Umpteenth comeback (and random stuff)

Yea, yea...I know I've been neglecting this blog. The not-so-new job is now a huge challenge - and oh yes, I got a promotion amid all the economic madness. So things just got busier.

Worse, I don't have access to Gmail at the office and therefore, no opportunity to upload a quick post during lunch break. Come to think of it, the official one-hour lunch break usually leaves my team and I with just 15 minutes to grab a bite...that's the amount of work we have. I can just hear you say, "Everyone's busy..." but stop right there. As copy editors, our deadlines are by the hour, sometimes by the quarter of an hour, so seriously, every minute counts. Enough about work, though.

The offspring is a month into his summer vacation, has finished a 4-week day camp and his eye check up for his Coats condition has been delalyed because his doctor is attending a conference in Florida! I must say I was upset at having to wait another three weeks but, well, God must have some reason for this. I'll just trust His judgment and wait.

I'm getting late for work even as I write this - I have no idea why I decided to post early in the morning, but I thought it was high time I did! :)

Giving thanks and praying for strength

Life is strange. This time last year, I was going to pieces, hoping that my son's Coats disease was under control (it was). But just some time before that, I'd gone to pieces and sought help. I know I still need it, but for the past 7 months, I've managed on my own. Not commendably, and not the way I'd have liked to, but I've managed...

Now, I'm close to going to pieces again. Which is why it's time to take stock. My son's Coats has been under control for a year (his eye exam is around the corner. my fingers are crossed even as my brain reels like it always does in the run up to the eye exam every 4 months). In May, I managed to get out of my dead end job into one that's bursting at the seams with opportunities. I can say I've done pretty well for myself professionally - and there's scope to do more.

I can crib about the state of my marriage (hanging by the skin of my teeth), the state of my body (bursting), the state of my mind (all gone to hell and back) and the state of my house (the zone before time began) and the lack of time (ever got into the car and realized you were still wearing your bedroom slippers?) But that's nothing, really, when I sit to count my blessings.

And I feel truly blessed that I have my son, that I am able to be there for my mother - and she for me, and that all my hard work at the office is paying off. I am grateful to the Almighty that my son's condition was caught in time for treatment, and that the treatment has worked. He has flourished in school - at academics, at sports (he won the gold medal in the hoop race a couple of months ago) and other activities. I have a roof over my head and I am able to provide for my family. I am blessed with good health (the loose joints on the left-hand side of my body are worth another blog post, surely). We have been kept safe, day after day and that, in today's violent times, is something to truly give thanks for.

I need periods like this - to give thanks. Otherwise, I would just beat myself with thoughts of what more I need. Kiddo's sleeping over at my mom's. DH is asleep. And I finally have the time to return to my blog and give thanks. Because I know that although it's outrightly unfair for my child to be suffering from a condition that hangs over our him like a Damocles' sword, I know that the Almighty must have something good planned for him.

It breaks my heart to see him, innocent and carefree, deal with this condition in a very matter-of-fact manner. I dread the day he will ask me: "Why did this happen to me, Mamma?" So far, it's only been: "Will they make me unconscious or are we just going for the drops?" That's heart-rending, too, but I deal with it. I can only pray that when the time comes to answer the "why me?" or "when will this end?" questions, I will know what to say. Until then, I can only give thanks for the strength that we have received to deal with this thus far and hope for the best.

The leakage is back...and I'm falling apart

I managed to get us an appointment with the eye doctor yesterday. The leakage has started again. Munchkin was really irritated about keeping his eyes closed for them to be dilated. And somehow, ever since we left home, I was expecting bad news.

This time, the exudates (old leakage) had reduced, but other blood vessels had swollen and have begun leaking. Amazing, how quickly things can change in four months. The good news is that these vessels are still a decent distance away from the macula, so by God's grace his vision remains unaffected.

I was in such a tizzy after having the Fundus photos taken that I agreed to leave the hospital without thinking. Poppet's father wanted to delay it until after we come back from his parents place - which would make it another two weeks. By that time, Poppet's school would have started again. I agreed at the time but something didn't seem right...I guess what threw me off was his comment: "You can think practically and get the cryo done on Wednesday and cancel the trip. Or you can think religiously and proceed with the trip, seek miracles at the temples we're supposed to go to and come back and get it done on the 2nd of Jan."

I just didn't know how to respond. On the way home, however, what struck me was that the doctor was okay with us travelling a few days after the cryo. Why not get it done now, go on our trip, seek the miracle, and have my Munchkin recover throughout the Holidays?

We weren't able to talk to the doctor on the phone that day but now I'm hoping to fix procedure for next Wednesday. We can then leave for his grandparents' place on Saturday.

The whole general anesthesia thing still gives me the jitters. And there's so much in flux at the office. I have a hundred loose ends to tie up before I can go away without worrying about being fired while I'm away. :-P

More after we've organized everything. Hang in there, Munchkin. I have faith this will all work out...

That time of the year again

Last Christmas, I was thrilled to post that my son's Coats Disease had stabilized after two rounds of cryo and laser. It was my best Christmas gift ever.
Now it's that time of the year again. And just like last year, the eye exam has been delayed for one reason or another. He's actually not past his due date but I usually start early because I work myself up into such a frenzy that I want to know the results as soon as possible. He's had two more eye exams (one in March, the other in August) and the doctor says there's been no fresh leakage. The exudates (existing leakage) are still there, though. The doctor says they'll get absorbed over time, or he can use laser.
The kid also has glasses now - very, very low power and in both eyes. He also hasn't complained of any floaters or other discomfort throughout the year.
This time, we've kept missing the doctor (he was away for an emergency surgery the first time and the next week, I clean forgot - the stress is making me senile). We were all set for tomorrow, but it turns out the doctor's going to be in surgery again.
On Monday, the kid has his school's annual program. Tuesday's supposed to be a "bad day" for kids to be taken to a hospital; Wednesday the doctor's in surgery again; Thursday's Christmas, so the hospital OPD is closed; and Friday's surgery day again. Saturday we're leaving to visit my in-laws for a week. And then school re-opens again. And I am falling apart with the stress. It always builds up in the days running up the test.
A few days ago, a colleague mentioned my son's case to her eye doctor. He doesn't know my son's doctor but recommended someone else in the city. So that's another thing driving me crazy - do we stick by our doctor or get a third opinion (we've already had a second opinion - and it matched our doctor's).
Anyway, I'm sooo hoping the doctor will be able to spare some time to see my son tomorrow. Hopefully his assitant will be able to give me a clearer reply.
I honestly don't think I'll be able to go two weeks without knowing how my son is doing. The thing is, his condition has been stable since the last cryo in Oct 07 - which makes me wonder if all this is too good to be true.
I'm hoping and praying...

Pray for my son, please

I was at the kitchen door when I saw my son trying to pour out a glass of juice. He’d never done that before. So I grabbed my camera and clicked. He turned around and beamed. I took another picture. He ran over to see it, smiled, and left to watch TV. I looked at the photograph in the viewer and my heart sank. His right pupil was reflecting not a red eye, but a golden one – called a ‘tiger eye.’ It told me the leakage behind his retina had not been entirely absorbed. He would probably need some more treatment.

Everybody says my son has big, sparkling, laughing eyes. He also has Coats Disease in his right eye. Abnormal blood vessels form behind the retina and begin to leak. The cholesterol in the blood settles in the space behind the retina. When too much of this collects in one place, it can detach the retina, causing blindness. In rare cases, the eye has to be removed. Coats is rare, genetic, but not hereditary. The cause is unknown, but it usually affects only one eye.

The best thing is for the leakage to stop. He will need frequent eye check ups for the rest of his life. I am grateful it is nothing worse, but I worry. People have beaten Coats and in some cases, it has reversed itself. I want that for my son. I want him to be healthy and to beat this thing. But when such unexpected reminders pop up, I can hardly stave off the panic.

I need to call the doctor and fix an appointment for early next week. That's when we were asked to come. And while I know that he may need more laser - hopefully no more cryo - something inside me is trying to put off making that appointment. It's stupid of me because even if he does need laser, we'd like to finish it off as soon as possible so that he can recover and attend an arts camp starting the 8th of April.

Keeping my fingers crossed and praying that everything goes right.

Related Posts:
Why My Son Can't be a Pilot and May Never Ride a Roller Coaster
Thank you, Almighty
Scared of Scarring
Gray Spot Scare

Bottoms Out: My baby's growing up...

Ideally, this post ought to go on my Mommy blog. But it is just possible that a few years from now, my son will read it, get awfully embarrassed and throw a teen tantrum. So I think I'll just keep it to myself for now. :-)

A couple of weeks back, my son decided that he was all grown up ("I'm six years old, Mamma!") and therefore, I could not see him unless he was appropriately clothed. Ahem.

Now, here's a warning for my global readers before they read further: we still do many things differently in India, irrespective of how rich or poor we are. Toilet paper is still meant for expensive hotels and bathtubs are found only in the households of the rich. The rest of us make do with a bucket and plastic mug. So some of the stuff that follows may seem weird/old-fashioned/backward/whatever....just remember, I did warn you.

"So who's going to wash your bum after you go potty?" I dared him.
"I am!"
"Really? And how are you going to know whether you've done it correctly?"
"I'll check in the mirror!" (Before you start scratching your head, here's what he's done a couple of times in the past. He'll finish his job, clean up, run to the full length mirror, double over and check whether he's cleaned up right. To his credit, he always has.)

"Okay, and what about your bath every morning before you go to school?"
"I bathe myself on weekends, anyway!" he retorted.
"Yes, but you take half an hour and even then miss cleaning your back and behind your ears..."
"Mamma, pleee-ase! I'll learn that, too."
"It's cold in the mornings and I give you a bath in five minutes. How are you going to manage that? You'll catch a chill."
"I can do it," he insisted.
"But..."
"You just want to see my bottom, don't you?" he said, eyes flashing triumphantly.

I was lost for words. He had a point. I love my baby's bottom. Who has kids and then doesn't love their baby's bottom? It's soft and bouncy and just so...baby-like. It gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling. That's why you get to see one in every commercial for a baby product: from diapers, to soap, to lotion and creme and talcum powder.

And hey, this is the kid who saw a TV commercial a few months back - showing a baby's bottom bounce - and wistfully asked his grandmother: "Is my bottom still that soft and bouncy?" When she replied that it was - because she takes real good care of him while I'm at work - he couldn't believe his luck!

"Well? That's it, isn't it?" he declared, pulling me away from my day dreams.

"Yes, it is. You're my baby. And I don't want you to fall sick by spending too much time in the bathroom early in the morning. In June, you'll go into the first grade and leave an hour earlier..."

"I'm not a baby! I'm SIX YEARS OLD."

"But..."

"Okay, you can give me a bath on one condition," he said. Ah, he's come round, I thought. No such luck. "You can give me a bath if you keep your eyes closed."

Right...erm...okay...Okay? Now how am I supposed to give him a bath with my eyes closed? "What if I get soap in your eyes?"

"I knew it. You just want to see my bum," he said and stalked off.

Yes, you lovable little brat. I'm your mother! I want to see your bum and nuzzle your tummy and hang on to your baby days for as long as I can. I can't believe you're growing up so fast and it scares me like nothing else.

Soon, you'll have birds-and-bees talks with your father, try out your first razor, get your first real girlfriend...so yes, I'd like to enjoy your baby days - and your soft and bouncy bottom - while I can. And this is why I have the right:

* You've pooped in my hands, peed on my lap, thrown up in my face and I didn't get grossed out by any of that.
* I may not be the most cootchi-coo mom on the planet, but I'm still your mother.
* You still can't go to sleep at night if you don't hold my face, or hang on to my arm.
* You still want me to tell you bed time story, complete with voices.
* You still howl for me in the morning when Daddy wakes you up and even though you know I have less patience than he does. On most days, anyway.

* You hug and kiss me a dozen times a day and get upset if I can't return the favor immediately.

* You still want me to carry you around early in the morning and whenver else it strikes your fancy.

* You still crawl into my when you wake up and bury your face in my neck for a good 10 minutes before you can be coaxed out of bed.

* You still want me to kiss away your boo-boos.

And you tell me I can't see your bum because you're six years old???




You're growing up. And I'll have to get used to that. Excuse me while I go try...

Photograph from Freerangestock.com. That's not my son, but how I wish I'd taken a picture like that one when he was younger!

Just a thought

Change is good, unless there's a dirty diaper involved.

Not Mean, Just Me First For a While

Ever noticed how life gets thrown out of gear at the worst possible moment? The flat tire when you’re heading for an important job interview, the blinding migraine before a major presentation at work, the stain on your blouse/skirt/jacket that shows up five minutes before you’re due to meet your boss for your annual review.

Then there’s other, less earth-shattering stuff, but equally lethal in the long run. Like everybody in a family coming down with the worst case of flu in a decade. So you use up half your vacation days (goodbye, holiday on the beach, sniff), get low on energy and high on a short fuse. And when you think the worst is over, it isn’t.

The whole menu has to be radically changed for days because people in the family are still suffering from sore throats, upset stomachs and whatnot. And as the wife-and-mommy, you’re the primary caregiver (oh, how misleadingly sweet that sounds!) so you have to ensure that your family is taken care of. As for you, well, didn’t they call you Superwoman and try to disguise it as a compliment? So you can’t take a day off, not unless you stop caring altogether. This is really not possible because you are the primary caregiver and so you can’t stop caring – it goes with the territory of a working mom.

Take today’s example, for instance. I gave notice this morning to the DH, declaring I wasn’t cooking for the rest of the week. By the time I got to the office, I was contemplating extending that to the next one month. I simply cannot continue cooking the elaborate stuff that DH wants and expects. Not while I too am recovering from an illness. Managing a cranky six-year-old who’s just come through a debilitating fever and upset stomach at 7 am is hard enough without having to cook an elaborate meal, feeding the brat and getting him into the school bus on time and reaching the office by 9 am.

But husbands – especially spoilt brat husbands – have the devil’s own luck. There’s a gastro-enteritis outbreak in the part of town where his office is. So of course, he can’t eat out. So I’ll be making something everyday for quite some time. He may not like the quickies I put together. I don’t care. In fact, having to nuke his own dinner stressed him out enough to turn in early tonight. He’s already throwing temper tantrums at the thought of fending for himself. Ha! Let him.

Sometimes, you need to love yourself enough to stop putting everybody else ahed of yourself for a little while.

What a Week!

Last weekend, I was gearing up for Munchkin's birthday. (And mine, three days before his.) We had decided to do away with the whole noisy party thing this year and take him out to lunch instead. After that, we thought, we'd take him to a nice store and let him pick out something he wanted as a birthday gift. He also wanted to give out some chocolates to his friends in the apartment building. That was fine too. And he'd agreed to my mum's suggestion that whatever might have been spent on his birthday party, we'd give away the amount to an orphanage.

On Sunday afternoon, the brat felt a little hot - to me, anyway. That evening, my mum came down with a mild case of food poisoning despite not having eaten anything that hadn't been cooked at home. Munchkin and I decided to spend the night with her. But by midnight, Munchkin was burning up. I took him to the doctor the next day who suspected it was a viral fever but hoped it could be contained without antibiotics. That evening, he had a temperature of 104.4F!! And he hates sponging. That was tough. From 7pm until midnight, we did everything to control the fever. Finally, nearing midnight, he agreed to the full-body sponging. This and a dose of Crocin helped bring down the fever to 101. Although the fever seemed to be under control by Wednesday evening, he coughed through the night, bringing back his fever.

In the meantime, my husband (DH), my mother and I all came down with the same thing. It hit Mum especially hard because she was just recovering from the food poisoning. DH is a bit of a hypochondriac so perhaps he was the worst hit. But he had the sense to visit a doctor right away. Mum and I, of course, are incorrigible, managing with home remedies and patience.

Poor Poppet spent his sixth birthday weak and hot and very, very cranky. And there was another trip to the doctor who finally started him on antibiotics. The fever had eased up by the next morning, but he was ultra-cranky by now and I'd reached the end of my tether. What with the sleepless nights, sore throat, incessant coughing, runny nose, a mopey-dopey DH, I just could not deal with his outrageous tantrums and blew my fuse twice. I'd also gone off my anti-dep meds. The whole thing did not go down well with my mother, of course.

Anyway, it's Sunday again, and while Poppet is up and about, happy and jumping, eating, I'm ready to collapse! DH is having an extended siesta (like yesterday) while I supervise Poppet. He's watching Jab We Met on TV right now and I'm having a tough time keeping him on the couch - as opposed to peering into the TV screen from point-blank range! Sigh.

At least his appetite is back. Like I keep telling myself: thank God life happens one day at a time.

Confession Time!

Okay, we have a problem. Munchkin is feeling all miserable.

As I posted earlier, DH went back to work a little while ago after spending 13 months at home writing a novel. And when he comes back, he grabs a bite and heads straight for the computer. (One of these days I need to post about the fact that I'm an Orkut/GTalk widow!) Now, although the little fellow is busy playing with his friends until it's almost dinner time, he's taken to announcing that he wants to have dinner at my mum's place. Which we found weird at first but the little rascal is quite attached to her. And given his Coats condition, we don't want him to bawl for no reason. So he's been packing up his dinner and heading down, sometimes making quite a fuss about coming back upstairs to sleep.

Worse, his class teacher at school is not coming back this year. A few months back, she had a severe back problem, has had spinal surgery. Poppet's class got kicked around a bit until the new teacher settled in. He doesn't seem to like her very much. So he's been moaning in the mornings saying he doesn't want to go to school.

But this morning he was positively miserable. Virtually in tears. Last night, he got a major scolding and spanking from his father for making a huge fuss about going to sleep and how many stories he could get before bed-time. Earlier in the evening, he had cried his eyes out saying he wanted pizza for dinner because we hadn't ordered in for a long time. (This is true, it's been a few months, I think. And his father took up his cause. So the two of them had pizza.) At any rate, the little fellow was quite petrified at the end of it all and I had a tough time calming him down. Then I told him a story and made sure he smiled before he went to sleep.

Now, I've scolded him plenty of times before when he wouldn't sleep on time. Past 11 pm is much too late for a four-year-old and yet, he would simply not sleep before then. His sleeping pattern has caused huge fights between my husband and I. None of it is Munchkin's fault, his father self-confessedly needs food on time, peace and quiet, and 8 hours or more of sleep and goes ballistic if there's any noise in the house when he is in his "I-need---" mode.

Anyway, this morning he got ready after the usual whining but when I was putting him into the van, his eyes were brimming over. I promised him we'd take pictures tonight - he loves my new digital camera - and that seemed to cheer him up a bit. Nevertheless, he stuck his arm out of the window of the van as it was driving away and howled: "Bye, Mamma!"

I have a feeling he's feeling neglected. I've never pampered him, although his father has. But that's a different story. The point is, he senses that things have changed. And 13 months is a long time in the life of a six-year-old. For my part, I've made sure I have no chores to do once I'm home except laying the table and heating the food. It was a conscious decision to be able to free up time so I could do whatever he wanted me to do. But I think he misses the stuff he and his father did together. Which wasn't much, but still...

I hope to remedy the situation as soon as I can. I did raise the issue - in a roundabout kind of way - with DH, but he put it down to the changes in school. Before she left, his original teacher - whom Munchkin had quite a soft spot for - had told me that he felt unchallenged in class, bored even because he seems to know so much more than the other children. So one solution is to move him to a better school. Tomorrow, we'll know the results of an entrance test he took last Saturday. He didn't know several of the spellings they asked for but did everything else fine, including the addition and coloring. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. There is one other very good school but seats are subject to vacancies - so we'll know about that only in March or even later. Also, it's quite expensive. Since I am sure that I will quit my job should my son need me at home, DH will have to support us all for a while. I reminded him of this - important, because what he really wants to do is sit at home and write novels and make a living from that. He says he'll aim for a better position somewhere in a couple of years. I can live with that.

In the meantime, I need Poppet to be a happy little boy again. His sixth birthday is just around the corner and he deserves to be really really happy after the tough year he's had.

DH goes back to work

The DH went back to work today after 13 months at home during which time he finished one novel and started on another. It's his old company but a different division. It's a good package, especially since he'll be working with people he's friends with. The job involves some amount of travel and neither of us mind that.

It was quite a rushed affair this morning since all three of us had to leave home at the same time. There were two lunchbags to pack instead of one (and I couldn't seem to find the appropriate containers - after all, 13 months is a long gap) and Poppet got a dressing down for dawdling. He dawdles every day but today, Daddy dear had to go to work too, so he got yelled at. Cried his eyes out.

I felt for him, and felt worse when I remembered that I've done the same thing myself in the past, only to have DH tell me that I was ruining my son's life by "making him cry every morning." Had he not been so vindictive towards me and maturely decided to train our son (instead of mollycoddling him over his morning routine) today's "scene" could have been avoided. Very sad for the little moppet, but he'll have to get used to getting things done on time. He goes into the first grade next June and no matter which school he's in, he'll have to leave earlier than he does now. So he'd better get used to managing his own routine instead of having a parent trail him to get everything done to make sure he makes it to the school bus on time.

Also interesting to observe will be how DH manages waking up early and getting ready on time to leave with me. ;-) And the travel, and the late nights. Watch this space...

Image: Jim @ www.unprofound.com

"You wake me up so nicely"

For the past two days - and earlier before his school closed for the Christmas holidays - my son has been insisting that I wake him up.

Normally, I'm in the kitchen, frantically trying to finish the cooking before I can give him a bath and get him ready for school. So it's my husband - who has been on a sabbatical for over a year - who wakes him up and packs the little fellow off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Besides, Papa's always been his favorite because Papa's not as strict as I am. And I tend to yell when we're running behind schedule. In fact, the biggest fights my husband and I have had have been over my strictness and getting our son ready for school on time. Things got so bad that my husband told me point blank: "Whenever you wake him up, you make him cry. So leave him to me!" (Talk about making sweeping statements!! Grrr....) So that's what I did. And after that, I've been accused of "drifting away" from the two of them by "trying too hard" - whatever that last bit means. But that's another story.

Waking him up means I lose 5-10 minutes from a very tight schedule but it's always a pleasure so I look forward to it. I hug him, I cuddle him, tease him, play little games, talk about whatever he wants to talk about and then he's up and about. Getting him to brush his teeth is a different matter altogether, but at least I get him out of bed soon enough.

His bath is also a rushed affair. Today, there was no hot water because the geyser was accidentally switched off. So I gave him a really quick hose down with the hair & body wash I reserve to shampoo his hair. I was cleaning his neck when he suddenly asked me: "Mamma, why do you wake me up so nicely?" For a second, I didn't get what he was saying. So I said, "That's how little children need to be woken up. How else can you wake up a child?"

"Well, every day it's 'wake up, wake up, wake up,' that's all," replied the little tyke with a matter-of-fact look on his face.

My heart went out to him. And I felt guilty. I really should have continued waking him up that way. I'm so busy in the kitchen that I have no idea how he's woken up every day. After all, almost a year had passed since those terrible early morning fights. And the little fellow was growing up, becoming more aware.

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and told him not to worry, I would wake him up like that every day if he wanted. "Yes, I'd like you to wake me up," he said solemnly.

The sad part is, I can't do it on my own, not without risking those when-you-wake-him-up-you-make-him-cry accusations. So I'm going to wait for him to ask for me. This morning, too, I could sense the anger in my husband when he told me that the little monkey had asked for me. When I took around 3 minutes to just wrap up a few things on the stove, he came back: "What happened? Isn't he waking up?" I told him I hadn't gone yet and he stalked off to Orkut some more.

For all I know, it's a passing phase and the next time we're short of time, the little angel will throw a tantrum and say that I make him cry all the time. It's his favourite emotional blackmail weapon! But for now, my day is made! And I owe it to the little rascal. Once again, thank you, sweetheart!

My Son & I

This week, I've worked only half-days at the office, choosing to spend time with my son during his school holidays. Today, we're going to a mall I normally never take him to. There will be some aimless wandering, some eating of junk-like food and a couple of tussles over what he can and cannot buy. But it will be worth it. At least I can spend time with him. He likes that.

This morning, he didn't want me to leave for work. Which is unusual, because normally, he can't wait to get rid of me. :) But none of his friends were around and his father was alternately glued to the TV or to the computer.

The little fellow finally decided he wanted to play with the Kaleidoscope puzzle (650 rupees well spent) so I dropped him off at my parents, where he keeps the set. It was a relief to leave him a contended kid. Have a good day, sweetheart.

Turning the Focus on Me, for a Change

I had another session with the doctor yesterday. He told me a lot of things my mother has been telling me for months. That I need to focus on myself and do something about my health. But he said it differently and maybe that's what made the difference. Besides, this is a person who is objective and I have poured my heart out to him. My mother, on the other hand, knows me better, but it is a tragedy that children don't always take their parents seriously.

We discussed and decided that since any action I want to take is entirely dependent on what my husband does over the next 4-6 weeks, I need to stop worrying about what he will or will not do. Instead, I need to "focus" on my life.

I set a goal for myself earlier this week: to get rid of the fear when my husband starts his "not-so-silent venting." The doctor gave me an option: Understand that you don't have to react. You might want to. But tell yourself that you don't need to. When you refuse to react, you gain a sense of power over yourself. And that's what liberates you from that bottled up feeling which makes you think you're going to explode.

I'm not sure I can do it. But I'll certainly try. I owe myself this much.

The other thing was to begin walking again regularly. Getting up earlier in the morning is difficult, especially with the meds. But the doctor said I could cut down one of them to just half a tablet and that should make a difference. I'll try it out tonight. Or at least find time later in the day.

Next, and this is really important to me. I've realized that I don't feel so hungry any more. Earlier - especially in the past 8 months or so - I would actually "feel" hungry an hour after lunch! Now, I'm able to turn down an item of food even if I tempt myself with it a dozen times. Maybe it's the medicines, but whatever it is, that power of being able to resist the temptation successfully feels good. If I stop eating randomly - even if it wasn't junk - it's sure to do me a whole lot of good. At least physically. Which is a lot for me at this stage.

My Christmas Dream Comes True

In my last post, I mentioned how I'd always had this feeling that Christmas was meant for something. When I attended a school run by nuns (grades 7-9) I'd have the time of my life singing hymns, Christmas carols, listening to stories from the Bible and doing up a crib in the run-up to Christmas Eve. The school held a contest and the class that put up the best, most realistic looking crib won a prize. Nobody was more enthusiastic than I was. But at home, naturally enough, there wasn't much to do at Christmas except wait for our Catholic neighbors (and there were plenty) to send us the goodies!

Yesterday, my son woke up in the morning and announced that he wanted us to bake a cake together. It was probably courtesy a set of measuring cups my mum gave him the day before - he was itching to try them out 'for real.' I wasn't sure I had all the ingredients for a cake but the little fellow announced solemnly: "We'll make adjustments."

So flour got substituted with whole wheat and the brat spent an eternity extracting egg whites. But he worked away like the proverbial elf in Santa's workshop until an hour later, we had a soft, spongy chocolate cake with nuts in it. "There's less sugar in this," he remarked. "Grind some in the mixer and put it all over the top. Then it will taste better," declared the young chef. So I did as I was told and voila, it did taste better.

In the afternoon, I took him to the amusement arcade near our house. On the way down, he spotted small, plastic Christmas trees on display and asked if we could buy one. I told him we'd get one next year and then he could do it up himself. After all, it was already the evening of the 25th, a bit late in the day to put up a tree, I thought. But fate willed otherwise. The enthusiastic salesgirl announced loudly that all Christmas decorations (the tree included) were on a Buy-one-get-two-free offer. The little elf's ears perked up, and I knew it was a lost battle. So we came back home with two trees that were less than 3ft high and one even smaller. The ornaments went up and my son's face was brighter than the fairy lights on the tree.

He then took the smallest tree down to my mum's house and put that up as well - and beamed again!

What is it they say about parents living out their dreams through their children? My son doesn't know it, but he made one of my earliest childhood dreams come true yesterday. Thank you, sweetheart. :-)

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Mommy vs. Mahatma

The Brat decided he wanted to dress up as Mahatma Gandhi for his fancy dress contest at school.

ME (mentally drawing up a list of things I would have to borrow and buy to get the poppet in costume): Why?

BRAT: He was the leader of ALL the freedom fighters. Hmmm....well, not ALL, but common sense rules that you don't start explaining politics and history to a 5-year-old.

BRAT (continuing with smug, so-there look): And he's on ALL our money. He's the most famous. That's why!" Gen Z knows an opportunity when they see one.

ME: I'll put a stocking on your head...you don't have to shave it off.

BRAT: Gandhi didn't wear a stocking on his head. He didn't have hair. So I can't have hair. Can we go to the barber now?

ME: You'll regret this later, your hair won't grow back for 3 months.

BRAT (arms folded in defiance): What's regret?

What indeed!

List of things to get/do in the next 4 days: dig out 3 clean, white dupattas, buy one pair of seriously old-fashioned Bata slippers, bargain for round glasses from the optician down the road (Rs 275, after M-I-L style haggling), borrow stick handle of old mop from Mum, search for brown sticky tape to make it look like a walking stick, delve through piles of make-up to extract kajal to make a moustache, talcum powder to make the moustache look grey, paper and tape to make a watch, return early from office to make trip to the barber the evening before the event...phew!

End Result:
1. One hour of listening to introductions, slogans and what-am-I-doing-here looks from 7 Gandhis, 11 Nehrus (the costume is easier), 13 Rani(s) Laxmibai-with-doll-tied-at-the-back, 6 Kittur Rani(s) Chenamma, 4 assorted freedom fighters, and 17 Subhash Chandra Boses (the costume can be hired from just about everywhere.)

2. Consolation prize for the poppet. ("He forgot to say his name during the introduction," informed the teacher. "But you already told everybody who I was!" replied the brat. He had a point, but lost a few anyway and slid down the list.

3. Consolation prize for me too: Freedom from fighting with him to comb his hair early in the morning.

Moral of the Experience: One less squabble a day for the next three months is worth the effort.

(This was originally posted on September 26, 2007 on an earlier blog which has now been deleted.)

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