Happy Mothering Sunday

I know people who say that Valentine's Day is a marketing thing and that it's just to encourage people to spend money. Similarly they might view Mothering Sunday as a ploy to part us from our money in the name of familial love. A day when florists and restaurants charge us a premium to treat our mothers. All the while the unspoken question is, why only be nice for one day of the year, etc. etc.

A lot of people were shocked when I told them that I wasn't spending the day with my sons. How could I possibly spend my one day of the year not being spoiled by them ? Well, Hubbie taking the boys to visit Grandma and letting me have the house to myself all day is my idea of 'me time.' Ok, it's far from relaxing - my fitbit has recorded 178 active minutes today, mostly from decluttering the house. However, it also gave me some space to think about certain people.

My Mum: I didn't see her today, but we spoke on the phone. When I went to Uni and left home for the first time we used to talk to each other every day. She would ask me at the end of every call, "Shall I call you tomorrow ?" as if checking that she wasn't being a nuisance. In the second year we spoke every week and by the third year I would call her as and when I remembered. It is only now that I am a mother myself that I realise how much that must have hurt her.

My Naniji: Mum's Mum - she died when Big Boy was being born. As Sikhs we believe in reincarnation and my sister and I often comment that they probably passed each other as he was coming and she was leaving. My beloved grandmother knew I was having a boy and she was delighted. She had been with us on the journey to become parents and knew how much it meant to us.  I like to think she is always watching over my sons. I know she is watching over me. 

Baby Boy's birth Mum: I don't know her, but I do think about how hard it must have been and continues to be for her. Not being with a child and then seeing reminders of how hallowed the status of motherhood is in all TV adverts and on every conceivable form of media. I talk about her being his 'First Mummy' in the hope that one day he will understand. I'm not going to remove her from history, that isn't right. Eventually he might think it's a bit special having a First Mummy and a Forever Mummy. 

Soraya's lovely Mum: So many people will be facing today without their mother for the first time. My gorgeous friend Soraya is one who has been on my mind more than most. The combination of sadness and poignancy in being a Mum who misses her Mum. All the time I've known Soraya she was a carer for her Mother. Even during her own diagnosis and subsequent treatment for cancer she continued to take care of her mother who had advancing dementia. I have never known anyone make as much personal sacrifice while also remaining humble and wonderful. Soraya you really are an inspiration my darling and I know that she is proud of you. 

To all those for whom today is a sad day for whatever reason - I've been thinking of you.

Here's a little something that made me smile - I hope it does the same for you :) 

Clockwatching with my boy

My boy loves clocks.

Clockwatching

Partly this is genetic - when Hubbie was a boy mother-in-law could leave him in the clock department of John Lewis and do her shopping unhindered. He was captivated by clocks (and still is) and when my boy was younger it became clear he is the same.

We have clocks (and radios) in every room in the house. My boy has an obsession with clock towers, church clocks, grandfather clocks, any kind of clock really. He calls the hands of a clock propellors instead of hands and has more watches than any 3 year old I know. 

Every time we take the train into London to go to a museum he sees the palace of Westminster from the window and he always points out the London Eye and Big Ben. Last week when I asked if he wanted to go and see Big Ben up close, he was beyond excited. 

We travelled by tram, overground, underground and bus - he also loves public transport - and dropped in on my Mum at her work and my friend SJ who is lucky enough to work right next to Big Ben. Despite all the hustle and bustle of tourists my boy was delighted to get a proper look at his favourite clock.

As you can see :)

Yes he really is this big :)

This post is sharing the joy with MummyNeverSleeps' linky #AlltheSmallThings :)

Why my boy is like a tiny Russell Brand

It's been a difficult few days with my boy. His tantrums and moods have been almost constant. He pretends not to hear me and turns his back when he doesn't want to do something. He shouts and yells and runs off. He pushes me to the end of my tether (which is unsurprisingly short right now) and then looks really hurt when I am upset with him.

Then on Thursday we went to see my sister for her birthday. I was really worried about how he'd behave as he'd been horrific that morning and by the time we got to my Mum's house he hadn't improved any at all. I was so tired out that I left them to observe his 'naughty day' and didn't say anything to him and let them do all the repetitive instructions, 'don't touch that, put that down, etc.' Then my other sister invited us to come to the theatre where she works to watch Room on the Broom based on the book by Julia Donaldson. I've always said that I wasn't sure he'd have the concentration to sit through a show so we've not taken him, but this time I had my Mum and both my sisters to help keep him in check so I thought I'd risk it.

We made it just in time for the show, found our seats near the stage and he sat in his seat with his legs folded and his beloved bear clutched to him. Then it started and the actors were talking to the audience and he interacted. When they imagined a witch flying overhead he looked up. When an actress asked who'd like to try some of her porridge his hand flew into the air and he mimed catching it, eating and said it was "yummy." My boy was a delight and he was singing the songs in the car on the way home.

Then yesterday and today he was back to his belligerent self and I just shook my head and gave up. This morning he woke up yelling at 4am and I went in to check on him. He went back to sleep and so did I. Then at 6am Hubbie woke up yelling, so I tried to work out what was wrong with him too, he went back to sleep, I sort of did too. I was glad I had plans without them today. I needed to be away from them both just for a few hours and Hubbie always takes him out on a Saturday anyway so I didn't feel too guilty.

Tonight the boy was erratic and tearful at bedtime, he ran off and went up and down the stairs and I was so fed up with it all that I said I wasn't going to have our sitting in the chair bedtime chat tonight. He said that was fine. Then a few minutes ago - after we'd finished watching Dr Who we heard some squealing from the monitor. I turned the sound on the TV down and it was the boy crying and calling, "Mumma." I took a deep breath and went upstairs to see what new antics these were.

When I got to his room he was standing on his bed shaking and crying and clutching two bears really tightly to himself. I held him and managed to prise one of the bears from him and held him close and asked if he'd had a bad dream. Eventually I calmed him down and sat with him in my arms singing softly until he'd stopped shaking and was ready to go back to bed by himself. I recalled how I'd had a nightmare the other night that left me shaken and confused - I'm 43, he's only 3.

So however hard I'm finding his emotional outbursts or his seeming belligerance I have to remember he's only 3. I also have to remember how amazing it felt to watch his imagination in full flight in the theatre the other day. I have to remember what Russell Brand said about the death threats he received when he was planning to do some comedy gigs in the Middle East, "I'm just trying my hardest."

When I find my boy wearing or taxing or just a bit too much I'm going to think of him as a tiny Russell Brand. At times he's unpredictable, his hair looks crazy, but he smiles a cheeky smile and wins over a lot of people. He's just trying his hardest.

I draw the line at him wearing snakeskin boots and skinny jeans though. Oh, and the public nudity. 

There is superstition

Of course the big story this week was the news of a royal pregnancy announced before the traditional 'safe window' of 12 weeks. It became public because the family knew that there would be speculation about Katherine being admitted to hospital. This made me think about the superstition of waiting for the end of the first trimester before telling people. There are exceptions to this rule (family, nosy people, the ones who have to know) and some famous folks can't stop themselves telling everyone early on, but most people I know wait. This idea of 'not jinxing it' doesn't stop things happening, but it is the idea that once you've passed this 'safe' date things are less likely to go wrong and if they do it's more 'real.'

Other baby related superstitions I found out when I was pregnant with my son included the one that says you can't have a pram in the house before the baby is born. In my family this extends to anything for the baby which makes planning and shopping in advance really difficult. We got special dispensation from my Mum to have some baby things otherwise our son would have spent his first 24 hours naked and with no means to travel home.

My family have some odd superstitions that I can't explain with any certainty - all I can admit is that I continue to follow them even though no one is checking.

Washing (clothes and hair) cannot be done on a Thursday. I used to avoid Tuesday as well and some Indian families include Saturdays in the ruling, but I have no idea why. I mostly observe the rule for Thursday, except when my son has vomited all over his sheets and clothes on a Wednesday night and I'm afraid needs must.

Another household chores related ruling is the no hoovering after dark. This may be a common sense reason like you can't see the dirt so well, but I suspect it's far more voodoo than that.

One my Naniji told me that is pretty specialist is you can't store a handbrush handle side down against a wall. the long sweeping brushes they use to clean houses in India don't stand that well so it may be a common sense one again or it might be something to do with dirty side facing down.

My Dad is adamant about this one - if you sneeze as someone is leaving the house they have to come back home and wait a few minutes before they can leave. He is also deadly serious about not calling someone by name as they are leaving and properly loses his temper if you do this to him.

Most people know the superstition about magpies and living as I do on a road with so many trees we see magpies pretty much every day. I still don't know if you can add up the ones you see consecutively or if you have to start counting again each time you see them. If it's the latter my day can go something like: Joy - sorrow - letter - joy - girl - sorrow - kiss - boy - joy.

I once bumped into a lad from school holding his collar and he told me he'd just seen a hearse and he had to hold his collar until he saw a cat or something. I don't do this one, but I still remember it.

My point is don't tell me a superstition - I have enough of them to worry about already and frankly they take up far too much room in my brain.


Thank you :o)

The circle of life (without Sir Elton singing)

Two years ago someone who I loved very much passed away and on the same day someone came into my life who I love more than I know how to express.

A face only a Naniji would love

My beloved Naniji was the only grandparent I ever knew. She lived far away in India so I only saw her every few years, so my Mum used to send her photos of us all growing up. When I visited her aged 11 she had all my school photos and many others I'd never seen before that she kept lovingly in her special cupboard of valuables.

Even though I didn't see her often she was still the person I consulted on the big decisions in my life. It's from my Naniji that I get my love of tea - she never turned down a brew and teatime was a big deal in her house. Snacks, cakes, biscuits, savouries, etc. all laid out with endless cups of tea. This was all just a few hours before dinner !

I trusted her and found her wise, sassy and hilarious. Once during a family visit to a Rajastani palace we turned round to ask her a question and she'd raced on ahead of us to make sure she didn't miss the tour. She was in her late seventies and faster than all of us.

When Hubbie and I were struggling to have a baby she talked to me honestly, openly and without judgement. Despite her speaking no English and Hubbie speaking no Punjabi they watched cricket together enraptured and in complete agreement. She wandered off again when we'd gone out shopping one day only to be found over an hour later in a coffee shop watching the big screen with local lads who were fussing over 'Ma-ji' and arguing with her assertion that India would win until she was proven right yet again.

She was fearless and held her own with anyone. As a young woman she went away to study with the support of her husband who took care of the children while she trained to become a teacher. This was unheard of at that time and in that culture. In her subsequent career she taught in a small village school bringing education to children who would not have gone to school otherwise and retired as a headteacher and widow.

My Naniji was one of the lads, the matriarch and the cheekiest person in the room all at once. She adored ice cream and loved nothing more than making her children and grandchildren laugh. It is that cheekiness that I see in my son's eyes and the smile he has when he's getting away with something. I'm delighted that Naniji knew I was having a son. The obvious Asian preference for boys aside, we have a lot more women in our family so he was the first boy in a long time. The fact that she passed away as he was being born is far too poignant to bear. 

The proudest Naniji in the world

When I spoke to my Mum in India from the hospital bed she told me that everyone was so delighted about my boy. She couldn't wait to meet him and I desperately wanted her to see him before anyone else. I didn't know that Naniji was gone at this point, but everyone else did. When Mum told me all I could say was how sorry I was - I felt responsible for her losing her mother so that I could have my son.  She insisted that the whole family felt joy for his life instead of sadness for her death. 

Mum returned two weeks later and we surprised her at the airport with her new grandson. Their meeting was belated, but no less magical for being in the arrivals lounge of Heathrow. Now the mantle of Naniji belongs to my Mother and she wears it every bit as well as hers did. 

In the moments that my son is willful and argumentative (which are becoming more frequent the older he gets) I have to stop myself being angry and see him for the strong and independent soul he is. There are photos of him in which I see my Naniji's expressions - it's uncanny. 

I'm not asking anyone else to believe in reincarnation or Karma. For my part I believe that my Naniji leaving us was a Karmic exchange that gave me my precious boy. I know she would have loved him beyond measure and I hope he adores and values his Naniji as much as I did mine. 

Have a wonderful birthday son xxx