Things to be Thankful for...

Maybe it's a vestige of one's first encounter with the world of numbers, but 100 always seems like a big milestone - bigger than 200 or 1000 - in my mind. And for the milestone post on this blog, what better than to thank God for all the wonderful things in my life?

My son Chubbocks: beaming boy wonder, wordsmith par excellence already, greedily learning to read the most complex of words...

Day before I had promised Chubbocks that he could have Maggi noodles for dinner yesterday. So when I reached home from work, he immediately reminded me of the promise. Tired though I was, I couldn't refuse, so I set to and made him a bowlful, with carrots, beans, onions and potatoes and my own mix of spices since we had lost the spice mix which came with the pack. His face was a picture of delight, with the 'shining from inside' look coupled with bashfulness that it gets whenever he is thrilled to the marrow about something. Each and every bite of the Maggi was relished with much gusto, much smacking of the lips, and much 'yummy, Mamma's. What astounded me was how much joy could come from such a small little indulgence for him. And I am thankful that he is still so unspoilt that an occasional Maggi or pizza dinner can give him such a thrill.

And Chubbocks is learning to read. We often play a game in which I write sentences on his doodle pro and he reads them or he writes them and I read. Yesterday, as he ate up his noodles, I wrote to him:
'I enjoy playing with you'; 'It thrills me when you read'; 'I am very impressed with your reading'; 'I love you very much'...and was more than amazed when he managed to read each and every word correctly. It's a far cry from the 'Pat and Cat' books that 5 year olds typically read, and I'm already having visions of him starting to enjoy the William books in my collection...

My daughter Puddi: looney tune, boogie meister, eyelash batter to surpass Angelina Jolie...

Puddi is going through her Terrible Twos. Good eating habits are the first to go at this stage, and sure enough, from being someone who couldn't get enough food, she has become picky and uninterested in her food, making mealtimes a battleground. Sometimes we do succeed in getting her interested - like day before when big brother Chubbocks fed her a spoon of dahi after each bite of roti - but otherwise it's a fight for control. Her resistance to instructions is growing - any time we tell her to do anything she doesn't feel like doing, the response is an extreme 'nahi karegi, kabhi nahin karegi' ( won't do it; I will never do it). For instance, when she woke up at 4 am the other morning, crawled into bed and kept babbling. A and I: "Keep quiet Puddi!" Puddi: "Keep quiet nahin kalegi, kabhi nahin kalegi". She finds a new reason to chortle every day, and her latest trick is to cover her mouth with one fat little hand and giggle, big eyes full of mischief. She loves playing with crayons and our drawing room walls now have blue lines to match the furniture. She enjoys books, and is forever curled up peering at the 'kinna' ( Krishna) book. Sleep has now become her enemy and she insists on staying up till her eyes are falling out of her head. And then when finally sleep is overpowering her, she'll look up trustingly at her father and say, "Abba, scat my bat" ( scratch my back), with the sure expectation that Abba will immediately do her bidding and send her off to the Land of Nod...

The baby to come: who will hopefully thrive despite my insane schedule and come out happy to meet us all, and be as innocent and fun-loving as his/ her siblings, enjoying our benign neglect and chaotic household...

My parents: a lifeline

I remember way back when I was expecting Chubbocks. I didn't know I was pregnant, just that I would come home from a day's work and collapse bonelessly, unable to so much as make myself a cup of tea. And go straight to my folks' house, where dad ( since mom was away on holiday) would not only make me a life-reviving cup of tea but also feed us dinner. And when I had to go on bed rest, mom had to cut short her vacation and come rushing back to take care of me. I never needed to stop for a moment and think about whether I was putting her out, I could just ask her and rest assured that she would do it and be there for me.

With my kids, my parents have been their primary caregivers at times, when I've been caught up at work. Mom is the one who comes up with fun games to teach them counting and colours, while dad indulges them in horseplay and tells them the stories he told me as a kid. They help feed them and look after them when I'm traveling or working late, worry as much as we do when they fall ill and delight as much or more in their antics.

My sister M and soulsister M:

With whom I've survived heartbreak and heartache, tequila and sunrise, marriage and childbirth...with whom my connection grows stronger as we grow older...with whom I can argue, differ, bicker and yet come back to share a glass of Roohafza...

And A: my Rock of Gibraltar, the wind beneath my wings...

Who believes in me more than I believe in myself, who loves me despite my temper and mu untidy ways, wilfulness and extravagance...who loves indulging me and can always find an excuse for my bad behaviour...who always encourages me to fly and is always ready to catch me if I fall...who has uncomplainingly taken my place for the last 2 months when I've been traveling and working late and managed the kids beautifully...who still thinks I'm beautiful, with my pot belly and grey hair...

I wonder what I did to deserve all this? It must have been something good...