Of Calligraphy and Calvin

The boys are unofficially on term break now. While I'm pretty much allowing them to do what they want, I have, however, insisted that they both do two pages of handwriting EVERYDAY -- one in English and one in Bangla. This is because,
a) their handwriting sucks,
b) gives the gadgets in the house a break,
c) it gives them something to do, and
d) it keeps them out of my hair.

I was wrong about (d). Soooo wrong.

Anyway, the EO is sitting and writing a script...the sequel to "Kickass" is you please, and he wants me to send it to Hollywood. Not satisfied enough with his screenwriterly ambitions, I still point out that he needs to write properly as the original purpose behind the exercise is good penmanship. After all, who needs to foster creativity when one's handwriting can conquer the world, am I right? And besides, our schools are doing such a brilliant job in the first place, no? (snigger-snigger-sob) So my son gives out a long, deep sigh, one that would do any long-suffering writer proud, and says, "Nothing spoils fun more than when it leads to building character."

I stopped in my tracks, turned around and asked him to repeat it. He did. Clearly and precisely. "Nothing spoils fun more than when it leads to building character." It sounded vaguely familiar so I asked him where he'd got it from. "Calvin and Hobbes", he smiled.

Wonderful! Just what I needed, my boy quoting Calvin. Possibly modelling himself in his image too! *shudder*

And then he started singing, "Another Brick in the Wall" at the top of his voice.
*gulp-gulp-shudder-gulp*

Movie Time With the Brats

This evening, the EO was watching "The Artist." With a lot of interest and a lot of curiosity. As is his nature, he asked about 545 questions during the 100 minute movie... Sigh...

I like this, though. The fact that after watching something like "Shaolin Soccer" on repeat for the last three days, the boy sits down to watch a classy movie like "The Artist." It's the same reason that while I may cringe at the EO's love for these crass, ugly, new Bollywood numbers, he adores Beethoven and Rabindrasangeet and Queen and Sufi... It's the same with his reading habits. While he loves the Wimpy Kid series, still reads Geronimo Stilton, he's also into Tintin and Asterix and Shakespeare (abridged) and Satyajit Ray.

And that is important. The fact that we expose our children to every genre. They will pick and choose their favouites and have a more well-rounded, balanced appreciation of art, literature, films, theatre and what-have-you.
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While watching "The Artist", the conversation suddenly turned to beauty spots. The EO asked me if they are always drawn on and I said no, that usually people are born with them, and so saying, I showed them the one on my chin. Then the conversation turned to birthmarks and both the boys launched into a frenzied search for beauty spots and birthmarks upon their person. The EO tiumphantly declared that he'd found a beauty spot and was content. The YO had been born with quite a prominent birthmark, but it has started to fade over the last few years. Unable to find a suitable replacement he suddenly beams and exclaims, eyes a-twinkling, "I know! I know what my birthmark ijj! Everybody sayjj I'm cute, right? So that's my birthmark! I'm cute!"

Oh baby! He certainly is, more than he can imagine! And just like it's his birthmark to be cute, it's my birth right to squoosh and squish him to my heart's delight!
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After 'The Artist', 'Ratatouille' starts playing and the boys and I continue watching for a while. There's a scene when Remy's running on the beams in the attics trying to discover where he is and that blink-and-you'll-miss-it scene plays out...the one of an arguing French couple. Through the hole in the ceiling that Remy runs past, we see the angry couple standing face to face, the woman is holding a gun, Remy passes on, we see nothing but our friendly little rat running and then we hear a gunshot; startled, Remy turns back to the hole, and we see the man holding the woman's hand, the gun must have gone off in a struggle and the couple stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds before falling onto each other's lips and sucking face. It sounds longer than it really is, the whole scene does play out in a few seconds flat and it really is blink, wink, sneeze and you'll miss it.

But of course my boy's do none of the above and they see the whole scene and the EO shakes his head and turns his attention to the iPad on his lap, his cheeks turning red, while the YO giggles and whispers something in his big brother's ear. I pounce on him and ask him what's so funny. He shakes his head. I ask again. He shakes his head again when big brother jumps in to save little brother.

EO: It's nothing Mamma. Just the French doing what they usually do.
M4: Whaaaat?? And what makes you such an expert on the French and their habits? (Was he wrong? He'd got the stereotype down pat!)
EO: Oh come on Mamma, the whole Europe is...you know...romanta! (Totally making up this word to give it a European sounding flavour)
YO: (pipes in to add weightage to his brother's words) Yesh! Mamma, thish time on de Eiffle Tower, Dada saw two French people kissing for ONE HOUR!
EO: (a little irritated by his brother's exaggeration) Nooo!! Not one hour! For five minutes! If it was for one hour, then you can't breathe!

I am genuinely concerned about where he's getting all his info from and forming his own conclusions!

#WFHMs and Growing Boys

The boys' holidays have started, unofficially. Exams got over Friday morning and by Friday afternoon they had already managed two things:
1) mentioned the word 'bored' 245 times, and
2) had Mamma wishing she took Valium.

Sigh. This is why I hate it when school is closed...

Yes, I said it. You can hand me 'The Bad Mamma Award' now.

This morning, as I attempted to get some work done, I had the YO trying to snuggle into my lap so that he could carry on a conversation about his love for sports, while the EO went round and round in circles asking me questions about Robespierre and Mary Antoinette. They  effect of yesterday's viewing of "Mr. Peabody & Sherman", you see.

Didn't have the heart to throw them out of my room, because man! They're growing up! I mean, the little one starts Class 3 next month and the elder one, why, he crosses over to the Big School! Literally! It's another building altogether, across the street from their safe little haven. A whole new world, if you look at it.

We've been trying to prepare him for it over the last few weeks. About the big boys, the indifferent teachers, the possibility of bullies and the need to stick with your friends. I think we did too good a job, because the other day when my MIL asked him how it felt to be on the threshold of Class 6 and Big School he replied that he was ready for his "descent into hell." Hmmmm, I think we scared him more than prepared him!

And then, on Sunday, I was lying down on my bed, reading a great book, when he suddenly zipped into my room and threw himself on top of me to give me the tightest, bone-crushingest hug possible, making silly, little boy sounds. My heart over-flowing with love for this beautiful boy of mine who I gave birth to ten years ago, but still seems like yesterday, I asked him, a little scared, "EO, don't you want to grow up?" And he looks into my eyes and says. "No."
M4: Why?
EO: Growing up bad. Me no like growing up. Me stay small.
M4: So you want to be Peter Pan all your life?
EO: Hai. Si. (apart from braces, the boy seriously needs some language lessons as well...he's been wanting to learn Japanese and Spanish since forever. Now added to the list is Greek, for some reason)

Anyway, the point is that I don't want it either. For them to grow up. I'd like to be able to manipulate time. I'd like to be able to bottle up their babyhood and toddlerhood. I'd like them to remain beautiful, innocent and sensitive forever.

And with them, I'd like to be forever young too.

Puppito

So we got a dog. Six months ago. A golden retriever and we named him Puppito.

So we got a dog. Six months ago. A golden retriever and we named him Puppito.

Ok, ok. I named him Puppito...I was just trying to be clever. My YO scratched his head and asked me, seriously, "Sho dujj that mean that we have to call him Doggito when he becomes big?" Errrm...no.

Anyway. We got a dog.

And I'm not happy.

You know how some people like other people's kids? Yeah, well, I'm the person who likes other people's dogs.

Anyway, I was outvoted and now we have a dog.

He's quite a cute critter, I have to admit, but I think he would have been just doggone fabulously handsome on the Internet and had me going 'Awwww' at his pics. But, as he lives, pees, poops and pukes in my house, on my carpets and chews up my new shoes, the 'Awwww's are very few and far between.

I've had many 'Awwww' moments vis-a-vis the boys though, thanks to him. One which happened quite recently in fact. 

On the way back home from a birthday party a few evenings ago:-

YO: Mamma, Puppito's O+, right?

EO: No he's not! He's AB+ or something else. Not O+.

M4: How on earth would you know this?

EO: No...I just think so...

YO: (after a few seconds pause) You see, I put my one hand on his heart and my the other hand on my heart, see? And then I heard, dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak... It was happening at the same time, and so that's how I know!

EO: Noooo! Dogs are not the same as us...they have a heart and blood vessels and blood just like us, but their bone marrow is different. Right, mamma?

M4: Errrmmm, uhhhh...

The Big Bang Theory

So I was watching a re-run of an old episode from 'The Big Bang Theory' last night. The one where Raj admits to Penny that their one-night stand ultimately didn't culminate into a 'big bang'.

Anyway, of course the word 'sex' is used liberally and of course my 10-year-old EO happens to walk in and out of the room each time the word is used. I can't even hit the bl***y pause button because there are sub-titles and well dammit, the boy can read!

So of course he hears the word, grins loonily, catches me watching him intently and immediately stuffs his fingers into his ears. So I ask him, "What?" He just shouts back, "WHAT?"

To cut a long story short I ask him if he knows what the word means and he says he does. I ask him to explain and he gives me the school-yard-giggle-giggle-nudge-nudge-wink-wink definition of it. I sigh. Then I take a deep breath. Followed by many others. And then I launch into a quick, short and most uncomfortable Sex Ed 101 lesson.

He's kind of in shock and disbelief. So am I, quite frankly. I preferred our earlier conversation two or three years ago when in answer to his question, "Mamma, what does 'sex' mean?" I'd quickly replied, "Male or female. Boy or girl."

The conversation is far from over. But it's a start. Along with the feelings of shock, disbelief and yes, embarrassment, I am also feeling relief.

The glass of wine later that night was truly well deserved.

February Faves

February 6th, 2013:

So the boys were picking me up after my theatre workshop at the studio today and were siting in the car, waiting patiently for me. The moment I cam into view, one of them started blowing an endless stream of kisses my way while the other started jumping up and down, screaming, "Mamma! Mamma! Mammaaaa!!!..."

Man! They make me feel like a rockstar!

February 22nd, 2013:

My EO, is reading Hamlet! HAMLET! That's right, my nine-year-old son is reading William Shakespeare's "Hamlet"! Granted that it's an abridged, study version, but the thing is, he saw it on my MIL's study table, picked it up, made himself comfortable and started reading it, thoroughly engrossed!

You bet I'm kicked!

A Hearty Half-Dozen, My YO

My darling YO,

Shripm. Chingri Maach. Piprey. Elf. Pipsqueak.

Yes my son. You're still small and skinny. Another year and it still looks like I don't feed you. Another year of me obsessing with weight...mine and yours. Another year of me teasing you about being the shortest in your class.

But oh no! You immediately get all fired up and confidently say, "No mamma! I'm not! I'm only the number four shortest in my class!"

I think this defines you. Your confidence in what you say and do. You comfort in who and what you are. Your marvellous ability to stand up for what is the truth and to stick by it. You've shown it time and again. Small and tiny you may be, but when it comes to standing by your truth, defending yourself and those you love, holding on to your principles and convictions, my little one, you are as strong and as sturdy as the mighty oak. 

I pray this quality always stays with you, my love. This and all the other endearing ones that make you so perfect and so proud to be your mamma.

Your love for us. For all of us! Oh, it makes me melt! You declare it from sun up to sun down, how you love your "mudur, fadur, brudder, cousin brudder, cousin shishter, nammu, dadu, manuku, daduku, (my) whole famileee!" And then, when you realise you might have left out someone, like your mamu for example, you start all over again! And you make it a point of telling us all! Sometimes in song!! 

To see you do your flips, cartwheels, tumbles and what-not, makes me rue again the fact that there is no such thins as 'gymnastics' in this city!! What a waste of a flexible body! What a waste of talent! What a waste of a beautiful smile as you twist, turn and contort about in ease and grace! I haven't given up yet, though. You are also a natural born dancer. Your body moves to the beat with such easy fluidity that I often have to pick my jaw up from the floor when I watch you. I am really thinking about putting you into Hip-Hop or B-Boy classes. 

You're already so comfortable on stage. Seeing your brother on stage has been a huge source of inspiration to it and that's why, these last three years, you've been rocking it during Durga Pujo. I also love the fact that you are enjoying drama class and how much you advertise it to your friends. It does become problematic when you call me "Mamma" during class, but truth be told, I haven't really insisted you call me "Ma'am". Sigh...but I'll have to, soon.

Your reading habit is also growing stronger! Another advantage of having an older sibling who enjoys books! Watching your dada immerse himself in the world of books has been another wonderful influence on you and I couldn't be happier. Of course, while I do indulge you with Chhota Bheem comics (which you ADORE!!), you're really into everything your brother reads. So even for you, it's "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" and "Captain Underpants" and while I'm happy that you're attempting these books, I am also trying to push you to read the ACK  and Tintin comics, the Tell Me Why volumes, the Geronimo Stilton books that he loves. And because you get part of your stubborn streak from me, I shall only continue to persevere :-)
The thing with you reading the tales of Greg Heffley & Co. as well as following the adventures of the undergarment captain, is that -- apart from them being wickedly funny and perfect fodder to tickle the funny bones of little boys -- you want to  participate in the conversations your brother has with his peers regarding these books, which I think is not only terribly sweet, but adorably awesome!

Time flies, my baby boy. Half the school year is already over and I still can't help but think how, just a few months ago, you were still in Senior KG in a Montessori school. The thought of it makes me want to bawl!! You had to be dragged kicking and screaming to Big School for a couple of days, but you've made your truce with it. Do you love it? Not passionately, but you do somewhat, kinda like it. Having your 'big brudder' there certainly helps and it also helps that his friends are all nice and big brotherly towards you too :-D