As God is to me, I shall be to my son!

Winkie woke up very crabby this morning, with his allergies bothering him again. Some medicine helped the itchy eyes, but he was still not ready to go to school. Just as I was toying with the idea of making him stay home, some instinct (thank God they exist!) told me that there was more to it. I asked him if there was something else bothering him about school. And yes, there was. His otherwise good pal in school, whom he loves to hang out with and play during recess, had started being mean to him. Making the others purposely tag Winkie to get him out, making fun of him in some ways, and little little acts of meanness that could be hurtful when added up, and even on its own.

This is a situation that can get quite tricky quite soon. But I was sure of one thing. There would be a lot of talking going on, between me and Winkie. There was no doubt in my mind at all, that love (the outright kind) was always the first recourse that I would talk to him about. Even though it is super challenging for a child this young, I would not lose this opportunity to talk to him about how love could change a lot of things, at least within him. Barring that, it would be best to walk away from that situation and that person. Just stop the interaction, so the opportunity doesn't arise for this petty pressure.


I still have to dome some thinking on it, and talk a lot to Winkie to try and get his feelings out in the open and understand exactly what is going on. And I think we can get off to a good start over bagels at our favorite Dunkin's across the road. I have decided to surprise him after school, with this little treat, just me and my boys. And while Thambi digs in, Winkie and I can talk and understand each other calmly, without the rush of school.

For now, he is on that bus on his way, rather unhappily, to school. It hurts to think of him so deflated like that, but whenever I weaken with thoughts like these, I always remember the relationship that parenting emulates. That of the relationship between an individual and God. When I have a problem, it deflates me at first, the enormity of it. And God watches on, as He always does, not weakened by His love for me, but all-knowing and all-seeing, and I always imagine Him with a gentle, benevolent smile, that is quite unruffled by my problems, but with compassion flowing like a steady river towards me. All I have to do to tap into His calm Love, is to turn and look for Him. And when I do, He is there. Always.

As I watched Winkie walk to his stop this morning, these were the thoughts running through my head. I wished my son would turn and look at me, and see me smiling and rooting for him. I wished he could sense me transferring whatever energy I had in the form of firm prayer and positive thought. When he reached his stop, he did turn back once to look. And when his bus passed by, he made eye contact and waved at me. Whatever anger and upset he was feeling, he was still able to set that aside to wave at me, like always. And with that, he has shown his faith, unknown to him as it may be, right now. And where there is faith, there is always hope. And God.

I have no doubts at all, that he will face his life in school, and come back to tell me about it. And when I open that door, he will be standing there with a smile on his face...

There is going to be magic!

Friday afternoon, 3:45 and he walked in, a big sheepish grin plastered on his face, his hands crossed behind his back, both a sure sign that there was something hiding there. I asked, and he said 'nothing'. And then, without the usual dawdling over taking off his shoes and unpacking, he headed straight upstairs. A minute later, he was back down, and still looking at me with a sort of expectant air, wondering if I knew what he was doing. I guess this is the sweetest thing about innocence....how it envelops you so completely, that you don't even pick up on the guiles of people.

I continued playing the game with him. Why did you go upstairs kanna?...I asked.

Nothing. I just went to check on Thambi....he replied, the innocence still speaking, mixed in with his set of simpler guile. I let it be.

But fate had other plans. I was upstairs cleaning out the guest bedroom, when I found a piece of paper sticking out from under my sewing machine. I pulled it out, and before I realised what it was, I found myself looking at his Mother's Day creation. Words leapt out at me in that exact word art form that I had recently loved. Coffee, tea, helpful, worker. These were the ones that stood out even in those few hurried seconds that  automatically and quickly scanned and relished in secrecy, before hiding it back in the same precise manner.

Come Saturday morning, and I declared...Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I wish it is a special day.

The person that was meant for heard me loud and clear. And with that secret excitement playing on his face, he replied to me in full earnest....it will be Amma. Just wait and see. There is going to be magic. I loved him right then and there, when he declared that promise of magic, but how could he know that the magic was all about that very moment, when he still believed in his secret, and nursed my expectant happiness of it!

Sunday, May 9, 2010. Mother's Day. We started off to an action packed morning. It was graduation day for Winkie's Balvikas class, and we had to be at the temple by 8:30. He was in 3 skits and this was a crucial stage performance, if not his first. He was a sevadal, in the first one, an orange in the second, and playing the role of a Balvikas student in the 3rd. This picture is a scene from the 3rd. He did great on stage. Mixed in with that tinge of nervousness, that heightened sense of alertness when his part was to come, and a general sweet, goofy grin as he tried to spot his Dad in the crowd, he was a very contained and composed young man. I loved watching every nuance of emotion flit across his face and I loved him in his white pants and white shirt, enhancing that aspect of purity.

We came home and he asked me if I was ready for that magic. I was tired and a little hesitant, knowing that I would have to put on a bit of a show to express the novelty of receiving. But he was excited and went for it. It was behind his hands once more, and I played the part of nonchalance rather well. And somewhere in that process,  he was offering it to me. I loved that he had thought to call me a daisy. What mother does not enjoy being likened to a flower? :) I also loved that he had noticed and commented on my new found fascination for long earrings. I also asked him about those words he had used for me and why.

It was coffee and tea, because I loved drinking those. It was helpful, because I helped him extricate his favorite book from the shelf that he could not reach, though I always remembered the length of time, a good 30 minutes, between his request and my action on it. He said I was a worker, because I worked so hard at cleaning the house. This, I could accept because I had been slaving to spring clean the house the past week. Flowers, was a nice touch, because he knows that I love to have fresh bunch of flowers on the table every week. Beautiful was beautiful, when he explained that I was looking that way with my new earrings. Kind, caring & loving, was a generous helping on his part, which only accented my guilt at all the times I hadn't been that way, but inspiring me at the same time to become those attributes. It is the purpose of our life isn't it, ultimately?

The big grand finale was in the form of his inspired little poem, a last minute touch that he added, as a little love note to put in my blue box, the one I had meant for such communication many moons ago. I was amazed that he remembered to use the box, an even more with the words he strung, in this cute hallmark style.


This was one of those first Mother's Days that R didn't have to pitch in for to make it stand out for me. Winkie did it all on his own, thinking through it from start to end, and executing it all in a manner, that will leave me smiling for man years to come. And especially now that I have this record of it to jog my sentiments once more.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you, and hope we can feel the joys of what we do, every single day, in every peak and trough of emotion!!

Love has attributes!

My Dear Kutti-Thambi!



Is this my first letter to you? Feels like it. I am writing to tell you of a precious treasure you now have for your collection of memories. Not that it means anything to you right now, blissed out as you are sitting on a dirty doormat, munching on chocolate from our Target trip, in your light blue dolphin tee shirt, and gray track pants. But it will be special when you get bigger and can understand just the specialness of what this gift is. Because it is the gift of thoughtfulness and that sweet thoughtful love, that Anna is so capable of, and surprises us with, from time to time.


Last week, he came home with this computer printout. They had had some time in the lab that day, and were playing around with font transparencies. How if you type the same word 12 times, it gets brighter and brighter, than if you were to do it just 5 times and so on. Most of his friends chose words for their parents and friends, he told us, but he chose you. And I can tell you, it made us happier than anything else he could have done. We love it when he chooses you, and thinks of you. When he till date, remembers, every Thursday, during library time, to bring home one book, exclusively for you. Last time, it was another story of Curious George, and you were really thrilled by it.


What was even more special was reading his choice of words as attributes for you. He acknowledges that you are naughty, and that you are, most especially with him. You creep on an unsuspecting Winkie, and just give him a push from behind, why even from front and scamper away, to a safe distance, waiting to see the effect of that deliberate teasing. And he always obliges you with all the drama you seek, while obliging us with a very unwarranted increase in the level of noise. You tickle him when he eats his breakfast, purposely slowing him down. You try to scribble hurriedly on pieces of his paper, the ones he so carefully tries to guard. You want to sit on the exact chair that he so temporarily vacated. You love sleeping on his pillow when he is still brushing his teeth. So he is very very justified in calling you naughty.


Cute. Oh yes. He couldn't have been more on the dot than when he called you this. The way you so adamantly correct us these days on every little thing we do or say, even though we haven't been wrong, yet, you have to have the satisfaction of having the last word on it, now t.h.a.t is cute. Like last night in bed, when I called you Jingu Johnson. And you corrected me, even in sleep and said your name was Sathya. Which of course, is true, and we stand corrected, but you can't blame us for calling you JJ either. It suits you really well! :D

Adorable. Oh yes!! Its adorable the way you sit and sing bhajans. Clapping hands to perfect beat. Matching tone and pitch and lyric and song to that perfect hearing that made you assimilate that music in the first place. Its adorable the way you always call out a greeting to a stranger passing by, even if they aren't looking your way, making even the grumpiest person sport a smile just for you. Its adorable the way you do a 100 meter dash when you first spot me getting out of the car, when I come pick you up from school, those little legs on high gear, right until the minute you reach my arms, shouting....my mommy, my mommy, announcing me to all your friends.


Little. Yes. You still are a little munchkin, which it makes it even more adorable on you. Your littleness is the sweetest thing, when you hold your teacher's hand and walk to the park, while all the other kids are holding each other's. You get that special privilege of her grip since you are the littlest there, and  enjoy watching you and feeling your littleness. 'Little' is the beauty of your little hands as they engage in some task, be it building blocks, or pointing to something outside the car window, or simply holding a glass of water in your hands, and sipping from it. I secretly admire your littleness everyday, and its one of the reasons I named you Jingu Johnson. :)


Playful. Well, he couldn't have found a more precise yet profound word for you. Playfulness has been your trademark all along. You have made a game of every thing, and what's more, inspired us to play it with you, teaching us, so subtly, to enjoy life and take it on a less than serious keel. All we have to do is look at you, as if we are just about to pounce on you, and you will make a dash for it, laughing wildly, at the possible thrill of the chase. You also play with my emotions, making it range from sheer frustration to the blissful height of a lost love in just a matter of seconds. You are the ultimate gameboy, my little love.


Fun. Does this even need an elaboration? When has it not been fun being with you?  Okay, let me not get carried away, for it certainly is not fun during mealtimes, when you have decided eating is not to be your way of life, even from a basic survival point of view. And okay, its not fun, when you both are fighting and constantly clashing, and whining and crying. Not one bit of fun! But put together all the rest of the moments as above, subtracting from them, these minor annoyances of unness, and you might just be able to take up a patent on 'fun'. And if that doesn't fall through, you always have this little brotherly award to fall back on.


Because that is exactly what it is. He has, during the course of his busy school day, stopped to think of you, and what words describe you best, and put it together in a way that is artsy, and aww-inspiring. And besides, writing you this letter, and using it as my next ode to happiness, I also want to have it signed by him, and framed for you, to keep and cherish and remember the bonds that has made you the naughty, fun, adorable, little, playful, cute, Sathya for him!

Pleased to the last punch,
Amma.