Kids are not kids any more. They are growing up in such a huge hurry.
Neel, at 5 ½ , came up with a shaky tooth. (but isn’t that supposed to happen after 7 ?)
That’s cuuuuuuute !
Then he showed us a big-boy tooth already growing.
Yikes, now that’s scarrrrrrrry !
Off to the dentist.
This is what it cost us :
A chocolate bribe, an icecream sundae after, a sick father burning with fever walking over to the sweet shop, a toy, a special tooth box from his friend Navya, a few more chocs from the neighbourhing mummy, another toy….
Neel was very brave about the dentist pulling out his tooth. And super thrilled about the tooth fairy taking his baby tooth away from under his pillow at night.
The next morning, Neel came running up so excited. “Mama, I tried to stay awake to see the tooth fairy, but I didn’t – but I think I heard the fairy’s stars twinkling.”
No, my little boy, with a big-boy tooth – that was just the twinkle in your eyes, I thought. Aah, the wonder, the innocence and the excitement of kid-hood !
Kids, after all, are still kids. They’ve a long way to go before the cynicism of adulthood sets in. (At least till the day Neel discovers what ‘fairy’ also means).
Part II – The next afternoon, Neel and Niks were rolling, fighting and playing rough, as only little boys can. Another yelp from Neel. His 2-year-old brother had bashed out ANOTHER tooth.
Help - here we go again !
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Life is dangerous
Got a scary email today saying microwave food is dangerous – free radicals – cancer of the intestines.
Read yesterday, they’ve finally proved that cell phone usage will end up in cancer of the brain.
Using re-cooked oil will give me cancer of whatever body part is left.
The pollution levels in the city are so high that over half of the population will get asthma or other respiratory illnesses.
The underground water has sewage seeping into it which will cause gastro-enteritis or skin problems – or probably both.
Processed food out of cans causes damage of the nervous system.
Cooked food kills all nutrients, and will leave me with iron and calcium and mineral deficiencies.
Raw food will give me salmonella poisoning.
If I stay home and watch TV –I’ll get obese – and slowly blind.
If I get out and drive in the traffic – it’s road rage and stress syndromes.
Walking in the sun causes skin cancer.
Jogging gives me heel and knee tendonitis.
I think the general prediction here is no matter what I do –
if I carry on living, I’m going to die.
So let’s go sit out in the cancerous sunshine, inhale some lung-polluting air, open the bag of carcinogenic chips and wash it down with some liver-damaging vodka.
Who wants to join me ?
Read yesterday, they’ve finally proved that cell phone usage will end up in cancer of the brain.
Using re-cooked oil will give me cancer of whatever body part is left.
The pollution levels in the city are so high that over half of the population will get asthma or other respiratory illnesses.
The underground water has sewage seeping into it which will cause gastro-enteritis or skin problems – or probably both.
Processed food out of cans causes damage of the nervous system.
Cooked food kills all nutrients, and will leave me with iron and calcium and mineral deficiencies.
Raw food will give me salmonella poisoning.
If I stay home and watch TV –I’ll get obese – and slowly blind.
If I get out and drive in the traffic – it’s road rage and stress syndromes.
Walking in the sun causes skin cancer.
Jogging gives me heel and knee tendonitis.
I think the general prediction here is no matter what I do –
if I carry on living, I’m going to die.
So let’s go sit out in the cancerous sunshine, inhale some lung-polluting air, open the bag of carcinogenic chips and wash it down with some liver-damaging vodka.
Who wants to join me ?
Monday, November 9, 2009
Annoyingest
This morning, I get a phone call
“Hello,” I say.
“Who is that?” says the other voice.
“Jane,” I reply, biting back a fittingly caustic reply.
“Oh please hold on…. ”
So, I decided today, to dedicate this blog post to the annoyingisms of daily life :
Party invitees, who turn up 2 hours after you’ve invited them, saying they had to be elsewhere, and then leave early, saying they have to be going elsewhere. (Elsewhere has since been checked out, and exists in the same category as ‘next time’ – as in, ‘next time’ you are invited to ‘elsewhere’.)
Women who starve themselves on an almond a day – and then ask if they ‘look fat in these clothes’.
My mom’s very clear un-ambiguous speech, which drives me up the wall (and from this blog, you probably think I permanently reside up there) by asking ‘Can you pass me that thing from there?’
My 2 ½ year old, who is going one day to post-graduate in annoyingism – who straight after a crash from the other room, comes running in to say, “I didn’t do it.”
My favourite - borrowed from a friend, Gaurav : The definition of a Nano-second : the time between when the traffic light turns green, and the idiot behind you starts honking.
People who send your forwards with all the chain of forwards that other people have sent them – down to 14 generations – and to add insult to environmental injury – threaten instant strokes of lightning if you don’t continue the chain.
And if you think I’m over-reacting – consider that a whole lot of people actually spent real time on this research : A research found 99 out of 100 people found the most annoying word was ‘Whatever’.
They asked the remaining 1% what she thought of it – and she said “Whatever…”
Learning : But the annoyingest of them all goes to someone who calls her blog 'daily a-musings' and then posts once in 2 weeks ;-)
“Hello,” I say.
“Who is that?” says the other voice.
“Jane,” I reply, biting back a fittingly caustic reply.
“Oh please hold on…. ”
So, I decided today, to dedicate this blog post to the annoyingisms of daily life :
Party invitees, who turn up 2 hours after you’ve invited them, saying they had to be elsewhere, and then leave early, saying they have to be going elsewhere. (Elsewhere has since been checked out, and exists in the same category as ‘next time’ – as in, ‘next time’ you are invited to ‘elsewhere’.)
Women who starve themselves on an almond a day – and then ask if they ‘look fat in these clothes’.
My mom’s very clear un-ambiguous speech, which drives me up the wall (and from this blog, you probably think I permanently reside up there) by asking ‘Can you pass me that thing from there?’
My 2 ½ year old, who is going one day to post-graduate in annoyingism – who straight after a crash from the other room, comes running in to say, “I didn’t do it.”
My favourite - borrowed from a friend, Gaurav : The definition of a Nano-second : the time between when the traffic light turns green, and the idiot behind you starts honking.
People who send your forwards with all the chain of forwards that other people have sent them – down to 14 generations – and to add insult to environmental injury – threaten instant strokes of lightning if you don’t continue the chain.
And if you think I’m over-reacting – consider that a whole lot of people actually spent real time on this research : A research found 99 out of 100 people found the most annoying word was ‘Whatever’.
They asked the remaining 1% what she thought of it – and she said “Whatever…”
Learning : But the annoyingest of them all goes to someone who calls her blog 'daily a-musings' and then posts once in 2 weeks ;-)
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday Night Fever
Then :
Remember John Travolta belting out ‘Saturday night fever –yeeeeeah !’ pointing his finger in the air, and his pelvis too?
The theme song for singles ! I couldn’t wait for the week to end – to hit the night clubs, and when they closed – 7 of us hostel girls cheaped out at the Taj Coffee Shop over 1 cup of coffee for all of us – till 6 in the morning, when we jumped the hostel gate, jumped into bed –and slept through the education our parents were paying for.
Aaah, those were the days – or rather, the Saturday nights.
Now :
Saturday night is when the fever hits all right.
104 degrees. Burning heads, puking kids.
And what every sleep-deprived parent knows : No doctors are open on Sundays.
And kids plan their urgent, sick n dying, fevers for just then. Always. Without fail. They’re as healthy as horses through the week.
Mine both kept me awake all of last night (yup – it was a Saturday) - with loosies.
“See the night – see the night, feverrrrrrrr, we know how to do it”
So from spending the night dancing the groove – to the tango with the loo.
From cocktails on our table – to a bedside table with a dozen medicine bottles.
From the juke box – to the puke box !
Remember John Travolta belting out ‘Saturday night fever –yeeeeeah !’ pointing his finger in the air, and his pelvis too?
The theme song for singles ! I couldn’t wait for the week to end – to hit the night clubs, and when they closed – 7 of us hostel girls cheaped out at the Taj Coffee Shop over 1 cup of coffee for all of us – till 6 in the morning, when we jumped the hostel gate, jumped into bed –and slept through the education our parents were paying for.
Aaah, those were the days – or rather, the Saturday nights.
Now :
Saturday night is when the fever hits all right.
104 degrees. Burning heads, puking kids.
And what every sleep-deprived parent knows : No doctors are open on Sundays.
And kids plan their urgent, sick n dying, fevers for just then. Always. Without fail. They’re as healthy as horses through the week.
Mine both kept me awake all of last night (yup – it was a Saturday) - with loosies.
“See the night – see the night, feverrrrrrrr, we know how to do it”
So from spending the night dancing the groove – to the tango with the loo.
From cocktails on our table – to a bedside table with a dozen medicine bottles.
From the juke box – to the puke box !
You've come a long way, Baby, oh yeaaaahhhh !
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Short Cuts take too long
The shortest cut from A to B for me is invariably via C, D and E as well.
I actually went from Calcutta to Delhi once via Hyderabad, which meant that I was actually flying South, when I wanted to fly North. But the fare was so tempting. Of course, I spent a good many hours more, including one hour at the Hyderabad airport, stuck in the plane.
So, it is my long-term opinion that short cuts are not worth taking. I will teach my sons this. There is no short way out – you’ve got to study for the tests. Sleeping with the book under your head will not transfer the material magically to your brain in the night. I’ve tried it. Transfer Failure. Translated further into Test Failure too.
D’you know, there is no short cut in life, Nikash, I said to him this morning on our way to play school.
I no know, said Nikash, which is his standard reply to anything asked from complex philosophical phenomenon to What will you eat for Dinner?
There is no short cut, I repeat. And then I see before me a humungous pile-up of cars at a stubbornly red signal. And equally suddenly, I see the back lane that turns off to the left, and I swing the car over to the lane. It seems empty. Of course it is. It is a dead-end. Aaaah – so I turn back and take the next lane, which turns out to be a one-way, with a rather unsympathetic cop at the end. I turn back and get stuck, (now with a 100 buck fine too, in my hand) in the first humungous traffic pile-up, which has become even more humungous during my antics.
Why didn’t you remind me, Nikash, that there are no short cuts if life? I ask him.
I no know, he replies.
But I dream of the day when there will be tailor-made short cuts. Like 1 switch will replace the 1 hour that it takes to get 1 dosa down Nikash’s mouth. Or 1 button which will cook a 3-course-meal. Or 1 phone call which will get a 3-year-degree without studying for it. Hey, hang on – that’s possible. In Bihar, at least it was.
That brings me to the fact that everyone else seems to know how to take these short cuts and win. The auto-driver zooms past on the wrong side of the road, and makes it past the signal in time. A pushy mom pushes her pushy kid right up to the bank counter, while I wait in the never-moving queue. And all my landlord’s sons in Bihar became doctors while they just lay on their cots the whole day and chewed cud.
That’s ok. See – there are some things you gotta do just because they are right. I tell my little boy while bringing him home. Cheaters never prosper. It’s better to do things the long way and to do them right.
I know, says Nikash.
I turn to him with surprise, then give him a hug, while the light turns green, and the other cars whizz past.
I actually went from Calcutta to Delhi once via Hyderabad, which meant that I was actually flying South, when I wanted to fly North. But the fare was so tempting. Of course, I spent a good many hours more, including one hour at the Hyderabad airport, stuck in the plane.
So, it is my long-term opinion that short cuts are not worth taking. I will teach my sons this. There is no short way out – you’ve got to study for the tests. Sleeping with the book under your head will not transfer the material magically to your brain in the night. I’ve tried it. Transfer Failure. Translated further into Test Failure too.
D’you know, there is no short cut in life, Nikash, I said to him this morning on our way to play school.
I no know, said Nikash, which is his standard reply to anything asked from complex philosophical phenomenon to What will you eat for Dinner?
There is no short cut, I repeat. And then I see before me a humungous pile-up of cars at a stubbornly red signal. And equally suddenly, I see the back lane that turns off to the left, and I swing the car over to the lane. It seems empty. Of course it is. It is a dead-end. Aaaah – so I turn back and take the next lane, which turns out to be a one-way, with a rather unsympathetic cop at the end. I turn back and get stuck, (now with a 100 buck fine too, in my hand) in the first humungous traffic pile-up, which has become even more humungous during my antics.
Why didn’t you remind me, Nikash, that there are no short cuts if life? I ask him.
I no know, he replies.
But I dream of the day when there will be tailor-made short cuts. Like 1 switch will replace the 1 hour that it takes to get 1 dosa down Nikash’s mouth. Or 1 button which will cook a 3-course-meal. Or 1 phone call which will get a 3-year-degree without studying for it. Hey, hang on – that’s possible. In Bihar, at least it was.
That brings me to the fact that everyone else seems to know how to take these short cuts and win. The auto-driver zooms past on the wrong side of the road, and makes it past the signal in time. A pushy mom pushes her pushy kid right up to the bank counter, while I wait in the never-moving queue. And all my landlord’s sons in Bihar became doctors while they just lay on their cots the whole day and chewed cud.
That’s ok. See – there are some things you gotta do just because they are right. I tell my little boy while bringing him home. Cheaters never prosper. It’s better to do things the long way and to do them right.
I know, says Nikash.
I turn to him with surprise, then give him a hug, while the light turns green, and the other cars whizz past.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Tarzan & the Apes
Last week, we drove far and high into the Nilgiri mountains to get away from it all.
11 friends. No cells, no email, no TV, no electricity, no cars, no smoke….
Planned activities : 6 am steep mountain trek in fresh air
Actual activities : Finished a bottle of Chivas at night, and no one woke up for fresh mountain air or steep trek.
Instead, every day, took a jeep safari deep into the jungle. Aah, the beauty of trees, the smell of fresh rain, the chill of mist, the sound of silence…
“Look there’s a black panther”
“What other colour panther is there?”
“Pink Panther.”
“That’s not a panther. That’s a flying fox.”
“Foxes can’t fly. That’s a kingfisher.”
“Kingfisher is what my Dad drinks” ….
Warning : For the sound of silence, please leave 5-year-olds at home.
Actual no. of panthers seen = ZERO
Panther seen however by a barking deer, (according to our guide), which let out an alarm call. (Or may have been the backfiring of another safari jeep).
Wildlife seen : Deer, and more deer, and more deer. The deer were sending out embossed invites to their second cousins, removed thrice, to come and see the funny humans in the jeep.
Also seen : 1 wild, vicious, huge Indian bison – gaur. Neel got so excited, he almost fell out of the jeep, and got trampled by the vicious wild bison, which instead turned its humungous butt to us, and carried on munching grass and emitting greenhouse gases.
Result : 1 photograph of humungous butt of indeterminate origin.
Not seen on safari: a single leopard or tiger or even wild boar. But as a PR exercise, a whole family of wild boar piglets waddled over to our tent that night, to share our dinner.
Yup, it was a beautiful, blissful, brilliant getaway – marked by a singular lack of worry – about the things that usually worry us.
For example :
No. of calories consumed = 6 million and 47 (all by me).
Result : 1 photograph of humungous-butt bison again (oh, sorry, that was ME !)
For example again :
No. of rocks Niks climbed = 329
No. of rocks Niks fell off = 329
We went as 6 adults and 5 kids, and came back as 11 kids.
11 friends. No cells, no email, no TV, no electricity, no cars, no smoke….
Planned activities : 6 am steep mountain trek in fresh air
Actual activities : Finished a bottle of Chivas at night, and no one woke up for fresh mountain air or steep trek.
Instead, every day, took a jeep safari deep into the jungle. Aah, the beauty of trees, the smell of fresh rain, the chill of mist, the sound of silence…
“Look there’s a black panther”
“What other colour panther is there?”
“Pink Panther.”
“That’s not a panther. That’s a flying fox.”
“Foxes can’t fly. That’s a kingfisher.”
“Kingfisher is what my Dad drinks” ….
Warning : For the sound of silence, please leave 5-year-olds at home.
Actual no. of panthers seen = ZERO
Panther seen however by a barking deer, (according to our guide), which let out an alarm call. (Or may have been the backfiring of another safari jeep).
Wildlife seen : Deer, and more deer, and more deer. The deer were sending out embossed invites to their second cousins, removed thrice, to come and see the funny humans in the jeep.
Also seen : 1 wild, vicious, huge Indian bison – gaur. Neel got so excited, he almost fell out of the jeep, and got trampled by the vicious wild bison, which instead turned its humungous butt to us, and carried on munching grass and emitting greenhouse gases.
Result : 1 photograph of humungous butt of indeterminate origin.
Not seen on safari: a single leopard or tiger or even wild boar. But as a PR exercise, a whole family of wild boar piglets waddled over to our tent that night, to share our dinner.
Yup, it was a beautiful, blissful, brilliant getaway – marked by a singular lack of worry – about the things that usually worry us.
For example :
No. of calories consumed = 6 million and 47 (all by me).
Result : 1 photograph of humungous-butt bison again (oh, sorry, that was ME !)
For example again :
No. of rocks Niks climbed = 329
No. of rocks Niks fell off = 329
We went as 6 adults and 5 kids, and came back as 11 kids.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Most precious
What’s the most precious thing you have? Asks a friend. If there’s a fire, what are you going to take out of home with you? Given that all people and dogs and fish are out, of course.
Don't think too long. Remember, there's a fire.
I’d first take the photos. My babies, sepia-tinted me as a baby myself, of friend-filled manic years, of getting married (if only to prove I once had a 24 inch waist) – these are memories – can’t let them burn.
Then to the kitchen to take the recipe books full of Ma’s hand-written recipes that no one else on the planet can make… ooops, kitchen’s full of smoke – oh that’s ok – I left the fried egg still frying. While here, must take Nik’s sipper – cos without it, he’ll never drink a drop again (Alcoholic Anonymous’ pledge).
Can’t take something of Nik’s and not Neel’s. Will have World War 3. OK, take Neel’s light shoes with Xoxo masters on them. And his glow-in-the-dark pig. Oh, there’s his birthday drawing for his Dad – a dinosaur eating up someone (hopefully not his Dad) – must take that.
The antique grandfather clock, the wedding portrait of my parents (which makes everyone ask how 2 good looking people produced someone like me J ) , the sword we got from Venice, the hand-made quilt.
My jewellery? Or will the fire melt it to one solid lump of gold, which I can use to fill my teeth. Our leather-bound family bible. S’s bible – the Best of Rolling Stones. Our collection of Just William books.
MY LEVIS JEANS.. nothing else makes my legs look so long…
Fire all over the house now !
Box full of papers? Proof of birth, proof of marriage, proof of graduation….S’s 180 proofs?
Too much to take, too little time.
And then I hear the little voice that says : Leave it all behind. You’ll go, as you entered. Without anything.
Don't think too long. Remember, there's a fire.
I’d first take the photos. My babies, sepia-tinted me as a baby myself, of friend-filled manic years, of getting married (if only to prove I once had a 24 inch waist) – these are memories – can’t let them burn.
Then to the kitchen to take the recipe books full of Ma’s hand-written recipes that no one else on the planet can make… ooops, kitchen’s full of smoke – oh that’s ok – I left the fried egg still frying. While here, must take Nik’s sipper – cos without it, he’ll never drink a drop again (Alcoholic Anonymous’ pledge).
Can’t take something of Nik’s and not Neel’s. Will have World War 3. OK, take Neel’s light shoes with Xoxo masters on them. And his glow-in-the-dark pig. Oh, there’s his birthday drawing for his Dad – a dinosaur eating up someone (hopefully not his Dad) – must take that.
The antique grandfather clock, the wedding portrait of my parents (which makes everyone ask how 2 good looking people produced someone like me J ) , the sword we got from Venice, the hand-made quilt.
My jewellery? Or will the fire melt it to one solid lump of gold, which I can use to fill my teeth. Our leather-bound family bible. S’s bible – the Best of Rolling Stones. Our collection of Just William books.
MY LEVIS JEANS.. nothing else makes my legs look so long…
Fire all over the house now !
Box full of papers? Proof of birth, proof of marriage, proof of graduation….S’s 180 proofs?
Too much to take, too little time.
And then I hear the little voice that says : Leave it all behind. You’ll go, as you entered. Without anything.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A 100 miles. In baby steps.
Learning : going to begin this with a learning this time. In order to run, walk or things like this, you must set SMALL milestones. Count in steps.
Case Study of Day 1 :
2 minutes to get my running shoes on.
Can’t find matching red sock – does it matter? Marco has 1 chewed red sock in his basket. Ugggh – can’t wear that. Will wear one red sock and one striped (can’t find other striped sock too).
That took 10 minutes. Oh well !
2 minutes to breathe in and breathe out – before starting on my run.
Haha – look at my stomach when I breathe out – looks at least 5 months pregnant.
Down the lift.
Up the lift. It’s going to rain. Best take an umbrella. Must go running. Come rain or shine. That’s me.
Can’t find the umbrella. Wear a hooded jacket instead. Now, I look like a serious runner. Or a terrorist. Must change into pink track pants to match the jacket.
25 minutes. Have not started the run yet.
Ok. Make it down the lift to the back gate.
Meet a neighbour who asks about school admission. 17 minutes.
10 steps to the tailor shop. 10 steps to the lamp post.
Meet a boy walking a pup peeing on the lamp post.
Stop to coochie coo the puppy. 8 minutes of giving gyan to boy and pup.
Pup is now looking at my leg as a substitute for the lamp post.
Time to run.
20 steps to the dhobi cart.
Cell phone rings. Old friend from Delhi. 20 minute chat about how I have started running seriously, while resting on a tree trunk.
Serious run now. 14 steps to the next tree.
Cell phone rings. Spend 6 minutes trying to explain to someone why I can’t talk now.
15 steps to the … shoelace opens out.
Bend to tie shoelace and then do 3 steps to the street corner.
Starts to rain. Where’s my umbrella ?
Aaah. Left it at the first tree or second tree or dhobi cart?
14 steps to the shelter of Sree Krishna Sweet Mart. Fastest run of the day yet.
Rains for 15 minutes.
I consume 2 pieces of mysur pak and 1 over sweetened badam milk shake.
Not good to run on a full stomach.
Call home and ask S to pick me up and take me back home.
Feeling real good. Running is real good.
Must do this every day.
Friday, September 4, 2009
what's your dword ?
I stubbed my toe on the $#** door jamb that is supposed to keep the door open.
“damn”, I shout, then seeing Nik (2 ½ years old) - “damnnadiffadoooodidoodilaaaa ! “
We all have a favourite word – the one that comes out first – when that son-of-a-female-dog driver cuts in front of you, or the lice-infested, onion-smelling boss calls you in on a Sunday to office. Or when the damnadooodillaaa door jamb stubs your toe…
I call them dwords (door jamb words), and they tell me more about people than anything else does. Here are some of the results of my life-long research. Feel free to add your own.
“AIIYYO” = “All people listen, I am a proud southie and I don’t care what You think, so sod Off !”
“Oh God” = I don’t think there’s a God, if this is happening to me.
“Awesome” = I have a limited American vocabulary of words like “like”
“Yeeeeoooow “ = I’ve been watching too much Cartoon Network
“Shit” = i was born before MTV
“Fcuk” = I am so fcucking uber-cool that I need to use fcuk 5 times in a sentence before I brush my teeth
“Aaaaaah “ = I am a normal human being in a normal reaction of pain… (which is why you never hear anyone saying this).
While writing this, Nik, who has dropped a monster truck on his own toe screams “Mamaaa ! “ – that’s his dword – and it means “Mama, drop whatever you’re doing (on your toe) and get your butt here at once to make the pain go away! “
“HaHa” says S, which is his dword, since he finds almost everything funny. Also called Laughing Buddha by a wise friend, he is an unflappable person who finds a furious screaming Nik, who immediately stops crying when a furious me arrives, and then immediately drops the same monster truck on his same toe – funny !!!
And suddenly I feel a laugh coming on myself… hehe haha.
“HaHa” – yup – that’s a great positive dword – I will use it from now on till forever.
Nik looks at both his parents cracking up and drops the monster truck – on MY door-jambed toe !
“DAAAMNADADILLLAADILOOOOOOOOOOO” !
“damn”, I shout, then seeing Nik (2 ½ years old) - “damnnadiffadoooodidoodilaaaa ! “
We all have a favourite word – the one that comes out first – when that son-of-a-female-dog driver cuts in front of you, or the lice-infested, onion-smelling boss calls you in on a Sunday to office. Or when the damnadooodillaaa door jamb stubs your toe…
I call them dwords (door jamb words), and they tell me more about people than anything else does. Here are some of the results of my life-long research. Feel free to add your own.
“AIIYYO” = “All people listen, I am a proud southie and I don’t care what You think, so sod Off !”
“Oh God” = I don’t think there’s a God, if this is happening to me.
“Awesome” = I have a limited American vocabulary of words like “like”
“Yeeeeoooow “ = I’ve been watching too much Cartoon Network
“Shit” = i was born before MTV
“Fcuk” = I am so fcucking uber-cool that I need to use fcuk 5 times in a sentence before I brush my teeth
“Aaaaaah “ = I am a normal human being in a normal reaction of pain… (which is why you never hear anyone saying this).
While writing this, Nik, who has dropped a monster truck on his own toe screams “Mamaaa ! “ – that’s his dword – and it means “Mama, drop whatever you’re doing (on your toe) and get your butt here at once to make the pain go away! “
“HaHa” says S, which is his dword, since he finds almost everything funny. Also called Laughing Buddha by a wise friend, he is an unflappable person who finds a furious screaming Nik, who immediately stops crying when a furious me arrives, and then immediately drops the same monster truck on his same toe – funny !!!
And suddenly I feel a laugh coming on myself… hehe haha.
“HaHa” – yup – that’s a great positive dword – I will use it from now on till forever.
Nik looks at both his parents cracking up and drops the monster truck – on MY door-jambed toe !
“DAAAMNADADILLLAADILOOOOOOOOOOO” !
Sunday, August 30, 2009
101st Dalmation
I woke up one day covered with spots. Red itchy ones.
Measles, I think. Finally, I get to sit back in bed while everyone pampers me.
No, said the doc, it’s an allergy. NO bed.
What am I allergic to, I ask? Doctors – HaHa.
The doc is not amused.
I go through 2 months of tests.
Pin pricks, punch pricks, a patch test (which makes me look like a robot, because I have this huge patch full of 30 little spots stuck onto my back). I tell the nurse when she comes to pull it off - So now, you’re going to open up my back and replace my batteries.. Haha.
The nurse is not amused. She yanks the patch off, and I yell.
Mental note : Add nurses to my allergies.
3 months of spots over… no diagnosis. 5 more doctors consulted.
Dermatologists, Derma-toxi-tolgoists, Derma-I have a degree from Scotland-tologists.
A lot of my money goes. None of the spots go.
Says the Derma-I am dead serious about this -tologist – You need a skin biopsy.
I dissolve into tears. I have Cancer. Then I remember, that if I have Cancer, I have precious little time, so I must not waste my time crying. I must make a Will.
I realize I have less money in the bank, and more debts to pay – that is not a good thing to Will someone I love. No Wills. Back to crying.
4 months – Don’t be an idiot. Go to a Homeopath, say All the Wise Ones, in my life.
I flush out all the pills. And go to the Homeopath.
No, No, You have done it all wrong, says this doc, You are poisoning yourself. Allopathy kills. Drink water, don’t drink coffee, don’t kill yourself.
I take lots of sweet little white balls. I get a new red spot for every homeo ball I take.
I also have huge migraines from not having coffee.
Bye to the Homeo, Back to the coffee.
If I am going to die, I want to die happy.
It’s now been 6 months of spots.
Take Safi to clean your blood, says my Mother (Mothers know best?)
Take bitter gourd juice in the morning, says another Wise One.
You are allergic to your dog, says another doctor. (Poor Marco goes through 5 weeks of tic-tac medicinal baths and doesn’t know what’s hit him.)
You are allergic to dust, pollen, bugs, mosquitoes (say docs numbers 5 to 8).
You have spotted swine flu, says someone who has been watching too much news.
I have now done so many tests, that I can google myself as a case study.
I can never wear shorts again in my life – booo hoooo !
I will never be cured of my allergic cancer to dogs and dust mites and doctors. Boo hooooo !
Woke up this morning to even more spots.
Mama, says Neel, you look amazing ! You’ve turned into a leopard.
I LOVE YOU, NEEL !
Measles, I think. Finally, I get to sit back in bed while everyone pampers me.
No, said the doc, it’s an allergy. NO bed.
What am I allergic to, I ask? Doctors – HaHa.
The doc is not amused.
I go through 2 months of tests.
Pin pricks, punch pricks, a patch test (which makes me look like a robot, because I have this huge patch full of 30 little spots stuck onto my back). I tell the nurse when she comes to pull it off - So now, you’re going to open up my back and replace my batteries.. Haha.
The nurse is not amused. She yanks the patch off, and I yell.
Mental note : Add nurses to my allergies.
3 months of spots over… no diagnosis. 5 more doctors consulted.
Dermatologists, Derma-toxi-tolgoists, Derma-I have a degree from Scotland-tologists.
A lot of my money goes. None of the spots go.
Says the Derma-I am dead serious about this -tologist – You need a skin biopsy.
I dissolve into tears. I have Cancer. Then I remember, that if I have Cancer, I have precious little time, so I must not waste my time crying. I must make a Will.
I realize I have less money in the bank, and more debts to pay – that is not a good thing to Will someone I love. No Wills. Back to crying.
4 months – Don’t be an idiot. Go to a Homeopath, say All the Wise Ones, in my life.
I flush out all the pills. And go to the Homeopath.
No, No, You have done it all wrong, says this doc, You are poisoning yourself. Allopathy kills. Drink water, don’t drink coffee, don’t kill yourself.
I take lots of sweet little white balls. I get a new red spot for every homeo ball I take.
I also have huge migraines from not having coffee.
Bye to the Homeo, Back to the coffee.
If I am going to die, I want to die happy.
It’s now been 6 months of spots.
Take Safi to clean your blood, says my Mother (Mothers know best?)
Take bitter gourd juice in the morning, says another Wise One.
You are allergic to your dog, says another doctor. (Poor Marco goes through 5 weeks of tic-tac medicinal baths and doesn’t know what’s hit him.)
You are allergic to dust, pollen, bugs, mosquitoes (say docs numbers 5 to 8).
You have spotted swine flu, says someone who has been watching too much news.
I have now done so many tests, that I can google myself as a case study.
I can never wear shorts again in my life – booo hoooo !
I will never be cured of my allergic cancer to dogs and dust mites and doctors. Boo hooooo !
Woke up this morning to even more spots.
Mama, says Neel, you look amazing ! You’ve turned into a leopard.
I LOVE YOU, NEEL !
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