Logic and Lego

She has an answer for everything. Are you ready for some Moppet style logic? 

Moppet is whining for some pink ice cream. Mama reminds her of the time at the restaurant where pink ice cream was ordered for her and she refused to eat it, resulting in Mama having to eat her brownie with strawberry ice cream. [Ick!]

Moppet (defensively) : I finish all the white ice cream.

Mama: That was just whipped cream - why didn't you eat the pink ice cream you asked for?

Moppet: Because YOU finish the pink ice cream!

Her father did always claim there was a bit of Vulcan in her. His only evidence at the time was the amount of Trek I watched while pregnant, and her pointy ears, but his case appears to be growing stronger! ;-)

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On another note, she has been creating things with her Lego blocks lately that have impressed the pants off me. Ok so I'm biased and you, dear reader, will probably wonder what all the fuss is about, but still, this blog was intended to document this sort of stuff and I do it with no embarrassment. (On my part at least; Moppet will probably cringe at  this a few years from now!)

Here I present The Big Blue Chicken, which, after being suitably admired by the whole family, was then deftly converted into The Blue Prince. All her own work, including the names.

And of course, the artist, protecting herself from the Mamarazzi.

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While on the subject of art etc, she has started bringing home stuff she draws at school. It's usually something like a shaky circle or some random squiggles, and I ooh and aah and say things like wow that's a nice circle, or what lovely rainbow noodles! She throws me an exasperated look and explains, "No, that's pink elephant with pink umbrella and Mama is giving banana."

Ah! Ok. So these days I just ask outright what it is. They always have some elaborate story. And they're always pink. Today's pink amoeba is a 'pink shark and pink boat and fishing rod'. I don't see it, but I'm keeping it safely. It may be worth millions some day! 

Mary, Mary, quite contrary

She's such a contrary Mary, these days. Whatever we say or do, she MUST say and do the opposite.

Sometimes, we use this to our advantage. Take for example, this scene from last week:

Moppet is doing her 'nangu run' after her evening bath, where she scoots around the house without a stitch on her. She ends up in the study and screams, 'Look, I'm nangu!' expecting her father to get up and do what he usually does - chase her back to her room where I wait with her pyjamas and then join in the epic struggle to get her into them.

But this time, her father decides to take a different approach. 'Wow!' he says, 'How nice! Don't wear any clothes tonight ok?'

Contrary Mary is instantly up in arms. 'No! I wear clothes!'

Her father senses he's onto a good thing and doesn't back down. 'No, no! No clothes for you!'

'NO, NO, NOOOOOOO! I WEAR CLOTHES!' a screaming Moppet rushes into her room and is in her pyjamas in under 30 seconds.

So now we use this trick off and on, but of late the results have been rather unreliable. Like today, at lunch:

Mama (spooning a big heap of beans and potato curry onto her plate): Mmm! Nice beans. No beans for Moppet ok?

Moppet: (grinning widely) 'kay! I eat onny ice cream.

Silly Sunday Som-solts

(Or How Mama Got Her Groove Back :-)

Sunday evening was pleasant and breezy, and since both the kids were up and alert, all four of us went down to the little park in our building. The husband and I sat on a bench with Munch and watched Moppet show off for us.

'Mama, look! Papa, look!' she squealed as she clambered up the slide the wrong way, monkeyed her way up the frame of the swing set, and drove the toy train to 'Andabaad'. (And elaborated so that silly Mama wouldn't get the wrong idea: 'Onny aeroplane go to Andabaad. I driving choo-choo train to air-a-port.')

Her favourite thing in the park is the huge, net-enclosed trampoline that the pre-teen kids do amazing stunts on. With no one else in the park waiting their turn for the trampoline, she was able to jump as much as she wanted.

Which was a lot, and for a long time, and soon Munch began to get cranky. So the husband took him back home, while I waited for Moppet to get all bounced-out.

'Mama, come jump!' she ordered, 'Like that! Come jump!' I hadn't been on a trampoline in a long, long time, and it did look like a lot of fun, so I climbed up and joined her. She squealed with delight as we bounced together holding hands, then took turns sitting in the centre while the other jumped around and over the one in the middle.

'Mama, look! I do som-solt!' she said, tumbling head over heels three times in quick succession. 'Now Mama's turn!'

'No baby, I'm wearing a skirt. I can't do somersaults.'

She studied me for a moment and then asked 'Onny boys do som-solt?'

'What? No, of course not! Everyone can do somersaults.'

'Mama iss not to do som-solt?' Sad face and bambi eyes.

'No, no. I can do somersaults, ok? See!' I demonstrated.

She giggled, did a couple more herself, and sat up looking at me challengingly. What the heck, I thought, the park's empty anyway, and I did a few more. So we tumbled around on the trampoline, doing som-solts and giggling and squealing like the two silly girls we were.

Later, dizzy and exhausted, we lay flat on our backs on the trampoline, looking up at the sky and pointing out funny cloud shapes. A vague suspicion crept into my mind. Was it possible that my two year old had tricked me into doing those somersaults? She wasn't that smart, was she?

Naah!

Maybe.

Ah, who cares? It was the most fun I'd had in ages!

One month of Munch

It appears Munch is going to be the family clown. Really, I think he's hilarious. I don't recall being this amused by Moppet when she was this age. To be fair though, I was probably too tense and worried about the whole motherhood gig to really enjoy her at that age. But with Munch I'm more relaxed, and able to laugh at all the silly squishy faces he makes, and enjoy the funny squealing sounds he produces without worrying if it's 'normal'.

So I can laugh at all the faces he produced when we were trying to click his passport photo, without worrying about his pronounced baby squint.

Or when he grabs his own hair and squeals in pain, not knowing why his head hurts and not able to do anything about it, I have to admit I laugh heartily before prying his fingers loose. (The memory of Moppet doing this as well came back to me as I saw Munch attempting to scalp himself. It seems there's a good reason why most babies are born bald.)

I was delighted when I got splattered with my first 'fountain' pee. It gets old pretty quickly of course, but the first few times, I was quite fascinated by how far it goes :-) And things that as the mother of a girl, I hadn't considered at all. For example, I realised a little too late that when you lift a little boy's legs to clean his butt, he is very likely to pee on his own head.

He's got quite a repertoire of squeals, grunts and growls, and uses them to best effect while he's feeding. It begins with loud, complaining squeals [what's taking so long? where's my food?], and then once the milk starts flowing, it's frantic gulping accompanied by little squeaks, as if his last feed was 2 days, not 2 hours ago. Then finally, as he settles down, quiet little hums of satisfaction which he keeps up till the end of the feed.

And the other sounds he produces are rather funny too. Like his cough, which sounds like very old person coughing in a baby voice, if you can imagine that. (Oooooooo-uh-uh-uh, he goes, and then follows it up with a big sigh that has me in splits each time). And in the interest of self-preservation when he grows old enough to read, maybe I shouldn't mention his musical farts?

When he's awake, he's happiest when perched on someone's shoulder, bobbing his head up and down and looking around like a curious little bug.

Kodi's Mom has said it far more eloquently than I can, but I need to echo that thought here - until Munch arrived, I couldn't quite imagine what life would be like with a second kid - and now that he's here, I know there couldn't be more perfect little person to complete our family.







*Anti-jinx sign courtesy Dotthoughts

MY Munch baby

I know Mama's been blaming me and Munch for not getting enough time to post, but y'all know that's not true, right? I've been extremely well-behaved, really. Sure, there's an occasional tantrum, but give me a break peeps, I'm two, ok?

Gotta say though, this Munch baby isn't all that much fun yet. He sleeps a lot - that's a bad example to set. Everyone keeps telling me, look Munch's sleeping, why don't you go and sleep too? As if! And when he's awake, he doesn't do much either. He's mostly either drinking Mama's dudu or doing potty all the time.

I like to take his photo with my camera when he's being changed, he makes such funny faces! And I also give dudu to my doll, just like Mama gives Munch baby. And when he sleeps, I like to wake him up by prying his eyelids open. I don't know why Mama yells whenever I try that, she's just being her usual Mama self, I guess.

I told everyone in school I'm a big sister and they were all most impressed. Mama's promised that when he's a little bigger, we can take him to my school and show him to everyone.

These days he's been awake a little more. When I kiss him, he sometimes licks me, or pokes me in the face with his hand. It makes me laugh - and seeing me laugh makes Mama laugh too. Fun times.
He's ok, my Munch baby. I think I like him.

Of fascists and fish

This morning, Moppet decided she wanted to wear two pony tails to school - one adorned with a green rubberband, the other with a yellow one. I tried to talk some sense into her - at least wear 2 yellows or 2 greens, never mind that neither colour goes with the dress you're wearing.

Brushing aside my conformist ideas regarding head decoration, she proceeded to give me specific instructions about the ponytails: "Yellow one on this side, green on this side, ok?"

Accepting defeat, I followed her instructions and she went off happily to admire herself in the mirror. I plonked myself down beside the husband and grumbled about his mismatched child. As always, he was quick to defend her. "What's wrong with yellow and green bands, huh? Stop being such a hairband fascist!"

Bah! This from the man who is so particular about the space between the stripes on his t-shirts that we have to take callipers along when we go shopping. Who's the fascist here, I ask you?

And talking of fascists, Moppet is turning out to be quite the little authoritarian herself. Last night, she tried to put her father in time-out because he was told her it was bedtime. "No bedtime Papa! You go time-out!" she said, complete with stern look and a little finger pointing to the time-out corner.

And her sparring buddy - Mr Fishy - one of those bouncy inflatable fellows, gets put in the corner regularly when he refuses to cooperate with her, which is most of the time, seeing that the poor fellow cannot help but bounce back when she tries to make him 'go to sleep'.

I must admit it gives me great satisfaction to hear her scream exasperatedly when he pops up for the nth time after she manages to wrestle him to the ground. "Noooo fishy, you lie down. Iss sleeping time! Ok, thassit, you go time-out!"

Ha, my darling little fascist, it's never too soon to learn, what goes around comes around! :-)

Moppet @ 23 months

Since I'm way overdue on Moppet's 22 month update - she completes 23 months today - I'm converting this Crazy 8 tag from Kiran into an update.

(Am taking some liberties with 2 of the sections - '8 things before I die' has become '8 things I do that drives Mama crazy ', and '8 things that attract me to my friends' is now '8 things that make me me')

So here, in Moppet's own words, is the tag

8 Things I am passionate about:
1. Mama. Mama. Mama.
2. Papa. Somewhat.
3. Duddu (Milk)
4. Going ouside. Playing in the park. Playing in the sandpit and making 'Happy to You' cakes.
5. Jumping (inside on the bed, ouside on the trampoline).
6. Colowing. Dwawing.
7. Wearing mis-matched (according to Mama) clothes.
8. Playing Ceebeebies or Dowa on the kampooter.


8 Things I do that drives Mama crazy:
1. I am congenitally stubborn. I can scream non-stop for 2 hours.
2. I hold my food in my mouth and refuse to chew or swallow or spit.
3. I love my duddu but I won't drink it in anything other than my bottle, even though I can drink perfectly well out of a cup or glass.
4. I fight for (and mostly win) the right to wear the clothes I choose. Who dares to say that I can't wear a blue T-shirt, pink skirt and orange pants under it?
5. Everything has its rightful place and function as determined by me. Mama cannot sit in Papa's chair. Papa cannot drink from Mama's cup. Mama cannot use any other pillow but her own. Mama must not wear a button shirt if I so decide. The consequences of ignoring my requests are hard on everyone's eardrums.
6. Only Papa is allowed to brush my teeth - this is part of the rightful place and function rule. So when he travels, Mama and I have BIG fights. Have I said this before? I usually win.
7. I lick the soap off my body when I have my bath. And the lotion later. And then I tell Mama in a stern voice - "No licking soap / lotion".
8. I change the subject when asked about some mischief I've done. Or I pretend not to hear the question.

8 Things I say often:
1. No!
2. Uh-oh!
3. Mama, take off!
(She means get up, and she tells me this every morning at the crack of dawn - MM)
4. Mama, cawwy!
5. Let's go ouside! Come on!
6. Wan some more duddu / chocolate / cheese. No wice! No woti! No apple! No banana!
7. Papa office / Papa essercise. Moppet [s]cool. Mama home!
8. Mama, kampooter! Sit down! Wan some Ceebeebies.


8 Books I've read recently:
1. Richard Scarry's Best First Book Ever!
2. The Fish Who Could Wish - Korky Paul
3. Corduroy - Don Freeman
4. Kipper's A to Z - Mike Inkpen
5. Little Quack's Hide and Seek - Lauren Thompson with Derek Anderson
6. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? - Eric Carle
7. It's too soon! - Nigel McMullen
8. Goodnight Moon - Margaret Wise Brown

8 songs I can (and do!) listen to over and over
1. Jingle Bells - some techno version by a band I don't know.
2. Spiderman - Michael Buble
3. Kasto Mazza - Parineeta Soundtrack
4. Ajab si - Om Shanti Om Soundtrack
5. Hum to Aise Hain - Laaga Chunari Mein Daag Soundtrack
6. Allah ke Bandhe - Waise Bhi Hota Hain Soundtrack
7. Aicha - Outlandish
8. Happy [birthday] to you - as sung by Mama.

8 Things that make me me:
1. That wicked grin. Useful. It's gotten me out of more than a few scrapes.
2. Boundless energy that I generate out of love and fresh air, since I don't eat much.
3. Amazing decisiveness. I know exactly what I want.
4. Incredible stubborness. I know how to get what I want.
5. That ear-piercing scream. Another useful tool.
6. Charm on tap. When the screaming doesn't work.
7. A fierce attachment to the people I love. No particular attachment to any physical object.
8. That curly mop, which I refuse to let Mama brush, tidy, or decorate in any way.


8 People I think should do this tag (Kids or Moms, whichever way you'd like to do it)
Jelly
Cantaloupe
Naren
Mira
Nantu
Sonny Boy
Anirudh
KT

Moppet @ 20 months or Moppet on Moppet

Hello all!

Mama has been sorely neglecting her duties as chronicler of my life's adventures, and despite several reminders that my 20 month update was due 2 whole weeks ago, she has neither lifted a finger to get it done, nor demonstrated any sort of remorse for letting things get to such a head.

Granted, she was rather sick for a few days, but since then all she's been doing is ganging up against me with her mom. It's most annoying. I can't do a thing without those two teasing and cackling and generally behaving like I was put on this earth to entertain them. Sometimes I'm amazed at how deluded adults can be. I mean, it's fairly obvious that every member of my family exists only for my own personal care and entertainment and it takes a special kind of brain wiring not to be able to see that, methinks.

But enough about Mama and her eccentricities; this post is about me. As with all important things in this household (such as emptying tissue boxes, pouring body lotion on the floor, and sticking pencils into every available slot in the furniture), I have realised that the only way to get things done is to do it myself. So here it is, my supposed to be 20 month but actually almost 21 month update:

Although I've tried very hard to teach my folks Babble - the simple but highly efficient baby language, they have been very dull students. I've given up and now speak to them in words they can understand. I speak slowly, each word articulated clearly and correctly so that I don't need to rely on Mama's rather free and overly interpretive translation to make myself understood among the big people. It works fairly well, and I have received several compliments on the clarity of my speech. There is still the minor issue of the 'r' sound, which is the only sound I haven't quite figured out yet, but I'm confident I'll get rrround it soon.

I've got the hang of counting and can identify most regular colours (just don't throw teal and mauve my way), although I can't for the life of me think why Mama thinks it's such a big deal. The first time I casually counted from one to ten, she screamed and clapped and made such an ass of herself that you'd think I'd just told her the value of pi to the 50th decimal.

You know, all this time I thought the reason I didn't always get my way was because Mama was too dumb to understand me. But in last few months I've come to see that the reason is a lot more sinister: she understands what I want but doesn't do it anyway! Preposterous!

But I'm nothing if not persistent and we have a major battle of wills every morning when I insist on wearing a particular outfit, and she insists on giving me something else. I ask you, how much clearer can one get than 'pink dess' or 'flower dess'? Why then does she insist on showing me silly white, orange, and blue dresses or shorts or pants and try to convince me to wear them? Why is it not ok to wear the same outfit every day and what does it matter if it's faded or short or torn? It's beyond me.

As long I was going to playschool I had an out. Mama's still bigger and stronger than me, so she can wrestle me into a dress I don't want to wear, but what she didn't know until recently was that as soon as I reached playschool, I'd make the teacher help me put on the pink ballerina costume they have there. So I'd have my pink dress every day. Ha! And Mama thought she'd won! She has so much to learn.

Take the matter of potty training for example. I realised recently that I could get Mama's attention just by saying the magic word - potty. She drops whatever she's doing and whisks me off to the bathroom where I sit on the pot and enjoy the show she puts on for me. She sings, juggles, blows bubbles, and does a little act with my bath toys as characters. It's great fun and it doesn't matter if I don't actually have any potty to do. It worked like a charm for about a week, and I used it to great effect especially at bedtime when I didn't want to go to sleep. But then she cottoned on and now if I say potty at bedtime she refuses to take me. She says that's ok, lie down now. That can't be particularly good for potty training can it?

And so it goes on - sometimes I win, sometimes Mama does, with the game getting more and more complicated as we begin to understand each other better. It's fun though. Oh and before I sign off, I have a message from Mama who says sorry she's way behind on reading everyone's blogs and she'll come round and figure out all the tags she's accumulated and do them real soon. I'd take that with a pinch of salt if I were you - I've known her all my life and I can say with some authority that she is a lazy bum. A nice, well-meaning bum, though (Hey, she still owes me a Christmas present, I don't want to risk not getting that!)

In case you don't hear from me again before the end of the year, let me wish you all a Merry Christmas and an exciting, adventure-filled New Year 2008.

Love,
Moppet

Mischief, mysteries, and suchlike madness

There's no doubt about it. I have given birth to a goonda. The fact hit home last weekend when our friends and their 5 year old daughter stayed with us. We went out shopping, and the way Moppet bossed over E, one would think that she was the one who was twice as big and 3 times older. It helped that E is a lovely, sweet natured child who was happy to play along with Moppet's crazy ideas.

Like they would go running down the mall hand-in-hand, yelling some sort of war cry, leaving a scattered bunch of startled shoppers in their wake. Or they would conspire near supermarket aisles, and attempt to knock down powder tins with one swipe, like dominos. Dash into a store and throw around some giant plastic balls that were piled in a corner. And of course, they went completely mad at Toys-R-Us.

I don't think E has done as much mischief in the last year as she managed to accomplish with Moppet in that one hour. She was giggling uncontrollably throughout, although her natural well-behaved self did assert itself at the supermarket and Toys-R-Us, where she followed Moppet, putting back everything she swiped from the shelves.


For the first time, I found myself questioning my wish for 2 or more kids. More kids, like this one? With this one as the gang leader?! Heaven help me!

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These days, I am called to Moppet's bedside 3 or 4 times a night, usually with a piteous cry for 'Maaaama', or a croak for 'waaaater'. These are simply dealt with. A pat and a firm 'go back to sleep' is mostly enough for the first cry, and a sip of water takes care of the second.

Sometimes it's other people who are called. Her best friends Ishta (Ishita) and Bin (Ben) are often sent midnight summons, and since her grandpa arrived, Daadu has also been requested on a couple of occasions. Telling her they're still asleep and she should go back to sleep too usually works.

There are also some extraordinary calls - Bucket! Apple! Boat! Bubble! - what on earth is going on inside that little head of hers?

But that's not the mystery here. The real mystery is how her Papa has managed to NEVER be the one getting called at night. What I wouldn't give to be able to turn over in bed, poke him and say - She's calling YOU!

Sigh! In my dreams, maybe.

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Apparently Moppet has a fetish for hair. I'd noticed that she liked to play with her friend Ishita's pony tail (much to Ishita's annoyance), but I thought it was more about playing with her than with her hair. Then this little Japanese boy about Moppet's age, owner of a most luxuriant head of soft silky hair moved into our building. For the last few days Moppet has been vigorously chasing him around the park, trying to stroke his hair, causing much merriment among the rest of the park population.

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My dutiful DIL phase continues. Actually, my FIL is a sweetheart and is really no trouble to look after, but he does like to talk. A LOT. And unlike his son who gets away with rude remarks like, 'Yeah, I've heard that a dozen times already' or 'Ok, ok, get to the point now', I have to resort to gentler tactics such as 'Ah I remember you mentioned that before', or 'So you were actually tellling me about...' Not half as effective I'm afraid.

But in all, we're having fun. Every afternoon, we explore some new side street in Bangkok together, and have even managed to locate a South Indian restaurant not too far from our apartment. FIL has given his seal of approval: Prices are not alright but it tastes ok like.

Moppet @ 18 Months

In the two months since my last update much growing up has happened. New words are added to Moppet's vocabulary so regularly that it is no longer newsworthy, yet it was barely 4 months ago that her first word had me jumping for joy.

She sings as she goes about her day and the song goes like this:

Taa ta TAA ta TAA ta taa
Owwa owwa waa ya waa
AAPPA aappa waa saa yaa
Daa ta daa ta daa ta taa

If you're scratching your head trying to figure that out, don't bother. Only a fond (and slightly demented) mother who hears it being sung about 50 times a day would be able to recognise it as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

These days, she modifies the first line to match with whatever it is she's doing while singing. So if she's having a bath, the first line becomes Baaya BAAya BAAya ba (baaya = bubble), if she's being dressed, it's Baata BAAta (baata = button) , if she's colouring, it's Paal PAAal (pal = pencil), if she's riding her bus, it's Baasa BAAsa BAAsa bas. You get the idea.

Music has become a major obsession. At playschool, if the music is not playing when she arrives, she will pull one of the teachers to the CD player and get her to start it up. It's the same thing at home. If the track playing is not to her liking, she gets one of us to skip through the tracks until we get to one she approves of, her approval being indicated by vigorous bum wagging and hearty thigh slapping.

Her favourite song is Pal Har Pal from Lage Raho Munnabhai. I have a feeling she likes it so much because she thinks it's an ode to the other great love of her life - the pencil, which she calls 'pal'. She's usually found with a pencil in her hand, and while I try to make sure that colouring happens only on designated sheets of paper, I'm resigned to the fact that the defacement of my cream papered walls is imminent.

I tried to substitute the pencils with washable crayons but she enjoys chewing them too much. Have you ever removed tiny waxy crayola flakes wedged between sharp little teeth in an uncooperative mouth owned by a squirmy toddler? It is a hugely character building exercise.

She has to do everything we do, in exactly the way we do it, whether that's picking out books in the library or sitting up in bed and 'reading' them like her Papa. Including, ahem, reading on the pot.

She's quite happy to sit and do her business on the potty, but never volunteers the information that she needs to go, even if specifically asked. However, having learned from experience that walking on our polished wood floor with wet feet can be hard on her butt, she has taken to calling me imperiously - Mama, susu! - to be rescued from her self-created puddle. My entreaties to tell me before rather than after the event have fallen on deaf ears. Karma, no doubt. My mom tells me that despite being an extremely chatty baby, talking in full and complex sentences, this one thing I would only ever tell her after the fact.

Just my luck. A daughter who has taken almost entirely after her father, and the one thing she gets from me is this?! Sigh. Although there might some hope yet. A strange thing she's started doing is answering 'Mann' when asked her name. It is nothing like her name and she knows it because her answer is always followed by a huge grin and a chuckle when she sees our bewildered expressions. I do believe it might be the beginnings of a cheeky sense of humour. Hurray!

Mayil for me, baby

Rows and rows of little shops selling bits and pieces of hardware is probably very close to what my husband imagines heaven is like. Rarely have I seen such a gleam in his eye or such a smile on his face as when he was wandering through that crowded IT Mall, drooling over the latest and greatest in hardware, exclaiming over prices, and pointing out specs to me.

I was along for translation and deal-making services that were required only intermittently during the 3 hours that we were there. So while he pottered around happily in some little store, I plonked myself down on a bench outside to give my aching back a break.

That's when I saw them, a mom and daughter sitting in a hair salon. (Remember, this is Thailand, there are beauty salons everywhere - even in IT malls.) The little girl was about Moppet's age, and her mom was amusing her by throwing a small towel over a stuffed toy and then flicking it off to reveal the toy. The girl burst into loud laughter every time the towel came off and she saw the toy. It was a cute sight, and I watched them with a smile.

But it was a wistful smile, because it's been a long time since it was that easy to make Moppet laugh. A simple trick like the stuffed toy and the towel would earn me nothing more than an inquiring 'how-dumb-do-you-think-I-am' look from her. I remember when she was just a couple of months old, putting her hands together and clapping them would bring on the most gorgeous wide smiles. Peekaboo, funny faces, silly sounds - easy enough, but they only worked for a few more months.

It's not that she doesn't laugh, just that the things that make her laugh are far more elaborate. So when Ally the Aligator strolls along the bathroom platform, falls into Lake Washbasin and screams for help in a shrill falsetto, I get a giggle. And then when Wally the Walrus arrives to rescue Ally and falls in himself, I get another one. When the jug I'm balancing on my head falls off and I just barely manage to catch it, I'm rewarded with an appreciative laugh. And it's even louder if I don't manage to catch it and it bounces off my foot. More laughter when she slips out of my grasp while being lotioned up after her bath and streaks through the house in her birthday suit, with me in hot pursuit. Laughter when she pinches me and says 'AAARGH' herself.

Two days ago,she found these swim goggles and cracked up looking at herself in the mirror. It was just wonderful to watch, for me in particular because although she's taken after her more serious father, my secret (well, not so secret any more now!) wish is that if she could have just one of my traits, it would be the ability to laugh at oneself.

The world is not always a happy place, and life can be hard. Finding humour in every day life helps me stay positive, and I like to think that I'm confident enough in who I am to be able to laugh at myself on occasion. I hope I can give my daughter the same confidence in herself.

But for now I'll settle for another one of those delicious giggles. Time for the tickle monster, I think!

Why Barney NEVER wears pants

Far, far away, in an ancient land once called Siam, there lived a little girl. Sixteen moons after she was born, a google-eyed oracle sent warning that the child was a small yet potent version of an erstwhile dark lord, but her parents paid no heed.

Indeed, it seemed that they might be right, for apart from a single unfortunate incident involving a blue elephant, the little girl showed no signs of any predisposition to evil.

And so it was that they all lived happily together, the little girl, her mother, father, and her best friend - a purple dinosaur called Baani.

It was but an innocent game that started it all. As night drew near, the little girl was preparing to retire to her bedchamber with the assistance of her father. All went well until the little girl decided she did not wish to wear her pantaloons.

Her father, that noble squire, blessed with every virtue but patience, did not take kindly to his daughter's refusal. A quick chase around the bedchamber led to her capture, but his attempts to restrain her and put the pantaloons on her met with resistance so fierce that in exasperation he made a thunderous declaration. Should the she refuse to wear her pantaloons, they would be given to Baani. Seeing that the declaration had no effect, he proceeded to stuff the hapless dinosaur into the little girl's pantaloons even as she watched in horror.

Then all hell broke loose.

It was at this moment that the mother entered the bedchamber. Oh, has ever a mother witnessed a more wretched spectacle?! Her only child, in the throes of a mad rage, screaming and wrestling with a dinosaur in an attempt to tear off his pants!

'Tis true, gentlefolk, and you are right to be shocked. But the wickedness does not end there.

For the mother, far from being horrified, as any gentlewoman ought to be, collapsed in unseemly mirth next to her husband, who was already rolling on the bed, tears of laughter streaming from his eyes.

It was some minutes before either of them thought to rescue Baani from being completely ravaged at the hands of their child. The little girl soon fell into a deep and happy slumber, proudly wearing the retrieved pantaloons.

Baani, however, carries the memory like a scar on his heart to this day. Which is why you will NEVER see him wearing pants of any sort. Ever.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

It's Sweeperbaby!

Sweeperbaby to the rescue... this place is filthy!These corners can be tricky.
And don't forget to take out the trash when you're done.

After a job well done, Sweeperbaby prepares to fly off,
pausing only to give the paparazzi a gracious smile.

Happy weekending everyone!

And the answer is no

Whatever the question. If it sounds like a question, her answer is ready: No!

It's her new favourite word.

She says it with care, her mouth making a perfect 'o'. No 'nah', 'nuh', 'nay' for her. No, she says, just as the Queen would say it.

"Moppet, do you like sitting in your bucket?"

"No!" (splashing around happily in bucket)

"Do you want to wear your orange shirt or your green one?"

"No! " (grabbing green t-shirt)

"Where's Papa?

"No!" (jabbing at her Papa's photo in the album)

"Do you want some water?"

"No!" (gulp gulp gulp gulp aaaah!)

"Well, aren't you being nice today?"

"No!"

"Shall we take a picture?"

No prizes for guessing the answer.

Moppet @ 16 Months

Hear that buzzing sound? That was another milestone whizzing past.

I'm getting too old for this. Really. In the time I took (the merest blink of an eye, I swear!) to come to terms with the fact that I am in possession of this drop of human life, the said drop turned into a full-fledged toddler at a pace that no parent is designed to handle.

She is now an easier-to-understand little person who asks for 'Duddu', 'Joos', or 'Chiz', depending on what she wants to drink or eat. But also a harder-to-understand little person who suddenly breaks into howls of frustration for no discernable reason.

Already a champion climber, she is now trying her hand at acrobatics, experimenting with standing on her head, turning somersaults, and throwing herself off the bed at varying angles.

As artist and builder, her attention span has risen significantly and she can spend upto 20 minutes at a time playing by herself. The shape sorter, inset board, and doodle board are her current favourites. It's ironic - as she becomes more fun to play with, she doesn't need me to play with her all that much. I suspect this is going to be a recurring theme as she grows. She becomes cooler, and more fun, and I become, well, more mom.

A water sprite who would live in the pool if I'd let her. Her swimming is coming along nicely and I try and take her down to the pool at least twice a week. On days when we can't, she spends an hour in her paddle pool on the balcony. And after her bath, she always likes to soak for a little while in her red bucket.

A tiny tyrant who has made it quite clear that she doesn't belong to me. Oh no. I belong to her. Woe betide anyone - even her Papa - who dares to sit close to me or worse, put an arm around me. At the sight of such atrocities, the happily playing toddler turns into a raging, screaming, hair-pulling monster who will not rest until the offender retreats to an acceptable distance.

And although this means that I am severely deprived of husbandly hugs at the moment, I am not worried. Because I know that in the next blink of an eye, my possessive little water sprite tyrant will have transformed herself into someone new. For me to learn about and fall in love with all over again.

Plasticblue Elephant dies

July 23, 2007

Plasticblue Elephant, an active member of the Moppet Toybox Community, was tragically killed this morning when he was flushed down the toilet by a 16-month old vandal.

What is particularly horrifying is that the accused is not only unremorseful but actually appears to have enjoyed herself. Witnesses have stated that they saw her standing by the toilet bowl, laughing and clapping her hands with diabolic glee.

Plasticblue Elephant's partner, Plasticgreen Zebra, has called for stringent action against the accused. However, since the accused has no record of any previous toilet flushing activities, it is likely that she will be let off with a warning.

Moppet speaks her mind

Mama's being a big crank today, and she says it's all because of me. I think it's quite unfair of her, so I'm going present my case here and ask all you nice folks what you think.

It all began this morning when I woke up feeling fresh and rested at around 3 am (why is that not ok, btw?) and climbed onto Mama's bed for a nice chat. She was NOT happy to see me, and kept trying to put me back onto my mattress, although I kept telling her I wanted to talk. I had to get rather loud - she just wouldn't listen!

She finally gave in (most ungraciously, I might add) and let me lie down between her and Papa. I was happy that I'd finally got through to her, but when I started up a conversation she shushed me rudely.

Well! It looked like Mama Grouchy Pants could do with a bit of cheering up. So I thought I'd list her facial features and give her the old aai - noo - maau routine. It's generally quite a hit number around here. Brings in a lot of applause.

It was still dark, so I may have (wholly unintentionally, I assure you) kicked and poked her in some sensitive areas before I could locate her face. Hey, granted I'm pretty special in a lot of ways, but even I can't see in the dark. Why get so mad about that?

So here I was, lovingly pointing out (read into) her eyes, nose, and mouth, and she swats away my hands with a groggy, "Go to sleep, child"

Sigh! Where's the love, I ask you?

Then I tried tickling her on her tummy. "Gilli-gilli?" I said, in my most hopeful tone. "Mmpfha," she said. (And she wonders why I don't speak clearly yet!) I continued this tack for a few minutes, but got ignored the whole time. Clearly this was not working.

Hmm...maybe the pinching game would work better. This is where I pinch her and also yell 'AAARGH' at the same time. She usually responds with an 'AAARGH' of her own. Yeah, it's a great game, as much fun as it sounds like.

Would you believe it didn't work? I couldn't either! I mean, she said 'AAARGH', but it was an angry one, not a funny one. She held my hands tightly together and said, "Lie down quietly, NOW! No talking, no games. Sleep, ok?"

Hummph, killjoy!

Anyway, we matched wits for over an hour, and then I fell asleep in my favorite position where I wrap my arms around her arm and throw a leg over it for good measure. As I fell asleep I heard her muttering something about how at least her arm would get some sleep if not the rest of her...

So tell me people, what's the big deal? It certainly doesn't warrant being mean to poor Papa (who didn't know a thing and slept like a log) later in the morning and accusing him of being a quilt hog. I'm totally on his side on this one. He's much bigger than her; of course he needs more quilt. Calling him a quilted katthi roll is a new low, even for Mama!

Moppet @ 14 Months

Jeez, where has my baby gone?

And who is this little girl who rules my house and my life with complete and utter impunity?

She walks around patting herself on the chest with both hands and calling herself 'Mama'. I'm still Mama, but apparently, now she is too!

She runs up and gives me a light bite on any available part of my body, and when I remonstrate using my stern you-know-that's-not-on voice, she grins and wags HER finger in MY face.

She swings Tarzan-like, from all the top drawers in the house. Nothing can be safely put away any more. She climbs onto, over, and around all manner of obstacles. No corner of the house is unreachable, and therefore unexplored.

She asks to be tickled by lifting up her shirt, pointing at her belly button and saying 'gilli-gilli'. Sometimes, if I'm within reach, she pokes my belly button, saying 'gilli-gilli' and giggling like she's the one being tickled.

When her Papa comes home from work, she runs to put his socks in the laundry basket. When he gets ready for work in the morning, she steals his clean socks and puts them in the basket as well. When she gets the chance, if his cupboard is open, she steals his underwear and attempts to wear it like a hat.

She kisses her Papa on demand - and sometimes even unbidden - pressing her mouth against his cheek, and saying 'ummmaaa'. I, on the other hand, have to chase her, grab her, squeeze her, and generally wrestle an 'umma' out of her.

When I whisper nonsense in her ear, and then draw back and say, "it's a secret, ok?" she looks at me, eyes huge and round, and nods solemnly.

At night, after her bedtime story, I flick off the light and she lies down and goes to sleep by herself. But she has to hold on to some part of me - her hand on my arm, or her foot in my lap; as long as she knows Mama is near, she can drift off to sleep.

Don't grow up, my darling. Your poor Mama will not be able to bear it.

Camera shy

This is why there have been no photos of Moppet on the blog recently. I cannot bring out the camera without her immediately asking for it. Whining and grabbing quickly follow with the result that most of her pictures taken over the last month look like this.

Splash!

Moppet and I have signed up for parent-child swim classes because:

a) we needed to do something that was different from our normal routine of eat, don't sleep, play, eat, don't sleep some more, and see if we can get mom to throw herself off the balcony.

b) apparently swimming can help with sleeping. See point a.

c) our balcony overlooks the swimming pool. See point a.

The first class was great. There were five other babies (and their moms) in our group and the instructor took us through rhymes and games designed to help the babies learn how to swim. Moppet had a wonderful time, joining in the splashing games with gusto, and jumping off the little floats into the water like she'd been doing it all her life.

I had a great time too - apart from the trauma of having to appear in all my jiggly, pear-shaped glory in front of 5 well-toned women who apparently got their babies simply by clicking their fingers and making a wish.

But it was worth it, because when we got back home, Moppet actually took an afternoon nap. For one whole hour! Bliss!

So it was with a skip in my step and a song on my lips that I arrived at the second class. This was going to be fun.

Oh boy. You know what's coming, right?

To begin with, we were early, and the group before us were still in the pool. So I spent an energetic 5 minutes flinging myself around, trying to keep Moppet from taking a running jump into the pool.

When she realised it wasn't a game, and that I was actually trying to stop her from entering the pool, she set up a howl that caused one of the babies in the pool to startle and start crying too.

Flashing an apologetic smile in response to the dirty look from the baby's mother, I grabbed Moppet and rushed outside, where we stayed until it was time for our class.

For the first 10 minutes all was well. We sang the splashing song, wiggled, kicked, and bounced around happily in the water.

And then we discovered The Shower.

The pool is set up with a little tunnel on one side. The babies swim through the tunnel and at the end there's a bright yellow button that they get to press. This causes a small spray of water to sprinkle the button-pusher's head. In theory.

In practice, the mom of the button-pusher gets a spray of water in her face.

Of course, Moppet LOVED it. She'd push the button, I'd get sprayed in the face and gasp, and she'd laugh. If I tried to move her away from the shower, she would protest with the most ear-splitting howls.

Finally, I dragged her away and put her on the float with the other well-behaved babies who were playing a sedate game of Row Your Boat. Suffice it to say that the game ended very quickly with all 6 babies in the water.

So we were banished to The Shower, where Baby Voldemort spent the rest of the class spraying me in the face and laughing like a little maniac.

For me, the only light at the end of the tunnel was her nap. It's worth it, I kept telling myself on the way back. She'll sleep for an hour. She will. She will.

She didn't.

So now I'm off to throw myself off the balcony.

Don't worry though, I'm taking swim classes :-)