Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Good Morning!

So many thoughts swirling in my head. I have a lot of posts in draft, incomplete. I start a thread of something and lose track as time catches up with me and my alarm rings for the next meeting. This morning I woke up and did the usual tasks and went in to wake up the monster.

That early (well, not very early, I admit) morning look of the monster that I get, I love. She is usually securely wrapped in her sheet, including parts of her head. Only her hair, in disarray, is visible. My immediate reaction is to jump in and squish her (yes yes, judge me for it, ever since I got over the fear of really squishing her, I mean, once she was of a normal, not that newborn baby, size, I love to do this). If I have done my bout of exercise in the morning, this is not possible. I am too sweaty! But today, since I had skipped, I jumped right in. She screwed her eyes tight as usual and tried to pretend I wasn't there.

After a bit, I said, Okay lets go baby, its time to get on the treadmill for the day. By that time the father of the lumpy, bedsheet-encased child was ready, almost. He had an early morning (well, not that early!) meeting today so he was going to go ahead of us. We were having bits and snatches of conversation. I am a most impatient mum these days. I know its not fair.

"Whats a treadmill, Amma?"

"I will tell you once you brush your teeth"

I know this stuff never happens. I mean, you postpone the moment, and you totally lose it. I know. But its okay. She knows what a treadmill is, the monkey just likes to play these games with me. Occasionally delaying things. Occasionally testing me. Always trying to ensure that the last few minutes before we leave the house can be likened to a hurricane.

The clock hands moved on uncaringly as we ran through the rest of our tasks. The husb. always says goodbye to us like a hundred times before he finally leaves. We both mostly ignore this, busy in our morning squabbles. Once in a while he loses his cool and yells at us for not caring, but mostly, since he tuned my voice out several years ago, he doesn't notice it. He came back into the room talking loudly on the phone, we ignored him as we attended to a bath involving water that was 'too hot and too cold at the same time'. We had our usual battle with the fan speed and the flung clothes. I delivered my ultimatum to the both of them

"If I find clothes flung on the floor I am going to trash them"

Yes, of course you will, they said. Smiling conspiratorially behind my back, I am sure. After all, if I trash them, I will have to go out and buy some to replace them. And that, *shudder*, will involve shopping, which I pretty much hate.

Weetabix is the breakfast of choice these days. I smuggle in some wheatgerm and some badam powder into it without anyone's knowledge. This is the monster. I eat oats with smuggled amounts of wheatgerm added. I shove some Harvest Crunch or Muesli into the husband, simply 'cause I have tons of this cereal from last month. There is another breakfast made in the house, a sane, Indian one, but that is post-hurricane, so I usually don't know what it is. Idlis, Semiya Upma, such like. The three of us would rather miss breakfast than speed-shove dosas into the hatch (although I personally LOVE dosas, and on days when I run a bit longer I feel really hungry for a salty-spicy breakfast rather than the bland oats).

A flurry of uniform-belt-socks-shoes-glasses-sharpening pencils-lunch box later, we are out the door. Thankfully since I have banned reading in the car and I manage to finish up with the breakfast at home, the car ride is a peaceful one. We talk about stuff. If the husb. is around, he of course fiddles with his phones. We immediately complain, or do what we do best, ignore him, and talk around him and his phones. She drags her bag and runs in to the school, and suddenly, its done. I feel a distinct WHOOSH in my stomach as I turn around and walk back to the car. I tell myself its foolish to miss her and pointless to feel guilty about small amounts of yelling, and acting too pricey and not explaining what a treadmill is, as I come into the office and open out the laptop and start my work-day....


Choxbox said...

All that * 2.

One kid leaves at 7:15 (has to be dropped off at bus-stop) and the other has to be dropped at school at 9. Then begins more madness.

All that leaves not much room for whooshes and such-like sounds these days. They *can* take some ignoring and yelling is what I tell myself. I mean imagine a super-patient saint-like mother. Life would be boring, no?!

dipali said...

She only does it to annoy, I'm sure- half the spice of life lies in the spats with the mater.