Monday, June 27, 2011

Here comes the moonwalker...

video


And am I allowed to be chuffed and say he picked this up merely by watching the MJ videos being shown on VH1 that Pappa and Mamma were watching the other night on MJ's death anniversary.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Of loose characters and such like

On Saturday, the child wanted to go see Green Lantern. Mamma scoured
the listings pages and found that there was a single obscure show at a
cinema hall around a suburb away and on the other side of the railway
line. But in true, Anything For My Child fashion, she girded her loins
and told the child to spit polish himself, we were off to see the
Green Lantern, complete with them 3 D glasses slammed onto our
respective noses.
Having put out brat's clothes and ordered him to pour himself into
said raiments, mamma took herself off to her bath. When she emerged
shining and squeaky clean, the intercom rang, it was a selection of
brat friends. The brat had been busy while mamma was bathing and had
graciously invited a couple of his pint sizes to accompany him to the
movie. Ergo, mamma ended up chaperoning three very, er, spirited seven
year olds to a movie hall, two suburbs and one railway line away. That
too by auto, given that mamma is driverless these days. Mamma probably
deserves a Nobel Peace Prize or something to that level given the
number of spats that broke out in the closed confines of said auto and
which needed immediate resolution, without mamma's instinctive
bellowing.
We reached the cinema hall and found the show cancelled because of no
takers, this when there were three other disappointed families with
assorted sized pintsizeds all expressing their dejection in rather
vocal terms at the situation.
Nonetheless, since we were there, we decided to go for the next
available show. Ready, we were told, was Ready to be viewed and four
tickets were booked. The hall, when we entered was completely empty.
And so it remained through the entire screening. Just the four of us.
Which in retrospect was a good thing given that much spirited dancing
in the aisles happened to Character Dheela Hai and Dhinchitikka
Dhinchitikka and popcorn throwing fights ensued in the course of the
movie.
The movie, which reached its boredom threshold after the second item
song, had us leave the premises before the undoubtedly fisticuff
filled finale and take ourselves down to the McDonalds, where Happy
Meals were ordered and more fights erupted over the KungFu Panda toys
and who should get what by which time, mamma was ready to take her
boots off, hang them up and pull the lid of the coffin in after her.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, she survived it, and reached home
with her bearings still intact, never mind the Disprin she needed to
chuck into the Chenin Blanc.
In the evening, the brat crawls upto mamma and asks, in the same
appealing tone he used in the morning, "Can we go to see Green Lantern
tumorru? I promise I won call anybuddy!"

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Of rainy days and maidless mornings

This morning was dark with stormy clouds and with thunder rolling across the sky. Mamma was tempted to pull the blanket back over her head and go right back to the land of nod. But no, tiffins had to be made and packed, brat had to be awakened, bathed, dressed and taken to school, and ergo, mamma hauled her carcass off the bed and toodled to the kitchen. The cook sent message that she would not be in, thanks to some sudden mysterious ailment.
Mamma hit panic button and began working like a multiple handed goddess, chopping, heating, packing, and doing the morning routine of soaking clothes, etc. The pater stepped into the bathroom had his bath, the brat was awakened, hauled to the potty and bathed, and mamma managed to get herself bathed and dressed and out of the house by 7.30 am.
It was pouring cats and dogs and the brat was instructed to drape his self in his Ben 10 raincoat, which he did reluctantly. The traffic jam to school was one long long jam, which would have probably lasted till the brat started growing a beard, so mamma and brat decided to step out and walk through the traffic to school.
It was an adventure in itself, dodging puddles, getting spattered by passing buses going nonchalantly over water filled potholes, and mamma and brat reached semi drenched and laughing into school, well over 10 minutes late for opening bell.
The brat's school shoes were soaking wet. "Take your shoes off in class," mamma yelled from the outside. He looked back at mamma like she were the village hick.
Mamma repeated her instructions. He turned round and gave her a look from hell.
And trotted back, face ablaze with embarassment. "It is not allowed," he hissed into mamma's ears. "We canna take our shuz off in class. All dirty smell will come from our feetz."
Err, yes. That made sense.
Mamma prayed the soaking wet shoes dried up quick and resolved to ensure he wore sandals tomorrow.

Friday, June 10, 2011

So school has reopened...

And the brat has squealed in delight to find two of his comrades in mischief part of his class. The class teacher has been warned to keep the trio in separate corners of the classroom if she intends getting any teaching done, and at the end of the first day she informed mamma in weary tones that she had taken heed of the advice proffered and would implement the same the very next day.
The new SPA uniform with its spiffy green stripe down the side was worn and self much admired in the mirror before setting off to school the next day.
"Mamma," said the brat, as he settled himself in the car with his new bag (Ben 10), new water bottle (Green tupperware), new compass box (Ben 10 green) and new tiffin box (coincidentally also green). "Everything I have is green."
Mamma digested this piece of information in silence. And nodded in confirmation. Yes, he did have almost everything on his person with some hue of green.
"I am a green boy."
Ah, well, green behind the ears would be more like it, Mamma would say.
"And now when I get angry, I can become The Hulk?"
Its not that kind of green, brat, Mamma said. To be the Hulk, you need some serious changes to happen in your blood chemistry. And some dosage of radiation. And such like.
He thought long and he thought hard. "Dere is a chemistry laboratory in our school, I will go dere and pud chemikals in my blood. Wid a needle on a pole."
Memories of glucose drips during long past hospitalisations still lingered, I could see.
But why do you want to be the Hulk, I asked gently. He bristled with rage. "Because I am very angry. And when I get angry, I want everybody to be frightened of me."
Well then, you wont have any friends, if they're all frightened of you, and you are permanently angry.
"Okay then, I wont be Hulk," he said in a sad little voice. And then sparked up. "Can I be the Green Hornet?"
Maybe Mamma should re examine the kind of role models the brat has, and start showing him the Chariots of Fire kind of movies.

The first day he returned home without his compass box. It was too early to start losing things I informed him, given that the previous year he had gone on a bottle losing spree of approximately one bottle a week and had I been less worried about dehydration and water contamination, I would have been stern and told him that unless he got the original bottle back he would get no water to school. I suggested it one day, only to have him tell me he would drink from the tap, much to my horror.

Mamma instructed him he would not get a new compass on the second day of school and he was instructed to check his desk for the forgotten item and retrieve it or his pencils and erasers would be sent in a floral, feminine pouch. The threat worked and he had found the missing compass box, and displayed it triumphantly to me on pick up. I should hunt out a pink floral water bottle to ensure his green bottle stays un-lost.

It drizzled a bit this morning as we ran to the gate, Mamma wanted to drape the brat in his raincoat (What else, Ben 10!) but he refused. "Don't. Everyone will laffatme. I'm a big boy now. I can get wet in the rain."

Mamma feels she should have been informed of this big boy development before the raincoat purchase was done, it could have got her a small clutch which would have definitely come in use, seeing as the raincoat is not.

So how has school reopening been for you?


Tuesday, June 07, 2011

So the brat needs an evaluation again

So mamma was called into school again to meet up with the special educator. Mamma traipsed into school much like the goat being led to the slaughter house. The brat, as most of you who have been reading the blog on a regular basis would know, has always had issues. He had delayed milestones, suspected mild autism, cognitive issues, speech delays, motor control issues. The works. Thankfully mild. So we worked through it. Three years of speech, occupational and physio therapy later, he had an assessment with the pediatric neurologist who deemed him a little behind, but okay. No autism. I did my little hallelujah dance. And life went on.
The brat continued getting special educator assistance at school as well as concessions.He did decently enough in all the assessments, with help. His grades, while not outstanding, hovered between B and C. And occasionally A. He was coping I thought. He was doing okay. He had his tuitions. I worked with him when I could. School was working with him.
But no. He's not grade level. He is showing signs of Learning Disabilities his special educator says. He needs a thorough evaluation. And probably would need Occupational Therapy. He has serious issues with math. Mamma needs to get her act together and spend more time with him and get him to do more stuff to improve his abilities.
So it is back to gird my loins, metaphorically speaking and get cracking about working with the brat like the slave driver I used to be. An evaluation to be done, and steps to be taken to get the tyke to 'Grade Level'.
Okay. Someone send across the fevikwik for my breaking heart quick. I dont feel I have the mental strength to do this all over again.

Monday, June 06, 2011

So, do you embarass your kids?

I do. I often do. No holds barred. I can see him cringing in the corner when I get up to shake my butt at parties. I can see it when he gasps in horror when I emerge down in the garden wearing clothes that have seen the worst of the dryer and have been twisted so terribly out of shape they are best suited for donation to the lesser privileged.

Read what this lady has to say.

Yes, yes, what about when them kids make us cringe with embarassment. Like the times in fancy restaurant, when despite all assurances to be angelic cherub, with harps strumming in the background while he downs his meal in peace and calm, and gently requesting for seconds, but morphs into a hellion escaped from the dungeons the minute he sets foot into the place, and does the minute mile around the periphery of the buffet one million times to 'check out' what is on offer, seriously putting waiters at risk for impaling fellow diners with the hot barbeque skewers they are carrying around.

Or when they sit flat down in the middle of the aisle in the toy section holding onto some ridiculous gargantuan toy the size of a small principality, and refusing to move unless said small principality, which is actually a beyblade stadium priced at approximately one dental filling and is primarily composed of plastic of the disposable plate variety, is purchased for them, and you try everything from calm explaining and rationalizing to getting down to eye level and talking sternly like you really mean it, and actually stopping short of dragging them through the store kicking and screaming or leaving them behind, pretending you dont know this child.

Of course, the child will get his revenge when he becomes an adolescent and insists on sitting at a separate table in a restaurant to pretend that he is not, in any way, related to me, given that I will inevitably morph into a loud mouth, loudly dressed middle aged matron. I see signs of that already. Of course, this has already begun.

"Mamma," he gasps, when I start dancing in public, "Don dance. Sit down." And will haul me back to a chair and keep watch to ensure I don't escape and make a public spectacle of myself.

"Dress properly," he will instruct me before he goes off to school on parent teacher day, holding forth as a shining example of how mammas should dress, a classmate whose mother, no offence to salwar kameez wearers, wears them salwar kameezes in synthetic prints every single day.

"Don come down wid me, come in the nex lift." This when we go down in the evenings, him to play, me for my walk. This when I'm wearing ratty exercise tracks and tees which have seen better days.

And of course, I think back to how I would cringe when my mother would pick up a spat in the local train and quietly skunk off to a different corner of the compartment. Or how I would do the merry dance of avoidance when the paternal grandmother would come to meet me outside the school gates. Gah, chickens are coming home to roost now, and all that is coming right back to bite me on my rather sizeable butt.

I embarass my son. Yes, I do. And he embarasses me too. I think we're fair and square so far in the game. Let's see how the scale tilts as he grows and I get older and not so wiser.


Sunday, June 05, 2011

About birthdays and gifts


What is this discussion all about you might wonder, gentle reader? Let me enlighten you. The occasion being Mamma's birthday. Ah yes, the 40th. If you might be so insolent enough to ask. And Mamma has been dinning it into the pater and son's head about the momentous birthday last year which was marked by no cake, no gift, no dinner out, no takeaway too, and just a dry happy birthday wish and extracting every molecule of guilt about it through the year. Now the time has come for father and son to prove themselves, that the past birthday was an aberration and that they will be better prepared this year.
Ergo, the unceasing hints about the gifts I expected to receive and the big song and dance I expected to happen on my birthday, with red carpet rolled out and a brass band striking the right notes.
So, mamma and brat sat peaceably watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire last night, when the brat suddenly asked me, "Mamma, whachyu want fer yer budday?"
Mamma thought long and thought hard and conceded she would like perfume, or a bag or some items of clothing.
"Okay," replied the brat. "You go to Inorbid. Buy fer yourself a top and a perfuum. Is from me. And buy fer me a Beyblade Flame Libra."
Err? I have to buy myself a birthday gift. On your behalf? Mamma needed to clean out earwax, maybe she hadnt heard too clearly.
"Let me get this clear," she said to the brat. "I have to buy myself a top and a perfume, with my money as a gift from you."
"Yars," he replied, nonchalantly, glued to the part where Harry goes underwater to save Ron and Hermoine in the Triwizard Challenge. "And buy fer me a Beyblet?"
"And why should I buy you a Beyblade," Mamma asked, gently.
He looked at me, with an expression that suggested the nut bolts in the old cranium needed examination. "Because, mamma, dat's my return gift!!!"

PS: He is no longer saying Redurngeef. Let me take my broken heart to a corner and sob. My baby is growing up.

Friday, June 03, 2011

So a change of guard has happened and the monsoon arrives

Daadi has gone to Pahadland and Nana has taken over brat duty for the remainder of the holidays which comprises this weekend and Monday. School reopens on Tuesday, be still my beating heart, given that timings have been shifted to an obscenely early 7.45 am, which also probably mean I should put brat to bed in his school uniform and shoes, and just lift him and run out of the door in the morning, knowing how crazy the morning run is now going to get.
Yesterday was the first day under Nana's supervision and we managed to drag Nana to the toy shop for, what else, yet another Beyblade, and a school bag and a pencil box. Embellished with that pintsized with alien DNA fused into his system who morphs into a procession of very ugly creatures, guaranteed to thank your stars that you have a child who doesnt have an omnitrix fused onto his wrist. Ah well, whatever.

As we stepped out of the store, the heavens opened up and poured down with a ferocity that ensured Mamma and Nana who were sitting at the extreme end of the rickshaw, with the brat sandwiched in the centre, were drenched enough to be wrung out, and put through the dryer. The brat grumbled incessantly while bone dry, "I'm gedding drops of wader on me. I'm getting wed. My klodz will ged spoilt."
Mamma asked him, in not so polite terms, to zip it, considering she was shivering and drenched enough to do a waterfall sequence without the waterfall. We reached home. The newly purchased Beyblade was promptly assembled and taken down to the lobby area, where the other pintsizes had gathered despite the breaking storm and the howling winds to spar in tournaments so ferocious that many a plastic Beyblade arena had been decimated in the process. Occasionally they would dart out from the glass doors into the pouring rain and return like fresh hatchlings to the warzone.Upon which respective mothers would spot them drench and drag them up home, kicking and squealing, to be hung out to dry.
The brat was hauled back home after two wardrobe changes had happened and went off chirpily enough to sleep.He was up bright and sparkling in the 'dark morning' . "Is d rainy season" he asked, inspecting the sky with a wry eye. I nodded. "Den we will get rainy day holiday!" he chirped in glee. And yes, school yet has to reopen.

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

And this is what we did onboard the bus

Played at solving the Rubik's cube, thoughtfully given to us by big sister who had outgrown it, and ergo was delighted enough that the brat evinced an interest in it.
He struggled and struggled, and twisted all the sides round but didnt end up getting the colours to come together as one on a single side. Thankfully a terrible, terrible movie called Thank You, with Akshay Kumar playing the flute and playing at being a marriage detective came on, which he watched for a bit and then drifted off to sleep, and remained in somnabulistic state until it was time to disembark.
The next morning he awoke with giddiness so acute he could not put his head up, and running a light fever. Mamma panicked and rushed him to the pediatrician. Heat stroke was the diagnosis. Drink plenty of fluids and 48 hours bed rest prescribed by the good doctor, at which mamma hyuck hyucked internally. Sure enough, barely had one pack of electral solution made it through his food pipe, the pint sized one was turning somersaults into the lobby of the building when we reached home. By evening he was angsty about going down to play and had to be physically restrained by intimidating voice and gestures into sitting put at home, and allowed extra television time as an incentive. The rest of his days have been a maze of lotus eating, action figure fighting, television watching and running amok in the park in the evenings. Like it should be given its the summer vacation. Of course, inclination to do a spot of writing or a bit of mathematics is nonexistent.
School reopens in a few days time and mamma just can't wait for the brat to get back to the school routine.So how have your summer holidays been?