Pearls are for Tears

I once read somewhere to never give someone pearls, since pearls are for tears. If this is true, then i must be swimming in pearls. I've cried an ocean on this journey, i cried a stream this week alone. These were tears of joy, tears of frustration, tears of laughter.

Shabd started daycare this week, he goes from 08h00 to 12h00. My heart ached at parting with Shabd, at realising that my little baby was becoming a "beeg" boy now and taking this step meant that he was entering the "real" world. At school, he would have to stand up for himself, speak up, share and learn the rules of engagement. I cried a river that morning. I dropped Shabd off with Miss Sherry, got into my car and cried so hard it hurt.

Shabd absolutely loves staying with Dipika masi and Desh masa. They have gone out of their way to ensure he's comfortable and happy in their beautiful straight out of Top Billing home. They've borne, with great dignity, Shabd's little intrusions into their once sacred and private bedroom. They bravely grit their teeth when Shabd lets out his ear splitting howls and screams. In a mere week, Shabd and i have turned their neat little haven upside down, and they've remained the perfect hosts; genial, loving, caring.

It's been tough for both Shabd and I being away from Papa. We've grown very close. All rules, for this year, were suspended pending full recovery of mummy. Thus, I'm ashamed to say that Shabd has become quite the spoilt child and throws many tantrums.

My child give credence to the phrase "Terrible Two's". The thing is, not knowing any other two year olds, I'm not sure if Shabd's behaviour is normal for a two year old, is it adjusting to the change of moving to South Africa or is he simply spoilt.

Now, I'll tell you why this is important in my little world. Understanding why Shabd is throwing a tantrum will guide how i deal with the tantrum; ignore, hug and cuddle, or discipline. I've read so much on line about tantruming and about yelling (i have been known to join the tantrum parade from time to time). And the advice always points to either:

1. Ignoring the tantrum thus the child realises that throwing tantrums doesn't get him attention and there are more constructive ways of getting attention.
2. Hug and cuddle the child as the child does not have the vocabulary required to express himself and is thus feeling frustrated by this.
3. Discipline the child by means of the "naughty chair" or something to that effect so that the child learns that his actions have consequences.

Now call me overly cautious if you must, but I'm just not sure which punishment fits the crime. Simply because all to often, I'm not sure what the nature of the crime is! All tantrums look, sound and feel the same to me. There are tears, screaming, head banging or body wriggling and a pained look in his eyes. None of these rather conspicuous actions give me the least clue as to the reason the tantrum is happening. So how do i apply the right sanction? For the love of all toddlers out there, how does one know?

As to the advice on averting a potential tantrum; the theory being (and i stress on the word THEORY here, since I'm not convinced it can be done) that if a parent is able to catch the signals of a tantrum still brewing, they can take steps to stop the tantrum before it becomes full blown. 

After many hours of observation, and thought, and more observation, i have only one question, "Are you people psychic?" How do you recognise the tantrum signals? I have to admit, i don't get it. I often ask myself if i am the most obtuse mother alive? Hmm....one for the Lunch Mommies for sure.

Tantrums or not, i wish i could take all the pearls in the world and throw them into the deep dark ocean. Seeing my child's eyes flooding with tears is like having a sharp barbed wrench being turned in my heart.

Pizza! Yay Pizza!

Last night, Papa came home and instead of kicking his shoes off and sinking into the couch to cuddle with Shabd, he declared that we were going out for dinner, as a family, just the three of us. What a special and unexpected treat! I felt as if i was given a birthday present. There was no dilly-dallying, no uhms or arhs, no give me a sec, just lets go for dinner to Beau Bassin.

So off we went, the three of us, Shabd singing at the top of his voice, to Mani in Beau Bassin. Mani is a quaint little pizzeria. The atmosphere is cozy and the staff welcoming. Joyce greeted us with a big smile that widened considerably when Shabd asked Aunty Joyce for pizza please!

Going on our vast previous experience of Shabd being quite an excitable little boy, we were armed with the iPad and prepared to whip it out at the first signs of trouble; our objective being to have a fun family meal together, by hook or crook.

Never in a million years would we have thought that the occasion would not rise for us to bring out the ultimate weapon of distraction. Nay siree. Shabd was the model of a toddler (and here i mean in the positive sense, cute, engaging and all that!). He politely nagged Aunty Joyce for pizza, dancing a little jig, hands in the air, "Way!!! Pizza!! Thank you Aunty Joyce!"

"Make it cold Mummy" and with that he gobbled up his pizza. We were surprised to say the least. Shabd has never before eaten pizza, on account of his lactose intolerance. We've been slowly introducing lactose into his diet, he's reacted positively and negatively to different items. And so the experimentation continues. 

Shabd was polite, calm, relaxed and engaging all through dinner. Politely asking me to vacate the bench i was sharing with him, so he could have more space to stretch and play. There was no screaming, no running around wildly, no trying to escape outside or up the steep staircase. Shabd was in his element. He was happy and content. We just looked on in wonderment, neither of us wanting to point out the obvious, for fear of breaking this magic. For magic it must have been. 

Having dwelt on this further, i find it amazing just how perceptive children can be. We leave for South Africa on Saturday for a two month sojourn and unfortunately Papa cannot accompany us. Each of us, in our hearts, have a tinge of sadness at being parted for so long. Having cancer has deepened our connections with each other and we will miss the comfort of each other.

I worry how my men will cope. Papa rattling around in our big empty house. Shabd being away from his superhero. I am comforted knowing that both in South Africa and Mauritius, there is family plentiful with love abound for my boys. And Grace whispers to me not to worry so much, but to take care of myself and trust.

Papa says i should take a page out of Shabd's book. He loves watching the Three Little Pigs clip and instead of being afraid of the rather scary looking big bad wolf, he points out to Papa that it's actually a dog. And he's not afraid of a dog. Them being so cuddly and soft and warm. Perception is important, turning the scary into the not so scary sends out positive energies out to my son. 

So while my heart is heavy at leaving Papa behind, and i know Shabd will miss him dearly. The next part of our adventure takes us into loving arms of my family and friends. The incessant care of Dipika masi and Desh masa, the home cooked goodness of Ba, and the playfulness of Kamal and Trishul mama. Not to mention the many cousins and aunts and uncles and grannies and grandpa's that like a wave will carry us through this part of our journey, with love, laughter, smiles and joy.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf,  big bad wolf, big bad wolf?" or since Shabd prefers watching this clip in French, "Qui craint le grand méchant loup, méchant loup, méchant loup?"

A Time For Every Season

Everything in life has a season. Here, I notice little shoots and buds pushing their way up through the rocky, hard, unforgiving land.

There is a season for everything. A season to heal, a season to dance, a season to cry and a season to rejoice.

Shabd has come through a very stormy season. He's faced many challenges, the biggest of which was saying goodbye to his nounou Lysie. The woman who has nurtured him, hugged him, kissed his boo-boo's better, nursed him, loved him as if he were her very own grandchild. With her departure, the season of storms was upon us.

We often see the dark clouds gathering inside of our little boy. We've weathered quite a few storms with him and being human, we've learnt to adapt and thus calmly steer through the storm.

Late last year, we were in the season of growth and change, of uncharted territories and new discoveries. We were starting a new life in Dubai. We were set. We were ready for whatever windstorm that dusty desert blew at us. We had each other and we knew that those bonds were strong enough to face any storm. Together, we were certain of that!

Little did we know just how strong those bonds are, nor the colossal storms we would have to steer through. Little did we know that by steering through these storms, we would discover so much richness in ourselves and in each other.

And as I sit here, in our little study, writing these words, an old song by The Byrds wafts slowly up.

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones

A time to gather stones together

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

The Reluctant Indian

My child has the privilege of being a multinational by reason of parentage; South African mother with Gujerati roots and a Mauritian father with Bihari roots. This equates to a melting pot of cultures, customs and languages. On any given day, one will hear English, Afrikaans, Gujerati, Creole and French in my house. And Shabd, in his own astounding manner, has found a way to assimilate all these languages, adapting himself to his given audience.

Shabd has always enjoyed music. Be it strumming the guitar, banging the djembe, blowing into the recorder, fingering the piano or singing the hundred tunes neatly stored in his little head. He seems to have taken the same liking to languages, quickly picking up nuances in pronunciation and accent. He can quite convincingly say, "Sies man!" as if he were a South African. Or look for his father in French, "Papa, ou etes tu?" (Papa, where are you?). Or greet his Ba in Gujerati, "Namaste, kem chor?" (Namaste, how are you?).

As a mother, i'm in awe of his ability to assimilate so many languages having had no formal introduction to them save hearing the languages, some often and others only occasionally. And as a mother, i realise this view might be just ever so slightly biased. This does not diminish from the wonderment of hearing him speak 3 different languages within one 2 minute conversation.

Growing up, i was quite the reluctant Indian myself. My parents, being good and conscientious Gujerati's ensured i went to Gujerati school and hindu Sunday school. We children were forced to attended classical music and dance concerts. I even studied Bharata Natyam for many years. My mother and Chandrika masi (my mother's best friend) always spoke of India with such passion. It was their motherland. I never understood their fascination nor patriotism to India, until now. 

I am a South Africa with Indian heritage living in Mauritius. I have a 2 year old son and i want him to know all about my culture, customs and language. I want him to at the very least be able to dance garba (a traditional Gujerati folk dance), understand basic Gujerati and Afrikaans and be comfortable in a kurta. Most of all, i want him to know that he comes from a rich parentage, full of colours and grace. And that is something to be proud of.

Tempests, Tantrums and Terrorists

I'm going to come right out and say it. No siree, I will not sugar coat this, not even with fat-free sprinkles. A child at the age of two has the power and ability, I might add, to completely and utterly eviscerate a mother. They have no pity. They take no prisoners. Come to think of it, a two year old toddler is very much like the atom bomb that went off in Hiroshima; small and lethal!

One minute, we're all plodding along, Mr.Sunshine beaming down on us, rainbows in the sky when suddenly, boom, out of nowhere the bomb hits! A ginormous mushroom cloud blocks out the sun and the rainbows cease to exist. The rest, a you well know, is history.

Shabd has an uncanny ability, I tend to think it comes from the musical gene he inherited from his father's side of the family, to hit just the right note. Now this is not a lovely, tra la la - Sound of Music -  note. No. It's a high pitched, the world might as well have come to an end note. The type of note that can incite any well meaning and mostly patient mother to pull her hair out in sheer desperation.

Now, there are two things that are in rather short supply in my home at the moment. The first is hair and the second patience during those high note poor me wolf howling's. The end result I'm afraid is TWO toddlers in the room screaming! And by two, I reluctantly refer to the aforementioned well meaning and mostly patient mother.

Fear not though, for help is at hand, in the form of well-meaning advice from the Lunch Mommies. "Ag man, we all lose our temper. He's just testing his boundaries. Don't worry. Don't be so hard on yourself man! Relax. Now the first step is to breathe!" And what follows is a flurry of tit bits of experience and advice. Followed by the all so famous disclaimer all mothers are guilty of employing (yours truly included); each child is different!

I've come home with some easy strategies that I can adopt immediately. And some introspection that is being asked of me. Sometimes, we need to accept that the child is just the child. And an age old spiritual adage comes to mind; "I am that I am."

Shabd, like all children (cancel universal disclaimer here) has an innate predisposition to be happy and joyful and full of giggles and smiles. He will act up. He will display his frustration and anger and annoyance. He might not have the full communication repertoire required to ensure these emotions come across in a manner that is neat and tidy, but tell me this, have you met many adults that can?

And we've come full circle to that introspection bit that I've circumvented almost this whole blog and incidentally most of my conversation with the Lunch Mummies. How to be less toddler-tempest-like and more mummy-gentle-summer-breeze-like in the face of a full blown cyclone.

I have the ability to centre myself. I have the power to create sunshine and rainbows and calm Shabd down. I also have the endurance to last out a storm, God knows I've had plenty of experience in that department. Only I can do this. Only I can choose to act more mummy and less toddler. And at the risk of sounding all Maya Angelou, the choice lies with me.

Being the realist that I am, I've also formulated plan B. So just in case I do am not so good at exercising my will to remain calm and collected in the face of a toddler tantrum, like all muscles I expect this will take some practice, "Who you gonna call? The Lunch Mommies!" cue Ghostbusters theme song here!

Shabd Turns 2!

Papa and I had decided to follow in the footsteps of my parents and ensure a Birthday was truly a memorable and special day for our child. So we went out and bought that ONE BIG GIFT and the new clothes and ordered the birthday cake and sent out the birthday invitation and packed the bags ready to celebrate.

I'm not sure if Shabd or Papa was more excited over Shabd's birthday present, both being music lovers. Both their eyes danced as their hands lightly fingered the keys of the keyboard Shabd received as his birthday present.

The day was off to a TIGGERIFFIC start, whoo hoo hoo hoo!

La Vanille Crocodile Park was the venue for Shabd's 2nd birthday celebrations. His best friend in the whole wide world came along to celebrate with him. The two of them went tearing down the pathways, screaming at the tops of their voices, "Nayshaaaaaaad! Shaaaaaaabd! Waow!"

We marveled at the crocodiles...some more than others!

We were entertained by the monkeys, the furry brown ones that is!

We learnt about fossils and ammonites and dinosaur bones! Thank you chacha Ravi.

We visited the Insectarium and saw weird and wonderful creepy crawlies.

We saw hundreds of colourful butterflies of all sizes and shapes. And imagined they were alive and we were in a field of flowers surrounded by them.


We saw American alligators. And Malagasy crocodiles.

We learnt that turtles and crocodiles can be friends too. And Koi come in a kaleidoscope of colours.

We met Seychellois GIANT tortoises. Shabd was terribly polite, leaned over and said "Good morning Fabrice. How are you?" Well it's only logical that a Seychellois tortoise would have a French name. And being his mothers son, Shabd tried to move Fabrice along!

The restaurant created our own little celebration corner and the boys loved it! They especially enjoyed eating the stars on the cake!

 

And if all this was not enough, we met donkeys and goats and sheep on our way out! Everyone, sing with me, "Baa baa black sheep have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for my master and one for my dame and one for little Shabd who lives on Palma Lane!"

"Thank you for coming to my appity to you" says Shabd!

Lunch Mummies

We almost always meet for lunch, that's why we call ourselves the Lunch Mummies. It's that simple.

I have a small set of friends, mummies themselves, and we meet regularly for lunch to chat, share, complain, cry, laugh, advise and support each other on this journey of motherhood. It's like belonging to a fraternity where we air out all our highs and lows, there are no judgments nor comparisons. There is plenty of encouragement, camaraderie, understanding and have I mentioned no judgments already?

When one sits down at that lunch table, you already have an "A" in motherhood. An "A" for being vulnerable, for being willing to say it like it is, an "A" for showing up, warts and all. And who doesn't want an "A"?

A date with Lunch Mummies is like going to group therapy, with wine! You're reminded that you're not meant to get it all right the first time round. Sometimes, it takes three tries. You're encouraged to have a good ole cry if you need it. You're cautioned to not set up camp on down days and you learn to accept that sometimes you need to ride the dragon. You're reminded that no matter what path you've chosen, you count, you are special!

And there is laughter, lots of it. Laughter at the blonde moments, the oversights, the oopsies and the milking it with the kids and husbands. There is fashion advice, sale notice reminders, patient bedside visits and crafting tips.

Over a milkshake, we talk of our hopes and dreams for ourselves and our children. We share our troubles, our regrets and our misgivings. We talk and talk and talk, jumping from headaches to office politics to potty training to the turquoise purses at Mango.

Having lunch with the Lunch Mummies is like going for a swim in the ocean. The water is warm and welcoming, and one feels refreshed and calm after having had the sea wash away all ones troubles.

Tamatave 2013