We had a frightening incident yesterday. I was lying prone on the sofa, recovering from a viral that had haunted me all weekend; plus I'd slogged in the kitchen yesterday morning cooking an Italian feast for dad's birthday. The kids were at the park with the help; then the ladies arrived back, with Puddi but no Bojj. They said Bojj had gone to my parents home - they live about 5 houses away.
A and I were reading peacably when he decided to call dad to check on something. "They're not answering", he said. That's quite common when they are out in the garden with the kids so we assumed that's what had happened. One minute later, our blood froze when we heard mom and dad calling out to us and walking in, sans Bojji. "We were out walking", they began. In less time than it takes to write this, I had done a standing jump to the front door and was running down to their house, heart in mouth. WHERE WAS BOJJI?
I reached their house and saw a placid Bojjandi climbing up the inside of their gate to the top. He was clearly planning to climb down the other side and come home. "What happened? Are you safe?" I yelled incoherently, clasping him to me. "Budhmani ( the new maid) just left me here and ajji thatha are not home. I was calling to her but she didn't come. Sho I wash coming home."
The maid had left Bojjandi inside their gate, rung their bell and bolted the gate from outside, not bothering to check whether or not they had taken him inside. Thankfully we live in a gated complex which is quite secure and they live just down the street. But my blood still runs cold at the thought of that poor 4 year old child forlornly wandering in their garden. What astounds me is that when I found him - about 10 minutes after he'd been unceremoniously left there - he wasn't crying, wasn't wailing, wasn't showing any signs of fear. Instead, after sussing out the situation, he had decided the best course of action was to come home and proceeded to carry out the scheme!!!It's a day later, I'm still agonized and feeling guilty over what happened, but most of all so in awe of Bojjandi and cucumber-cool brain!!!
Monday, September 24, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Just Married Please Excuse bloggers contest
As usual, a little bit late to the party. Actually, I find that when I'm less busy, I tend to sink into a morass of laziness and find it too difficult to do anything, really, whereas when I'm forced to multitask and work 24/7, I get a lot more things done - like blogging, or contributing to a friend's contest, for instance. Of course, meanwhile I have meandered quite off-topic, haven't I? So back to Y's contest, based on her hilarious new book, Just Married, Please Excuse.
Actually, we had so much drama for so many years before we actually got married that I think our married life is actually pretty tame by comparison. But just before we got married, after opposing the concept for several years, my parents finally came around, just about a month before A and I were to take off for INSEAD in France. And they obviously wanted to meet A's parents and discuss arrangements. We decided to do it on neutral ground and halfway between the two parental homes, which were really far apart - for those who know Delhi, A's parents lived in the Univ area and mine live in Gurgaon! So we decided on IIC as a venue. His parents, mine and A and me were to converge there after A and I finished work one evening. I was quite nervous as to how this meeting would go off, whether they would hate each other at first sight...let's say I was like the anxious mother of a potential bride in an arranged marriage seeing-the-girl situation.
That cold winter day, I had worn a very chic black and white wool dress to work. While I was out for a meeting, as I stepped out of the car, I felt a super-cold draught of air riding up my back. 'Wow, really cold day!', I thought to myself in typical late-bloomer/ tubelight style. Then suddenly it dawned on me. The hip to neck zip of the dress had parted way, all the way!!! My entire back, including..err, innerwear, was on display! Thankfully I had also grabbed a matching cape that morning so I slung it around my back, Jayalalitha style and marched regally to the meeting. By dint of moving slowly and carefully as if I had a ramrod up my a**, I managed the meeting without the client realising that anything was wrong with me apart from an unusual stiffness.
I hunted frantically for safety pins back at office but in these modern days of western wear, nobody was wearing anything like a mangalsutra with a chain of safety pins slung on it. How I missed sari-clad women that day! It was already going on afternoon on a really busy day, so I couldn't slink off and buy a new outfit so I dialled mom and told her to schlep an outfit for me when she arrived at IIC that evening.
As it happened, A's parents, mine and A and I converged upon IIC at the exact same time. By this time, the discomfort of officially meeting my inlaws with my back hanging out of my dress was too high to be borne. Muttering a hasty hello, I grabbed the pack of clothes from mom and disappeared in the direction of the rest room, leaving it to poor A, who hadn't even officially met my parents yet, to manage all the awkwardness of introductions and greetings. What my parents in law thought of me disappearing, in a chic dress, and reappearing in a demure salwar kameez, courtesy Mom, I can only imagine! Must have been a rude shock for them later, methinks :)
My parents, sister and I are very fond of pranks, puns, jokes and so on. Shortly after A and I got married, we moved to my parents place to stay for a few days. The first night, as dad left our room after seeing that we had everything we needed, I called after him, "Good night. Sudarimasu!" That was our elongated family version of 'Sweet dreams'. A looked at me, puzzled, and asked what I was saying. I told him it was Japanese for 'sleep well'. He was maha impressed by my family's ability to assimilate foreign languages into our daily routine :)
Within ten days of marriage, A and I were living in a suitcase-sized apartment in Fontainebleau and enjoying the experience. It was a very social campus, and everyone either threw dinenr parties or attended them every night. A few dinner parties chez nous later, A felt rather apologetic about the fact that we didn't serve non-veg, since veg moi was the chef on offer. He finally decided the situation was too embarassing and decided to cook some chicken.
Having first sourced the recipe from his mom, he considerately asked me to stay away and chill in the bedroom while he took over the kitchen/ living room - he knew I might feel sick at the sight of raw meat. A few minutes later, he dashed in. "Do you know what's cumin? And what does cloves mean? Do we have any? What is cinnamon - is it a vegetable?" I took pity on him and offered to lay out all the necessary spices for him, and then retired to my solitary splendour.
About fifteen minutes later, when my eyes and sinuses were on fire from the smells emanating from the kitchen, he dashed in again. "Mom said to cook the onions till they turn brown. What share of brown - should they be light brown like sand or dark brown like chocolate?" I ran to the kitchen, took one look at the pan and collapsed. There were onion cinders at the bottom of the pan!!!
Having said that, with a little help and an inspired addition of yoghurt by me, the chicken dish actually turned out to be delicious and is still remembered by our friends. (I have to say this else A may kill me!)
Sometime later, when we were back in India, we attended an art exhibition at the Habitat center, and A really liked some paintings by an artist called Dhananjay. Since we had decided to start collecting art in a modest way, we made the artist an offer in his visitor’s book and left – the painting would only be delivered after the exhibition was over. Some days later, the artist called and said he’d come over and deliver the painting that evening.
He turned up clutching two paintings under his arm, and we started talking about this, that and the other. Then he turned to us earnestly and said, “I’m going to show you two paintings from my collection. Yeh pyaar hai. Isko aap separate mat karna. Is pyaar ko aap ikhatte rakhna.”
A and I rose up in each other’s estimation as people capable of having a somewhat metaphysical discussion on the nature of love with an artist, and this conversation continued for a few minutes more before it dawned on us. The artist happened to be Bengali, and what he was really saying to us was, “This is a pair of paintings. Please keep the pair together!”
Actually, we had so much drama for so many years before we actually got married that I think our married life is actually pretty tame by comparison. But just before we got married, after opposing the concept for several years, my parents finally came around, just about a month before A and I were to take off for INSEAD in France. And they obviously wanted to meet A's parents and discuss arrangements. We decided to do it on neutral ground and halfway between the two parental homes, which were really far apart - for those who know Delhi, A's parents lived in the Univ area and mine live in Gurgaon! So we decided on IIC as a venue. His parents, mine and A and me were to converge there after A and I finished work one evening. I was quite nervous as to how this meeting would go off, whether they would hate each other at first sight...let's say I was like the anxious mother of a potential bride in an arranged marriage seeing-the-girl situation.
That cold winter day, I had worn a very chic black and white wool dress to work. While I was out for a meeting, as I stepped out of the car, I felt a super-cold draught of air riding up my back. 'Wow, really cold day!', I thought to myself in typical late-bloomer/ tubelight style. Then suddenly it dawned on me. The hip to neck zip of the dress had parted way, all the way!!! My entire back, including..err, innerwear, was on display! Thankfully I had also grabbed a matching cape that morning so I slung it around my back, Jayalalitha style and marched regally to the meeting. By dint of moving slowly and carefully as if I had a ramrod up my a**, I managed the meeting without the client realising that anything was wrong with me apart from an unusual stiffness.
I hunted frantically for safety pins back at office but in these modern days of western wear, nobody was wearing anything like a mangalsutra with a chain of safety pins slung on it. How I missed sari-clad women that day! It was already going on afternoon on a really busy day, so I couldn't slink off and buy a new outfit so I dialled mom and told her to schlep an outfit for me when she arrived at IIC that evening.
As it happened, A's parents, mine and A and I converged upon IIC at the exact same time. By this time, the discomfort of officially meeting my inlaws with my back hanging out of my dress was too high to be borne. Muttering a hasty hello, I grabbed the pack of clothes from mom and disappeared in the direction of the rest room, leaving it to poor A, who hadn't even officially met my parents yet, to manage all the awkwardness of introductions and greetings. What my parents in law thought of me disappearing, in a chic dress, and reappearing in a demure salwar kameez, courtesy Mom, I can only imagine! Must have been a rude shock for them later, methinks :)
My parents, sister and I are very fond of pranks, puns, jokes and so on. Shortly after A and I got married, we moved to my parents place to stay for a few days. The first night, as dad left our room after seeing that we had everything we needed, I called after him, "Good night. Sudarimasu!" That was our elongated family version of 'Sweet dreams'. A looked at me, puzzled, and asked what I was saying. I told him it was Japanese for 'sleep well'. He was maha impressed by my family's ability to assimilate foreign languages into our daily routine :)
Within ten days of marriage, A and I were living in a suitcase-sized apartment in Fontainebleau and enjoying the experience. It was a very social campus, and everyone either threw dinenr parties or attended them every night. A few dinner parties chez nous later, A felt rather apologetic about the fact that we didn't serve non-veg, since veg moi was the chef on offer. He finally decided the situation was too embarassing and decided to cook some chicken.
Having first sourced the recipe from his mom, he considerately asked me to stay away and chill in the bedroom while he took over the kitchen/ living room - he knew I might feel sick at the sight of raw meat. A few minutes later, he dashed in. "Do you know what's cumin? And what does cloves mean? Do we have any? What is cinnamon - is it a vegetable?" I took pity on him and offered to lay out all the necessary spices for him, and then retired to my solitary splendour.
About fifteen minutes later, when my eyes and sinuses were on fire from the smells emanating from the kitchen, he dashed in again. "Mom said to cook the onions till they turn brown. What share of brown - should they be light brown like sand or dark brown like chocolate?" I ran to the kitchen, took one look at the pan and collapsed. There were onion cinders at the bottom of the pan!!!
Having said that, with a little help and an inspired addition of yoghurt by me, the chicken dish actually turned out to be delicious and is still remembered by our friends. (I have to say this else A may kill me!)
Sometime later, when we were back in India, we attended an art exhibition at the Habitat center, and A really liked some paintings by an artist called Dhananjay. Since we had decided to start collecting art in a modest way, we made the artist an offer in his visitor’s book and left – the painting would only be delivered after the exhibition was over. Some days later, the artist called and said he’d come over and deliver the painting that evening.
He turned up clutching two paintings under his arm, and we started talking about this, that and the other. Then he turned to us earnestly and said, “I’m going to show you two paintings from my collection. Yeh pyaar hai. Isko aap separate mat karna. Is pyaar ko aap ikhatte rakhna.”
A and I rose up in each other’s estimation as people capable of having a somewhat metaphysical discussion on the nature of love with an artist, and this conversation continued for a few minutes more before it dawned on us. The artist happened to be Bengali, and what he was really saying to us was, “This is a pair of paintings. Please keep the pair together!”
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Chubbocks is 9
How time marches on. It seems like yesterday that I was freaking out at having gotten pregnant, obviously without any planning ( in fact A and I joke about it being an immaculate conception given how stressed both of us were with new jobs at the time, but that's really not material for a mommy blog, now is it?). I think Dad had figured it out much before it dawned on either of us. And now he's 9. Almost a teenager, and by the behaviour, sometimes I think he's in his early teen years already.
When I look at old photos of his, I almost can't recognise the chubby-cheeked character who peers out, I'm so used to his gangly, bony form with its jeans falling off the non-existent backside.
But despite his terrible temper - inherited, I shan't say from which side of the family - and occasional tantrums, he is for the most part a really simple little kid. A couple of years ago, he commented that we couldn't get him a Wii or Playstation 'because we don't live in an apartment or a hotel. If we did we could afford it", and has hardly ever pestered us about it. He is a fashion disaster in the making, so eager to go out and play that he wears his jeans back to front and Tshirts inside out and doesn't even notice, and whinges to be allowed to wear his battered crocs because they are 'so comfortable'. He begs and pleads to be allowed to download a new computer game that costs about a dollar and then doesn't even bother to ask for a proper birthday present.
I find that quite amazing, given that I read about kids decked out in designer labels from head to toe, or overhear them compare their father's car brands and rag each other about it.
For Chubbocks, all is well in his world as long as he gets his quota of screen time and a stack of books to read. He still insists that we read out a story to him each night, though his reading level is advanced enough for him to have finished the Harry Potter series already. He's developed a really good sense of humour and creates little riddles and jokes all the time. He's known as the little encyclopedia in school because of the facts he has at his command about any topic. And he's the evolving elder brother, sometimes bossing over ( or trying to boss over) his siblings, and yet super-protective of them, always ready to intervene with us when we're getting upset with them.
I think we're in for a few challenges going forward though. The first signs of rebellion and angst are already in, as evidenced by his tantrums. He's no longer content to obey instantly, or unquestioningly. There are times when he insists something is true/ he's done something correctly despite all evidence to the contrary. He's unfortunately a very bright and talented child - unfortunate because things come so easy to him that he hasn't needed to work hard at them, and being patient or persevering doesn't come naturally to him as it does to Puddi.
He's also going through a phase where he feels more controls being put upon him - more homework, more expectations in terms of behaviour at home and at school - whereas he sees his siblings get a freer rein. In his mind, there are no distinctions between him and them so he's getting very angsty about it. We've seen more tantrums, some instances of defiance and many hyper-emotional moments - "This is the worst day of my life, I wish I was never born" type. I was hoping we had a little time before we got to it. I've lived through my adolescence and let's just say, I don't wish myself in my parents shoes!
Anyway, I guess we'll get through - everyone does. Meanwhile I'm just going to enjoy the good moments, of which there are many!
When I look at old photos of his, I almost can't recognise the chubby-cheeked character who peers out, I'm so used to his gangly, bony form with its jeans falling off the non-existent backside.
But despite his terrible temper - inherited, I shan't say from which side of the family - and occasional tantrums, he is for the most part a really simple little kid. A couple of years ago, he commented that we couldn't get him a Wii or Playstation 'because we don't live in an apartment or a hotel. If we did we could afford it", and has hardly ever pestered us about it. He is a fashion disaster in the making, so eager to go out and play that he wears his jeans back to front and Tshirts inside out and doesn't even notice, and whinges to be allowed to wear his battered crocs because they are 'so comfortable'. He begs and pleads to be allowed to download a new computer game that costs about a dollar and then doesn't even bother to ask for a proper birthday present.
I find that quite amazing, given that I read about kids decked out in designer labels from head to toe, or overhear them compare their father's car brands and rag each other about it.
For Chubbocks, all is well in his world as long as he gets his quota of screen time and a stack of books to read. He still insists that we read out a story to him each night, though his reading level is advanced enough for him to have finished the Harry Potter series already. He's developed a really good sense of humour and creates little riddles and jokes all the time. He's known as the little encyclopedia in school because of the facts he has at his command about any topic. And he's the evolving elder brother, sometimes bossing over ( or trying to boss over) his siblings, and yet super-protective of them, always ready to intervene with us when we're getting upset with them.
I think we're in for a few challenges going forward though. The first signs of rebellion and angst are already in, as evidenced by his tantrums. He's no longer content to obey instantly, or unquestioningly. There are times when he insists something is true/ he's done something correctly despite all evidence to the contrary. He's unfortunately a very bright and talented child - unfortunate because things come so easy to him that he hasn't needed to work hard at them, and being patient or persevering doesn't come naturally to him as it does to Puddi.
He's also going through a phase where he feels more controls being put upon him - more homework, more expectations in terms of behaviour at home and at school - whereas he sees his siblings get a freer rein. In his mind, there are no distinctions between him and them so he's getting very angsty about it. We've seen more tantrums, some instances of defiance and many hyper-emotional moments - "This is the worst day of my life, I wish I was never born" type. I was hoping we had a little time before we got to it. I've lived through my adolescence and let's just say, I don't wish myself in my parents shoes!
Anyway, I guess we'll get through - everyone does. Meanwhile I'm just going to enjoy the good moments, of which there are many!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Life with Jerry
As a friend sternly pointed out to me recently, “I don’t know if it’s third child syndrome, but I feel I hardly know Bojjandi, whereas I know the other two rather well through your blog”. Duly guilty and chastened, I have finally sat down to fill the gap. Especially since the primary reason for starting the blog was so they would have reference material in case I was gaga by the time their kids came around - and the way the three of them behave sometimes, I hope I will be!
So…Bojjandi really reminds me of Jerry from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. I don’t know whether it’s because of his hyper-energetic body language or his chubby cheeks, pointy chin and cheeky expression which remind me of Jerry’s looks, minus the big ears. He’s an action mn from the minute he wakes up in the morning, and quite stubborn about what he wants. His day starts with plaintive wails of ‘Abba, take me down’, and he gets quite annoyed if left to sleep in. Next comes a run into the kitchen and a perch on its counter for his Yakult – since our pal has given up milk since he was weaned off the bottle about a year and a half ago – talk about stubborn! Thankfully he loves Yakult – so much so that he’s constantly pretending he hasn’t already had one, so he can have another bottle of it!
He’s a real mischief-a-minute baby, constantly looking for the next thing he could get into trouble for. Jerry, excuse me, Bojji is happiest when he’s scurrying around at a fast pace – whether he’s running around the house on his tiptoes, jumping off furniture perilously close to hitting his head on a chance occasional table or so, zipping around the house on his scooter, or ramming his bicycle into walls when forbiddenly riding it indoors. He’s a crazy chatter-box, whose stream of commentary, plaintive pleading, arguments and general purpose chat don’t stop even when he’s asleep.
I expect a flock of penguins to come take up residence in our house any day now, given his habit of opening the fridge every 15 minutes to sniff out a new snack. He’s also the supreme techno-freak in our house, even more than his dad and elder brother. As soon as his eyes open in the morning, he’s plaintively asking for the mobile phone, dad’s new galaxy note or the iPadeesh as he calls it. If thwarted, he stands on tiptoe on top of the sofa to reach the iPod and starts spinning through the tracks. In fact, I’d say he’s better versed in the technology than me (no great accomplishment J) – he’s the one who figured out how to switch on the iPod on the iPad first. We joke that he’s the kid easiest to kidnap – all it takes is a fancy mobile phone!
He loves music and any time he hears a tune, starts wiggling his bum in time to the rhythm immediately. One of the cutest things I have seen is that he’ll turn the iPod on to play a favourite song (currently Sadda Haq), switch on a blue spotlight in our living room and start dancing underneath it all by himself. It really reminds me of those T&J sequences where J is dancing ecstatically. In fact, he amazed me during a concert at Chubbocks’ school, when he identified a song within the first bars of it playing!
He thinks he’s no less than either of his siblings in terms of size or ability and constantly psyches me out by trying stunts that a toddler really shouldn’t be. He turns wheelies on his cycle or balances his whole body on the crossbar of it while I watch, my heart in my mouth, thinking he’s going to tumble off and hit his head. He keeps telling me he needs to ‘feed my neopets’, an activity actually done by Chubbocks and he has no clue what it means. He constantly argues with his siblings as to the rights and wrongs of whatever game they are playing, and watches Oggy and laughs right along with the elder two at the jokes. In fact, he’s got a definite sense of humour and loves knock-knock jokes.
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Ach
Ach-who?
Thatsh a nashty cold!
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Mister
Mister who?
Mister Plod
….and so on an infinitum, with all the characters from his favourite books and TV shows.
At bedtime, listening to stories, he’s hugely inquisitive, asking dozens of questions about every word he doesn’t understand, or the motivations of characters. He can never wait for the story to be told and keeps flipping forwards and back through the book, exasperating Puddi and Chubbocks no end. He grouches about the fact that we don’t sit on his bed ever ( it’s a crib) – in our highly litigious household, we have regulated that we will sit on a each child’s bed to tell bedtime stories alternately; we have also legislated that the child whose choice of story is told first will be the last to get his/ her back scratched.
And then, as Morpheus gets closer, he turns into a confused little cuddle-bunny. He keeps repeating a catchphrase over and over – it could be ‘abba, abba…’ or Mamma, mamma…’. He makes a deal with us every night that if he has a bad dream, he will come into our bed. And 6 nights out of 7, as A and I prepare to sleep, there will be a polite tap-tapping on our door. It’ll continue despite our shouts to ‘come on in and close the door’, and one of us have to ceremoniously open the door and invite the polite interloper in. At which point, he promptly demands my favourite pillow, lies down smack bang in the middle of the bed and shoved his chubby little arm down my sleeve. Caressing my arm makes him sleepy, apparently.
So…Bojjandi really reminds me of Jerry from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. I don’t know whether it’s because of his hyper-energetic body language or his chubby cheeks, pointy chin and cheeky expression which remind me of Jerry’s looks, minus the big ears. He’s an action mn from the minute he wakes up in the morning, and quite stubborn about what he wants. His day starts with plaintive wails of ‘Abba, take me down’, and he gets quite annoyed if left to sleep in. Next comes a run into the kitchen and a perch on its counter for his Yakult – since our pal has given up milk since he was weaned off the bottle about a year and a half ago – talk about stubborn! Thankfully he loves Yakult – so much so that he’s constantly pretending he hasn’t already had one, so he can have another bottle of it!
He’s a real mischief-a-minute baby, constantly looking for the next thing he could get into trouble for. Jerry, excuse me, Bojji is happiest when he’s scurrying around at a fast pace – whether he’s running around the house on his tiptoes, jumping off furniture perilously close to hitting his head on a chance occasional table or so, zipping around the house on his scooter, or ramming his bicycle into walls when forbiddenly riding it indoors. He’s a crazy chatter-box, whose stream of commentary, plaintive pleading, arguments and general purpose chat don’t stop even when he’s asleep.
I expect a flock of penguins to come take up residence in our house any day now, given his habit of opening the fridge every 15 minutes to sniff out a new snack. He’s also the supreme techno-freak in our house, even more than his dad and elder brother. As soon as his eyes open in the morning, he’s plaintively asking for the mobile phone, dad’s new galaxy note or the iPadeesh as he calls it. If thwarted, he stands on tiptoe on top of the sofa to reach the iPod and starts spinning through the tracks. In fact, I’d say he’s better versed in the technology than me (no great accomplishment J) – he’s the one who figured out how to switch on the iPod on the iPad first. We joke that he’s the kid easiest to kidnap – all it takes is a fancy mobile phone!
He loves music and any time he hears a tune, starts wiggling his bum in time to the rhythm immediately. One of the cutest things I have seen is that he’ll turn the iPod on to play a favourite song (currently Sadda Haq), switch on a blue spotlight in our living room and start dancing underneath it all by himself. It really reminds me of those T&J sequences where J is dancing ecstatically. In fact, he amazed me during a concert at Chubbocks’ school, when he identified a song within the first bars of it playing!
He thinks he’s no less than either of his siblings in terms of size or ability and constantly psyches me out by trying stunts that a toddler really shouldn’t be. He turns wheelies on his cycle or balances his whole body on the crossbar of it while I watch, my heart in my mouth, thinking he’s going to tumble off and hit his head. He keeps telling me he needs to ‘feed my neopets’, an activity actually done by Chubbocks and he has no clue what it means. He constantly argues with his siblings as to the rights and wrongs of whatever game they are playing, and watches Oggy and laughs right along with the elder two at the jokes. In fact, he’s got a definite sense of humour and loves knock-knock jokes.
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Ach
Ach-who?
Thatsh a nashty cold!
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Mister
Mister who?
Mister Plod
….and so on an infinitum, with all the characters from his favourite books and TV shows.
At bedtime, listening to stories, he’s hugely inquisitive, asking dozens of questions about every word he doesn’t understand, or the motivations of characters. He can never wait for the story to be told and keeps flipping forwards and back through the book, exasperating Puddi and Chubbocks no end. He grouches about the fact that we don’t sit on his bed ever ( it’s a crib) – in our highly litigious household, we have regulated that we will sit on a each child’s bed to tell bedtime stories alternately; we have also legislated that the child whose choice of story is told first will be the last to get his/ her back scratched.
And then, as Morpheus gets closer, he turns into a confused little cuddle-bunny. He keeps repeating a catchphrase over and over – it could be ‘abba, abba…’ or Mamma, mamma…’. He makes a deal with us every night that if he has a bad dream, he will come into our bed. And 6 nights out of 7, as A and I prepare to sleep, there will be a polite tap-tapping on our door. It’ll continue despite our shouts to ‘come on in and close the door’, and one of us have to ceremoniously open the door and invite the polite interloper in. At which point, he promptly demands my favourite pillow, lies down smack bang in the middle of the bed and shoved his chubby little arm down my sleeve. Caressing my arm makes him sleepy, apparently.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)