Jump starting the new year

Hello everyone let me be one more person to wish you Happy new year!
Its contagious isnt it? This hoopla around new year

So we started the class again today after the Christmas break. And i was itching to go back to the class to see my kids. I teach a parent-child music class to very little children and i really really look forward to my class. It sounds a little crazy that i take a break from entertaining my kids to go teach other kids. But to me its therapeutic. I love the way the little ones light up when they dance and sing and groove along. It's like being in a rock concert with toddlers. I feel like I'm the rock star and they are my groupies (!!!!)

Anyway so today being the first class after the break and also Saturday morning things were a little slow the class started late. The kids the parents all took their time to warm up. But two of my very well behaved kids were in super naughty mood. These kids who hang onto each word i utter and copy every action had decided to just run free in the class. Needless to say moms were a bit taken aback. You know how as a mom we want our child to be the best behaved child in the class. And though i wanted to tell them its ok i couldnt as we were pressed for time. I kept noticing the mother getting really exasperated by the child. So here's what i want to tell you mom of the hyper/restless/chaotic/disturbing/naughty (not my words these are just adjectives i have seen mothers using) The following is only my opinion regards to my class not to any other situation :

1. It's A-OK: Music class is fun. Its not school. Kids come to our class to explore music through songs,instruments, movements. We dont want to restrict them. As long as they are safe (thats the key word) As long as they are not getting hurt or hurting others . Its perfectly ok if your child is running like a Kenyan on speed. You might want your child to sit down and precisely follow the instructions but your child is still learning in his own way even though it appears that hes distracted.. his ears and eyes are still on you.

2. He/She is a child : You know the cliche. it is a cliche because its true. Your 6 months old is a child. SO is your 11 months old your 2.8 years old your 5.5 years old. They all are children. We as adults have learned to mask our feelings. That is why we are experts at routines. We can go through motions. We can be an emotional turmoil but we can go about our day. Children have not learned that (thank god for that) They are known to behave exactly as they feel. So its not possible for them to be attentive at 11.30 am on Saturday when all they want to do is chase their friend or make faces in front of the mirror.

3. Carry on : Breathe and reboot. Carry on singing or dancing without shooting murderous looks at your little one. Dont be apologetic or feel guilty. If you continue participating in the class your child will come around. He/she will soon realise that he/she is not getting your attention by doing this and more likely to join you.

4. Loosen up : Music class is as much for you as it is for your child. Its a place you can loosen up and let your hair down. If you have fun your child is likely to catch up too. Its like going to a party minus the wine :)

I love my class. I love each and every child in my class. If i'm able to make the mom forget her mommy chores and put a smile on the child's face my job's done.

Looking forward to a fantastic musical year ahead.

As one mom in the class said "Let the music play!!!!"

A ninth anniversary post - borrowed

Not my own. But a beautiful poetry. Someday I aspire to write like this. 

Mouthful of forever by clementine von radics 

 

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.

This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

 

Letting go

Like every year the much dreaded Diwali safai is upon us. I know most of you have already finished it but people like me are still struggling with it. Like every year skeletons have come out of the closet. For a hoarder like me this is a very difficult time. To decide what is important (everything) what needs to be given away (husbands clothes) and make place for new more relevant stuff. De clutter. Organise. These are words that i run away from. I know how inviting a neat closet is. For a brief 3 days after diwali my closet is clean. and then it piles again. It starts from something as innocent as the bill of the new pants i bought for Arav in case i might have to exchange it and then it extrapolates. Soon my closet starts resembling a refugee camp with unclaimed objects and i have no clue how to stop it.

The upside of this cleaning is nostalgia. I just love to clean the boys closets. always getting amazed by how qucik Arav outgrows his clothes. Neatly folding and storing the ones i want to preserve for Nivaan. Passing along some to other kids i love. Taking out bigger size for Nivaan from the storage. Remembering how Arav used to look in them. Thinking of the places we travelled together. The flights we took. Constantly comparing their childhoods. Reminding myself to not compare them. So on and so forth. Bitter sweet emotions.

There is a red bag under the bed that i look forward to and run away from in equal measures. For last 6 years i have removed its contents mulled over it for few days and then packed it again. This year i knew what needed to be done. This bag contains my new york clothes. My work clothes. My winter clothes. Both of which have vanished from my life since relocating back to bombay. Initially i kept them thinking i am on a maternity leave and its just a matter of time before i join work again. And i didnt want to give them away. It soon became clear im not going back to work atleast not where i will be wearing blazers and trousers. Still i held onto them like a stubborn child. These clothes are pretty much the only connection to that life. The golden period as i think of it now. My short lived career. The corporate life that i had just started to enjoy. The city i had just started to call home. The freedom that i never took for granted.

When i arrived in New york in January of 2006 i was a 22 years old big eyed new bride. I had never lived away from my parents and here i was saat samundar paar playing house house with a man i barely knew. New york was my first everything. It was my first taste of a life as an adult. even though we parted ways amicably ,NY and I, I still cant get myself to write about it.

But those clothes. The white sweater I picked from FCUK. Just coz it was FCUK. The calvin klein shirt that i found in half off aisle. The beanie and gloves i gifted myself from Macys. That red bag was like a time machine. I remember the purple sweater i wore in holiday party of my workplace. I was the brown girl from India who could speak good english who was a vegetarian who was already married at 22 and most importantly who was already a CPA. It was pure chance that i was a tax accountant and very surprising that i was good at it.

I wonder how people work for years and years and then quit it to become full time parents. I worked for a total of 3 years only and i still miss it. I miss my cube. I miss paychecks. I miss my work spouse. I miss dressing up.

Anyway so after a good cry i finally got the courage to empty this bag once and for all. It had to be done.  I tried each and every item one last time and gloated in the pleasure of fitting into some of them. And then with a big heavy heart i gave them away. But not before i smuggled two pants (which still fit and are not those horrible boot cuts)

So yeah. It was such an emotional experience that i have suspended the rest of the cleaning till i get over it. Writing this and may be reading a good book should help.

Happy Diwali everyone