How it all began...

It's hard to count the number of times I have written something down here only to delete it letter by letter. Bloody backspace key. I wonder if I would do so much striking out if I were to write by pen on paper.
But darling daughter, it is always tough to write about you...to you...for you.
Somehow i feel tongue-tied and I want to run upstairs and sit by your bedside and listen to your loud breathing...just to make sure that I am not dreaming.
 That my Maya is not an illusion but mine to hold, to rock, to giggle with and at times to argue with too.


I have been wanting to write down your cute antics, the way you still say 'Siglan' and not 'signal'...the way you believe volcanoes spit smiley faces and how when you go to Africa to see one both you and the volcano will exchange spit and you'll come back with smiley faces. Seriously if I didn't hear it with my own ears, I would assume somebody was making all this up.

I love that you can always sense that I am frustrated and angry...at times I am too pig-headed to notice your charming way of making me come out of that rut. I am sorry. This year I hope to change that...mind you, i say hope, there are no guarantees. Well when 'a girl who refuses to grow up' has a daughter who is just like her, it does seems like two 4-yr olds are squabbling over a pink unicorn :)


As a young woman I carried this image of myself as this perfect mom...i have no clue what the characteristics of that 'ideal mom' is but everyday I beat myself up for not being worthy enough to wear that badge...but this past weekend changed all that.


Mayalou, I maybe a grouch at times; I might scream at you over a glass of spilt milk and send you off to your room when you grumble about my parenting skills; I might very easily get frustrated when you say 'One last question' for the millionth time and refuse to answer it;  I might make you cry by not buying those $40 sparkly shoes at the mall; I might not read you that 5th story at bed time but I know I've done good when I see you build fairy gardens and believe in magic.


Because Maya dearest, you are Magic!

Tamizh Rhymes for Tulika Blogathon

Growing up in a household of aunts and cousins there was never a shortage of rhymes or stories. When we ran out of steam, Thatha just made one up to entertain us. Ever since Maya learnt to gurgle we've been singing Tamizh songs and rhymes to her, some were run-of-the-mill ones that we picked from books but most were specific to what I heard while growing up.

My favourite ofcourse is the song we sing to teach them words. The first sounds we teach the baby(atleast in our home) is "Aakku" and "Ingu". The reason being these sounds are close to the gurgling noises and cries the baby makes.
The song is the kind where you can keep adding to it as your imagination soars...it's all about cuddling up to your baby and making her feel loved.

Ingu ingu-nu solli
Elavan thoppukku sendru
sola maambazham thindru
solli valarntha kiliyo?
chendo? sura kozhuntho?
sotrukku vaartha nei thuliyo? [Thatha's fave line: Are you the drop of ghee in my food?]
kattu karumbo?
kanno? maniyo?
theno? thinayo?
thevittadha thellamudho?
paalo? pazhamo?
paagupadatha sarkkarayo?

I still remember the way Mayalou used to practically chew off Thatha's and Achi's faces as they held her close and sang this to her. Every morning after her bath I would lay Maya down next to Achi and she would just keep talking or singing to her. It never mattered what the topic was, as long as there was someone to talk to her Maya was happy...actually she still is, except now the roles are reversed. She wants someone to listen as she yaps non-stop :)

Around 2 months when the babies start to look around and try to flex their fingers, we sang the following rhyme, making flower gestures with the wrist for the baby to see and maybe learn(eventually).

Thaa poo thamarai poo
thaayar kuduthathu shenbagha poo
maampoo maathulam poo
maatha thoduthathu malligai poo
poo poo, puliyam poo
ponnu mudinjathu pichi poo

Once they've mastered flexing and moving their wrist everytime they hear the song, we move to the next rhyme. Spread your left palm, and then tap it with the right forefinger as if a spoon is tapping a plate.

Athai athai nei oothu
aari pochu naa maaten
Chithi chithi nei oothu
sindhi pochu naa maaten
innum konjam nei oothu
enakku konjam nei oothu

[Loose translation:
Athai athai pour some ghee
(athai answers)It's gone cold, so I won't
Chithi Chithi pour some ghee
(chithi answers)it is spilt, so I won't
Give me more ghee
Give me more ghee]

It's kind of hard to write Tamizh rhymes in English. So once I find time to write in Tamizh, I will add the other songs.

Trying to shout...silently

It's not that I don't visit this page. I login every single day, write a paragraph and then diligently delete it letter by letter. Everything sounds so contrived and forced, of late. Am I writing for my pleasure or for an audience?

I guess that's the problem with blogs. It all starts with you and then slowly the lines blur and it morphs into a being kept alive solely for an audience. Or maybe not. I don't know.


Did I tell you I am caught in intricate web spun by an illusion I so lovingly created?
Well, now you know.
Most days all I want to talk about is how funny and beautiful the world looks when seen through the eyes of an exuberant toddler. She is more witty than I imagined she would be, making us laugh even when all we ever want to do is tear our hair out and run far away from the mess.

I would love to talk about the way my heart flutters everytime The Blob kicks, be it for Dora's voice or Mayalou's laugh. Or simply because Amma decided to sit instead of walk around 24/7.

By the time I try to choose between the stories I have running in my head, the moment passes me by and they cease to be pertinent...to the rest of the world atleast. So I remain silent.
One day, I might decide to wake up from this dream and tell it all.

For the moment, I plan to sit on the couch, watch Maye do her Robot dance while shouting "Amma padathe. Chidamakumayee padathe" and feel The Blob join the big sister in a new fangled version of the tap dance.

Work + Love = A Life in Balance

I love my job. I really do.

Ofcourse love has never stopped me at earlier jobs to post while on office time.

But this time it's different.

I love it even more to get back home early.

Why?

Because, now there is a tiny (well not so tiny) wisp of an angel who runs to the kitchen as I open the back door...who stops by the fridge as soon as she gets a glimpse of me. She then proceeds to ignore me and chant, "A B C D O I P" while I walk in and sit on the sofa.

But the moment I say, "Amma-kku hug", she drops everything and runs to me to disappear in my arms...I would die a thousand deaths just to be born again in that moment.

For now I just clock my 8 hours and zip home...to be loved.

One. Two. Thee. Fie. Siteen*

I know. I know. I know.
Why am I here now when I've made it clear in not-so-many words that I like it elsewhere...under mounds of new opportunities and responsibilities? But then you see, I don't exist much if I don't talk to myself and this blog is definitely an extension of me. Sometimes I love to think it is Maye but let's not kid ourselves here...she is in a league of her own!

Speaking of the devil-in-disguise, I am here solely because I need to jot down the little cutesy things she does before they start to crawl under my skin and merge with the fat cells and I remember it just as another added baggage of motherhood :) I tried to scrapbook but let's face it, the only patience I have in store I shall use it to not scream at a wisp of a baby who feels orange juice is the next best thing to perfume on Amma's work blouse!

The Fourth of July saw us trotting around outlet malls like any immigrant patriot, scrounging the sidewalks for that one lucrative deal which would be available practically all through the year if only you kept your eyes open. The Implet, tired from all the shopping, promptly fell asleep in the car and remained asleep much into the late evening. The Mr didn't want her to miss her first Fourth of July fireworks, so I walked in to wake her up. Until then I hadn't realized the best way to wake a sleeping Mayalou was to lie next to her, rub her back and whisper 'I love you'. She lifted her head up slowly, smiled at me and cuddled up to me saying 'I louyou'. Sigh. Bliss!

We somehow made it to the venue on time and watched a splendid display of fireworks, splendid by small town Nashua standards. Maye giggled, shrieked and clapped her hands as much as she could. The Mr and I kept pointing to the sky and repeated the word 'Fireworks', hoping we will hear a cutesy version of it, like 'Piewo' or 'Piewok'. [Sidenote: She can't say the 'eff' sound often. So it's Pan(fan), Pish]

So we're sitting in the car after the show and I turn back and ask her, "What did you see, Maya?"
And she says, "Bubble light!"
I just gaped at her. I am still trying to come to terms with it. Who would've thunk her little mind can marry two completely different concepts to explain whatever she had just witnessed?

Gosh darn it! That's the best someone has ever described fireworks to me.
I would have loved to brag about it to moms with kids who've outgrown their little baby-ish innocence, but then I want my invites to home-cooked meals to remain intact. So decided to blog it and keep a note of it somewhere in ether to rub Maye's siblings' noses in, should they just say the boring 'fireworks' at 18 months.
Seriously! Fireworks?
Long live BubbleLight!

* That's how we count now :)

This Mother's Day

I pledge to

• wake up with you at 7.30 A.M to answer the kukol's call...smiling!
  
• look at the food on the carpet and my clothes as food art and treasure them for your creativity.
  
• make chasing squirrels as higher priorty to folding laundry.
• sit with you to watch the moon rise and count the stars.
  
• count my blessings by the number of times you smile and not the things I have. Though an iphone wouldn't hurt, you know!
• read stories aloud to keep the monsters under the bed happy.
• not kiss away your pain but give you the strength to accept the disappointments.
• rejoice in your victories, even if it is as small as spelling your Amma's name right. We all know how difficult it can be!
• give you the freedom to grow wings and fly. And I promise to wait by the window with a cup of chocolate milk!
• be true to Kumari, even if most days she takes a backseat to being your mother.
  
• be happy being your mother. There's nothing else more exciting!

But most importantly, I pledge to be not just the 'Mommy' you love to hug but also the Amma I long to be!

* kukol - Maye's name for sparrows, ants, squirrels :)

what it is being twirled around the littlest pinky...

It's not easy going to bed at 12.30 A.M, waking up at 3 A.M to feed someone who just doesn't get it that she really does NOT need milk, trying to somehow get few more hours of shut-eye but still hearing the mumbled chatter from the other room and finally giving up the fight and just waking up...I don't know how I do it but most days I wonder why I do it...

• Every morning as soon as you wake up, you stand in your crib and call "Amma" loudly. And when I act deaf and don't get up, you switch to your soft voice and coo "Ammi, Ammi" wth your arm outstretched to reach me... could this be it?
  
• Nowadays when I come to pick you up, you smile ever so sweetly and say, "Amma Kaapi" and I see myself in you...maybe this?
• After months of feigning nonchalance to everything I try to teach you, you looked at your favourite Pluto, pulled his ears and said "Bluto". Oh! how I trilled for hours on the phone to everyone I knew...how about that?
•  The way you close my mouth when I sing you a lullaby and then continue humming 'Hot cross buns' or just coo 'lalalala' in your own tune...this should be it!
• How you run to the door every morning and stick your face to the glass pane as you watch your Appakins leave for work and then tell your grandparents on the phone, "Appa aapeas"...

I can go all day and still not have the best reason. And when I lie exhausted next to you after one of those middle-of-the-night meltdowns and you try to push me off the bed in your efforts to cuddle closer, all I can think of is the long sleepless night and your really stinky milky breath. But then you do something that completely takes me by surprise - you wrap one arm around my neck and smile. A smile I could die for...all while still asleep.

That I guess is why I want to do all of this. Again. Forever.

Sprinkle some Golden Magic

The early morning sun noiselessly creeped into the nursery, its long golden hands trying to nudge the inhabitants awake. Princess Maya slowly opened one eye and peeked; Did her toy horse just twitch and try to push the Sun's hand away? Or did Missy Pig flutter her wings? Now she was fully awake.

She got up and tottered to the edge of her crib to check on her animal friends. No, the animal carvings on her crib rail were just that...wooden and unmoving. She stretched her tiny hands towards the window to catch a fistful of the sun. Maybe if she rubbed their back with the sun, they might just wake up. Just then the door to the Royal Nursery opened and in walked Little Princess.

"How's my little sunshine today?" cooed Little Princess as she lifted Princess Maya off the crib. 

"Great!" answered Princess Maya, "I just want to go out and play in the garden. Let me down. Now!" 

Afraid she was going to drop the squirming baby, Little Princess held onto her tightly as she danced her way to the divan by the window. She laid Princess Maya on the divan and proceeded to tell her the story of The Raven and The Owl while dressing her in clothes appropriate for royalty.

Littlest Princess gave her mother an exasperated look.

"Can I go to the garden now? I am all dressed." she said and tried to wriggle from her mother's arms and out the window. Little Princess pulled her back and smiled sweetly, "There! Look how pretty you look. Now we need to go for breakast with your father. You know how he dislikes being late for The Royal Court".

Princess Maya shouted, "But, but I want to climb that tree and pull all that grass and, and..." Why wasn't her mom understanding what she was saying? Little did she know that all that her mom ever heard was "Goojibooji boo gaaga baaji" in different tones.

Maya looked out the window, at her favourite mango tree and the crow sitting on it and sighed, "Isn't there anyone who can understand what I say?"

"I can" said the crow.

Princess Maya stared at the crow and then she smiled. She knew the Golden Sun was magical. If only she could sprinkle some on her mom. 

"Wait for me. I'll be back" she crooned from her mother's arms. The crow smiled back at her and winked as the tiny hands disappeared behind the door.

Wanted immediately

A Boeing Jet


to transport The Littlest Princess' Family Circus :)

Mistress of the Basket

Nothing ever is the same once you've jumped off the cliff. Or picked up a wailing baby. The Man felt no different. Princesses may appear magically but sadly there's no magical way to satisfy all their needs.

The entire kingdom was turned topsy-turvy the moment Princess Maya arrived. The best carpenter in the kingdom was beckoned to build the sturdiest and yet the most wonderful looking cradle in the world while the Royal seamstress was asked to weave soft sheets of silk.

The Man paced outside the nursery with the baby as The Little Princess tried to create a whole new world inside. The baby in his arms crinkled its eyebrows and The Man could sense a cry forming. Princess Maya let out a soft whimper. Just when he thought he couldn't hold off any longer, the door opened and he stepped into the nursery.

The Little Princess and her bevy of helpers had truly outdone themselves. The cradle was a masterpiece crafted in rosewood, and the sheets were as soft as satin. The Man softly laid Princess Maya on her bed.

The moment she touched the bed, Princess Maya wailed. The Man held her tight; the Little Princess rocked her back and forth but no avail. Princess Maya just couldn't be pacified. The Queen and The King rushed in to help, but all the lullabies in the world weren't enough to soothe the tiny baby. The Man and the Little Princess looked bewildered.

Then The Man rushed in search of the Royal seamstress. Maybe cotton would be softer. The Little Princess ran to the Royal garden. Maybe a nightingale's song would quiet the baby. The King walked up and down the room, nodding his head as that's what he did best. While they each tried to find a solution, the Queen held Princess Maya and tried to rock her to sleep.

Minutes passed into hours. But Princess Maya hadn't slept a wink. The Little Princess slumped into The Man's arms, unsure of what to do. The King was snoring in a corner, next to a broken basket. The Little Princess used to play with it as a kid. An exhausted Queen slowly placed the crying baby in the old basket and flexed her arms.

After a few minutes as she bent down to lift the baby, she found Princess Maya fast asleep, her tiny hand tightly clasping an old blanket. The little one had drifted to sleep in the comforting smells of old wood and worn down wool.

Little Princess smiled at The Man. Raising a princess wasn't a new tradition to be learnt. It was simply forgotten and need to be remembered.

Who makes the mundane, magical?

You