Tomorrow - the promised land

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, ’cos you’re always a day away”. Is what the super-cute child star Annie sang, in her heart-melting voice, sitting at that window-sill of long ago.

Tomorrow, the day of gilded edges that will rise over me like a beautiful phoenix, giving new life to all my dreams and hopes. Tomorrow, dearly loved by Today; whom Today will protect and keep perfect.
I love you too, Tomorrow.

Mother Vs Doctor

When our kids fall sick, my husband dreads having any illness-related conversation with me. That's because I nag him to death. He's a doc and so I call him every 30 seconds and accuse him of not being sensitive to a laywoman's reasonable anxieties if he tries to tell me to stop being a pain.

First, there's the issue of the dosage. The only one I can remember is 10 mg per kg for Paracetamol. Even for that, more often than not, I ask him to compute the exact dose for me so I don't need to do it myself. Self-reliance is, after all, one of his strong points.

Then when the medicine is being administered, if the child is supposed to get 4.5 ml but her sister bumped into me when I was giving it and I spilled some, how much more should I give? And what about when the baby spits some of it out and there's nothing more in the bottle?

Against all odds

We are speeding down the road and I have already checked my watch five times. The kids have been shouted at three times in the last fifteen minutes and because I am not driving, I am monopolizing the business of shouting. When post one scolding, the irrepressible six-year-old starts off with yet another question, hubby, who believes he can handle this better than I can, tells her quickly, “Don’t talk to your mother. Talk to me!  Talk to me!”

We make it to the venue of the wedding with half an hour to spare, thanks to a gross miscalculation, on my husband’s part, of the time required to get there. However, when I step out of the car, feeling like a flamboyant success, this detail seems to be utterly inconsequential. What is of cosmic significance is the fact that we have made it to a wedding – ahead of time. I beam at my cutiest, beautiest, spousiest spouse.  We are a team. We did it. Nothing can stop us now.

Moving house

They look at me with mocking eyes - all our worldly possessions.  “When is she going to get her act together?” they say. 

It’s been a month since the guests started sitting amidst flotsam and jetsam.  A month since the house has been floating around in a sea filled with monsters that rear their ugly heads every morning; a sea that unleashes storms that shriek and rage; that changes its moods as often as a pregnant woman.

I never imagined that my domain would put up such a fight when we wanted out.  How and when did the stuff and the house get involved? Since when have they become so inseparable? And now, here they are fighting tooth and nail against the divorce that I intend to execute.

On the road

I’m not a great driver, don’t know the machine intimately and have grave doubts about my ability to change a flat. But I do like being behind the wheel of a fast or maybe I should say, fast-ish car. I like the promise of freedom, the way the car cocoons you in a world of your own, the air-conditioning, the music. And on the days when our usually very dusty on the outside and very messy on the inside car is clean and bright, I feel clean and bright.

 

When we’re on the road as a family, though, it’s a different story. Sometimes it’s great and sometimes not-so-great. And then, there are the times when I would be anywhere but inside the car.