Chip is back

Time: After Dinner, table clearing time.
Chip (to BigGeek): Can I help you?
BigGeek: The best way you can help me is go upstairs and take a shower!
Chip: That's not helping you! That's doing you a favor!!!
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Chip (to me): I want something sweet, frozen and that has at least one artificial ingredient in it for desert!!!

Parenting from a child's perspective

When Chip was around 2, we started to play a game. Role reversal. He would be Aie and I would be Chip. I would whine and ask silly questions and make demands and he would, well, imitate my reponses. What started as a way to pass time on long car rides and hot summer afternoons, soon turned to be much more than a game. It became a tool of insight for my parenting skills. Through his accurate portrayal of Aie on all occasions – everyday demands for candy and juice and other junk food, excuses for not going to a certain place/doing certain things, explanation for beyond-his-age questions, it all became an appraisal of sorts. How was I doing as a mother? We played the game every week and Chip’s imitation stayed true to my parenting in that week. Harried weeks were more of a “do-as-I say” while the relaxed ones were full of explanations and consolations.

This little game of role reversal came to my mind when I read this book recently. Called “Out of the mouth of babes” it is written by Dyan Eybergen – a pediatric psych nurse, a therapist and a parent educator and a mother to three sons. In one of the chapters, she advocates playing a role-reversal game to gain insight. I was thrilled to see it.

Chip is a spirited child, and sometimes he challenges me to rise above my comfort level and seek solutions that will work for me and for him. This book offers an approach that is tailored to each child’s unique personality. It shows us how to understand our children. There are no formulas here in this book – because there really can’t be any formulas for raising children. It puts us in our children’s shoes and shows us the world from their side. Through anecdotes of 3 and 4 years olds while their parents tried to get them to sleep in their own beds, to fussy eating habits to toilet training to sibling rivalry and discipline it reminds us of how perceptive and sensitive these little boys and girls can be.

The book was a pleasant surprise. If you believe in attachment parenting like I do and are wondering how exactly to fit those values with your toddlers and pre-schoolers, this book will be valuable. My only problem with the book was that it was too short (124 pages). There is enough material in this book for a 100 more pages easily. I do hope Eybergen continues to write more and give us her insights into parenting. Parenting can feel like such a daunting task at times, books like these help in keeping those worries at bay.

How to turn 4

Very, very fast. Before you can say blimpety-blimp. On the 14th, Chip turned four. And on the 15th, I turned… ummmm 26. Yeah. Chip had been planning his birthday party like a bride plans her wedding. Cake. Snacks. Juice. Goodie bags. For two parties.

Everything was planned in minute details and was checked upon and double checked to make sure that bumbling Aie got it right. For his school party, he had planned a Wall-E cake, popcorn - the bagged ones. NOT the ones you make in a microwave. And pretzels shaped like airplanes. Brand battles were fought with his old Aie. Many a gray cells were employed in making a decision over V-8 and “lemolade”. Aie was unsure how many kids would actually drink V-8, so after she agreed to buy V-8 for Chip’s consumption, “lemolade” passed muster.

Goody bags were selected based on a careful study of current goody-bag trends in under-4 age category. A close eye was kept on the Aie, in case she tried to hoodwink the birthday boy by placing Hershey’s kisses instead of Starbursts in them. Much debate was had on the advantages of choosing silly glasses over noise makers. Many a night kept him awake over play-doh should be included at all or whether coloring books and water colors would be the way to go. Bubble bottles which his mother thought every 4-yr old would enjoy were looked at with utter skepticism but were finally approved. Much to his mother’s relief. Demands for a Wall-E cake did not stop at just the theme. He wanted to make sure that the bakery made cake with “special eggs that he was not allergic to, but everyone else was.” How would such a cake be enjoyed by everyone was a moot question.

When I went to tell his teachers a week before the hallowed event, she told me she knew. That’s what His Chipness had been telling everyone for the past month. There was nothing else on his mind.

When Party time arrived at school, BigGeek and I went in with cake and snacks. Earlier in the morning, Chip had helped me load the plates and cups and snacks and drinks in the car. He is totally helpful that way. Every time we go grocery shopping, he helps load the bags in the car and helps them unload. And its not just token one or two bags. He carries a good amount of bags – the heavy ones too. He is a son that would make his Aie and Baba proud. (anti-JINX). Ofcourse his Aie enables him by complimenting on how “big and strong” he is and how she is totally incapable of managing such heavy bags by herself.

But, back to the party. Chip handed out the plates and cups – asking in a very loud voice if everyone got one and generally running underfoot until his teacher had to order him to sit down and eat. He was too excited to eat. Even his favorite food. The cake was cut and while many kids in his class asked for seconds, Chip did not touch a crumb. Then he spun into high gear giving goody bags to everyone (and also one for himself).

On the way home, I tried to explain what goody bags are for. “They are to say thank you for sharing my special day with me, you know Chip.” But Chip shook his head.

Two days later, he prepared for party, part dos. At the fire station. The menu was decided by me, this time. As were the take away gifts. We got books for all kids and Chip made sure while I was wrapping them that I had not forgotten his friend from school. When this friend arrived at the party, Chip ran to him and said – “Dude, I am so glad you are here.” Talk about being all growed-up! At the party, the kids got to meet firemen, got to know what it is they do and got to climb on firetrucks and turn on the siren. All very exciting. I had made a two-tier ice-cream cake. With a fire engine on top and a fire hydrant and hose. And baked some kachoris. The kids ate watermelon and veggie crisps and chips and drank milk and juice. It was fun and Chipin the end had a meltdown from all the excitement. But he got a ton of totally lovely gifts from his friends. Now I have to find a way for him to sign the thank you notes!

For the love of reading

I remember when I used to trawl the baby stores late at nights when I was pregnant with Chip. Set next to the baby bibs and developmental toys that promised to turn wee babies into geniuses, there were shelves upon shelves of CDs. Baby Mozart, Baby Bach and Baby any-composer-you-can-think-of. I must admit I was tempted to pick one of those CDs, only to be admonished by a little voice inside that said, “Stop! What, are you doing, you utter idiot? Did Bach sit into wee hours of morning to compose music for teensy babies?” Of course he didn’t. The Bach and Mozart (and Pink Floyd and Deep Purple) CDs at home would do just fine, right? And they did. But, I think, what worked more, was that our love of music rubbed off on Chip. Music surrounds us and surrounds Chip too and he has learnt to work the iphone to play the songs he likes and on many idle Saturday afternoons, he lies on the sofa in the gentle sun and hums his favorites.

I have often wondered of music-less parents who invest their dollars in buying baby music. Do they end up with music loving children? Unless the children listen and learn to appreciate good music not just into their toddler years but way, I mean way beyond, I don’t think music listened to as babies would help much.

What does this have to do with reading, you ask? Well, plenty.

In the United States at least, there is a cultish drive to get kids to read. As early as possible. In baby hood, if you can. A child who does not read in Kindergarten is well, someone who will grow up shunning books. Four years of parenting and I laugh at this. As a child, I learnt to read late. Sure, I could read words and simple sentences by the time I was five or six, but I did not read independently until I was eight. I remember the first book I read. It was an abridged version of the Three Musketeers. The story was intriguing, as was D’Artgnan’s yellow horse and Lady DeWinter. It was the first time, I remember the power of books – how they could take me to another time and place and I was enchanted. Of course, I was only eight and could not articulate my feelings then, but yes, it was totally what I did not expect a bunch of words to do to me. It was a slow start and I don’t think I became a voracious reader until I was eleven or twelve. By then, there was no looking back. I devoured books. I would want to come home from school, just because I could read in peace.

When I look at what the experts tell me – you know read to your child every night and all that, I take it with a grain of salt. My parents never read to me or my brother. They helped us read when we were older – I would go ask my father for meanings of words or to explain a paragraph, but that was that. We were pretty much left to read alone. We would discuss books and many a battle followed between my father, my brother and me (my mother would keep out of these fiery debates) and many a tear were shed (by me of course) over the debates.
Books were fun, reading was fun. My father took us to the annual book exhibitions in our little town. He would buy books for himself and us. We had memberships to the library and we would bring and read books from there. We were surrounded by books. We were intrigued by my father’s and uncle’s bookshelves. On boring summer days, when it was too hot to play outside, I would look at our book shelf and find an old tattered book and begin browse through it, only to find when I looked out the window the sun had set and that I had finished reading it in one sitting. My father, I think inculcated a deep love of reading in us without ever reading a single book to us.

So, when I see parents read to their young children with a missionary fervor, every night, I want to ask, do you do it as a chore? Something that “needs” to be done for your child’s development – whatever that might mean. Do you “run though” the books not taking time to talk about it with your child? Do you know if your child comprehends the story? Such reading is futile, I think.

Reading is more than decoding words, you know. It’s about nuances of words and their meaning. It’s about predicting how the sentence might end and then be pleasantly surprised when the author chooses to end it differently. It’s about learning how to guess a meaning of the word from the sentence that wraps it. It’s about cadence. It’s about how some sentences transform meanings of words. It’s about how some words become the soul of a sentence. Reading is much more than stringing words together. Knowing how to string words together will not make you a book lover. Knowing that rest of the stuff will.

I read to Chip, sometimes. Not on a regular basis. Some nights we read half a dozen books and then don’t read for a week. But he is surrounded by books and parents who love to read: albeit different things. Many nights, find, Chip and I reading. He, his own book and me, mine. His with colorful pictures and a sentence or two in big, bold letters on each page, mine covered in small print. Chip reads aloud – no, he can’t really read, but he knows the stories in those books and he tells it aloud to himself while adding detail that is only limited by his imagination. Every once in a while, he peers at my book and asks me what it is about. I tell him. He looks eagerly at the pages that lack color and pictures and I can see the fascination in his eyes. He spells out a few words and finds the pattern here and there on the page and is satisfied. He returns to his book and me to mine. Side by side. Both, book lovers, in their own way.

Edited: Trawl, not Troll, as pointed out by Sue :)

Joys of Motherhood

This has prolly been around the world several times over and then some and I am finally getting around to doing it. JLT and M4 tagged me to write 5 things I love about being a mom. This post is going to be a good reminder for me. When I am angry with Chip for behaving a certain way or not behaving a certain way, that yes, the joys of motherhood (and not to exclude the BigGeek, joys of parenthood) trump every other joy there is in this world. So here goes.

1. Watching a life evolve.
From finding their “fingers and toes” as babies to their speech to their attitudes - it’s a fantastic journey these little creatures take us on. You marvel at the miracle of the human body. Of what it is capable of doing and how it develops and changes. You are in presence of a miracle.

2. Watching yourself evolve.
On a different plane altogether. From being a confident, assured 20-something to being a not-so-self-assured 30-something. Being a mother (and a parent) is like doing the sarvang-asaan 24-7. No facet of your life remains untouched by your child and you are surprised that you ended up this way than what you thought you would. My child develops and shapes me, perhaps more than what I develop and shape him.

3. Finding joys in the little things.
Like the squirrel that runs up the tree. Or the happiness in finding a really, I mean really, big stick and being allowed to stash it under your bed. Or the little treasure of shells and stones.

4.Chip is the emotional barometer of our family.
It amazes me how early he could tune into my feelings. Ever so often he comes up to me and says “Smile. I hadn’t realized I frown that much. He says “Smile” an awful lot of times. So, in a very literal sense, my child has taught me to smile more.

5. Letting go.
No, this is not a joy, but an important lesson I am being taught every day. The importance of letting go. The importance of treating Chip as a separate person – with his own set of feelings and hopes and fears – very different from mine. Even if he sees me as his extension – you know – he has two eyes, two hands, two feet, one nose and one mother. Of not overwhelming him with my hopes and fears and aspirations. To allow him to be himself.

This has been doing the grand tour of the blogworld (mommy blog world at any rate). So, if you haven’t done this already, now’s your chance!

The First Born

Ok. I am doing this. This has been doing rounds on facebook, so I am picking it up and doing it here. And because M4 tagged me too.

1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED?
Yup and for a while too.

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME?
BigGeek says yes. Ofcourse we were! We are Indians. Are you telling me its possible to have babies without being married?

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS?
Delight. Excitement. Anxiety. Contentment.

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU?
Absolutely not. No matter what the results of the Down’s test said.

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU?
Very old. 29.

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT?
Blood test. At the doctor’s office.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST?
I got the call at work from my doctor’s office. Called BigGeek right away. And we both were speechless. Called my parents the next morning (they were living in Germany at the time) and told them just as they came out of a museum bookstore. And then called the other set of grandparents.

8. DUE DATE?
May 21, 2005.

9. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS?
Just general all-day nausea.

10. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE?
Sweets and read meat. I would look at baby back ribs and hotdogs and salivate. Mind you I am a vegetarian and did not eat the meat despite everyone telling me otherwise. A few months ago, I met a Chinese woman at a wedding and she told me according to Chinese folk lore, if a pregnant woman’s cravings are unmet, the child is born with a birthmark on their backs. Guess where Chip has a birthmark? On this back.

11. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST?
That the in-utero Chip treated my bladder as a 24-7 trampoline. And my commute. It was so long that I had to stop mid way at BigGeek’s office to use the restrooms there. He was the only guy to have a copy of the women’s restroom’s keys. He got teased a LOT for that. If I weren’t pregnant at the time, I would have been sympathetic.

12. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD'S SEX?
Boy.

13. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING?
Not really. I always thought I would be a better mom to a boy than a girl.

14. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY?
About 20 and they stayed a long time with me.

15. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER?
Oh, yes! I had two. One was thrown by my friends. I knew about it and it was a girls-only affair. They decorated with flowers everywhere and even made jewellery out of fresh flowers in the proper Maharastrian style. And made all my favorite food. Made me feel so special. The second one was thrown by BigGeek’s aunt in New England. That was a surprise and boy was I speechless. She had invited my uncle and aunt and cousins and friends from New England that I had not met in ages. It was very sweet of her. Just thinking of it makes me break out in a big grin.

16. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW?
Look above.

17. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY?
Low progesterone. They also detected a mildly elongated QT interval in my heart and was prescribed beta blocker which I did not take.

18. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH?
In a hospital. Where else?

19. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR?
Twelve. Contractions started around 4:00 am in the morning, Chip was out at 4:45 pm in the evening.

20. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL/BIRTH CENTER?
BigGeek. At around 12:30 pm. We were all very chilled. My mom accompanies us, ofcourse.

21. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH?
BigGeek and my mom. The OB-Gyn and two nurses.

22. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION?
Natural.

23. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN?
At the very last moment. The pain wasn’t bad, but I did not know how bad it could get when I started to push. So I said yes to the epidural and promptly napped for an hour.

24. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH?
7lb 7oz.

25. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN ?
Exactly a week before my due date. On May 14.

26. WHAT WAS YOUR REACTION WHEN THE DOCTOR ANNOUNCED THE SEX OF THE BABY?
Well, for one, the sex of the baby was announced 5 months earlier. By a radiologist or whatever they call those doctors that look at sonograms. And we were thrilled ofcourse.

27. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST REACTION ON SEEING THE BABY?
Relieved that he was not a fish. Throughout my pregnancy I dreamt I was carrying a fish. So it was a great relief to see a bonny human baby.

28. DID YOU CRY?
Naah. The adrenalin had kicked in. I was on a high.

29. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM?
Chip, ofcourse :)

30. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY

120,253,591 Seconds and counting. Ok. He is 3 years 9 months and some days.

This just in

Time: 7:40 a.m., today
Place: Home

Aie: If you whine one more time because you want watch another episode of Handy Manny, I promise you that I'll throw that TV out the window.

Chip(looking straight in my eye): If you do that, I'll throw away the playstation!

Sweeter His Thoughts

I once asked BigGeek when his first crush was. He had thought for a moment and said “Second Standard.” Ok, a little early than most. I, obviously needed to react in a grown-up, responsible fashion. “That’s sick.” I said smugly, my eyes as narrow as slits, looking down at him. Tsk-tsking too for the effect. BigGeek was clearly displeased with my less than bubbly reaction and calmly spent the next fifteen minutes in a ferocious vendetta by telling me certain things about people I know too well, ensuring for life, my inability to see the said folks in the eye.

Pride goes before a fall, they say, and my hubris has, a few dozen moons later, come to bite me in the south. Like father, like son. There is no cure for genes, you know? Yes, Chip with all of his three and half years behind him fancies someone at school. My own two dim eyes have witnessed it. How she brings him his jacket everyday and ties his shoes. (in knots that his mother cannot undo- poetic, uh?) And how he compliments her earrings and promises to share ALL his toys with her, including the shiny helium-filled balloons bought for a party; when the mere suggestion of giving each one to a kid in attendance triggered a level-5 meltdown. And begs to have her over for a playdate.

This morning as we sat down for breakfast, BigGeek solved a puzzle. Chip’s school has a rotating policy – the two rooms for their age-group switch teachers weekly. Why it is so is only known to the powers that be. Chip, would always whine about going to one class or another. At first we thought maybe it was the teacher, (it was to a certain extent) but the last few weeks, it was becoming rather haphazard. Until BigGeek understood what had been happening. Chip, would go to the class he was assigned to for that week, peep in and look for N. Not having found her, he would run to the other class and look for her there. If she was in the class he was not assigned, Chip would break out in a mega-whine.

Today, I went to drop Chip off and while I was punching the code to enter, Chip saw N’s car pull. “Look Aie! That’s car. I want to wait for her.” So while N’s mom parked the car, and N stepped out, we stood out in the freezing cold, a wide grin plastered on Chip’s face. As soon as N saw Chip, she came running over and held his hand. I punched the code again and we all entered. “We must have N over for a playdate oneday.” I said to N’s mom. “Yes, yes, at home it’s always Chip this and Chip that.” I felt a little relieved. As the two kids ran to their room, Chip had forgotten Aie. “Bye Chip” I said, but he did not hear me. He was busy chatting with N and I as walked to my car, I knew my son had grown up.<sup>*

*</sup>This is written in a moment of mush. Two hours later, I know I am going to tell him to “grow up” and stop being a baby. Motherhood is mostly about contradictions.

Traffic Light

We are driving home from school. We stop at a crossroad, at a light.
Chip: Whaddya waiting for?
Aie: What color is the light, Chip?
Chip: Red.
Aie: What color should the light be for us to go?
Chip: Green.
Aie: Right, so I am waiting until it turns green. Why don’t you sing your green light song?
This is a tradition we have followed ever since Chip started stringing sentences. To pass time at a light, I made up a silly song – “Green light, green light lavkar ye.”
Chip: That doesn’t make the light go green.

I am aghast. When did my three year old son realize this?

Aie: Of course it does. You have sung it scores of times before and the light has turned green, no?
Chip: No. No. This light (pointing to the light on the street to our light) will turn yellow, then it will turn red. Then our light will turn green. Then we can go.
Aie: Who told you that?
Chip: I see it.
Aie: No, your song makes the light go green.

Chip slaps his forehead and shakes his head. But the angels are on my side today. As luck could have it, the light on the street to our right, turns red, but the light in front us does not turn green. It stays red. The light above our heads (for the onward traffic) turns green, which Chip can’t see.

Chip: What just happened? (peers to the street on our right). That light is red. (peers to the street on our left) That light is also red. (points to the light in front of us) That is also red. Why is it not green? It should have been green.
Aie: Because you did not sing your song.

Chip looks at me in disbelief. But his impeccable logic has been proven wrong. He begins to sing, with utter skepticism, in a half-whisper, hurriedly. The light stays red. Chip is triumphant.
Chip: See, see? I told you. The song does not turn the light green.

Aie: Your heart wasn’t in the song. Sing it with love and sing it loudly. The light prolly did not hear you.

Chip shoots a “I can believe this is my mother” glance at me. But he sings. In a robust voice. Again, luck is on my side today. The light changes from red to green. I let out a hearty laugh.

Aie: See? The light turned green. It was your song.

I can’t stop smiling. Chip is awfully quiet on the ride home.

Later, at night, I narrate the events to BigGeek who laughs and then asks me, “Did you tell him he was right? That songs don’t change traffic lights and that yes, his logic was correct?” A wicked gleam lights up my eyes. “Of course not.” I answer, leaving a very annoyed BigGeek. My little boy is growing up too fast!

And with that, a very happy New Year to all of you!

All Dolled Up

A few days (could be weeks) ago, I had a spirited debate with CeeKay about gender identities. While I can’t quite give a blow-by-blow account of the discussion, I was certainly arguing for this point. That gender identity is not just a social construct. Genes play a role too. Boys have one whole chromosome different than girls. It makes them more susceptible to autism and learning disorders, some types of cancer, it is not a big surprise that it plays a role in the way we think and act. We agreed to disagree in the end and that was that.

Imagine the irony this weekend then. We had been invited to a birthday party. Lots of our friends were invited too. With their kids, obviously. Girls and boys. It was a fun party. The kids ran and played with each other. And ate the delicious food. Suddenly, a friend exclaimed. “What is Chip doing?” I looked up in alarm. There was Chip, holding a cute baby doll in his lap, feeding her with the toy bottle and singing a song. To me, it was a beautiful sight. “What do you mean? He is playing with the doll.” I told our friend. “Don’t encourage these things, I am getting him a nerf gun. Dolls?” “What’s wrong with dolls? He likes playing with dolls. I don’t mind at all.” The conversation was left at that.

A couple of hours later, as guests dwindled somewhat and everybody relaxed with a cup of tea, the topic came up again. Because, well, Chip had found the doll again and was playing with it. “What are you calling her?” I asked Chip. “Dottie, don’t encourage him.” The friend again cautioned me. I was getting riled. “Why not?” There was some snickering that could have only meant this. “Because he will turn gay? I don’t mind if he grows up to be gay.” I don’t think boys turn gay because they play with dolls. Girls certainly don’t turn gay because they play with cars. “He is three, let him be. What is the big deal?” “Give him action figures.” Someone suggested. “He can play with action figures and he can play with dolls. I said. “In fact I should buy him a doll” “Some one record this.” Someone said. “We’ll play it back to Chip when he is older.” “You know what” I was trying hard to not let my irritation show, “His wife will thank me. Because it will bring out his inner sentimental self.” “But he will curse you for 25 years before that.”, our friend laughed. I gave up. It’s all imaginative play, isn’t it? Really, what is the big deal? “What if he turns into a cross dresser?” someone asked again. “Who knows?” I said “In a couple of generations, it would be acceptable for boys to wear skirts. A century ago, pant-wearing women were frowned upon.” Another friend was amazed at me. “I really didn’t think you were this sort of a person.” Whatever that meant. “I am surprised” she said. “Why, won’t you let your son play with a doll?” I asked. She hesitated. “I won’t encourage it.”

That seems to be the common sentiment. Ignore boys playing dolls. Do not encourage doll-playing. If they seem to be too drawn towards dolls, quietly buy them nerf guns or other macho toys. What load of bull-x. Tell me, would you buy your son a doll? Because I will and should have. To nurture is an emotion that occurs naturally in boys and girls.. So what is the harm if they express that sentiment when they are children? Boys grow up to be loving fathers, you know. Compared to earlier generations, men today are much more hands-on as fathers, much more nurturing. As the need (and thus the expression) for violence has declined in the past several generations, in the developed countries at least, men (and boys) have found their nurturing side. And that’s a good thing. It does not make then sissies. In cultures that encourage violent toys, the rate of violence is much, much more than cultures that that are more accepting of gender-role-reversals. Daddies opting to stay at home to raise kids, instead of mommy being default are on the rise. If the wife makes twice the money than her husband, what else would be logical, for a family, tell me?

But for some it’s hard to be accepting of these changes, I suppose. Big and small. Including boys playing (or rather encouraged to play with dolls). I wonder what it is they fear.

The Phone Call

Phone rings.
Aie: Hello
Woman Caller: Can I talk to Jolanda?
Aie: Umm, I think you have the wrong number.
Caller: Ok, sorry. (disconnects)
Chip: Who was that?
Aie: Someone dialed us by mistake.
Chip: Was that a mawshi?
Aie: Yes, it was a mawshi
Chip: Which mawshi?
Aie: I don’t know. She called us by mistake.
Chip: What her name?
Aie: I don’t know. It was a wrong number. She dialed us by mistake. We don’t know her.
Chip: Ok, she was just some random mawshi, then?

The LadyBug Mystery

So, as the weather turns cooler, we get around two or three ladybugs in our house. Every year. They live on the ceiling of our bedroom, in a corner, and some times crawl down the frosty window and let us admire their utter cuteness.

Chip is fascinated by them. From since he was a baby. When they come down the window, he can watch them for hours (ok, I am exaggerating, but hey, I am a blogger!) with rapt attention. Their tiny feet, their hard backs, their strange wings and their half-hearted, clumsy attempts to fly and their total inability to flip themselves if they happen to land on their backs. It’s a fascinating lesson of nature right on our windowsill for Chip.

Last weekend as we got ready to go out, Chip spotted a ladybug come down from its heavenly abode. He was delighted to watch it. I was delighted to get him out my hair while I dressed. He watched the bug for a few minutes and then dashed out of the bedroom. I could hear him downstairs in the kitchen, opening a drawer. In a flash he was up, wielding a plastic storage box. “I wanna keep them” he told me. Without waiting for me to answer, he ran into the bathroom, opened the vanity and got a ball of cotton. Using his makeshift brush, he tried to coax the red bug in his box. The ladybug was obviously frightened at Chip’s ham-fisted attempts to “catch” it and tried to feebly move in the other direction. “Aie, its running away”, he exclaimed. “Let it” I told him. “Why do you want to catch it? We don’t even know what it eats” “I’ll give it a green leaf.” said Chip, no doubt drawing his wisdom from the nature bible for 3 year olds – The hungry caterpillar.

“Please put him in the box” he pleaded with me. I gently brushed the ladybug (which appeared a little lethargic and sick) into the box. “What are you calling him?” I asked. Chip pondered over the question. “Sheanoo.” He said. Sheanoo? Chip has come up with some imaginative names in the past – his rag doll is called Shant because he is quiet, duh. And our fish is called submarine because it lives in water. “What’s Sheanoo?” I asked. Chip looked as if some great force had sucked out the intelligence from his mom’s head. “I told you. That’s the ladybug’s name. He is Sheanoo. How many times must I tell you?” And off he walked with the ladybug, trying to snuggle with it under the comforter.

After I told him, he could not snuggle with the lady bug he looked sullenly at me and he just kept playing with it on the window sill when, another ladybug joined Sheanoo in the box. Chip ran into the bathroom to show me. “Another one came” he grinned. “That’s so cool. What are you going to call Sheanoo’s friend?” I asked. “Chivda.” This time I did not bother asking what Chivda was all about.

But this is not the end of the story. I told Chip to go downstairs and put his shoes on. Chip for once did not run, but climbed down the stairs carefully, with the ladybugs in his box. As I straightened up the room, I could hear Chip pottering around the kitchen downstairs and when I went down a few minutes later, Chip had dumped a bag of skittles (they are small hard, round candies, that umm look like ladybugs, the red ones at least) in the box that had the ladybugs and was eating them one by one. “Chip! That box had ladybugs in them. What have you done with the ladybugs?” Chip looked down at the box and searched for Sheanoo and Chivda. “They are lost” he told me with a puzzled expression on his face. “Lost? Lost? How could you put skittles in the box that had ladybugs? And you wanted to keep them as pets? You can’t even look after them for five minutes.” I ranted. “Where are they?” “I don’t know Aie, they are lost.” “Did you eat them?” I was suspicious. Chip had eaten ants before and it took him a while to get into his head that we don’t eat ants. “Did you eat them?” “Umm.. I don’t know.” Sheanoo and Chivda were no where to be seen. I looked in the kitchen if they had flown away, but couldn’t see them on the countertops, floor, even the ceiling. One of them was too sickly to even move, let alone fly. I looked and looked but we never did find those ladybugs. Wonder what’s happened to them. I guess we’ll never know.

Blackhole memories

When they are not fighting over guitars –not real guitars mind you, but the guitar controllers for RockBand and Guitar hero, our little kingdom here settles into a cozy Sunday night routine. Chip’s insistence that his toy guitar be granted the same sharing privileges as the guitar controllers, meaning, he get his legit turn pushing the plastic buttons on “our” toy guitars is as old as the Friday night and the last hours of a lazy, cozy weekend are spent post-dinner in the family room.

As one of us does the dishes, the other shoos Chip upstairs for his night-time routine. Brush teeth, get into his pajamas. Ten minutes later the kingdom of three assembles excitedly in front of the TV. The lights are dimmed and BigGeek who has the supreme powers granted by his being the “Secretary of Remotes”, either turns on a specially DVR-ed show or we just browse our favorite channels until we find something that excites us. We huddle on a couch at first, but soon the cushions find their way to the floor as we stretch lazily, arms and legs in every direction. Chip burrowing here and there like a little squirrel, trying to fit into this crook then into another as we all try to get the “sweet” spot to watch the show, catch the sound effects and stay away from that elbow poking in your ribs. A few minutes after much twisting and turning, some yelling and some compromising, the three of us settle down. Monday morning blues are still far away.

Yesterday is one of many such Sundays. We find our places on the couch, fleece throws covering chilly hands and feet. BigGeek turns on the TV to the science channel. He flips through the guide and we see “Supermassive black holes”. “I want to see that! I want to see the black hole show” Okay, BigGeek, true to his name is a sucker for things like that too. “Are we playing Rock Band?” asks Chip and dives for the “real” toy guitar. “Are we playing Black hole sun?” Chip’s connects black hole to black hole. The cosmological phenomenon to Soundgarden’s 1994 hit. “No sweetie, we are watching a show on black holes.”

The show starts. The graphics are mind blowing. And it’s a bit nostalgic too. For BigGeek and for me. Black holes, Special theory, Quantum physics are some of the topics we discussed at the dining table, growing up. Ditto with BigGeek. His claim to fame is also a couple of uncles who were particle physicists. So, to the both of us sitting here with Chip, watching a show on black holes brings back many childhood memories and as Chip snuggles close to me, I realize that we are making memories here for Chip too. That being said, watching a show on black holes with a three year old is a multi-dimensional experience.

Some excerpts.

“Why is there a black hole?” Asks Chip with his typical 3-yr old existential logic.
“Well… that’s what the physicists have been asking too. For a really long time.”

A graphic of a swirling black hole in the middle of a galaxy fills the screen.

“Is that a black hole?”
“Yes, that’s a black hole.”
“What’s that?” pointing to a swirly graphic.
“That’s a quasar”. Wrong answer. I have dug a hole and a super massive one just now.
“What’s a quasar?”
“It’s just a lot of dust that goes into the black hole. The black hole eats the quasar.”
“Is it hot?” the graphic artist has obviously done a great job.. Chip can deduce the gases are hot.
“It’s very hot. Very very hot.”
“Like the sun?”
“Yup, just like the sun.”
“So is quasar a sun?”
“Umm. No… no.”
“Is sun a black hole?”
“No, but it can turn into one.”
“I want to touch a quasar.”
“It’s very hot and it’s very far away.”
“I’ll get a boo-boo?”
“A big boo-boo. Go to sleep now.”

The images on the screen are swirling galaxies now.
“I want to fly, Aie. I want to fly and go there.”
“And you will. Sleep now.”

p.s. thank god he drifted to sleep before the next show on string theory began!

Pat a cake, Pat a cake

Pat a cake, Pat a cake
Bakers man
Bake me a cake as fast as you can
Pat it and Prick it and mark it with a T
Then put it in the oven for Teddy and ...

“Chip!” Chip completes the rhyme excitedly. And then asks, “Does that cake have egg in it?” “No sweetie.”, I reply. “That’s a special cake. No eggs.”

Chip is allergic to egg. Both yolks and whites. It means that his body does not recognize the egg protein as a harmless food. It attacks the egg protein by releasing immunoglobulinE that cause certain histamines to be released in his blood, causing a severe reaction. He gets hives, his face and ears inflame, he itches, gets unbelievable stomach cramps and finally his body tries to get rid of the offensive substance by making him violently sick. When Chip was younger, he would also wheeze – his airways would get inflamed as well. Fortunately egg allergies rarely result in an anaphylactic shock – something that nut allergies can snowball into.

For Chip, the tiniest amount of egg causes a severe reaction. (For differences between intolerance and allergy refer to Tara and PG’s posts). Pastas made on equipment shared with products that have egg in them. A bite of a bread brushed with egg whites. A tiny dot of ice-cream containing egg yolks. When he was younger, even touching egg products would bring on a dermatological reaction – the site of contact would get itchy and he would develop rash or hives. As he has grown older, the response has toned down in its ferocity. Instead of suffering for a few hours, he suffers for one. His pediatrician thinks he might outgrow the allergy by the time he is 5 or 6, and even if he doesn’t, it would downgrade to an intolerance level- he should be able to enjoy a small slice of cake or half a muffin by the time he reaches adulthood. He might not be able to eat a plate of eggs all his life.

Chip was diagnosed with egg allergy when he was 10mo old. The allergy had manifested itself once before, when I gave him a dot of peach ice-cream, he grew red instantly and howled and vomited multiple times. But he suffered from colitis as a baby and we attributed it to that fact. When he started flailing his hands and turning red and having severe bouts of vomiting, twice, when I fed him french toast, I suspected an allergy and the doctor confirmed it. Chip also has eczema and asthma, which put him in the high-risk group for food allergies as is.

Having an egg allergy is difficult. A lot of foods have egg or egg derivatives in them. Baked goods, salad dressings, battered foods, ice-creams, chocolates, potato chips, corn chips can have egg in them. So do influenza vaccines (which Chip does not get). The first few months after the diagnosis were hard. Two years ago, many foods did not list egg as an allergen 9many still don't), so before buying every processed product I had to learn to read labels. Before buying every ice-cream at the concession stand I would have to ask to see the list of ingredients. Before buying every pizza, I would ask the restaurant to provide me with a list of ingredients. Often we would turn back with Chip not getting the ice-cream, pizza or chicken nuggets. Baked goodies were avoided like the plague. The nanny was taught to spot an allergic reaction and dispense Benadryl. Then the same process repeated when he started daycare.

The first thing we realized in dealing with Chip’s allergy was that we had to make him aware and educate him. By the time he was two, we taught him to ask “Does this have egg?” when offered a new food. And to decline if it did. He did admirably, most of the times, but sometimes it was hard for him, especially when a plate of birthday cake with colorful icing was offered to him, and on many occasions he ended up having a meltdown and refused to accept substitutes. But he learnt. We reminded him of what an allergic reaction would do to him. It was not the world’s most pleasant experiences. He also learnt to identify when he was having an allergic reaction and alert a grown up.

He did me proud a few weeks ago. We had carried chocolates for our family when we visited India. Twix and mars bars and three musketeers, that sort of thing. Someone offered Chip a chocolate and he ate it –nobody thought chocolates had egg in them. A few seconds later, Chip ran into the kitchen proclaiming he was having an allergic reaction. “To what?” I asked. He said he had eating a piece of candy and it had egg in it. The signs were all there. He was itching, his face had inflamed. I gave him ½ tsp of Benadryl, but it was too late. His stomach started to growl and he started to howl in pain as cramps twisted inside his little tummy and a minute later, he violently threw up. This was not the first time Chip had eaten candy. He ate lollipops and gold coins all the time – it was just luck that he had never consumed candy with egg in it – I really had no idea candy would have egg.

It’s hard for Chip at birthday parties. And other social occasions. And it’s hard for us. I wish people were a little more sensitive to his allergies. Especially in the desi circles. I remember an incident a few weeks ago in India. We were visiting some family and they had bread (the paav, not the sliced bread) for dinner. It came from a small bakery, with no nutritional information anywhere. A similar paav had caused an allergic reaction in Chip once and I was cautious. I asked Chip’s aunt if there were any rotis for Chip or rice. The paav might have an egg glaze. She said she could make rotis, no problem, but could he not “try” the bread and see if it had egg in it? I did not know whether to laugh or beat my head against the wall.

Parents whose kids have allergies are most understanding. I have two such friends (one of them is gnd) who will always have a ready substitute on hand for Chip. And for that I am grateful to them. Another friend is also very understanding. Her child has no food allergies, but knowing how hard it would be on Chip, she asked me before her daughter’s 1st birthday party if it was OK for them to cut cake in front of Chip. I thanked her for her consideration and quietly took Chip away to the garden while cake was served. Most people don’t realize what it is to have a food allergy, in a social sense, for a young child. To be “different” like this. It’s not easy for a child. So, I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of dos and don’ts for all of you out there that are fortunate to not suffer food allergies.

Don’t feed my child without asking me first.
Although Chip will ask if a food has egg in it, he is only three and very often he will forget. Check with me or his father before you feed him anything. For parents of young children who are allergic, there is a good selection of tees and onesies at cafrepress.com. Just search for 'allergy' and you will get results for tees with things like “Don’t feed me, I am allergic to XYZ.” It’s great if you are attending large parties or if your child is starting a new daycare.

Do inform the parents which foods with common allergens will be served at a party
While your menu should be allergen-free when a child with severe allergies (like nuts) is invited, for most other non-anaphalytic shock causing allergies (like egg), a warning will be appreciated. The parents can then decide how best to handle the situation.

Do serve alternate foods
Don’t make it a party where the child can only eat potato chips and nothing else. Children are very sensitive. Do offer some, other non-allergic foods.

Don’t pity my child
Not to his face, at least. Admire his courage instead, when he declines a piece of most yummy looking cake. I have had friends exclaim loudly to me at parties “This is such a pity. So sad he can’t eat the cake.” To Chip’s face. Don’t rub it in.

Don’t thrust a cake in my face when I am shaking my head to a “no”
This does not mean I am disrespecting your party/guest of honor. It only means I am going to give my son some company while he sits by himself, unable to enjoy the goodies. And yes, please refrain from asking things like “Even if Chip can’t eat, you can eat, na?” in Chip’s presence. Especially when he is whining for that item. The child is old enough to understand. And if you do ask, don’t be offended by what I answer.

Do educate your own child about food allergies even if your child doesn’t have them
No parent wants their child to be weird of different. In the US at least, there is a growing allergy awareness and kids are understanding. In India, even adults think allergies is a firang disorder and will tell you so. No idea what their kids will do.

This post is a part of an allergy awareness month started by Tara. Please share your stories and comments and help spread the word around.

Baayko (Wife)

Chip: Am I married?

Aie: No pilloo, you aren’t married.

Chip: Are you married?

Aie: Yes, pilloo, I am.

Chip: I want baayko (wife)

Aie: Not so soon

Chip: I need to get a moustache and a beard first?

Aie: Yes. And you need to go to school, then go to a college, then go to an office, then you get married.

Chip: But I don’t want to go to an office. I will go to school, then to college, then to NASA, then to moon.

Aie: OK. You can get a wife after you go to NASA.

Chip: But I want a wife now.

*Who will marry him? He is a snotty, tantrum throwing, overactive sorta fella. But it would be a stupid girl, who would say no to this charming prince. He does have a twinkle in his eye and says the darndest things. And he gives endless hugs.*

Chip: Aie, I want a wife now and a diamond.

Aie: Do you want a wife or a diamond?

Chip: Ummm.. diamond.

Aie: No wife? Just diamond?

Chip: No. I want both. Diamond AND wife.

Aie: Diamond first or wife first?

Chip: Diamond first.

*So, yes, looks like this guy’s pick up line is going to be this- ‘Give me a diamond, else I’ll make you my wife’. Any takers? And oh, I forgot, he already has a mangalsutra. A string of green mardi gras beads. That he wears around. It’s the age of equality, people. My son proudly wears his ‘green mangalsutra’.*

Candy

There is a story my mother-in-law has often told me. About BigGeek when he was 3 years old so. They lived in Iran then and BigGeek would play with the kids in the neighborhood. One of the kids belonged to a baggage loader and one day, BigGeek went to this kid’s house and ate some ice-cream. When my mother in law came to know about it, she was not happy. The loader’s family was not rich and ice-cream was a luxury. So that BigGeek did not attempt imposing on the family in the future, she decided to teach him a lesson. “Don’t you get ice cream in our home?” she asked him. “Is what I give you not enough? Do you want more ice-cream? Here, eat this.” She said plonking a huge brick of ice cream in front of BigGeek. The 3-year old, either did not get his mother’s sarcasm or got it but ignored it, in the end, however, he calmly proceeded to finish the ice-cream. One huge 1-liter brick. I have often laughed at the story – my mother-in-law has many such incidents to retell, but yesterday I almost sought solace in it. This post is going to be long. Consider yourself duly warned.

So yesterday, the day was going in a pretty routine fashion, when Chip came holding a bag of caramels (a part of the anniversary gift we got from a dear friend). “I want to eat some candy.” He said. “No, Chip, no candy, not now. It’s time for a nap.” I replied. That was enough to send Chip into a nuclear meltdown. He stomped and whined and cried. I ignored and restated my position. A few minutes later a quieter version of Chip came up to me. “Can I pee in my pants?” he asked me, defiantly. He was pushing my buttons. “Go ahead. You know where you are supposed to pee, I am not going to tell you.” I was exasperated. A few minutes later, Chip came back, with a hop in his step, wearing a fresh pair of pants. I was aghast. Thinking he was just fooling, BigGeek went to his room and found his old pants and undies, soaking wet, carefully placed in his hamper. Chip was summoned and sent to his room with a good sounding. “Think about what you have done.” Chip was whining and crying. But BigGeek shut the door to his room and told him to come back out when he was ready to apologize and behave himself.

A few minutes later, the crying turned to a request. “I want to go do poo-poo.” BigGeek, thinking it was just a ruse to get out of the room, told him to stay put and do it on the carpet. “You peed in your pants, you can poop on the carpet.” But the whine grew and a minute later, BigGeek thought Chip really did want to go. So he opened the door and told Chip, he could go to the bathroom, but had to return to his room after he was done. Chip went to the bathroom and sat and five seconds later, ran back to his room, declaring he was going to poop on the carpet. We were convinced, he was pushing our buttons, he really did not want to poop, but had just wanted to get out of his room. BigGeek turned his back and we went about doing our chores when few minutes later, Chip proclaimed cheerfully. “I am do-ne. I am do-ne.” I could not believe it. Chip had actually pooped on the carpet. I had never seen such defiance from him before. Never. At this point, I totally lost it. I smacked his bottom and told him I refused to clean his bum and the mess. I was not going to take him to India to attend his uncle’s wedding. He was to stay home while his father and I went by ourselves. At that, he started howling. We let him cry for 20 minutes. He said he was sorry that he had pooped on the carpet, but I would not budge. He said he felt like throwing up – he was crying so much – but I still would not let him step out of the room (the door was open) BigGeek cleaned the mess while I fumed. I told Chip he was to go to bed. His father and I would decide in the meanwhile what was to be done about him. Chip cried himself to sleep. It was hard for BigGeek and me to be so hard on him, but he had to learn his lesson, we thought.

An hour later, he woke up and behaved like everything was just peachy. Like nothing happened. I have him his milk and his snack and told him that he would be allowed to go with us only if he managed to behave and not throw tantrums. One more tantrum and he would have to stay back. “V-mawshi will come and give you food, but otherwise you are on your own. You can eat all the candy you want. You can watch all the TV you want” I told him. He agreed to behave himself and I thought, this was it, when an hour later he came downstairs and told me he had eaten some homeopathy pills and he was sorry and he would not do it again. I sniffed his mouth, sure enough it smelled of homeopathic pills. I went upstairs and asked BigGeek if he knew what Chip had done. BigGeek replied yes and that he had talked to Chip about it and Chip had asked BigGeek not to tell me. BigGeek had told him, that he would not tell, but Chip HAD to ‘fess up to me. Which is why Chip came down and told me what he had done and had apologized. I had enough of this. I took some blank sugar pills and told him he could eat all this “medicine” and when he was done, I would take him to the hospital and let the doctors deal with him. He started crying again, but in a few minutes started picking the sugar pills, enjoying the “candy”. I had reached the end of my tethers. I sat down Chip and told him this was it. I had enough of him. I was going to tell the recycling guys to take him and bring me a “nicer Chip.” Chip went awfully quiet. “Am I trash?” he finally asked. I looked with a lump in my throat at BigGeek and saw tears in his eyes. Three years of father hood and I had never once seen BigGeek’s eyes misting like this over Chip. “No, Chip, you are not trash, but you certainly behave like it sometimes.” I said quietly. He was still mulling over it. “Well, if you put me out and when the trash people come, I’ll ask them, am I trash? They will say, no, you are not trash, you are Chip and they won’t take me. I am not trash, I am Chip.”

Chip must have seen the color drain from my face, as I crept towards BigGeek and buried my face in his shirt. I totally broke down at that. I was heartbroken, exhausted, exasperated even defeated, yet there was a small pride in this mother’s heart. He had stood up to me and reasoned with me, calmly. Chip walked to me and gave me a kiss and said “I will be a good boy, ok? No tantrums. I won’t pee in my pants and poop on the carpet. OK?” “Well you better be” I said composing myself, “because if you are not well-behaved, you are staying home and not attending your uncle’s wedding. Also, until then, you are off candy and off your favorite movies as a punishment for your behavior. You are grounded, dude.” He nodded and BigGeek pulled him in his lap and I gave him a kiss. This will be a day to remember and I hope we reach a stage when we can laugh over it and tell Chip’s kids this story the way BigGeek’s mother tells his story. And yeah, I hope it’s a stage, this defiance. I need some new strategies to deal with it. I am woefully unprepared. I thought teenage is still a decade away.

WALL-E

Before the movie
DotThoughts: So who wants to see Wall-E?
BigGeek: I want to!
Chip ignoring everybody.
DotThoughts: Nobody wants to watch Wall-E? OK, Baba and I are going to the theater ourselves. OK, Baba?
Chip: No, I want to watch Wall-E too!

During the movie – the first 20 minutes
Chip: I want some more popcorn.
DotThoughts: Aren’t you watching the movie?
Chip: I am! Look, that’s a trash truck.

An hour into the movie
Chip: You are just “sharing” the soda, right? You are not finishing it?
DotThoughts: Watch the movie, will you?. See what Eva is doing. What is she doing?

After the move, standing in checkout line at the grocery store.
Chip spots a book with Wall-E on it cover.
Chip: I know who that is.
DotThoughs: Who is that? What is his name?
Chip: Umm.. Umm..
DotThoughts: Dude, we just saw the movie.
Chip: Yes! I liked popcorn and soda. You shared soda with me, right?

Tickets – $25
Popcorn - $7.50
Soda - $5.50
First movie theater experience - Priceless

Toy Blender

There was a tale my grandfather told me when I was very young. About my father. My father was a model child. Very low maintenance. This particular memory that my grandfather often told me while putting me down for a nap in the afternoon was how my father never broke a teacup as a small child. When guests came over, my father would take their empty teacups back to the kitchen. Very slowly. Very carefully. Never dropping a cup. My father would sing lullabies and pat my uncle (his younger brother by three years) down for naps when the said brother was a toddler. He would by vegetables on his way home from school with the few paise my grandmother gave him to buy treats from the school canteen. The joke in the family is that my dad was already 50 when he was born.

Some times I see my father in Chip. For all the tantrums and drama surrounding him, there is this very mature side to him that peeks out now and then. Take this past weekend. I had promised Chip he would get a toy blender (something he had been wanting for a while) if he went to his new class at his pre-school without a whimper. He managed 3 whine free days and so the promise had to be made good. On Friday evening, I picked him from the school and we drove to a toy store. We looked for a toy blender, but there were none. So he settled on an iron instead. Now the iron was much, much cheaper than the toy blender, so in a fit of generosity, I told him to pick something else too. “No.” he said shaking his head. I insisted. Do you want a Spiderman action figure? Another thing he had once asked for. “No” he said. “A baking set?” “No.” “Puzzles?” “We bought one toy. That’s enough for today. I don’t want any more toys. I like my iron.” He said hugging his exact iron replica. He never really demands things. He demands to “do” things but not demand I buy stuff for him. He will ask for something, but he is usually satisfied when I tell him it’s too expensive or that we will wait for a special occasion to buy it. Of course, this could the hubris of a naive toddler’s parent. In a year, I will be writing about His Chipness incessant demands to “buy” stuff. Until then I am smiling.

Bully Me Not

This post was on my to-do list for a long time and frankly, I don’t know how quite to organize my thoughts on the subject. A few weeks ago, a pretty scary incident happened with Kiran’s son (read about it here). Kiran’s son has been picked on by this boy at school, his bullying resulting in serious tumble down the stairs. It was a scary time for Kiran and her family, no doubt. While exchanging emails with her and a few other friends, I discovered how common bullying was in the elementary school aged kids and kids even younger.

Chip is 3 and I never thought he would be bullied and perhaps he isn’t because how do you really define bullying? In the context of someone so young?
Isolated instances of aggression?
Repeated instances by the same person?
Repeated instances of aggression with the same victim but different aggressors?
How?
Chip falls in the last category. I don’t think he gets bullied at school, I would have heard of it, but he does fall victim at get-togethers, parties and on the playground. All kids get into scuffles, yes, but with bullying one child is always powerless against the other. The bully always holds power over the victim and the victim is unable to respond.

Take a dinner party we went to. The kids were playing in the basement when a kid about 4 years old walked up to Chip and demanded that Chip hand over the foosballs he was holding. Chip denied. The boy, punched Chip in the stomach. Hard. I was watching; unsure if I should step in. The boy demanded the foosballs again. Chip shook his head. The kid punched Chip again in the stomach. Two quick, hard punches. Chip fell to the ground, breathless. I went to help Chip, another friend who noticed went to the boy and told him to stop hitting. I went to the boy too and told him hands were not for hitting. He walked off in a huff. His father was watching and said nothing. The father obviously did not mind the boy hitting to get his way. The boy has hit Chip before and I have always wondered what to do. I don’t want to butt in what are essentially kid’s quarrels, but I also don’t want Chip to get hurt. So after that instance, I told Chip, that he has to hold the bully’s hand (if he can) and say in a loud voice “Don’t hit me. Hands are not for hitting.” That, I told him, would attract the attention of a grown-up.

A couple of weeks later, Chip was at a tot lot. We were meeting some friends for coffee and they have 3-year old too and the boys were playing. I suddenly heard a cry from Chip. He came crying pointing to a stocky, blond boy who had hit him. The boy was now picking on my friend’s 3 yr old (M), but M had more grit than Chip. He hit the blond boy back. The boy backed off. My friend told Chip to play on another slide, but the blond boy followed Chip and punched him again. This time I saw it and told Chip to tell him to stop hitting. Chip ran back to the boy, put his face within an inch of the boy, and looking into his eyes, yelled at him. “Don’t hit me. OK? Don’t hit me again. Don’t hit me.” That was enough for the boy’s mother who sat engrossed in a conversation to look up and scold her son.

But I could not get the incident out of mind. After I got home, I told BigGeek what had happened. BigGeek was furious. He went to Chip and asked about the punching incident. Chip told BigGeek that a boy had punched him. “If someone punches you Chip” said BigGeek, “tell them once to stop hitting you and if they don’t listen, punch them back. Punch them back hard.” Two months ago, I would have disagreed with BigGeek. We should not be encouraging Chip to hit other kids. But after this incidence, it got me thinking. A grown up is never going to be always around to help Chip, and even then, Chip should be able to take care of himself. He should defend himself. To not do so, would be to encourage the bully. Co-incidentally, that week, Chip also saw Spiderman 3 and Batman. In bits and pieces. I was not comfortable letting Chip watch the violence, but it did him some good. He realized that good guys sometimes have to beat up the bad guys. Chip is a gentle kid by nature. He gets upset when a cartoon character falls or crashes because he is worried that the character is in pain. Even during the throes of his terrible two’s, he rarely hit or punched. His anger is directed inside (which frankly is a lot more scarier to me). I have seen him wanting something another kid has and not snatch the item. He asks for it, or tries to barter or divert the other kid’s attention to something else, he rarely snatches and never from a younger child. This is who he is and I don’t want to change it, but his father and I can and should teach him to defend himself. The world is not as gentle.

More Chipspeak

(On the way home from daycare)
Aie: We have to stop at CVS on our way home to pick up Baba’s meds.
Chip: OK.
(2 minutes later Aie realizes she needs to go to the bathroom)
Aie: Chip, actually, lets go home, you drink your milk and then we’ll go to CVS.
Chip: Why? I want to go to CVS now.
Aie: I have to do pee-pee, that’s why.
Chip: You won’t do it in your chuddi?
Aie: No! Am I a baby? We will go home, you drink your milk and I will to go to the bathroom and then we’ll go to the store.
Chip: No, no. Drive fast and find a gas station. You can do pee-pee there. The bathroom’s just like home. Don’t be afraid. Even I do pee-pee there.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

(Shaking a blue stuffed elephant in Aie’s face)
Chip: Poo-poo. That’s poo poo.
Aie is silent. Tries to get a rise out of his mother
Chip: Is that poo-poo, Aie? Is that poo-poo?
Hahaha. Aie was not born yesterday, dude
Aie: Yes, that’s poo-poo.
Chip is taken aback.
Chip (cautiously): That’s poo-poo?
Aie: Yes, its blue poo-poo
Chip: OK, let’s put it on your bum then.
(Chases Aie up the stairs to pin the blue poo-poo on her ample behind)

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Aie finds a small dark wooden stick under her bed. She wonders what it is and keeps it aside. Two minutes later Chip arrives and looks at the stick.
Chip: What’s that stick?
Aie: I don’t know. It’s just a stick. I don’t remember what it’s for.
Chip thinks for a second.
Chip: It’s the frog’s stick?
Aie: Frog’s stick?
Chip: Yes. Sadhee (Ajji) got the frog. You do this with the stick. (does a motion with the stick)
Aie (suddenly remembering): Oh! Yes. The frog croaks when you rub the stick on its back. Now I remember.
Chip: Yes! Frog goes croak-croak.
Aie: I wonder where the frog is. Give me the stick.
Chip: No. Are you a frog? No. You are not a frog. You are Aie. This is frog’s.