I think it was the thunder that woke me up this morning; either that or the rain pounding down outside. Often I just snuggle down back to sleep again but this morning I felt alone and wanted mummy. I called her from where I was lying and she called back to me and told me to come in.
Mummy and daddy's room is just a little way away from mine but when you're half asleep and feeling fed up, it seems like a mile away. I wasn't best pleased that mummy hadn't come in to see me and I was even less pleased when, stumbling into their room with my eyes still half-clogged with sleep, who should I see lying on the bed with mummy and daddy but Mark.
He'd beaten me to it again.
I don't know how long he'd been there but he was wide awake and on his tummy, plum bang in the middle of mummy and daddy.
"Move Mark" I said.
"It's OK, you come on as well" said mummy. But I couldn't easily come on as well because Mark was where I wanted to be and he showed absolutely no signs of wanting to move.
I know he's still a baby and too young to understand that there's a pecking order, but really he's not so young that he can't see who's the bigger of the two of us. In the end, daddy moved, which sort of solved the problem because mummy then lay across the bed with Mark on one side and me on the other. Then I moved to where Mark was and he in turn started to climb all over me, trying to reach first the phone and then the tissue paper. I don't know what it is about Mark and tissue paper but he can't seem to get enough of it; tissue-obsessive if you ask me.
Daddy went to the bathroom and we settled into a brief and uneasy truce before mummy called one of the maids and Mark was whisked away to go and play with them. I think she was still sleepy and I was certainly sleepy whereas Mark just wanted to pull and poke and crawl and gurgle. As soon as he disappeared we fell instantly asleep.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Paints and stickers
I did some more dib and dab yesterday. Well it was more dab and dab actually, or splat and splat if I'm honest. First of all I covered my hands in paint and then, SPLAT! I splatted them down onto some paper; lots of little hand-prints from yours truly. Daddy's going to take it and give it to grandad when he goes to England later in the week. That will be the second piece of artwork I've given him; next time I'm going to charge.
After I'd finished painting, I dipped the brush in the goldfish tank. I didn't tell mummy I'd done this and she only noticed when she and daddy were having their tea (eating fish as it turned out). "Motts, did you dip your brush in the fish tank?" mummy asked. "No," I said, but it was pretty obvious I'd done so as the water was even cloudier than usual and the fish were pulling strange faces in the way that only paint-poisoned fish can do. Ibia cleaned them out straight away and when I looked this morning they were still alive, so it can't have done them too much harm.
Later, after we'd all eaten, I found an activity book which mummy and daddy had bought me at the weekend and I started taking the stickers out to stick on mummy's hand. It's pretty boring to just stick stickers where you're supposed to and so I stick them wherever I like, which normally tends to be where daddy doesn't like: on the fridge, on the back of his car seats, on his books. After I'd stickered mummy up nicely, I turned my attention to daddy and by the time it was my bed-time I'd completely covered one of his hands with small stickers: smileys, bees, frogs, sunshines and the like.
Mark had gone up to bed by this stage but he's too young for stickers anyway. In a worrying development though, he has started to crawl a lot more and he's now getting pretty fast. He nearly crawled himself off the settee tonight and mummy only just caught him before he nose-dived onto the marble floor. I do my best to keep an eye on him but you know what babies are like; sometimes they seem to be on a mission of self harm: any hard surface, sharp corner or dangerous object and they'll either bump into it or try to put it in their mouth. Sometimes you marvel at how mankind has advanced this far even and not snuffed itself out long ago. I shudder to think how many cavemen children must have choked to death on small rocks and mammoth bones.
After I'd finished painting, I dipped the brush in the goldfish tank. I didn't tell mummy I'd done this and she only noticed when she and daddy were having their tea (eating fish as it turned out). "Motts, did you dip your brush in the fish tank?" mummy asked. "No," I said, but it was pretty obvious I'd done so as the water was even cloudier than usual and the fish were pulling strange faces in the way that only paint-poisoned fish can do. Ibia cleaned them out straight away and when I looked this morning they were still alive, so it can't have done them too much harm.
Later, after we'd all eaten, I found an activity book which mummy and daddy had bought me at the weekend and I started taking the stickers out to stick on mummy's hand. It's pretty boring to just stick stickers where you're supposed to and so I stick them wherever I like, which normally tends to be where daddy doesn't like: on the fridge, on the back of his car seats, on his books. After I'd stickered mummy up nicely, I turned my attention to daddy and by the time it was my bed-time I'd completely covered one of his hands with small stickers: smileys, bees, frogs, sunshines and the like.
Mark had gone up to bed by this stage but he's too young for stickers anyway. In a worrying development though, he has started to crawl a lot more and he's now getting pretty fast. He nearly crawled himself off the settee tonight and mummy only just caught him before he nose-dived onto the marble floor. I do my best to keep an eye on him but you know what babies are like; sometimes they seem to be on a mission of self harm: any hard surface, sharp corner or dangerous object and they'll either bump into it or try to put it in their mouth. Sometimes you marvel at how mankind has advanced this far even and not snuffed itself out long ago. I shudder to think how many cavemen children must have choked to death on small rocks and mammoth bones.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Presents
Daddy's friends came over on Saturday and they brought Mark and me presents. I got a bed-time story book for daddy to read to me from, and Mark got some stacking blocks. He's a bit too young for those yet so I played with them instead.
We had spoken to grandma on Friday night because Auntie Emma had just gone into hospital to have her baby and mummy and daddy were catching up on news. Grandma seemed quite surprised that it was gone ten o'clock at night and I was still up, but then what's the point of me going to bed early? All I do is wriggle around and cause a fuss and that's just no fun for anyone then. Grandma also asked if daddy read me stories and I think I said "No" because he doesn't really. Mind you, I have the attention span of a goldfish most times and when he does start to read, I normally drift off or try to turn the pages before he's finished what he's reading.
But in any event, this weekend seems to have been geared towards me getting more quality reading time from daddy. First off, there was the grandma conversation, then on Saturday morning he sat down and read, The Cat in The Hat and The Cat in the Hat Comes Back by Dr Seuss, then he ordered those two pieces of furniture to get all my bits and pieces onto. Finally, like I say, I got another reading book from daddy's friend, so I suppose you could say it's been a pretty OK weekend. One of these days I might even start to treat my books with a little care and attention, but for the moment I actually prefer to scribble on and rip the pages rather than hear what's written on them.
We had spoken to grandma on Friday night because Auntie Emma had just gone into hospital to have her baby and mummy and daddy were catching up on news. Grandma seemed quite surprised that it was gone ten o'clock at night and I was still up, but then what's the point of me going to bed early? All I do is wriggle around and cause a fuss and that's just no fun for anyone then. Grandma also asked if daddy read me stories and I think I said "No" because he doesn't really. Mind you, I have the attention span of a goldfish most times and when he does start to read, I normally drift off or try to turn the pages before he's finished what he's reading.
But in any event, this weekend seems to have been geared towards me getting more quality reading time from daddy. First off, there was the grandma conversation, then on Saturday morning he sat down and read, The Cat in The Hat and The Cat in the Hat Comes Back by Dr Seuss, then he ordered those two pieces of furniture to get all my bits and pieces onto. Finally, like I say, I got another reading book from daddy's friend, so I suppose you could say it's been a pretty OK weekend. One of these days I might even start to treat my books with a little care and attention, but for the moment I actually prefer to scribble on and rip the pages rather than hear what's written on them.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Operating the DVD player
I know how the DVD player works. First of all you have to make sure your fingers are really sticky. Then you ask mummy or daddy to open the stupid cupboard without a handle so that you can find the DVDs you want. Mummy and daddy have a television stand which has storage for DVDs built into the sides. Maybe I'll ask daddy to take a photograph and then you'll be able to see what I mean. Only these cupboards don't have handles and so you have to thump the corners in order to open the doors. It's a stupid idea really.
Anyway, once mummy or daddy have opened the cupboard (the right hand side is my one, the left is theirs), you then chuck out all the DVDs, spread them across the floor and then settle on one. Then you change your mind and settle on another one.
Ensuring that your fingers are still sticky - and if they're not, you have to re-sticky-them-up with a lollipop or fruits - you then press the eject button and drop the DVD into the tray. Scraping it along the floor first is optional. I've scraped most of my DVDs which means that they get stuck mid-way through. Sometimes they move on but others just stay stuck and have to be ejected. Daddy has already thrown out my copies of Madagascar, Over The Hedge, Tom and Jerry and something else. He better buy me some new ones to scratch.
Anyway, that's pretty much it. Plop the DVD in the drawer, press play and you're away. Last night, when daddy was watching a James Bond film, I casually walked over to the DVD player and pressed the eject button. One minute there's Daniel Craig just about to get fruity with his leading lady, the next minute there's a blank screen and daddy fuming. He said I was a naughty girl and I cried. That night, in revenge, I didn't say my prayers. Mummy taught me my prayers and so now, every night, I say:
Dear Lord Jesus.
Thank you for everything.
I love you.
Good night.
See you in the morning.
Then I blow two kisses and go to sleep. Only last night, because I was crying and daddy shouted at me, I didn't say my prayers. But Jesus knows that I still love him and that I'm grateful for everything.
That's it from me for thisweek. Daddy still hasn't got internet connection at home. It was looking promising yesterday because we had a cable guy come round. But daddy didn't want cable and so we're back to square one. Pity, I want to go onto YouTube and watch Winnie The Pooh again.
Anyway, once mummy or daddy have opened the cupboard (the right hand side is my one, the left is theirs), you then chuck out all the DVDs, spread them across the floor and then settle on one. Then you change your mind and settle on another one.
Ensuring that your fingers are still sticky - and if they're not, you have to re-sticky-them-up with a lollipop or fruits - you then press the eject button and drop the DVD into the tray. Scraping it along the floor first is optional. I've scraped most of my DVDs which means that they get stuck mid-way through. Sometimes they move on but others just stay stuck and have to be ejected. Daddy has already thrown out my copies of Madagascar, Over The Hedge, Tom and Jerry and something else. He better buy me some new ones to scratch.
Anyway, that's pretty much it. Plop the DVD in the drawer, press play and you're away. Last night, when daddy was watching a James Bond film, I casually walked over to the DVD player and pressed the eject button. One minute there's Daniel Craig just about to get fruity with his leading lady, the next minute there's a blank screen and daddy fuming. He said I was a naughty girl and I cried. That night, in revenge, I didn't say my prayers. Mummy taught me my prayers and so now, every night, I say:
Dear Lord Jesus.
Thank you for everything.
I love you.
Good night.
See you in the morning.
Then I blow two kisses and go to sleep. Only last night, because I was crying and daddy shouted at me, I didn't say my prayers. But Jesus knows that I still love him and that I'm grateful for everything.
That's it from me for thisweek. Daddy still hasn't got internet connection at home. It was looking promising yesterday because we had a cable guy come round. But daddy didn't want cable and so we're back to square one. Pity, I want to go onto YouTube and watch Winnie The Pooh again.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
School
I want to tell you a bit about my school. I go to nursery school every day between 11am and 1pm. There are loads of schools in Bangalore and we seemed to visit most of those in the area where we lived before mummy and daddy settled on one that a) didn't have a dangerous electricity sub-station next to the grounds b) was not on a main road c) showed evidence of having been cleaned d) had "fit" teachers. I don't see that the last point is particularly relevant but daddy seemed particularly insistent, even after mummy had poked him in the eye.
Now that we've moved, school is a bit of a trek for me, but our driver and one of the maids drop me into the school and then two hours later they pick me up again. I've been going to this school for getting on for a year now. First I was in playschool but now I've moved up to nursery and I'm learning numbers and letters. Our day starts with the National Anthem and we all stand up straight with our arms by our sides. I think patriotism is a good thing. It never hurts to have a bit of National pride and there are those - like daddy for instance - who would argue that it might not harm school children in Britain to have a bit of national pride too. Then again, if India is a culturally divided nation, Britain is probably even more so. In my class I think I'm the only Christian (whatever that means) and I think the rest are Hindus. We might have a couple of Muslim children but I can't be sure about that.
So anyway, we are learning numbers. Earlier this week we did the number three and daddy was trying to teach me the letter S. He said it looked like a curly snake but I can't see it somehow. Where are the scales, the eyes, the forked tongue? I don't know, it looks like a piece of string shaped like the letter S to me. I just smiled when daddy was telling me about the snake thing. Next he'll be telling me that the letter O looks like an apple or an orange or some other equally improbable fruit.
Mummy gives me a little tiffin box which I take with me to school. She normally fills it with fruits or biscuits, things like that. We're supposed to take different kinds of snacks on different days - so dried fruit on Monday, biscuits on Tuesday and so on. I don't think we've ever toed that particular line though; mummy pretty much does what she pleases and I decide, when we have our snack break at school, whether I'm going to eat what she's given me or give it to somebody else. What am I saying? I'm Indian. I should be selling it to somebody else.
Today we were supposed to go on a field trip to a garden but our driver has the day off to take his pregnant wife for a check-up at the hospital. Mummy and daddy are not too keen on me travelling by auto and so I'm skiving off today. It would have been nice though, to see a garden in Bangalore. So much of the city is paved and concreted and so many of the green areas are covered in rubbish that it would have made a pleasant change to go somewhere decent.
Anyway, that's my school. I'll tell you more about some of the specific activities when we do something exciting.
PS - Sorry about Mark butting in yesterday. He sneaked down onto the laptop and then we had a power cut and so I couldn't respond. It's all lies.
Now that we've moved, school is a bit of a trek for me, but our driver and one of the maids drop me into the school and then two hours later they pick me up again. I've been going to this school for getting on for a year now. First I was in playschool but now I've moved up to nursery and I'm learning numbers and letters. Our day starts with the National Anthem and we all stand up straight with our arms by our sides. I think patriotism is a good thing. It never hurts to have a bit of National pride and there are those - like daddy for instance - who would argue that it might not harm school children in Britain to have a bit of national pride too. Then again, if India is a culturally divided nation, Britain is probably even more so. In my class I think I'm the only Christian (whatever that means) and I think the rest are Hindus. We might have a couple of Muslim children but I can't be sure about that.
So anyway, we are learning numbers. Earlier this week we did the number three and daddy was trying to teach me the letter S. He said it looked like a curly snake but I can't see it somehow. Where are the scales, the eyes, the forked tongue? I don't know, it looks like a piece of string shaped like the letter S to me. I just smiled when daddy was telling me about the snake thing. Next he'll be telling me that the letter O looks like an apple or an orange or some other equally improbable fruit.
Mummy gives me a little tiffin box which I take with me to school. She normally fills it with fruits or biscuits, things like that. We're supposed to take different kinds of snacks on different days - so dried fruit on Monday, biscuits on Tuesday and so on. I don't think we've ever toed that particular line though; mummy pretty much does what she pleases and I decide, when we have our snack break at school, whether I'm going to eat what she's given me or give it to somebody else. What am I saying? I'm Indian. I should be selling it to somebody else.
Today we were supposed to go on a field trip to a garden but our driver has the day off to take his pregnant wife for a check-up at the hospital. Mummy and daddy are not too keen on me travelling by auto and so I'm skiving off today. It would have been nice though, to see a garden in Bangalore. So much of the city is paved and concreted and so many of the green areas are covered in rubbish that it would have made a pleasant change to go somewhere decent.
Anyway, that's my school. I'll tell you more about some of the specific activities when we do something exciting.
PS - Sorry about Mark butting in yesterday. He sneaked down onto the laptop and then we had a power cut and so I couldn't respond. It's all lies.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The younger brother replies
Before we go any further let me just clarify a few things which my sister seems to have got upside down.
1. If brothers can be "irritating in the extreme" so can older sisters, especially when they continually take whatever it is I lay my hands on. There is nothing more annoying than having spent five minutes crawling towards a particularly attractive looking piece of tissue paper or wooden block, only to have that thing suddenly whipped away by your older sister. And I can tell you now, substituting whatever it was I'd grabbed for a toy which she thinks I'll prefer, just does not cut it sister.
2. I do shit myself, it's true. Baby's do that. But let me tell you, I would far prefer to do that, experience that nice warm sticky feeling and then get myself all nice and clean, than sit like a moron at the coffee table, banging crayons on a bad representation of Bloat. If you think I would have enjoyed watching you do that, you're mistaken.
3. You're right, it's "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" with an AYE and not with an AIE but it's stronger than "No you don't! Stay back! Get away!" That's spelt with six Es and three Hs - "Aye-eeeeee-sshhh" - see the difference? What I said was "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" which means, "if you value your Winnie The Pooh DVDs and you don't want me to dribble on them, scratch them, throw them around the room and then throw up on them, don't take one more step." Anyway, looks like she got the message. As for not being scared of me, put your earrings back in and then come and say that again.
4. Swinging and sliding. Thanks for the loan of the swing sister. Yes, it has to be said, I like it; I like it a lot. And when I get bigger I'm going to go sliding as well and then we'll have great fun. As for stuffing fingers in my mouth, try it some day, they taste great.
5. Daddy got another gas bottle today so order is restored in the house. As for me not having discovered TV, don't kid yourself Motts. I can see it's on but really, if you expect me to maintain interest when all you watch is Winnie The Pooh and Finding Nemo, you've got another think coming. Put on Fashion TV, MTV or a bit of Premier League Football. Jeepers, it's no wonder I stuff my fingers in my mouth and shit myself whenever you have the TV controls.
Mark
xxx
1. If brothers can be "irritating in the extreme" so can older sisters, especially when they continually take whatever it is I lay my hands on. There is nothing more annoying than having spent five minutes crawling towards a particularly attractive looking piece of tissue paper or wooden block, only to have that thing suddenly whipped away by your older sister. And I can tell you now, substituting whatever it was I'd grabbed for a toy which she thinks I'll prefer, just does not cut it sister.
2. I do shit myself, it's true. Baby's do that. But let me tell you, I would far prefer to do that, experience that nice warm sticky feeling and then get myself all nice and clean, than sit like a moron at the coffee table, banging crayons on a bad representation of Bloat. If you think I would have enjoyed watching you do that, you're mistaken.
3. You're right, it's "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" with an AYE and not with an AIE but it's stronger than "No you don't! Stay back! Get away!" That's spelt with six Es and three Hs - "Aye-eeeeee-sshhh" - see the difference? What I said was "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" which means, "if you value your Winnie The Pooh DVDs and you don't want me to dribble on them, scratch them, throw them around the room and then throw up on them, don't take one more step." Anyway, looks like she got the message. As for not being scared of me, put your earrings back in and then come and say that again.
4. Swinging and sliding. Thanks for the loan of the swing sister. Yes, it has to be said, I like it; I like it a lot. And when I get bigger I'm going to go sliding as well and then we'll have great fun. As for stuffing fingers in my mouth, try it some day, they taste great.
5. Daddy got another gas bottle today so order is restored in the house. As for me not having discovered TV, don't kid yourself Motts. I can see it's on but really, if you expect me to maintain interest when all you watch is Winnie The Pooh and Finding Nemo, you've got another think coming. Put on Fashion TV, MTV or a bit of Premier League Football. Jeepers, it's no wonder I stuff my fingers in my mouth and shit myself whenever you have the TV controls.
Mark
xxx
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
No gas
Cooking gas that is. There's plenty of gas coming from Mark and me one way or the other, but if they know a way of harnessing that, mummy and daddy are keeping it to themselves. Mummy wasn't very happy today because our maid Ibia didn't tell her that the gas had run out. By the time mummy found out, it was too late to get a new bottle and so we had nothing to cook on for the rest of the day.
In the afternoon we drove to daddy's office so that he could look for some furniture for my bedroom. We went to Home Store, or Home Shop or something like that, but they didn't have anything suitable and so we came home. Because we had no gas, mummy and daddy had to order food from outside and it took ages to turn up. I was alright because Abbi Ibia had somehow managed to prepare me something in the microwave which she shoved into my mouth in little pieces as I was watching TV.
I don't know what it is about mealtimes but food just doesn't seem to taste the same if it's not accompanied by a turned-on television. Even though I watch the same DVDs over and over and over again, I never get bored of them and I just sit there chewing while Ibia pops little balls of rice into my mouth. It must be a bit like watching a bird feed its young.
Mark hasn't discovered TV yet. He just sits strapped in his little baby seat and our other maid - Abbi Malme - does the same for him. Mummy says he's a pretty good eater but then I expect I was when I was strapped to a chair and couldn't move anywhere. These days I know better and if I don't like something I won't eat it, no matter what mummy tries to do to make me. Occasionally she gets really mad and threatens to throw me out of the house. That's when I get scared and sit down, but apart from that I do exactly as I please.
I hope daddy's going to get me some new DVDs soon. A lot of the ones we have get stuck and freeze on a particular frame. Daddy says it's because I scrape them across the floor, or put sticky fingers on them, or scratch them just by being careless. Well what does he expect for goodness sake, I'm three years old! Three year olds do things like that daddy. Just think yourself lucky that it's Tom and Jerry and Barney and Ethelbert that are getting the treatment and not one of your Hundred and One Boring Minutes on DVD volume 2764, DVD. I'll grow out of this phase in a few years, just as Mark is entering it.
In the afternoon we drove to daddy's office so that he could look for some furniture for my bedroom. We went to Home Store, or Home Shop or something like that, but they didn't have anything suitable and so we came home. Because we had no gas, mummy and daddy had to order food from outside and it took ages to turn up. I was alright because Abbi Ibia had somehow managed to prepare me something in the microwave which she shoved into my mouth in little pieces as I was watching TV.
I don't know what it is about mealtimes but food just doesn't seem to taste the same if it's not accompanied by a turned-on television. Even though I watch the same DVDs over and over and over again, I never get bored of them and I just sit there chewing while Ibia pops little balls of rice into my mouth. It must be a bit like watching a bird feed its young.
Mark hasn't discovered TV yet. He just sits strapped in his little baby seat and our other maid - Abbi Malme - does the same for him. Mummy says he's a pretty good eater but then I expect I was when I was strapped to a chair and couldn't move anywhere. These days I know better and if I don't like something I won't eat it, no matter what mummy tries to do to make me. Occasionally she gets really mad and threatens to throw me out of the house. That's when I get scared and sit down, but apart from that I do exactly as I please.
I hope daddy's going to get me some new DVDs soon. A lot of the ones we have get stuck and freeze on a particular frame. Daddy says it's because I scrape them across the floor, or put sticky fingers on them, or scratch them just by being careless. Well what does he expect for goodness sake, I'm three years old! Three year olds do things like that daddy. Just think yourself lucky that it's Tom and Jerry and Barney and Ethelbert that are getting the treatment and not one of your Hundred and One Boring Minutes on DVD volume 2764, DVD. I'll grow out of this phase in a few years, just as Mark is entering it.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sunny days and mothercare
We had a reasonable weekend for a change. It has been pissing down in Bangalore these past few weeks but this weekend it was nice, at least where we are. On Saturday we were out and about and I went with daddy to the bank and to see our old house. Daddy went to pay the security man the money he owed from last month and the cheeky devil asked daddy for a tip. As daddy said to me, "I don't get tipped for sitting on my arse all day long." I might have added, "No daddy, but you don't actually do any work either do you?" Anyway, the man didn't get his tip, but ten out of ten for having the audacity to ask for one. These are all useful things that I'm learning for when I'm older and I just hope that the Indian blood in me gives me sufficient boldness to say and do those things that are common in India but taboo in England (where daddy comes from.)
Last week daddy had an eye infection and he'd squeezed a spot on his nose and made it red. "What happened to your eye, daddy?" I asked. And before he had time to answer, I followed up with, "and what happened to your nose daddy?" I guess that those questions are OK coming from me, but it's when you go to your local shop, or meet somebody on the street and they ask the same questions that it enters the realms of taboo.
Anyway, enough of all that. What do I know, I'm just a kid, and as the old saying goes, if you want to hear the truth about something, ask a drunk or a kid. As for drunk kids, avoid them like the plague.
Daddy also looked at some furniture for my bedroom on Saturday because ever since we moved, all my toys and my books and my jigsaws have been shoved in a great big box and they're in a right state. I'm not the tidiest child at the best of times but having Nowhere to put all my stuff doesn't really foster a tidy spirit. Daddy knows this and so he's going to have to fork out lots of money to buy me some new cupboards. Little does he know that I'm still going to be just as untidy and ruthless with my books when they're all sitting neatly on shelves.
Yesterday, whilst mummy was at church we went to a park nearby to where we used to live. That's become a bit of a routine for us. Mummy goes to commune with God and daddy and I go to some desperate bloody junk-heap of a park populated by street urchins and either semi-waterlogged or leaking raw sewage. This week, daddy opted for the water-logged park and I spent a happy thirty seconds climbing up the steps on the main climbing frame before I got bored and daddy and I just walked round the place, me doing a balancing act on a low wall while daddy held on to me. In England I think they'd called this place a swing rec - short for recreation. Over here, they'd call it a swing wreck.
We stopped at the park for about half an hour and then to kill time, we went for a short drive, then picked up mummy and headed out for lunch. I never really eat very much when I'm out but I like to think I keep mummy and daddy on their toes by a) nearly knocking over my drink b) screaming or shrieking c) bouncing up and down in my seat d) suddenly disappearing under the table e) suddenly heading off towards another table f) all five of the previous options.
After lunch we went home, fetched Mark and then went to Mothercare where they have a sale on. Mothercare is one of those places in Bangalore where the goods in the shop are actually more expensive than the same things in England. I sat down on a chair with daddy and Mark while mummy spent more of daddy's money on clothes for Mark and a skirt for me. I played with a couple of kids there as well but one of them was so bossy that even I was taken aback. Normally I'm the one who tells people what to do but this girl took the biscuit. She even unpacked a doctor's uniform and I'm sure she would have started performing open heart surgery on a cuddly dog had a lady in the shop not intervened.
After Mothercare we went upstairs to Brio and had coffee and cake and listened to some woman in a band slaughtering various well-known numbers. Nevertheless I jumped up and down while they were performing and the lady noticed and smiled over at me. I don't know what she was smiling for, I was busting for the loo and jumping up and down was the only thing that prevented me from wetting all over the seat. We rounded off the day by popping along to Baby Shop where mummy spent more of daddy's money and Mark got yet more clothes.
This morning, I registered with the Metro Mela website and left reviews for Mothercare, Baby Shop, Toys N Toys, Apple of My Eye. Strange that none of them have websites. You can got to Metro Mela and check out my reviews. Click on Bangalore and look for Motts.
Last week daddy had an eye infection and he'd squeezed a spot on his nose and made it red. "What happened to your eye, daddy?" I asked. And before he had time to answer, I followed up with, "and what happened to your nose daddy?" I guess that those questions are OK coming from me, but it's when you go to your local shop, or meet somebody on the street and they ask the same questions that it enters the realms of taboo.
Anyway, enough of all that. What do I know, I'm just a kid, and as the old saying goes, if you want to hear the truth about something, ask a drunk or a kid. As for drunk kids, avoid them like the plague.
Daddy also looked at some furniture for my bedroom on Saturday because ever since we moved, all my toys and my books and my jigsaws have been shoved in a great big box and they're in a right state. I'm not the tidiest child at the best of times but having Nowhere to put all my stuff doesn't really foster a tidy spirit. Daddy knows this and so he's going to have to fork out lots of money to buy me some new cupboards. Little does he know that I'm still going to be just as untidy and ruthless with my books when they're all sitting neatly on shelves.
Yesterday, whilst mummy was at church we went to a park nearby to where we used to live. That's become a bit of a routine for us. Mummy goes to commune with God and daddy and I go to some desperate bloody junk-heap of a park populated by street urchins and either semi-waterlogged or leaking raw sewage. This week, daddy opted for the water-logged park and I spent a happy thirty seconds climbing up the steps on the main climbing frame before I got bored and daddy and I just walked round the place, me doing a balancing act on a low wall while daddy held on to me. In England I think they'd called this place a swing rec - short for recreation. Over here, they'd call it a swing wreck.
We stopped at the park for about half an hour and then to kill time, we went for a short drive, then picked up mummy and headed out for lunch. I never really eat very much when I'm out but I like to think I keep mummy and daddy on their toes by a) nearly knocking over my drink b) screaming or shrieking c) bouncing up and down in my seat d) suddenly disappearing under the table e) suddenly heading off towards another table f) all five of the previous options.
After lunch we went home, fetched Mark and then went to Mothercare where they have a sale on. Mothercare is one of those places in Bangalore where the goods in the shop are actually more expensive than the same things in England. I sat down on a chair with daddy and Mark while mummy spent more of daddy's money on clothes for Mark and a skirt for me. I played with a couple of kids there as well but one of them was so bossy that even I was taken aback. Normally I'm the one who tells people what to do but this girl took the biscuit. She even unpacked a doctor's uniform and I'm sure she would have started performing open heart surgery on a cuddly dog had a lady in the shop not intervened.
After Mothercare we went upstairs to Brio and had coffee and cake and listened to some woman in a band slaughtering various well-known numbers. Nevertheless I jumped up and down while they were performing and the lady noticed and smiled over at me. I don't know what she was smiling for, I was busting for the loo and jumping up and down was the only thing that prevented me from wetting all over the seat. We rounded off the day by popping along to Baby Shop where mummy spent more of daddy's money and Mark got yet more clothes.
This morning, I registered with the Metro Mela website and left reviews for Mothercare, Baby Shop, Toys N Toys, Apple of My Eye. Strange that none of them have websites. You can got to Metro Mela and check out my reviews. Click on Bangalore and look for Motts.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Swinging and sliding
A couple of years ago, mummy and daddy bought me a swing. Daddy then got a couple of long chains, looped those over a bar in the forecourt of our old house and attached the swing's ropes to the chains. Hey presto, something for me to sit happily in while mummy and daddy did all the hard work of pushing me. I'm too big for the swing now and in any event, we moved house a couple of months ago. It was good while it lasted because that was my swing, my forecourt, and me getting all the pushes.
Earlier this week, mummy rigged the swing up in our study downstairs. There's a hook in the ceiling and she asked our driver to do all the chain-hanging and rope-attaching business and there, lo and behold was my swing, but this time with Mark sitting in it. I don't begrudge him his time in my swing. I like to think I've grown out of being pushed in a baby seat and besides, there have been a couple of times in the past when I've nearly toppled out of it. Mark doesn't get pushed very hard - just gentle little baby pushes really - and there are mattresses on the floor underneath just in case something should tumble. Sliding is more my cup of tea and I had such a good time when we went to England for our holidays, a case of so many skides, so little time. I remember daddy telling mummy that we should go to Arundel castle in Sussex and walk around lots of boring rooms looking at suits of armour and hearing the tour guides say things like, "and this chair dates from the year 1546. It's made from an oak tree which was growing on the estate and if you look at the back of one of the chair legs you can just make out the signature of the carpenter..." I mean, pl....ease! Thankfully daddy saw sense and scrapped the boring castle bit and we went to a theme park instead where I slid and jumped and jumped and slid to my heart's content. Mark was that much younger than and couldn't even keep his head from wobbling, let alone sit in a swing. But I had great fun and it's just such a pity that there aren't more slides where we are now.
The other day, as daddy was taking me out for a drive, I asked him, "are we in England?" "No darling," he laughed, "we're still in India." I don't know why he laughed because I can't see there's anything to laugh about. I want to do more sliding and England's the place for me. "I want to go to England" I said, and daddy said we would go again, one day. I hope it's soon.
In the meantime, Mark seems quite happy in my swing and just sits there stuffing his fingers into his mouth. Once he gets a bit older though, he'll also want more things to do and then the two of us can put more pressure on mummy and daddy to take us somewhere decent where we can play.
Earlier this week, mummy rigged the swing up in our study downstairs. There's a hook in the ceiling and she asked our driver to do all the chain-hanging and rope-attaching business and there, lo and behold was my swing, but this time with Mark sitting in it. I don't begrudge him his time in my swing. I like to think I've grown out of being pushed in a baby seat and besides, there have been a couple of times in the past when I've nearly toppled out of it. Mark doesn't get pushed very hard - just gentle little baby pushes really - and there are mattresses on the floor underneath just in case something should tumble. Sliding is more my cup of tea and I had such a good time when we went to England for our holidays, a case of so many skides, so little time. I remember daddy telling mummy that we should go to Arundel castle in Sussex and walk around lots of boring rooms looking at suits of armour and hearing the tour guides say things like, "and this chair dates from the year 1546. It's made from an oak tree which was growing on the estate and if you look at the back of one of the chair legs you can just make out the signature of the carpenter..." I mean, pl....ease! Thankfully daddy saw sense and scrapped the boring castle bit and we went to a theme park instead where I slid and jumped and jumped and slid to my heart's content. Mark was that much younger than and couldn't even keep his head from wobbling, let alone sit in a swing. But I had great fun and it's just such a pity that there aren't more slides where we are now.
The other day, as daddy was taking me out for a drive, I asked him, "are we in England?" "No darling," he laughed, "we're still in India." I don't know why he laughed because I can't see there's anything to laugh about. I want to do more sliding and England's the place for me. "I want to go to England" I said, and daddy said we would go again, one day. I hope it's soon.
In the meantime, Mark seems quite happy in my swing and just sits there stuffing his fingers into his mouth. Once he gets a bit older though, he'll also want more things to do and then the two of us can put more pressure on mummy and daddy to take us somewhere decent where we can play.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
He speaks
At least, he does to me. Call it superior intelligence, call it childish intuition, call it genius. Call it whatever you like but I've cracked his code: Mark speaks. He's eight months old today and when I saw him first thing this morning he was lying on his back on mummy's bed having just had a feed. He gave me one of those looks when I came in; a look that said, "now don't think you're going to barge your way into my space, because I was here first and it's first come, first served." I ignored it just the same and was just going to squeeze myself in between him and mummy, when he spoke.
"Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh." I think I've spelt that correctly. I'm pretty sure it's twelve Es and five Hs but I'm not sure where it's "Aye" or "Aie". In any event, "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" (or "Aie-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh") is what he he said and that's exactly how it would have sounded to mummy; a nonsense half-baby gurgle, half baby-scream that neither she not daddy, nor any adult would be able to understand. But I know what it means. It means, "No you don't! Stay back! Get away!"
Now let me make one thing clear. Mark doesn't scare me. I'm twenty eight and a bit months older than him and I could beat him in a fight any day. Nevertheless, he can be quite determined when he wants to be, and on at least one occasion, when we were rolling around on the floor together, he hooked one of his fingers through my earring and gave it a real good tug. Thankfully daddy was there to prize his finger away, but it could have been quite nasty because he just wouldn't let go. Of course, Mark made it look like an accident; "he didn't mean to", daddy said, but I know better. Only that morning I'd done the same thing I was planning to do today - squeeze myself in on the bed - and that was him paying me back. So when he said "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" this morning, I thought back to my sore ear and decided instead to go round to the space next to mummy on the other side of the bed.
And that's how daddy left us this morning: all three of us dozing on the bed; Mark kicking a little and saying, "oouish" and "aye-oo" which daddy would have heard as "oouish" and "aye-oo" but which I know means, "see you later" and "love you."
"Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh." I think I've spelt that correctly. I'm pretty sure it's twelve Es and five Hs but I'm not sure where it's "Aye" or "Aie". In any event, "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" (or "Aie-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh") is what he he said and that's exactly how it would have sounded to mummy; a nonsense half-baby gurgle, half baby-scream that neither she not daddy, nor any adult would be able to understand. But I know what it means. It means, "No you don't! Stay back! Get away!"
Now let me make one thing clear. Mark doesn't scare me. I'm twenty eight and a bit months older than him and I could beat him in a fight any day. Nevertheless, he can be quite determined when he wants to be, and on at least one occasion, when we were rolling around on the floor together, he hooked one of his fingers through my earring and gave it a real good tug. Thankfully daddy was there to prize his finger away, but it could have been quite nasty because he just wouldn't let go. Of course, Mark made it look like an accident; "he didn't mean to", daddy said, but I know better. Only that morning I'd done the same thing I was planning to do today - squeeze myself in on the bed - and that was him paying me back. So when he said "Aye-eeeeeeeeeeee-sshhhhh" this morning, I thought back to my sore ear and decided instead to go round to the space next to mummy on the other side of the bed.
And that's how daddy left us this morning: all three of us dozing on the bed; Mark kicking a little and saying, "oouish" and "aye-oo" which daddy would have heard as "oouish" and "aye-oo" but which I know means, "see you later" and "love you."
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Of course
I can't recall where I picked this little phrase up but I've been using it to very good effect recently. It might have come from mummy, in fact it probably does come from her. I'd used another of her expressions - "sure you can" - for some while, but then along comes, "of course" which, I don't know, somehow seems more affirmative, re-assuring and positive. So whereas before, when mummy would say, "come, let me wipe your face" and I'd respond with, "sure you can", these days I say "of course".
I use "of course" a lot. When daddy says, "would you like to watch Winnie The Pooh?" I respond with "of course". (I mean, "doh!" Why wouldn't I want to watch Winnie the Pooh?) And when he says, "would you like some banana?" I say "of course" again. In fact I can get through life pretty easily just using those two little words and with the number of questions my parents throw at me, it's so much more economical to say "of course" rather than, "sure you can" (which, if I have to admit it, also sounds a little bit too American for my tastes).
Don't get me wrong though, I don't say "of course" to everything. There are occasions - and usually those occasions are bath-times, meal-times and bed-times - when mummy and daddy would like to hear me say "of course" a little more regularly than I do. I'm not playing that game though, not as long as tantrums and violent objections are so much fun. If they thought that I would transform over-night as soon as I said goodbye to the "terrible twos" and became a mature three year-old, well they can just think again.
I use "of course" a lot. When daddy says, "would you like to watch Winnie The Pooh?" I respond with "of course". (I mean, "doh!" Why wouldn't I want to watch Winnie the Pooh?) And when he says, "would you like some banana?" I say "of course" again. In fact I can get through life pretty easily just using those two little words and with the number of questions my parents throw at me, it's so much more economical to say "of course" rather than, "sure you can" (which, if I have to admit it, also sounds a little bit too American for my tastes).
Don't get me wrong though, I don't say "of course" to everything. There are occasions - and usually those occasions are bath-times, meal-times and bed-times - when mummy and daddy would like to hear me say "of course" a little more regularly than I do. I'm not playing that game though, not as long as tantrums and violent objections are so much fun. If they thought that I would transform over-night as soon as I said goodbye to the "terrible twos" and became a mature three year-old, well they can just think again.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Bloat
We had fun yesterday. Mummy drew the character Bloat from Finding Nemo. I think the correct designation for him is probably "puffer fish" but those people at Pixar never tell us that. All we hear is their names: Bloat, Gill and the others. Maybe these cartoon studios should consider telling us exactly what kind of creatures it is that we are seeing. We know that Marlin is a clown fish, that Bruce is a shark, that Nigel is a pelican and so on, but when we get to the aquarium in Australia, we're all left wondering. No wonder Nemo looks so confused most of the time he's in there.
Anyway, forget all that, mummy's puffer fish was a huge round circle with two blobs for eyes and then she and daddy and me all jabbed our crayons on it to make his spikes. Afterwards I drew some puffer fish myself, only mine weren't very round and the eyes looked a bit skew-whiff; almost as if my puffer fish had ingested some radioactive weed or swum through an oil slick.
I suppose Mark would have been there too, but he'd just shit himself and, having just passed the stage where the warm and nice feeling in your pants has turned into a cold and sticky and not very nice one, he'd been taken upstairs to be cleaned. That's a pity because he might have enjoyed seeing all of us jabbing crayons on the paper and shrieking with laughter.
It rained later that evening and daddy and I stood at the window watching the lightning, listening for thunder and hoping that no motorists would scratch his car as they tried to inch past it and a bike that had been parked carelessly opposite. I think daddy swore, and pretty soon he went out to move the car. I came out as well and got my pyjama bottoms wet. It's funny, while daddy managed to get in and out with barely a drop of rain on him, I got the bottom of my trousers wet and I fell over twice. Mummy and daddy always give each other a funny look when I fall over but you know, what goes around comes around and when, years from now, Mark and I are visiting them in The Larches or some other retirement home, we'll give each other a funny look as well when the day-care assistant says, "your dad took another small tumble last night but he's OK. He's just a little confused."
Anyway, forget all that, mummy's puffer fish was a huge round circle with two blobs for eyes and then she and daddy and me all jabbed our crayons on it to make his spikes. Afterwards I drew some puffer fish myself, only mine weren't very round and the eyes looked a bit skew-whiff; almost as if my puffer fish had ingested some radioactive weed or swum through an oil slick.
I suppose Mark would have been there too, but he'd just shit himself and, having just passed the stage where the warm and nice feeling in your pants has turned into a cold and sticky and not very nice one, he'd been taken upstairs to be cleaned. That's a pity because he might have enjoyed seeing all of us jabbing crayons on the paper and shrieking with laughter.
It rained later that evening and daddy and I stood at the window watching the lightning, listening for thunder and hoping that no motorists would scratch his car as they tried to inch past it and a bike that had been parked carelessly opposite. I think daddy swore, and pretty soon he went out to move the car. I came out as well and got my pyjama bottoms wet. It's funny, while daddy managed to get in and out with barely a drop of rain on him, I got the bottom of my trousers wet and I fell over twice. Mummy and daddy always give each other a funny look when I fall over but you know, what goes around comes around and when, years from now, Mark and I are visiting them in The Larches or some other retirement home, we'll give each other a funny look as well when the day-care assistant says, "your dad took another small tumble last night but he's OK. He's just a little confused."
Monday, August 18, 2008
By way of an introduction
Let me begin with a few words about the two of us. I'm Motts; Mark is two years and four months younger than I am and really quite immature. I love him to death but he's a younger brother and younger brothers can be irritating in the extreme.
While I'll quite happily sit in front of the TV watching one of my DVDs, he just lies on his back staring into space or concentrating hard on some ridiculous plastic object or the other. Those moments never last long though because no sooner has he started concentrating than he's dropped the thing and then somebody has to go across, pick it up, give it back; you know the routine. I do my best to help him but it's annoying and he never seems to learn. Maybe once he's started crawling properly he'll become a little more independent and then retrieve these things for himself. At the moment though, it's a pain because there's always someone or other ducking in front of the screen and picking up this blue plastic cog or that red plastic beaker. I mean, I know I've seen Finding Nemo probably a trillion times already but it's very difficult to concentrate with all these constant interruptions.
We live in India and we were born in India. Mum's Indian and dad's English - "a British" - mum would say. I know it's not grammatically correct but I know what she means and if I stay in this country long enough to have Wren and Martin thrust down my throat, I'll come home from school one day and tell her exactly why it's wrong and what the correct term should be. (Mum, it's not Britisher either). Funny that Wren and Martin's grammar books (which were first published back in the 1930s) should still be so widely used in India. Funnier still that despite the country's reliance on these, the Englsih language is consistently beaten and abused by the majority of the population. But hey, what am I saying? Here's me, Indian Nemo-addict, with only the most rudimentary education under my belt (one that consists at the moment of dib-and-dab - that's a form of painting, for the uninitiated - and endless repetition of rhymes and dances) sounding off about English grammar.
Anyway, that's enough about the two of us for now. I can hear mum coming so I'll continue this at a later date. My intention is to give an update every day but with no internet connection in our home currently, weekends are going to be a problem.
Bye for now.
While I'll quite happily sit in front of the TV watching one of my DVDs, he just lies on his back staring into space or concentrating hard on some ridiculous plastic object or the other. Those moments never last long though because no sooner has he started concentrating than he's dropped the thing and then somebody has to go across, pick it up, give it back; you know the routine. I do my best to help him but it's annoying and he never seems to learn. Maybe once he's started crawling properly he'll become a little more independent and then retrieve these things for himself. At the moment though, it's a pain because there's always someone or other ducking in front of the screen and picking up this blue plastic cog or that red plastic beaker. I mean, I know I've seen Finding Nemo probably a trillion times already but it's very difficult to concentrate with all these constant interruptions.
We live in India and we were born in India. Mum's Indian and dad's English - "a British" - mum would say. I know it's not grammatically correct but I know what she means and if I stay in this country long enough to have Wren and Martin thrust down my throat, I'll come home from school one day and tell her exactly why it's wrong and what the correct term should be. (Mum, it's not Britisher either). Funny that Wren and Martin's grammar books (which were first published back in the 1930s) should still be so widely used in India. Funnier still that despite the country's reliance on these, the Englsih language is consistently beaten and abused by the majority of the population. But hey, what am I saying? Here's me, Indian Nemo-addict, with only the most rudimentary education under my belt (one that consists at the moment of dib-and-dab - that's a form of painting, for the uninitiated - and endless repetition of rhymes and dances) sounding off about English grammar.
Anyway, that's enough about the two of us for now. I can hear mum coming so I'll continue this at a later date. My intention is to give an update every day but with no internet connection in our home currently, weekends are going to be a problem.
Bye for now.
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