The Date

She felt her life was sprinting away from her as she scrubbed baby food off the kitchen floors and folded baskets of laundry. Wasn't she more than just a mother? She read books, sang songs and was more than capable of holding a conversation on any topic under the sun for over 10 minutes.

Yet here she was making sure the carrots and peas did not touch each other on the plate, arranging onesies and pajamas by colour and looking under crib and beds for fat, green worms to make soup with.

She needed a date. No, not need, wanted. Yes! that's the word. She WANTED a date. An evening with her husband; two adults enjoying a peaceful meal away from bibs and babble. A date was set, after frantic phone calls a reliable babysitter was found and the baby was informed. As long as the carrots and peas didn't touch, she didn't care two cents about dates.

The Day finally dawned. She spent hours in front of the mirror rehearsing what she would say at dinner. She felt like a teenager going on a first date. An evening to reminisce about Oscar Wilde and Balzac, of red wines and candle light...an evening as a young, intelligent woman.

"So guess what? I am sitting on the couch reading an article on Eezham and she comes and takes the mouse and says, 'Amma , whatyoudoing? elp?' Then she picks up my book from the table and goes ' This libaly book.' "

He smiles at her fondly as he refills her wine glass. She hardly notices the twinkle in his eyes as she continues,
"Oh my God! Yesterday she sang the entire ABC song. I swear, it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. No other 20 month old I know can say ABC much less sing it. And then, did I tell you she can completely dismantle our remote and hide the batteries and act as if she doesn't know what we're talking about? and today she..."

He leaned back in his chair.
This was going to be a beautiful evening.

Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to moms folding laundry or scrubbing floors is completely intentional.

Karma Sutra - A modern day fable

Once upon a time in WinterWonderland, there lived a littleGirl who refused to grow up, which was just as well because grown-ups never did anything fun. The littleGirl lived with a littleBoy she played games with. Ofcourse, being just the two of them and lots of snowy emptiness, they just played indoors. Soon a littleBaby joined their tiny household and made it one giant funhouse!

With each passing day the littleGirl found herself swamped by feeding schedules, waste management, and The Holy War against the common cold epidemic. The littleBoy spent his time minting money to sponsor the littleGirl's activities.  So when did that leave them with time to play? Never.

The littleGirl wondered if this maternal gig was really for her. She missed every bargain sale which let me tell you is really bad for any girl. And then there were those lost drives around an empty town for a midnight icecream and snoozing under the covers until the Sun was high in the sky. Plus all work and no play would make even theCreator grouchy.

Sometime the littleGirl wished she was surrounded by a bevy of servants and nannies...people to take care of her every whim and the littleBaby. Then she would have ample time to sprawl on a couch and watch the littleBaby play while someone else attended her. Oh! how she longed for an extra hour of sleep. She cribbed, sighed and cried for a miracle.

Then one day the littleFamily went to a party. After hours of nonstop music, some mundane conversations and lots of great food they came home tired but giggly that they still had a social life. Unbeknownst to them another guest had tagged along - a very stinky virus from a very bad cough.

First the littleBaby decided to befriend the guest inspite of her mother's Cold War. The littleGirl followed her with the A Big Flu. And just like that her dream came true. 

As she sat quarantined in another room, the littleBoy did everything for his littleBaby and his littleGirl. And he did it great. The littleGirl couldn't kiss the littleBaby, or hug or touch. If she did have to carry her she had to wash her hands twice and wear The Ugly Mask. The littleGirl now did have all day to sleep and laze but the chills and aches did little to help her along that way.

As she watched the littleBaby babble to the littleBoy, she realized what she had once thought as overwhelming was all she ever wanted...to hug the littleBaby, smell her milky sweetness, change her diapers, listen to her laughter, have a mock fight when she bites...she wanted it all. 

She wanted it ALL!

Moral of the story: 

Be wary of your deep desires. They just might come true and bite you in the ass!

Writing Workshop - X

I've been fairly regular to the writing workshop since January this year. I guess, I definitely needed the job to channel my ideas :) I have atleast 4 stories to post here but I want to start with the one I wrote tonight. Everyone liked it and also I loved writing this one :)

Prompt: "What's the most you've ever paid for something you didn't want?"

This should be fun, I told myself as I picked up The Pocket Muse. It was a small hard bound book in blue-grey with a black spine. 'Endless Inspiration' , the caption claimed. Considering how little I had written in the past few weeks, I felt I could do with some outside help.

"That will be $30.99, Ma'am," said the cashier. Man! It sucks to be in Canada*. I went home, cleared the coffee table and placed The Muse on it. Now it will beckon me everyday, willing me to write instead of being a couch potato.

Two weeks passed.
"Aren't you going to atleast open the book?" asked The Mr, amusement writ all over his face.
"How do you know I haven't? You're anyway never home in the mornings," I countered, though I knew he was right. I've barely gone past the spine.
"I need a new notebook and a fountain pen. I write better with fountain pens." With that I picked the book and moved it to the study. who ever writes sitting at the coffee table? Plus he rarely walks into the study. I can write undisturbed.

The next evening when The Mr entered the study, I was at my writing desk with a beautiful green fountain pen and brand new Van Gogh leather journal by that famous boutique. He stood over me as I calligraphed(is that a verb?) my name - 'Pon. Chidambarakumari'.

"Looks like your name will need a new book all by itself," he joked.
"Very funny," I smirked.
"So how much did all this cost?"
"$10"
"Really?"
"Plus another 20 odd dollars" I mumbled under my breath and then added, "Creativity is priceless," my voice a tad shrill.

The Mr smiled an all-knowing smile and walked out. I opened The Muse. The 'About The Author' section ran for some 4 pages. What? Who cares about her? Show me The Muse, woman! Realizing this wasn't going to work, I closed the book and re-opened it on a random page.

Page 82: 'Second Follow Up Notice from The Department of Procrastination Prevention'.
I wrote it down neatly in my journal. I shifted myself in the chair, draped my legs over the left arm of the chair, closed my eyes and just sat there. In Anticipation.

The next thing I knew there was a loud noise. I opened my eyes and found the journal on the floor. I must've fallen asleep. I picked up the journal and looked at the prompt. What kind of lame ass prompt is that? And they paid her to publish this? I arranged the journal and The Muse neatly on the desk and walked out. I needed new cushions for the chair.

A pair of silk cushions, a new Feng Shui book, Art for the wall, 2 CDs of inspirational Bach and a box of cookies later, I was back where I started. The Mr greeted me with a raised eyebrow, as I entered the living room. Darn it! How does he do that?
I cleared my throat and announced, "I am going to be a painter."

* Writer's License.
The Missus says: Treat piece as fiction.
The Mr says: Fiction? What about the Muse which is gathering dust since last year :D And the incomplete 'paintings' piling up in the corner of our study?