Moment in time

Up at unearthly o'clock with the Teething Toddler who demanded 'another cup' of water on this cold dry English night. Trod on strategically placed racing cars on way to kitchen to get the water and checked the BBC news on my phone instead of watching where I walked. I stumbled over a car as I read about the death of Whitney Houston.

Just yesterday, on our way to a birthday party, the radio was blaring every ballad to commemorate valentines day and whitney's 'I will always love you' came on. We both laughed about how much we loved her music no matter how corny it could be.

And then to hear this news. I am a Big Time fan I would say. I know the tunes and the lyrics. I am always amazed anew by the clarity and heft and sheer power of her voice. I am not ashamed to say I listened to a LOT of her music growing and grown up. Tomorrow at breakfast I am going to put on a CD of her greatest hits and use the amp and speakers in her honour. Whatever her problems may have been it is a shame and a waste to have been taken so early. RIP Whitney. I will always love you.

S.N.O.W

Out for a walk this morning in the smattering of snow. Followed by divine Japanese lunch. This is the good life.

February the first

Blistering cold day today. Deceptively blue sunny skies. We had to retreat for an extra layer and missing gloves before venturing to yet another play activity.

The joy of living in a glass box though is that all afternoon we built imaginary and real block forts on our living room carpet bathed in sunshine and shielded from the worst of the cold.

Hot avocado paranthas with yogurt for dinner - a new found use for avocado that is popular with my child and me.

An early night turn in to try and cure my past few nights of insomnia, brought on by Vs absence. On the plus side I'm catching up on lots of programs on the iPad and getting through my stack of library books at great speed.

A good start to February. I'm pleased with 2012 so far.

They are coming

January has been a very busy month, in a good way. It's not an excuse and I just wanted to say I'll be more 'Diligent' in February. Of this year.

In the meanwhile, enjoy some cheese.

Apparently...

.... I didn't make any resolutions last year. Or at least none that I bothered to record on my dead weed like blog. But in years past I most certainly made and wrote about my resolutions. I'm big on resolution making. And keeping as far as I can. I find it gives me a focus and direction, much like a shopping list to get on with and tackle.

This year I have a few things on the list:

1. I am trying to be more mindful of what I eat. Not to lose weight (although my obeseness does need addressing) but just because I have lost my desire to eat meat on a regular basis. I am your original meat eater so this is a big change for me. I've been thinking of being mainly vegetarian for a while now. So this year I'm trying to be a pescatarian and up my intake of fish and avoid meat/ poultry as far as I can. I think special occasions or holidays might be the only time I veer.

2. Owning less stuff. I find that I buy a lot of things, mainly on amazon. Books predominantly, for myself, friends, my kid. But also random things like kitchen appliances or toys or foot scrub. Things that I don't need and certainly don't have place for. Our house is groaning at the seams. Any day now expect news that a house of paper and plastic crap exploded all over a London neighbourhood. I'm going for notoriety not stardom apparently. So since October I have stopped buying any more books. I'm using my library more. I sifted through my bookshelves and gave away/ sold 100 books for a £1 each. I'm watching what I buy and avoiding any toys or gadgets as we have quite enough. We sorted out cupboards and toy baskets and I'm saving my son's Christmas presents (all from friends, none from us) to be opened through the year - he got to tear off the wrapping paper which to a 2 year old IS the gift and then they got put away. This is my year of sorting sifting and being less greedy for things.

I have a few more but I'll leave them for another day. What are yours?

And so it begins

2011 sucked in many many ways; predominantly in the loss of my grandfather, two uncles and a friend whose death remains unresolved. However it had it's bright spots too, mainly watching my child's discovery of the world and the birth of beautiful babies to dear friends. Also the evenings with friends in central london eating out and my parents summer with us. Our family seaside vacation to Thailand and then our Italian break. The wonderful group of mothers in my area whose children my son plays alongside and who make exploring London just a bit easier and infinitely more interesting. V and I celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary on christmas day - a decade of life that has flashed by in the blink of an eye and ever so slowly, in many many cherished moments.

I want to revisit my resolutions from last year to see how I did but have not had a moment to do so. These next few days will be reflective while getting back into the swing of things after the mainly restful holiday period. And I do plan to blog about resolutions from last year and this. I'm self competitive like that!

We spent today with friends in their beautiful new home, stuffing our faces with every manner of Mexican delicacy. We spent the 1st of January with the same couple last year so inadvertently it's become a tradition that I hope we can continue in years to come. It's certainly a wonderful way to greet a new year - food and friends and fabulousness are a genius combination.

So while 2011 mainly sucked I have high high hopes for 2012. For what it's worth I'm hoping it really is a happy new year for us all, in every way and every day.

Ten/ Dus/ a decade

Grow old with me,

The best is yet to be.

                                                   - (Robert Browning. Poet. 1812 - 1889)

Happy tenth anniversary my beloved!

The steam room

A. A place to inhale the lovely warm steamy air and feel your pores open.

Or

B. Where the condensed sweat of other gym users is attacking those very open pores.

Can't decide which camp I believe and where I stand on steam rooms.

The Christmas Tree

Back when I was a child my mum used to make me a Christmas tree each year. It did not matter that we were not Christian. That had certainly not stopped us from stuffing our faces with cake or accompanying our friends to midnight mass or indeed demanding and receiving presents. We never had a real or even vaguely life like tree - instead they were fabulous creations dreamed up by my mum. Her tree-like wooden bangle stand wrapped up in green crepe paper chains was my favourite. There were others - made of balls stacked up was one - always with little decorations to make them feel christmasy. The excitement of my childhood is certainly borne out by photographs collecting dust somewhere in my parents home. If I bribe my brother enough he will no doubt pull them out and scan them for me.

Well, this year someone sent me a Facebook link of a picture of a Christmas tree made up of books and decorated in a string of fairy lights. I loved it! Then I was thinking about it all . the. time. I have a stack of books on my own sideboard ready to be donated to the local library/ charity shop so I thought why not?! I added some books from my shelves and lo and behold we have a tree.

Of course my tree has neither the height nor the glamourous setting but it's made good use of eyesore stack (so when are these going to the library again?). It has no lights or decorations except for a Christmas card on top and no presents nor space for any at the bottom. I still love it.

Can anything be too animated?

I have always always loved watching cartoons. The Road runner outwitting the Coyote, Tweety bird escaping from hungry Sylvester and Tom thwacking Jerry are some of my earliest memories of televised animation. My father used to record VCR tapes of the stuff for us when he lived abroad bringing us back a fresh quota each time he came to visit. I distinctly remember going to watch Yogi Bear at Chanakya cinema as a child and of crying great fat tears the afternoon I watched Dumbo on our TV/VCR.

After the awesome Lion King, on the cusp of adulthood, there came Finding Nemo, both path breaking mainstream films in their own times and right. Now here was a different league of animation from the jerkily hand drawn images of my childhood, animation as I had never imagined it before - fluid, sleek and ever so beautiful - mesmerising. I watched Finding Nemo again and again and again, at the cinema and then on DVD, never tiring of the storyline, the cresendo of music, the humour and accents of fish, always silently rooting for the father to find his child. The beauty lay in the subtle subtext; for while Marlin roams the Great Barrier reef looking for Nemo it was a journey of discovery - for him to take risks and overcome obstacles  - and to allow Nemo to take care of himself. A beautiful film if ever I saw one.

Of course then there was a spate and you always had the choice of watching something animated at the cinema. From the sequels of Shrek to many parts of Toy Story, the roaring of Cars to the super powers of the Incredibles there was movie after movie to choose from. Along the way I stopped watching any TV animation.

Of course the arrival of the Child has meant a re-introduction to the animated world. And even though he is only little and his TV is rationed for eye saving and in favour of physical games, I do let him watch animated series such as Peppa Pig and Thomas the Tank Engine. These are both British creations with cult followings and merchandising that could seriously harm the pocket. Thomas the Tank engine is, as the name suggests, about an engine. He is blue, his number is 1 and he lives on a mythical island where he and his other engine friend have 'adventures'. Peppa is a very pink pig whose daily life provides much entertainment with her family and many animal friends. Thomas the animated series has had many iteration and technological advancements over the years, going from stills of actual and very basic animated train models and a single person doing all the voices to a slick animated version very much computer generated.

The wierd thing is that my child always seemed to prefer this older version of Thomas and the line drawings of Peppa (though animated, very simple drawings) to teh slicker more modern versions. I would always be met with resistance at other TV animation such as Jungle Junction or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (except for the opening songs because bopping around to a tune is his thing!) and it recently made me think about it. I too prefer the more basic animation than the 3D experience and the very 'plastic' quality of some animation. I have come to the conclusion that some of the modern day animation is so detailed that he cannot fathom, compress and process all that information in so short a time. The simpler drawings/ models and gentler, slower pace of the voiceovers is more attractive to him, much easier to compute as he makes sense of the world around him.

With animated movies and TV series being big business technology is pushing every known boundary in the arena. It's very very exciting and I can't even imagine what the next level of animation will be. And while I am all for better and sleeker animation I do wonder at what point does animated become so animated that it loses that basic quality of animation, the edge of belief in a character and become so plastic in a way that makes one lose interest? This is a rhetorical question - and just my very small opinion. I guess I (and my son) have catching up to do.

In the words of Bruce:

'I am a nice shark, not a mindless eating machine. If I am to change this image, I must first change myself. Fish are friends, not food.'

This evening

At the end of a long busy week of managing my child's hectic social life I am out in central London having an evening with friends. We ate at the ever popular Busaba and chatted over the din of busy diners also enjoying and evening out. And then we walked the length of Oxford street taking advantage of late night shopping to try on winter hats. With my mad mop of hair I just look more deranged if that's possible. The only hat that might suit costs more than I am willing to spend. But as an exercise it was super fun. Also the only person not looking for a hat bought a lovely bright Christmas party dress so we all feel like our time and her money has been well spent. I've bought V a couple of kathi rolls and am now on my way home. Life is made of sticky children and wonderful girl friends! G'nite!

Rome

In early November this year V, kid and I had a weeks vacation in Italy. We flew to Rome where we spent 4 days before taking a train to Venice.

Plane and train journeys with a small active child are a definite adventure. But once we reached our hotel most of that 'adventure' feeling (read traumatised parents feeling) is soon drowned in a glass of a wine and patted down by a nice meal.

So Rome. It is a splendid city indeed. As the guidebooks rightly point out everywhere you turn is a beauitful building or sombre ruin of a once beautiful building. We stayed near the beautiful Borghese Gardens. Ever since the kid became part of the equation our vacations have become more relaxed and see-it-as-you-go-by than dash around and see everything the guidebook tells you to. So each day we managed only to see one site or monument before eating a relaxed lunch and returning to the hotel for a lovely nap. And in the afternoon we'd just go for a walk or find a local park with swings and slides for entertainment of small person who has no interest in monuments of any kind.

Each evening we ate in little local restaurants in the area near the hotel, pizza and pasta mainly. And the kid lapped it all up with a love that makes me think he's a bit Italian. We took a few tram rides in our search for playgrounds and managed to see a lot more of the non touristy bits of city than we envisaged. The thing that struck me most were the wooden shutters on every window of every building. Lovely, colourful and bright relief from the plain plaster walls.

We visited the Vatican where the long narrow halls were the ideal running track for the kid. Our view of the Sistine chapel was a bit like a darshan of a very famous temple - a quick and fleeting glance as we were herded in one door and out the other. But every bit of the Vatican was beautiful and we could have spent days just gazing at it's artworks and architecture. The Vatican was certainly the highlight of Rome for me although the magnificence of the colosseum is a close second.

We had amazing Mediterranean weather - in the mid-20s every day with brilliant sunshine and no need for any sort of jackets. It rained buckets just one afternoon but it worked out fine because we had already done our sightseeing for the day and instead spent the afternoon in a local supermarket marvelling at the number of pasta shapes on offer and buying fresh fruit for snacking purposes. And of course making sure that the escalators did their jobs properly. Ah the fascinations of foreign holidays lie in supermarkets and let no one tell you any different....

Tears

I read this earlier this year:

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love. - Washington Irving

As someone who cries only in a bathroom with the tears running its a leap to think of them as marks of power not weakness. I can only try.

blocked

My ears hurt. And feel all blocked. My tonsils are,as usual, out of a summer hibernation and desperately foraging for every virus and bacteria they can latch on to. Swallowing is painful. And yet I have a full social life (or rather am secretary to the child that does) of a playdate and the first of many Christmas parties today. Home hippy remedies to suggest anyone?

I'm going to have lunch with a gruffalo

Cupcake birthday

While I begin everything with good intentions my follow through clearly leaves something to be desired. To make up for not posting yesterday here is the first of two posts today. We had two sets of friends around for a meal yesterday, one after the other and before I knew it it was 1am and I couldn't even keep my eyes open.

So in July my son turned 2 and although my intention was not to have a birthday party I bowed to the pressure/ my instinct so my parents could meet all his friends and mine at one go. It wasn't a birthday party in the traditional sense, more a glorified playdate. We invited 15 kids including a few babies to come round to ours between 2pm and 4pm on the Saturday before his birthday. There were no games or activities just plain simple running wild all over our small apartment and in our narrow balcony. We have an abundance of toys - balls, trikes, a tent, a slide, a train set, about 40 hotwheels style cars, a scootie, and baskets full of plastic and wooden crap to make 'toys r us' proud. Essentially at that age they don't seem to do much by the way of collaborative play, so most kids chose a toy or toys to play with and was oblivious of the others around him/her. There were cupcakes, sandwiches, vegetables with a selection of dips and corn and beetroot fritters for the kids. It was a busy afternoon and most of the action was 2 year olds trampolining on our bed. We had multicolored cloth bunting up (since re-used in his room) and enough helium balloons so each child could take one home. We avoided the gift bag route and gave each kid a set of balls (basketball, football and random yellow ball) small enough to snuggly fit under their buggies and a tub of playdough.

The piece de resistance was his cake , a collaborative effort between two of my friends. It was a forest of cupcakes with the characters from his favorite book 'The Gruffalo' strategically placed to look like a scene from it. So one friend baked and iced while the other made the figurines and details (like orange eyes, mushrooms, terrible teeth, butterflies and purple prickles) and they assembled it on our dining table.

I'm quite sure my son will have no memory of this day to celebrate his birth. After all every day at this stage in his life is a SUPER FUN playdate. But it was worth doing just to see the realisation in his eyes of the figurines of the mouse, the fox, the snake and the Gruffalo coming to life, and the beaming smile that followed.

Children on the kitchen floor

This summer my cousin 40in2006 came to London with her husband and two daughters. It was a wonderful sunny week and every evening exhausted from a long day of sightseeing my nieces would fall asleep in our living room. As my own kid would be asleep by 8pm as well this meant that the 4 adults could sit on our narrow balcony and drink wine and eat our meal at leisure chatting and chatting into the long summer evening. It was a lovely week.

My son loves his chechis (sisters). He saw them in November last year and ever since then walks up to their picture on our bookshelf and says chechi chechi chechi. So he was totally prepped for their arrival and after the first few minutes of feeling shy followed them around like a shadow. My fondest memory is of him sitting on the kitchen floor while my oh so tall niece sat opposite him as he played some game. He kept looking up at her and blabbering away. And then there was our lovely day in Greenwich sitting in the park and eating our lunch while he and my younger niece ran around like loons. Special special days and times and although he is only small and will have no memory of this I hope he grows up loving his cousins as much as I do mine.

Lost for words

First it was an amazing summer of guests and I was having too much fun to post. Then I was lazy enjoying the sunshine and long summer days.

Then another beloved uncle (cousin of my mum) died. Then a dear school friend of mine was murdered. And although we hadn't met in over 22 years we had found each other on Facebook and it was like yay technology for doing what snail mail could not. We connected again and it was all the reminiscing, catching up and looking forward that we chatted about. I'm still in disbelief about his death. And with that any words I had froze. I sat down to write about 6 times in the past month but each time the words would catch in my wrists.

Today I just knew I had to write. I think I will try and write something everyday this month. Not sure what but a few lines each day to get the rusty old brain working again. And then who knows, in the New Year I might be readable again. Bear with me.

Not really 36 today

I'm 21 with 15 years experience.

I think this kind of thinking and the chopping off of my hair are certain signs of a mid-life crisis. Let's see how it all pans out eh?

36 in 2011

Tomorrow is my 36th birthday. And I cannot for the life of me think of 36 things to say in one coherent post so I thought a nice little ramble might be the way to go. The mind is clearly the first to go!!

This past year, I can say with some confidence, has gone by in a flash and achingly slow. Not sure how to explain that besides claim ownership of a weird time continuum machine in the living room of my brain!

I've blogged less than in any other year. And vacillated about it for far longer than I would have liked.

I've dyed my hair for the very first time and I'm not sure I like it. I do know now though that I'm certainly not brave enough to grow grey naturally - yet.

I've read more than in any other year; possibly the only consistent thing from my childhood to this middle age has been my love affair with the printed page. I'm not for the convenience of a kindle and don't think I shall be seduced away from the flipping of pages anytime soon. I am however doing a cull to save my groaning bookshelves and hope to sell 100 books for £1 each to support a charity close to my heart.

I've stopped listening to music almost completely, abandoning my ipod and its dock, the radio and any cd's. I'm not sure why this has happened and wierdly I don't miss it. I hum random tunes a lot more though and that is not necessarily a better thing as I cannot hold a tune at all.

I've changed career paths from fundraising-for-the-not-for-profit to the stay-at-home-and-look-after-the-kid-kinda-not-for-profit. This was not an easy decision but a quick one when I came to it. It's one of the better decisions I took this year and as hard as it is I am enjoying it (mostly, she gingerly says!).

I've had more angst than ever before - about work, child rearing, growing old, friendships, relationships, the meaning of life etc. Large swathes of time this year have passed in self pity and serious wallowing. Duvet days of the mind I call them. You'll be glad to know that its a phase well in the past.

We've had a few amazing holidays while I've been 35. But I've had moments on these holidays that I have blocked out from memory, snapshots erased from the hard drive of my twisted mind. Don't ask because I won't tell.

I've killed all the plants on my terrace, slowly but surely. Over watered and fistfuls of mud falling (literally) victim to my enthusiastic boy. But as I turn 36 I've found someone to come and replace them, repot the survivors and possibly check on their wellbeing in the future.

I've given in to the temptation of eating chocolate more often than I would like to admit. My love affair with ice cream however has ended. Ben and Jerry no longer come a-calling at my freezer.

I've stopped cooking almost completely and found someone else to cater to our hunger. I've eaten out fewer times in this year than in any of the last 7 or so years. I've eaten in only 2 or 3 absolutely new places in the entire year, a dismal record by my standards. The joy I used to find in food has diminished. This has nothing to do with ageing tastebuds and more to do with my state of mind. It's a sad day when I no longer relish food or even the act of eating. It's not yet come to that although the line is simmeringly flat and I am hopeful of the next year being a renaissance in cooking and eating in our house and about.

I'm a bundle of contradictions every. single. day. It's been a meh year to say the very least, certainly far from my best. Having said that I've had many many moments of pure unadulterated joy, mainly involving my son and diamonds (greedy guts girl). Moments that have made 35 bearable and the possibilities that 36 hold enticing.

I've had a drastic haircut today. Tomorrow I am 36 with a mop of unmanageable curls rather than my staid tied up auntyji bun. I feel lighter and more hopeful and positively enticed. Less auntyji more middle age ladki.

Right side of 40 here I come!

vent vent vent

I am a realist and I usually tell it like it is. In fact my friend M and I once had a conversation where she said that she would never say it like I do lest it hurt someones feelings. Well I have been known to tell it like it is and as my other friend A said that makes it very difficult to be friends with me. Even all this 'gentle' critisism has never stopped me from being a foot in mouth patient.

The thing is this: I don't always speak my mind. When I do, it's real and I try hard not to be scathing. My aim is to build and make stronger relationships. Similarly I am often at the receiving end of such critisism or realism and I take it in that spirit. I am judgemental about certain things and I don't make bones about that.

I do realise there is a time and place for saying things and there are always tonnes of things I am simmering with that I want to say but don't for reasons of propriety/ distance and becuase they are plain none of my business. There are things I wouldn't say but plenty more that I do. I have no doubt lost countless friends over the years with my talking ways but equally I have friends who appreciate or merely put up with my yapping. But with the longest dry spell this blog has ever seen I thought I'd say the top things I wish I could say right now but just cannot. What's the point of a blog eh?

1. I really really like you but your partner/ husband/ wife, not so much.

2. How come it's only ever me that calls? Or writes?

3. I have lost all respect for you as a person because of how you handle your children.

4. Does it all come down to money? How much you make and how much we make - such an unattractive discussion don't you think?

5. You left without saying goodbye or bothering to write after you reached your destination. More than hurtful it was rude.

Luckily none of the people these are aimed at even know I write a blog so I have no fear.

So it turns out I'm not a very nice person. Let the critisism begin.