- when she sees Papa sitting too close to Mama?
"MYYYYYY!" (in loud warning tone, complete with a proprietary hand on Mama's shoulder)
- when she almost falls off the sofa but manages not to at the last minute?
"Oh my gott!"
- before she leaves for her first day of school after Christmas break?
"Bye-bye Papa, be good!"
I am beginning to understand now why all parents think their children are geniuses. For me, all Moppet's milestones before this pale in comparison. Sure it was exciting to see her roll, sit, stand, walk, run, and climb, but this - the talking - it just takes my breath away.
When she marches up to me and gives my hand a little shake and says 'How ARE ya?', flashing a toothy grin and looking for all the world like a pint-sized politician canvassing for my vote.
When she runs up with her little doodle board and asks me to draw her a motoboat, sailboat, fishboat, tugboat, and fewwyboat, all from the memory of the pictures in one of her books.
When, desperate to get away from my tickling fingers, she yells "Mama foal hans!" copying a trick we use (fold your arms) when she gets too fidgety.
When she climbs into a taxi with me and instructs the driver in a firm little voice to 'Lee kwa' (liaw khwaa, meaning 'turn right' in Thai).
When she points out the sights as we drive along, "Mama look! Pink umbella. Billoo kaa. Chishmish tee. Ellow bus. Again bus. Big bus. Wheels wound and wound. Mama sing!"
Somewhere in the back of my head I am aware that it's really just a normal part of growing up. All kids do it. But watching it unfold right before my eyes, at a speed that I cannot believe is real - it's like watching one of those Nat Geo videos where you see a flower bloom right in front of you.
There's nothing quite like it. Despite 25 plus years of using the english language, I still can't find the words to describe it.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Father of the bride
Moppet's Papa and I were stretched out on our matching recliners, watching Moppet potter around the living room with her toys and blocks, and singing 'Happy to you' at the top of her baby voice.
It was a lovely, lazy evening during the festive last days of December, full of warmth and cheer and contentment, so I was particularly shocked to hear Moppet's Papa muse out loud, "Hmm, there's a double barrelled gun in our family. I must remember to get the license transferred to my name."
What?! Did I hear that right?
"Whatever for?" I asked, staring at my boy-faced husband of 5 years, wondering if there was some murderous facet to his personality that I hadn't seen yet.
He rolled his eyes at me, impatient at my inability to see the obvious. "To scare away all her unsuitable boyfriends!" he said, nodding towards Moppet who was engaged in the demure and dainty act of dismantling the roof of her toy castle and smashing it with her plastic maraca.
Ah, of course! I smiled broadly, and then quickly supressed it when I realised that he was not entirely joking. "Not that it looks like she'll need much protecting though", I said, as straight-faced as I could manage. His only response was to shake his head, but the thought 'how little this woman understands' hung thickly in the air.
I do understand, actually. There can never exist any man good enough for your little girl, and that's a fact that every father knows is true. I'm sure my own dad wished he had a double barrelled gun handy when I first brought home that 'someone I think you should meet' . Nevertheless he certainly did his best to scare him off by sheer boredom - the first hour of conversation revolved entirely about the weather in 5 different cities :-) It didn't work though, as is evidenced by the fact that I eventually married that someone and produced the unholy terror otherwise known as Moppet.
I somehow doubt that the double barrelled gun would be any more effective. But for now at least, it provides some reassurance to yet another hapless father.
It was a lovely, lazy evening during the festive last days of December, full of warmth and cheer and contentment, so I was particularly shocked to hear Moppet's Papa muse out loud, "Hmm, there's a double barrelled gun in our family. I must remember to get the license transferred to my name."
What?! Did I hear that right?
"Whatever for?" I asked, staring at my boy-faced husband of 5 years, wondering if there was some murderous facet to his personality that I hadn't seen yet.
He rolled his eyes at me, impatient at my inability to see the obvious. "To scare away all her unsuitable boyfriends!" he said, nodding towards Moppet who was engaged in the demure and dainty act of dismantling the roof of her toy castle and smashing it with her plastic maraca.
Ah, of course! I smiled broadly, and then quickly supressed it when I realised that he was not entirely joking. "Not that it looks like she'll need much protecting though", I said, as straight-faced as I could manage. His only response was to shake his head, but the thought 'how little this woman understands' hung thickly in the air.
I do understand, actually. There can never exist any man good enough for your little girl, and that's a fact that every father knows is true. I'm sure my own dad wished he had a double barrelled gun handy when I first brought home that 'someone I think you should meet' . Nevertheless he certainly did his best to scare him off by sheer boredom - the first hour of conversation revolved entirely about the weather in 5 different cities :-) It didn't work though, as is evidenced by the fact that I eventually married that someone and produced the unholy terror otherwise known as Moppet.
I somehow doubt that the double barrelled gun would be any more effective. But for now at least, it provides some reassurance to yet another hapless father.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Predictions 2008
On the first new year's eve after Moppet's Papa and I got together, he told me we should spend the first day of the year doing what we liked best so that the rest of the year would follow the same pattern. Now, this is the sort of sentimental twaddle that both of us would ordinarily have scoffed at, but we had just started dating, and this was as good a reason as any to spend the whole day doing what young couples in love do.
That was 8 years ago; the flush of young love has long since faded, and the brain is back to being (mostly) rational again. Yet there is still something appealing about the thought of making the first day of the year a model day for the rest of it.
Every new year's day since that first one has been different. Some were spent with friends, some with family, some just the two of us. Some were begun at snazzy countdown parties, others cosily at home. They have all been fun, memorable days, and strangely enough, it felt like the day did indeed set the tone for the year that followed.
This new year's day got off to a rough start. Moppet (and as a consequence, both Moppet's Papa and I) slept fitfully and woke up in a foul mood at an unneccessarily early hour. She then spent most of the morning throwing tantrums at the slightest excuse and lying face down on the floor, whining about something incomprehensible.
On the plus side, while Nanny took the whiny little creature down to the park for half an hour, I managed to produce some fairly edible, if inelegant dosas. Moppet's Papa and I had the kind of breakfast we haven't had in a long while, standing and chatting cozily by the stove, sharing the dosas as they came hot off the tava.
Lunch and a good long nap helped with Moppet's mood a little, and it gave Moppet's Papa and me the chance to get away for a while, have a nice lunch, and indulge in some retail therapy. Sick to the gills of hearing me complain about not getting a gift for my birthday or our anniversary this year, Moppet's Papa decided to silence me once and for all with a gorgeous designer watch. His I'm-such-a-good-husband halo is so bright right now I can barely look at him without blinding myself. (Maybe we should get me those designer gogs too, sweets? :-)
We came back home and woke up a still cranky but overall better-behaved Moppet. Another stint in the park for her and a brisk evening walk for her parents worked well and everyone came home tired but happy. Post-dinner family time was pleasant and tantrum free, with Moppet plying us with chai from her plastic tea set, giving out unsolicited hugs and kisses, and spending some rare quiet time 'wocking' in the recliner next to her Papa.
And now, since Moppet's Papa is on bedtime duty tonight, I can put my feet up and blog about my predictions (hopes?) for 2008, based on the first day of this new year:
1. We will eat a lot more idlis and dosas.
2. I will be the happy recipient of lots of great gifts, some of them even 'just because'
(Too much? Yeah, I know, but a girl can dream, right?)
3. I will get a lot more exercise this year, and hopefully end the year in better shape than I started it.
4. Moppet will continue to plague me and will come within an inch of being put up for adoption, saved only by her ability to look me in the eye with a wicked smile and say 'Moppet nice? Yes?' in a tone that brooks no argument.
I hope you all had a perfect new year's day and that 2008 will be full of the things you like best.
That was 8 years ago; the flush of young love has long since faded, and the brain is back to being (mostly) rational again. Yet there is still something appealing about the thought of making the first day of the year a model day for the rest of it.
Every new year's day since that first one has been different. Some were spent with friends, some with family, some just the two of us. Some were begun at snazzy countdown parties, others cosily at home. They have all been fun, memorable days, and strangely enough, it felt like the day did indeed set the tone for the year that followed.
This new year's day got off to a rough start. Moppet (and as a consequence, both Moppet's Papa and I) slept fitfully and woke up in a foul mood at an unneccessarily early hour. She then spent most of the morning throwing tantrums at the slightest excuse and lying face down on the floor, whining about something incomprehensible.
On the plus side, while Nanny took the whiny little creature down to the park for half an hour, I managed to produce some fairly edible, if inelegant dosas. Moppet's Papa and I had the kind of breakfast we haven't had in a long while, standing and chatting cozily by the stove, sharing the dosas as they came hot off the tava.
Lunch and a good long nap helped with Moppet's mood a little, and it gave Moppet's Papa and me the chance to get away for a while, have a nice lunch, and indulge in some retail therapy. Sick to the gills of hearing me complain about not getting a gift for my birthday or our anniversary this year, Moppet's Papa decided to silence me once and for all with a gorgeous designer watch. His I'm-such-a-good-husband halo is so bright right now I can barely look at him without blinding myself. (Maybe we should get me those designer gogs too, sweets? :-)
We came back home and woke up a still cranky but overall better-behaved Moppet. Another stint in the park for her and a brisk evening walk for her parents worked well and everyone came home tired but happy. Post-dinner family time was pleasant and tantrum free, with Moppet plying us with chai from her plastic tea set, giving out unsolicited hugs and kisses, and spending some rare quiet time 'wocking' in the recliner next to her Papa.
And now, since Moppet's Papa is on bedtime duty tonight, I can put my feet up and blog about my predictions (hopes?) for 2008, based on the first day of this new year:
1. We will eat a lot more idlis and dosas.
2. I will be the happy recipient of lots of great gifts, some of them even 'just because'
(Too much? Yeah, I know, but a girl can dream, right?)
3. I will get a lot more exercise this year, and hopefully end the year in better shape than I started it.
4. Moppet will continue to plague me and will come within an inch of being put up for adoption, saved only by her ability to look me in the eye with a wicked smile and say 'Moppet nice? Yes?' in a tone that brooks no argument.
I hope you all had a perfect new year's day and that 2008 will be full of the things you like best.
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