It takes a village…

I can see the word cliché flashing in your head as you read the title of this post, but I promise you I have a new thought this time. Just hear me out, it is momentous – me having a new thought, that is! And I promise not to beat around the bush but get to it….soon.

My children are deprived of the love and indulgence of their grandparents and extended family. Having grown up with a doting grandfather who I bossed around as a child, I feel my kids are missing out on a huge part of childhood joy. On Grandparent’s Day at school, Sahana and Ryan are generally ‘adopted’ by a friend’s grandparent for the day. It breaks my heart. At sporting events, grandparents of teammates cheer for my two. I miss my parents and my in-laws at these, they too miss out on so much! Skype and other social media have certainly made the world smaller but it is still not the same as getting a kiss from your Grammy or Didya. Living so far away from family is never fun! While rocking a screaming baby and reading to a demanding five-year old, I often wallowed in self-pity. Where were those extra pairs of hands I needed so badly? Why are my kids growing up without the cuddles of grandparents and all those uncles and aunties far away in India! So unfair that I have to raise them alone with the occasional help of my traveling spouse! Doesn’t it take a village? The discipline of us parents needs to be balanced by the indulgent love that the grandparents shower over the little ones. The grandparents get to enjoy the young ones yet don’t have to bear the responsibility of raising them, in most cases. Win win for all! Or is it?

A friend married into a family where the mother-in-law wanted to have a major part in her child rearing technique. If my friend took away the privilege of dessert from her son for bad behavior, the grand mother took the child behind the couch or table, and gave the dessert in stealth, with a warning not to let the mother hear about it. This is just one occasion of many when the parent’s authority is undermined by the extended family, sometimes blatantly and sometimes behind the back, and often times in my country, India, the parents bite their tongue and stay quiet to prevent family discord.

But this is a new age of parenting amongst the middle class world
wide. Parents are becoming more aware of the effectiveness of good parenting, they are hitting books, taking counsel. Often times,they disagree with the method the earlier generation used for child rearing which involved corporeal punishment and also giving in to unreasonable demands. Authoritarian parenting versus more democratic way of parenting that many practice now. The children were seen, not heard a generation earlier. Now the children are not only seen and heard, but they are the center of the parents’ universe around whom their lives revolve.

The older generation, often times, disagree with modern parenting. My parents never utter a single word in front of my children when I am disciplining them, but out of their earshot? Oh, watch out! They make it very clear, I am too harsh and I shouldn’t have taken away privileges for not putting away toys even after the umpteenth reminder. ‘They are only children, they will learn!’ Learn how? If I always pick up after them, I don’t see them learning anything! They need to know that action or inaction in this particular case, has consequences. Anyway, I am very grateful, they don’t undermine my parenting but many are not as lucky as I. I have heard stories of how the mother or the mother in law reprimand the parent, in front of the child, for disciplining him or her. What kind of mixed message is the child getting in that case? The child is the real sufferer here since this is what she understands,’I can make a bad choice, if my mom and dad scold me, grandma or grandpa will scold my parents so my parents don’t have the ultimate authority over me anyway! So why should I obey them?’

I live far away from both sets of the family, and I certainly miss the love and affection my children are deprived of. But I am envied by my Indian counter parts that nobody interferes with my way of dealing with bad behavior. Over the years I have made it very clear to my immediate and extended family that what I say to my children is the final word, nobody can override my decision. But that doesn’t mean I am not berated for being too harsh or tough, but that is all said in love and away from the children’s ears! I can take it! The uncles, aunts and grandparents are such an integral part of children’s life and they provide a such a fantastic sounding board to air out the grievances against those mean parents!

So here’s my two cents, finally! Where is the drumroll? I think, while it takes a village to love and nurture a child, the discipline shouldn’t be left to the village to handle. The village Elders, a.k.a parents should be given the SOLE responsibility of that department. What the Elders decide for the child should be followed by the villagers. Ye or Nay, what say, all?

Changing the world….

While walking the streets of Kolkata with my American boyfriend I mentioned once, ‘When you live with a problem it ceases to be one. I have seen people sleeping on the sidewalks since I was born, I don’t notice them anymore!’ On retrospect, it was such an insensitive comment to make. Sean stopped walking and turned around to face me. ‘I don’t ever want you to get used to people sleeping on the sidewalk. If you get used to it, how will you strive to change it and make it better?’ I knew then, this is the man I want to spend my life with.

I have not done anything to change the world in a major scale. I support my husband’s endeavor to make a difference in the world. I like to think, I am helping by keeping his world together while he does his job. But I also like to think I am doing my part by TRYING to raise two little humans to be worthy citizens of the world. I hope to instill compassion, acceptance, love and respect for others in them so when they grow up and create little ones of their own they pass along these values in a chain reaction. Hopefully one day we WILL achieve social justice for all, we WILL see an end to rape, abuse, hate killings, violence. The cynical you will call me naive, I call myself a dreamer!

“You, you may say

I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one

I hope some day you’ll join us

And the world will be as one.”

Simply couldn’t resist it, you know me!

Of course, the task isn’t easy. I get discouraged when I see meanness in them towards each other. They are rude sometimes, ill-mannered, whiny and oh, so mean. Those are the moments I truly panic. I wonder what I am doing wrong, is it nature or nurture? I plan what to say to them so they change. I search the library for meaningful books, I read parenting books to deal with situations, I lecture too much and they tune me out. Yet, my heart soars when one writes he is going to teach children in poor countries when he grows up and will buy food for them with whatever money he has and the other easily gives ALL her toys to an AIDS hospice in India at five years of age when we move from Delhi to USA. When my father takes my daughter out to buy a special dress for her birthday, she insists a new dress be bought for her little friend, whose mother cooks for my parents. In Kolkata, when a little child begs for money, both of them take her to a nearby sweet shop and have me buy the sweet of her choice. Then the older one laments they gave her unhealthy food instead of something healthy like fruit. They listen to stories of people in vulnerable conditions after the earthquake in Haiti from their dad and give all their money from their lemonade stand to be used for children in need.

I worry that my children, living their insulated, suburban life will not realize there is a whole big world out there where many children, just like them, are going to bed hungry. When I say we won’t buy any video games but read books and play outside, my then six-year-old son says, “That’s OK, I have so many toys, many children don’t!” When middle schoolers use the word ‘gay’ derogatorily, my then sixth grader stands up to say, “Don’t say that, being gay is not bad or good, it is just a way of life!” And then they fight over something trivial like a piece of candy, or torment each other till I am ready to bang my head against the wall.

Our trips to India keep them grounded to reality. They see the glittering malls, the gated communities then they see people sleeping on side walks with their families. ‘Why don’t they have a house? We want to help when we grow up! How can we help?’ I hope they grow up to feel people’s pain and as Sean said to me all those years ago, hope they never get used to the sleeping families on the side walks. Well, that is the HOPE. I am building a cathedral, so time will tell!

My favorite drink is Bud Lite, what else?

‘What is your favorite drink, Mom?’ Ryan asked me as our car passed by a liquor store. ‘I love mango Lassi, what’s yours Ryan?’ I asked politely since I knew he was bursting at the seams to tell me.

‘I love Bud Lite, yup, my absolute favorite!’ answered my seven year old son.

My husband and I exchanged glances. Both our children are very anti – alcohol, so far! Two teetotaler’s son loves Bud Lite the best, that too at age seven!!!

Last night, Ryan watched college football with his father, the games were sponsored by Bud Lite. The dudes drinking Bud Lite were portrayed as the best humans who ever graced the face of this earth. They were good looking, intelligent, good friends, popular. Of course, Bud Lite would be the drink of choice, if Ry could become as cool as those hunks. The power of advertising.

Sahana burst his bubble, ‘Ryan, Bud Lite is an alcoholic drink. You want to drink alcohol? Yuck!’

‘It is ALCOHOL???’ His face fell, ‘I thought it was a type of lemonade! Then I don’t want it!’

I didn’t say a word but I was giving silent high fives to Sahana. She can be a very positive influence on her brother. Once, I heard Ryan singing this song in his loud clear voice

I don’t know where you are going,
Just get your ASS back home!

Very concerned at his song choice, I asked him if he knew what ‘ass
back home’ meant. Without missing a beat, he said, ‘Yes, Sahana already explained to me. It is get your S back home. S stands for self, so they are saying ‘get your SELF back home!’ Oh, the joy! Mama made a mental note to give the girl an extra hug for her presence of mind.

Anyway, when he heard Bud Lite was an alcohol, Ryan was seriously depressed. He had a very unpleasant encounter with alcohol and since that incident he has vowed never to touch alcohol again in his entire life. Hallelujah! I am thinking of recording that declaration and playing it when he comes home after downing a few in his teenage!

Last Christmas, his uncle was raving about the fruity flavor of a certain expensive wine, the name of which I do not recall. Sean and I refused to try a sip despite the accolade but Ryan insisted he wanted to try it. His uncle let him. Ryan took a big gulp expecting something delicious since the grown ups were praising it so. His face turned bright red, his mouth puckered up and he spit the wine out into his sister’s bowl of pasta with a look of utter disgust and horror at the foul-tasting drink. Then he started to cry. He had never tasted anything so distasteful in his life!

That incident hopefully has scarred him for life – against alcohol. And his dad and I always tell him how he could be that special person who his friends will always love and cherish – their designated driver. He is buying it …..so far!

‘

Ummmm….so…like..are you..like reading this blog?

I check Sahana’s email randomly. She knows she shouldn’t have any expectations of privacy in social media till she is 18. Her journal, on the other hand, is her own, private sanctity, safe from her mother’s prying eyes. I respect her privacy in her journal completely. To be truthful, I am afraid to look at it, since she vents her anger in her journal and that anger, frustration is generally directed at me!

Anyway, one of her friends wrote ‘Ummmmm…so…like….why can’t you come on so and so date?’ I had heard Sahana and her peers talk that way, but to be writing like that? Isn’t that more typing? Who likes to type in today’s world of ‘idk’ and ‘ikr’ ‘omg’ and ‘rofl’? While we are talking about typing. I have seen Sahana delete the word “the” to replace it with “da”. Intrigued, I asked her the reason for doing that extra work. Her response was friends would think she had gone all “propah” on them!

I have spoken to other mothers, too many ‘like’s ‘ummmmmm’s, irritate them to no end. Why do they need to say so many ‘like’ s! Strangely enough, I find this kind of talk endearing and very age specific. Yes, I know, I may be the only one! I have seen most of them use such language with each other, but when they talk to grown ups, or give a presentation in class or in debate seminars they talk like we do…I was going to use the word normally, but as Sahana always points out ‘normal is relative’! The point is, this lingo is more of a bond between teenagers. By speaking this way they conform, belong and feel close to peers ‘I get you, bromie (bro and homie, in case you were wondering) even if the world doesn’t! I talk like you, I think LMFAO, Nicki Minaj and others of the same ilk are totally cool, even if the parents frown upon the lyrics!’ They will probably speak this way at age 12, 13 maybe 14 and then move on to becoming young women and men of grace and poise. Too much?

I am exactly where my mother was about twenty years ago.(I am becoming my mother, help!) She looked on indulgently as I used words which were ‘in’ those days. Through me she stayed connected with the happening lingo, fashion, music, cinema. She, in a way, made fun of certain words I used, my attitude, my long earrings, my elaborate bindis but I could tell she was slightly in awe of the young woman who I had become from the little girl who she held hands with, not too long ago. I was becoming a person in my own rights and while she missed her baby girl, there was the admiration and wonder in her eyes of the metamorphosis. I understand her now.

I joke around with Sahana about how she and her friends talk, the music she listens to, the gossip of celebrity that she brings home, yet in my mind I am in awe of this young woman I see emerging from my curly-haired baby girl. Already she teaches me how to write documents on google doc, she recommends books that I might like, discusses Pride and Prejudice, talks to her friends in a very teen agey way which is a desperate but cute attempt to sound mature and grown up!

Recently, I made a huge faux pas on Oscar night when I called the famous band Coldplay, Cole Slaw. My very hip and happening contemporaries shook their heads in despair and proclaimed that it is because of people like me our generation is getting a bad rep. After being duly chastised by my daughter and my friends I embarked on a journey to hip dom by listening to Sahana’s favorite songs on you tube. But the lyrics! Oh, the lyrics! I didn’t understand half the things I heard, the other half that I did understand made my face go red! The good thing that came out of all this is my reverence for my daughter’s ability to decipher the undecipherable music that blares from the radio – the raps, the computer generated/modified songs. I try to focus on the lyrics but all I hear is a human voice speaking gibberish. ‘What was that? What did he say?’ Sahana starts singing/rapping/howling along, enunciating each word for her mother’s benefit.

I cannot mask my admiration for my darling child, ‘How do you understand what they say?’

She answers back ‘How do you NOT?’

Visiting my university with the children.

On our trips back to India, I believe both my kids rediscover their mother, or at least they look at me with a new eye. They get to hear stories of their mother when she was their age! ‘Mom!!!! Our age???’ Here, at home, mom is an entity, looking after them, scolding them, constantly reminding them to pick up their book bags, behave well in school, clean their rooms, taking them to practices and play dates, kissing their hurts away, holding them close in a sudden bear hug. I don’t think they regard me as a separate individual, I am more of an extension of them. I am taken for granted, except, maybe on Mother’s Day! But when we go back, they actually pause a bit to look at me, as a separate person with a life where they didn’t belong for a while. That thought is a little unreal for them. They see my baby pictures, my school certificates, my college photos, several memories of the girl – me, the young me that my parents have saved like cherished treasures. Just like I save my children’s baby teeth, their little hand prints, their pre school artwork, with the hope that I will hold on to their babyhood, at least in my memories and relive these days when they are grown and gone! My parents even saved my kindergarten artwork, much to my children’s amusement!

It was a very hot summer morning in Kolkata. Sahana couldn’t wait to get going. We were going to visit my university. She wanted to see my university and I needed to get my transcripts so I decided to take her. The trip started inauspiciously, as we witnessed a relatively harmless auto accident. I could tell she was shaken up a bit. It was a short bus ride to the college yet the girl was drenched in sweat and red in the face. We got off and entered the gate! I was immediately transported back twenty years. It was almost surreal that I was there at my alma mater not as an eighteen year old but as a mother! I could almost see the twenty year old me with dangling earrings, long hair tied in a plait, maroon t-shirt, blue jeans sitting on the steps with friends contemplating whether it was alright to cut the next class and go to the canteen instead! The young people going around us in groups talking, laughing, teasing each other was us, about twenty years ago!

To be honest, I was so lost in my memories, didn’t pay attention to the fact that Sahana was very quiet. I started showing her where I hung out with friends, our building, the grounds, the bridges, the canteens, the pond the library, the auditorium. I was oblivious that she didn’t utter a single word still but just walked next to me and kept up. Finally, I asked her what she thought. She stayed silent for a few more seconds and said, ‘It’s…..nice, mom!’ My sweet, polite girl! I then looked around and saw my school through her eyes. She had seen the campuses of Harvard and Tufts University, her father being from Tufts and aunt from Harvard. My campus, I don’t think, quite measured up.

I could tell the heat was getting to her. We sat under a tree in the shade and looked at the huge field, where some stray dogs were gambolling around in the shimmering heat. Men and women walked by us, so young and full of hope and promise. There, I told her stories. Stories of when I first crossed the threshold of the huge campus, my nervous heart beating fast, leaving behind my sheltered life at an all girl’s school, my dreams and aspirations as an eighteen year old, stories of the laughter I shared, my fears that I faced, the mistakes I made, the thoughts that I learnt to think, the books that I read, the friends that I found and kept for life. I showed her the building where her grandfather, my father, came to study Engineering, as a young man. He walked the same paths as I did, frequented the same canteens as I, made friends, laughed a bit, gave his heart, got his heart-broken, just like I did. My ten-year old listened quietly. There was no impatience, no eye rolls, no exasperated sighs. It was a beautiful moment of bonding between us. I think the place became meaningful to her as her eyes swept through the moldy yet grand buildings, the greenish brown fields with burnt grass, the mangy stray dogs and the trash littered across.

I finished my work at the office and we took an auto home, but not before she took my camera and shot pictures of me in front of places which she heard were meaningful to me in the stories I told her.

Best of all, last year when we went back, she asked her six-year-old brother to come along to see mommy’s school. The brother was excited. He, too, like his sister, was melting in the heat on our way. He walked along with us, playing with the toy soldier he had in his hand. Never paid any attention to anything I said, or any building I pointed out. He only looked up with interest at some boys playing soccer on a field and showed some enthusiasm when I pointed out where his grand father played cricket. I think he was trying to visualize his heavy-set grand father, as an athletic young man, playing a sport. The circle of life.

I didn’t think the experience could be complete without riding a rickety public bus back home. Sahana feared that every time the bus rattled the floor would give away. Ryan noticed, with obvious glee, that he could see the road underneath through the floor of the bus. They were fantastic and uncomplaining about the heat, the dust, the walk, the bus. We treated ourselves to ice cream before going home!

JU library — Sculpture in front of the library.

Melting Ryan — Melting in the heat on a public bus.

No honor to be had around here…

I was browsing through the work of the first graders pinned on the wall, while waiting to meet Ryan’s teacher for a conference. One project caught my attention, the children had written who they ‘honored’ and why. They were all very entertaining reads. I read all the writings and colorful illustrations with a smile while searching for the one written by my son. I was curious to find out who he had honored.

There was only one which had no name on it, and I knew that was Ryan’s by the curl of the tail of lower case ‘g’! That is his idea of writing in cursive, by curling the tail of g artistically. He had honored Zach! I admit, I was slightly crestfallen. There was a secret hope/desire that I would find him honoring his mother for feeding him (that has to come first, he loves his food), taking him to sports and practices( he loves sports next). I would get all misty eyed, go ‘awwww’ and make that my Facebook status update. But there it was, ‘I honor Zach because he is a great basketball player and he tries very hard.’ First I couldn’t even remember who Zach was, after racking my brain for a while and fearing that I was slowly losing my mind, I remembered Zach. He was a fellow teammate at Ryan’s basketball clinic whom Ryan had met only six weeks ago. He, indeed, was a good player, but Ryan and Zach were certainly not tight. They probably high-fived each other after a basket, but the camaraderie ended there.

Well, maybe their bond goes deeper than I thought. Still puzzled, I attended the conference, came home and forgot all about it. Today, at lunch I remembered my slight at not being honored. Who was this Zach who usurped my place in my boy’s heart, and wanted to get at the bottom of it. I laughingly asked Ryan why did he honor Zach, his other friends had written they honored their moms, dads, friends, army, military, firemen, astronauts etc, etc and he honored Zach, who he hardly knew??? He heard my spiel with a slight smile and said ‘Did you see the alphabet at the corner of the paper?’ I did see an alphabet, yes. He said, ‘I got to think of someone who I honored whose name began with the letter Z. At first, all I could think of was zebra, so I wrote I honored zebra because they are fast. But that didn’t sound good to me. So I thought some more and remembered Zach! His name begins with a Z and so I honored him. I wanted to honor you but I didn’t get the letter M!’

Seriously? Honor someone whose name begins with one of the most difficult alphabets in English language? Who would I have thought of? Emile Zola? Zachary Taylor? Of course, Mark Zuckerberg? Oh wait, we are talking of first grade, here!

I will give you four pennies if you give me ten dollars.

I often ‘borrow’ money from my children. I am always out of change for lunch money or snack money. So I tell them ‘Just take it out of your money jar, I will pay you back!’ I keep a mental count on how much I owe them and pay them back with a little interest…..most of the times. Sahana has smartened up lately, she puts all her money in a bank account and keeps nothing at home. Young Ryan loves his money jar and he can be seen, often times, sitting in a corner, counting his pennies and nickels. I look at him and think ‘Shylock’ in my head!

Recently, I took three dollars from the above mentioned, precious money jar and asked Sean to pay him back. Since we vowed to take care of each other at our marriage, we fulfil our promise. I take care of his nourishment, his laundry, our children, he takes care of me in tricky situations, like when I have to repay my debt!

The following conversation is a result of my eavesdropping. And I am recording this because I want Ryan to read this write-up when he is doing his Major in Math at Harvard!

Before Ryan’s bedtime, Sean went to return the three dollars and decided to make it a teaching moment as well.

‘Ryan, how much is 10 minus 7?’

‘3! Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy, all the way to Japaneze!’

‘Right, big guy! So I am giving you $10 and taking $7!’

A moment of silence, then a cry of desperation,

‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING $7 FROM MY MONEY JAR???’

‘But I am giving you $10 and taking $7! So you get back your $3! Remember you said 10 minus 7 is 3! So 7 plus 3 is 10! You had 7, now I am giving you 10 but taking away your 7! So you see, you have the $3 back that mommy took from you.’

At this point, I believe Sean proceeded to take his $7 back.

Wailing.

‘NO! NO! DON’T TAKE MY $7! I will give you four pennies if you give me that $10!’

More math. More teaching, a few moments of silence and then desperate pleading.

‘Take four pennies dad, for that $10! Not $7…..!’ Sniffles added at this point!

Sean said they will talk about it the next day and left it at that!

The next morning, when Ryan woke up for school, he rubbed his eyes, sat right up on the bed and said in a groggy, morning voice, ‘Can I have my $10 dollars, dad?’

We will talk about it tonight!’ I think Sean was scared to broach the subject…. understandably. He decided to break the ten at a store and give the boy 3 one dollar bills. He also thought of using poker chips or something of lesser value than $10 to teach this complex math fact!

Once, when Ryan was about four, I was trying to teach him subtraction. I made the mistake of saying, ‘Ry, if you have 5 candies and you give 3 candies to Sahana, how many candies will you have left?’ Without missing a beat, he said, ‘I don’t want to give ANY candies to Sahana!’ I debated which lesson to teach him at that moment! The lesson of sharing or subtraction! Decided to go with math, just had Sahana give her candies to Ryan. Things went smoothly from then on!

Tonight, before going to bed, I found Ryan standing quietly in front of Sean’s bedside table.

‘What are you doing here, buddy?’ I asked.

‘Trying to see where daddy put MY $10 dollars!’

Sean and I both looked at each other and then the letter proudly stuck on our refrigerator, saying, ‘Your child, Ryan Callahan has been invited to a first grade Math instructional seminar in school….’ It is an early form of Gifted and Talented program in Math!

A proud mommy moment (or a mean mommy moment, it is a matter of perspective, really)

The day started awfully! For once I had planned to do something with the kids, on their day off from school. I was going to surprise them with a movie and a lunch out. This, you have to understand, is a big deal for my deprived children. I never make plans to go to museums, aquariums etc on their off days. They play, read, write, lounge around or work. I only oblige when they request a trip to the library. So today was going to be special. I was happy to imagine their surprised faces. But…..the day started off badly with bickering, a lot of bickering. I tried to mediate by saying, ‘Make good choices, we are going to watch a movie and go out for lunch! Bad behavior will take the privilege away!’ ‘Really?? Awesome!!! All of a sudden, peace prevailed….for a while!

Half an hour before we were about to leave, a huge fight, complete with pushing, shoving, kicking, screaming, broke out. Instead of refereeing a ‘he kicked me’, ‘she tackled me to the ground’ sort of verbal boxing match, I calmly said, ‘I am so sorry guys, the movie is off!’ Complete silence and disbelief! Sahana has trouble saying sorry, her defiant comment was ‘Fine!’ Ryan gulped down the tears quickly and said, ‘I am sorry, we can go now, I am calm!’ We didn’t go, it was disappointing for all three of us since I was looking forward to the movie as well. But we had a wonderful conversation followed by a group hug! They listened to my reason for taking away the movie privilege – if we make bad choices, there are consequences. I asked them to tell me honestly what they did wrong that morning, without blaming each other. They did. Ryan apologized to Sahana for initiating the fight, Sahana said sorry for losing her temper and pinning him down. I said I was very sorry for taking away a fun morning but I hoped they understood my reason for doing so. They both agreed I had made the right choice! Phew! Close save from being termed the ‘mean mom’ (they probably thought that in their minds, didn’t verbalize it for fear of getting into trouble)!

We had a group hug and promised to try the fun outing on a next school holiday! It was a proud moment for me as a mother for several reasons. I didn’t lose my temper, I was so tempted NOT to follow through with the consequence (darn, I really wanted to watch the movie) but stuck with it (it was hard) but most importantly, the children accepted the punishment as a result of their action. They didn’t sulk or get angry, they said they messed up, next time, they will make a better choice! That’s the whole point, isn’t it? I have to say, their crestfallen faces made me feel like a scrooge. I hate to disappoint them, giving in is so easy! I also think this post is not going to make me very popular with my family and friends, is it?

You are having a boy!

Five year old Sahana was sitting at the ultra sound technician’s office with eyes tightly shut! We were about to find out the gender of the baby in my tummy, and Sahana wanted none of it. She wanted a baby sister and she wanted it to be a surprise! The nice technician said she was not going to say it out loud, but write it for us. When we found out, we told her she could open her eyes. She immediately demanded to know the sex of the baby! So much for keeping her eyes shut. Her face fell when she found out. A boy??? Eewwwwww!

Five years old in a beautiful, magical world.

I didn’t feel quite the same way, yet, I have to admit, the word boy sounded ominous for a second. Being an only child, and having parented a girl, I was ready for another one. But what did I know about boys? How would I ever relate? Sean kept reassuring me, boys are easier, and I tried to feel calm about parenting a rowdy boy! Poor Ryan never had a chance, I had already labeled him, before he was born.

Ryan turned out to be a laid back, sweet baby with the exuberance of a puppy. He loved rolling around in the grass, sliding on smooth surfaces scaring his mother that he will have no knees left by the time he is ten, romped around making loud scary sounds but also spent hours in his world of imagination with action figures and toy cars.

Parenting a boy and a girl has had its unique joys and challenges, for sure. The girl is verbal, shares stories…..unasked. I can easily put my arms around her in a crowded mall. She puts her arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze back. She has no problem being affectionate in public, but not the boy. If I put my arm around him in public I can feel his little body stiffen. His face goes red if I kiss him in front of his friends. Yet in the privacy of our home, he sits on my lap, we cuddle as he either reads a book or tells me stories of his life…. when asked. I live for those moments.

Sahana, as a little girl, lived in the world of ‘what if’s. Life was a beautiful, magical journey and she was full of joy and wonder of it all. Mostly I marveled at her imagination, sometimes I did say, “One more what if, then we will talk about something else!” Ryan is philosophical and pragmatic. He likes to think of profound thoughts like is God real even though He doesn’t have a mom and dad. Or what were the bad guys thinking when they flew two planes in the twin towers in New York! I mean what is the point in killing themselves and thousands and thousands of people. They made a very, very bad choice, indeed. He went a step further and called them ‘stupid’ with my permission.

Sahana’s school stories mainly were of academics, grades, school projects, girl dramas and crushes as she got older. And she is… let’s just say she can make a career as a thespian if things don’t work out as an anthropologist. Ryan’s stories of school generally revolve around two main ideas – recess and lunch. Last year, if asked what he liked most about school, he answered….. you guessed it, recess and lunch. This year physical education has found a place in his heart. I eagerly wait for math and reading to be included there somewhere…hasn’t happened yet! He seems blissfully unaware of any slights against him. “So and so told me not to sit next him today because I talk too much and he wanted to have a quiet bus ride!” “Did that make you feel bad?” I asked anxiously, ready to wrap him in my arms and wipe some tears. His surprised response was ‘Why?’ Ohhhh! Because…….

Ryan gave a reason for not talking to girls much, lately. He loves, or rather loved, playing with girls. He defended them when other boys said “Girls are disgusting.” His line was “Girls are not disgusting, your mom is a girl, do you think she is disgusting?” He came up with that on his own. So when I saw my champion defender of little girls not talking about them any more, I was curious. “Don’t you play with girls?” I asked. I loved that he stood up for his girl friends. He mostly ignored my question for as long as he could , finally he couldn’t withstand my interrogation (not many people can) and ‘fessed up, “I get cool stuff from the boys, they talk about real things. Girls talk too much about ‘what if’s!” He summed it up for me, the difference between parenting a boy and a girl. They balance my world, both the ‘what if’ and the ‘real’!

The Japanese song.

I need to write a little bit of the background before I launch into the story. I am ashamed to admit my children do not have great taste in music. They have atrocious taste. I didn’t listen to classical music when I was pregnant with them, like all the good pregnancy books said I should. I listened to Hindi pop songs instead and now I am paying the price. After the candid confession, just one piece of advice to would-be moms, turn on that Beethoven, pronto, if you don’t want to be listening to Katy Perry and Eminem for a greater chunk of your life. Not that there is anything wrong with those singers, it’s just not my kind of music. Since these songs(noise) are ingrained in my brain, I hum them occasionally as I go about my chores till a gleeful, gloating voice calls out ‘Huh, you are singing Britney Spears mom! That’s our music! Haha!” Oh yes, there is certainly an imaginary line drawn between their music and our music. And sometimes when I cross the line it is like crossing over to the Dark Side, like I would be summoning the Death Eaters, momentarily! Tracy Chapman, however, is our neutral zone, along with a handful of others. On long car rides, we all can agree to sing ‘TALKIN’ ‘BOUT A REVOLUTION SOUNDS…..like a whisper…’! Thank goodness for small mercies!

For a while, it was country music. A lot of tractors, guns, trucks, finding ticks on girlfriend’s body (not kidding, there is a song of that nature by Brad Paisly, look it up) till Ryan started talking with a distinct Southern drawl. After the country music phase, Sahana and Ryan got obsessed with Rihanna’s S&M song. The refrain goes something like this…(in case you are not a Rihanna fan)

’cause I may be bad, But I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I like the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But chains and whips excite me.

Now, I don’t pay much attention to the songs that kids listen to. Yes, I admit, that is negligent parenting at its best. When they ask me to turn on the radio in the car, I turn it on to their station, heave a sigh of relief that I won’t have to hear ‘she looked at me the wrong way’ or ‘he is reaching out and touching me’ . One day, I heard my kids singing along with this particular song and I almost hit the brakes!!! Sahana, having had the talk on ‘birds and bees’ was either humming the ‘sex’ part or using the word ‘muffin’ instead of ‘sex’! Young Ryan didn’t care, he was screaming ‘Sex in the air…….excite me!’ I felt like a complete failure as a mother. I failed to instill good taste for music in my children! They are grooving to the beat of ‘chains and whips excite me’! They will not grow up as cultured music aficionados. Oh, the sorrow! I quickly changed the station to sports and was accosted by a combined shriek of “Mom….that was like our favorite song! Can you please turn it back???” “No, sorry! My turn to listen to the Orioles update!” I don’t even like the Orioles anymore. They lose almost every single game.

These days they listen to a band called Mindless Behavior. Don’t you love the name? Now that I think about it, I believe they relate to the name of the band ‘Mindless Behavior’ more than their songs, but what do I know? Anyway, this band, Mindless Behavior is made up of four sweet, thirteen year old boys who have extremely fun dance moves. The song that my kids love is ‘Where is Mrs Right? I want to meet her, travel all across the world just to see her….!’ The music video shows a Geography class, the geography teacher pulls down a map to teach the kids about different countries. All of a sudden, our four, young friends feel the need to go to Switzerland, Japan etc to look for Mrs. Right…..at age thirteen!!! My kids have been singing this song non-stop. They sing four lines, and then start from the beginning and sing those four lines again, and again and again and….till I scream “STOP THAT, NOW!!!”. When she sees poor Mom has reached her limit for tolerance, Sahana quickly puts on Yo Yo Ma to calm my nerves. It works.

But my husband doesn’t get to hear the various renditions of this song since he is mostly at work or traveling. So the other day, we were coming back from some sporting activity, the kids started singing the dreaded song of finding Mrs. Right! It would be tough for me to really write down how they sang the song but I will try.

Where is Mrs.Riii I gotta see haaaaa(her)
Travel all acos (across) the wol (world) jus (just) to mee’ (meet) haaa (her)
Get me on a fliii (flight) I gotta see haaaa
Travel all acos the worl’ jus’ to mee haaa.
Travel to LA and maybe to the Bay,
Come to Chi-Town, she mi’ (might) be out the states,
Book a fliii to London, book a fliii to France,
Cawe (Can we) go to Switzerland, cawe (can we) hit Japan?

After hearing mee haaa, see haaa, and the word Japan a few times, Sean, his chest puffed up with fatherly pride, asked me with sweet innocence, ‘Wow, they are singing a Japanese song? Where did they learn that?’ Amidst the cacophony that they themselves were creating, this comment was heard by the singers. Indignation, disbelief! Is daddy for real? A torrent of words like this followed, ‘Dad, what do you mean Japanese? It is a hit song from Mindless behavior, you don’t know anything about modern music…..’ and it went on and on. I sat back, relaxed and let the spouse take the beating! Oh, honey! You need a crash course in modern pop music that your children listen to. Can you please drive them around to their activities….. at least for a week?