial forecasts.

By this time I was fairly stumped. Something was not quite cricket here. And I wanted to know why x-thousands were being allocated for y-activity. That was apparently a no-no.

Then there were discussions about who will do what, for what school activity. Holy *&%#, My idea of school is that I pay fees so you keep my kid amused for a few hours a day! Why on earth am I doing all this? I decided on the easiest way out of the committee work. I offered to do the layout for the annual magazine. No interactions, no committees, nothing!

Then came the worst part. We were asked by the class teachers to plan a trip to the park (100 mts away from school) when every parent pulled out planners and organisers. It took them an hour to agree on a date. By this time, I'd totally lost it. I just told them to tell me when to show up, and where!

Fortunately for my sanity, Arun called. The baby was howling her head off. I apologised profoundly to the group, and ran out like my gluteus maximus was on fire!

Next meeting is a month from now, and I'm fully intend to fall sick a day before that :D

Ours is not to reason why,
Ours is but to listen and forget
(No PTA is going to kill me)

It's a ........

...... GIRL!!!!!!!

Avani was born on 6th December at 1447 in Tsuruoka, Japan. She is 47.5 cms tall and weighs 2668 grams and is absolutely adorable!

Watching it snow

So what's a reasonable person doing being wide awake after midnight? Watching it snow. According to the weatherman, it wasn't supposed to till about middle of December, but I guess someone forgot to tell that to the weather.

I'm getting done with my packing. Since I'm going to be in the hospital for around 10 days, I decided this is a good time to re-read all 11 volumes of the Wheel of Time. Isn't it a good thing I convinced Arun not to throw it away when we moved? A too thinks it's the best way to kill time in a hospital bed. Beats watching Japanese television. I still haven't figured out what is a show, and what's a commercial. Or the point of one particular show where half the characters are dressed in kimonos and the other half in natty western suits, who seem to go through life in a series of elaborate tea ceremonies. Or another where a bunch of guys in, what I assume are medieval costumes, go around chopping up people like so many vegetables with their katanas. Wheel of Time is way less complicated! Just some 100 main and 200 sub characters, 1 dozen key plots and a dozen-dozen sub and sub-sub-plots, enough twists to confuse a geo-mapping satellite... what more could I possibly ask for to keep me entertained for 10 snowy dreary days?

Aditi is pretty excited. She's waiting to play with her new sibling. She's picked out books to read to and stories to tell the little one.

Here I sign off. I have no idea when I'll be able to blog again for the next few weeks.

How come all you guys out there aren't running a baby pool?? You were so much more fun last time around! So watch this space to know if it's going to be a boy or a girl.

2006 - Big sister is watching

Aditi is quite curious and has her own ideas about the little baby.

She was quite shocked when I told her that the little one does not know how to open the kitchen drawers and cupboards. She thought about it for a while and came up to me and said, 'Amma don't worry, I'll teach kutti-baby to open drawers'. Yikes, that's all I need right now!

Aditi has told me that she will sing to the little baby, will carry it around (scary), will teach baby to use the potty, will tell the baby stories, will share with the baby (scarier: considering that her idea of sharing is to take what she wants from the other kids), will teach baby to sing, and yes, that she will tell baby to listen to what amma and appa say, and that she will teach baby to be good (scariest).

More than the baby itself, A and I are now eagerly waiting to see Aditi's reactions to her little sibling. Her first sight of the little ones and her opinions and thoughts.

That reminds me: better get the video camera ready. Charge batteries, get more tape etc.

Watching Superman with a 3 year old

My little one watched her first Superman movie, Arun and I laughed all the way through.. Why?? Because of all the questions we had to answer, and the lovely running commentary.....

Here are some of the more interesting ones.

• Movie begins- Krypton explodes- the little one thinks it's the moon- scene changes- Clark Kent shows up at the daily planet- little one goes, "But what happened to the moon?"

• Lex Luthor throws his wig at the little girl- "Uncle did not wear ponytails, so his mommy made him bald" (am sure that sounds familiar)

• Lois Lane is being bounced around the aircraft- "See? That's why amma tells me to wear a seatbelt!"

• Superman changes back into Clark Kent- Lois and Watzisname are discussing how Clark Kent possesses some traits similar to Superman- "Is Superman wearing glasses?"- Even a three-year-old-novice to the Superman franchise knows that Kent is Superman.

• Lois Lane leaves the cabin where she finds the collection of wigs- Lex Luthor steps out of a washroom- He's brushing his teeth- "This is the way we brush our teeth, brush our teeth, brush our teeth.... left, right, up and down... " (remember the tune to 'here we go 'round the mulberry bush'?)

• Superman is taken to hospital and the doctors prepare for surgery- "what happened to Superman's clothes?"

• Lois Lane starts to light a cigarette, and flicks on the lighter- "No playing with fire. It's dangerous"

Arun promised her that he'd tie a towel around her shoulders and she could be 'Super-Aditi'.

So I can safely assume that both kids loved the movie.

Who let the dogs out?

Who let the cat out of the bag?? What cat?? What bag?

Thanks to Dents' constant linking, we discovered YouTube. The first time I looked at the Youtube site, I found 'Kajra Re' on the first page. This little one absolutely loves that song, and sings it so adorably I ended up bookmarking that for her. As a natural progression, we found links to other songs that she liked, Hakuna Matata etc.

And with a little searching and browsing we discovered we could find a lot of old favourite music videos too. Arun wanted to see if he could find The Ketchup Song. It did have such a catchy beat. So talking of catchy beats, we thought we should find Macarena too. I remembered certain 2-left-footed types (other than me of course) trying to dance the Macarena. It was such a craze when we were in college!

And then one of the videos we were watching actually had a link to... I am not joking.. "Who let the dogs out?" The little one actually sings that one now! Of all the good music she could have picked up, she had to like that one song (if one can call it a song)!

Now first thing in the morning, she comes up to me and says, "may I please watch Ketcher (ketchup), Macarena, Kajra Re and Who let the dogs out? Please??"

What a start to my day.....

As a very irrelevant postscript, does anyone who remembers a certain party remember the part where a certain artist type would, in the middle of conversations, suddenly ask, "but folks, Who let the dogs out?" And then everyone else would religiously reply "Who? Who?" And then, the artist would pick up the intercom and go "Security, 1 plate baasundi.. "

How to give a 3 year old a haircut

1. Take said 3 year old to a hairdresser, preferably one run by elderly ladies who are sure to pamper her silly
2. Take out dictionary and try to explain how you want her hair trimmed
3. Listen to responses that don't make sense as the words used by hairdresser do not exist in your dictionary.
4. Put dictionary back in handbag.
5. Start miming. Fold, twist, mime scissors, cutting motion etc and hope message is getting through correctly.
6. Seat daddy-dear on barber chair and let 3 year old watch him being draped in towel etc.
7. Seat 3 year old on daddy's lap, and cover her with towels etc.
8. Confer again with hairdresser using abysmal vocabulary and sign language and agree on length.
9. Hairdresser shall start snipping at this point.
10. 3 year old insists that she doesn't want her head shaved and will wear her ponytails from now on.
11. Explain to 3 year old (before onset of tears) that this will look very cute, and ask the hairdresser to say 'kawaii desu' (how cute) a few times to get the idea through.
12. Explain (or try to explain) to three year old why its not a great idea to move her head rapidly from side to side.
13. Let cute cat walk through salon.
14. Ask elderly lady whether its ok to pick up said cat.
15. Pick up said cat and hold cat in angle and height so 3 year old looks that way.

16. Move cat around to keep 3 year old looking in the right direction.
17. Turn chair away from mirror.
18. Explain to 3 year old that this style will look cuter than curls.
19. Get hairdresser to reiterate #18
20. Repeat steps 16 till desired results are acquired
21. Do a final trim.
22. Wait for hairdresser to get a pretty ribbon and let 3 year look at herself in mirror.
23. Repeat steps 18 and 19 again.
24. Pay hairdresser.
25. Get out of salon before cute (but very annoyed) cat decides to express displeasure.
26. Start breathing and thank the dude above for getting one through this with minimum trauma.
27. Look at s.o. and hope one doesn't have to repeat this in a hurry.

The newest Bogeyman

My little one has these lovely long curls, but always refuses to brush them. The other day while I was blog surfing she saw the picture on this. She looked again, and turned and asked me: "did uncle's mommy take away all his hair because he refused to wear a ponytail??"

Now I just seat her in front of the comp, and flip to Axe's blog. And Aditi promptly goes, "may I have my butterflies (her word for ponytails) please?"

Poor Axe.....