The bands
Sarva was not impressed with N's attempt to apply tikka
He really messed it up
Band tied
The method to pacification and reminder of duties: sweets and the wiggles
N's look says it all. Don't think Barbie cuts it this year
14 August 2011
Raksha bandhan 2011
Raksha bandan is a regular festival where sisters give their brothers a small band as a reminder to protect against evil. In modern days, the brothers return with gifts, cash, jewellery or just a barbie watch from Big W.
The method to pacification and reminder of duties: sweets and the wiggles
The method to pacification and reminder of duties: sweets and the wiggles
We have walking
Background: I have a form of muscular dystrophy which is of unknown origin. As a result, my milestones as a baby were slow including lifting my head, standing up, learning to walk. Before marriage, I went and saw the Genetic Counselling Service at the Royal Children, with the aim that there would be some news on my type of dystrophy. Essentially there was no information on inheritance - autosomal, x-linked, recessive, dominant. The thought was it was "probably" x-linked recessive, meaning male offspring inherit from their mom's. But with a big probably.
Fast-forward through to child #1. Walking, running and out the door at about 12 months. Being a girl child, it was less concerning as most likely she couldn't get it. However, back of my mind upon hearing #2 would be a boy, was the concern of inheritance, even though the chances were so low.
Sarva's milestones were fairly normal in retrospect. Lifting head on time, smacking sister down on time, biting Deepti whilst breastfeeding on time. His return from India as a small raging headbutting bull, who could stand at nine months further pacified those thoughts. The steps were there - one two small baby steps for the best part of July, so walking most likely commenced at 11 months. Second child syndrome.
Glad to report, on 11 August, he took those steps and hasn't stopped running. Or slapping down his sister.
And it is true. I sort of missed the first steps because I was looking at the fridge catalogue. 280L just aint big enough for the 9L of milk we need to buy each week.
Fast-forward through to child #1. Walking, running and out the door at about 12 months. Being a girl child, it was less concerning as most likely she couldn't get it. However, back of my mind upon hearing #2 would be a boy, was the concern of inheritance, even though the chances were so low.
Sarva's milestones were fairly normal in retrospect. Lifting head on time, smacking sister down on time, biting Deepti whilst breastfeeding on time. His return from India as a small raging headbutting bull, who could stand at nine months further pacified those thoughts. The steps were there - one two small baby steps for the best part of July, so walking most likely commenced at 11 months. Second child syndrome.
Glad to report, on 11 August, he took those steps and hasn't stopped running. Or slapping down his sister.
And it is true. I sort of missed the first steps because I was looking at the fridge catalogue. 280L just aint big enough for the 9L of milk we need to buy each week.
23 July 2011
Books
In a eurocentric way, I always pushed reading on to Naina. She was never overtly fond of books - the very hungry caterpillar and on safari were always big hits, as was in the night garden, but attempting the gruffalo, doctor seuss or other nice books ended up with me reading the book to Deepti as Naina jumped on the bed. I kid you not.
Going to India, the book reading stopped, much to my disappointment. Probably, in a house with two young aunts, two or three uncles under thirty, kids in the alleyway playing and door to door salesmen selling rice, potatoes, onions and eggplants, the very hungry caterpillar never had a chance.
Unsurprisingly, Naina came back still highly disinterested in books. She still loves on safari, grudgingly accepts the Gruffalo as long as she can press the musical buttons and Doctor Seuss's Sleep Book lasts a page or two.
But her interest in "kahaani" is roaring. The oral tradition rather than the written tradition etc. Coming back, every night Naina wanted a different Barbie story. Another post! Then Doraemon stories (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doraemon) (amazingly this show never came to Australia, but is one of the most popular manga comics for kids in India, so much so it is dubbed, into hindi). Then Hanuman stories. So after a futile series of attempts to read to N, we'd turn off the lights and begin proper story time.
N then learnt about Shrek, so Shrek and Donkey stories, then Shrek and Fiona, Dragon and Donkey and then this is our life where Dragon is Deepti and Donkey is me, St George and the Dragon (though honestly I don't know the story), The Hobbit and finally, Lord of The Rings, where all the bad dudes are Dragons and one of the characters (Legolas, the Archer, is renamed Sarva, the archer in Hindu mythology so Mummy Daddy, Naina and Sarva are fighting alongside Gandalf and Aragorn against Dragons at the Gates of Sauron whilst Frodo and Sam are fighting Gollum near the peak of Mt Doom).
I'm not sure what N thinks of the Lord of The Rings Trilogy (people don't die, they fall), but it has a 5 to 10 minute knock out effect. And for that I am grateful to Tolkein.
Naina
Naina's changing. Not surprising. Language skills are so different now to when she left that it is almost like a new person is inside N.
There's a scene in the Simpson's first season where Bart is sent on an exchange program to France and nervous Marge is told:
Pr. Skinner: He'd be staying in France, in a lovely chateau in the heart of the wine country.
Marge: But Bart doesn't speak French.
Pr. Skinner: Oh, when he's fully immersed in a foreign language, the average child can become fluent in weeks!
Homer: Yeah, but what about Bart?
Pr. Skinner: I'm sure he'll pick up enough to get by.
N returned to Australia completely fluent in Hindi. And some Maghi, a regional dialect of Bihar. Verbose, demanding, and utterly fluent. Only now, eight to nine weeks after returning, with saturation western TV is her hindi breaking down to a little more English. But she's able to comprehend English at a reasonable level, with some sense of accuracy. Though explaining chi-chi to the kindy teachers has been bemusing.
Obviously, taller, thinner, shorter hair. The usual things. Naina has always been a fussy eater, but now, she contentedly scoffs her food, with a bit of cajoling. She knows McDonalds means chips. Nando's means chips. Coke cans mean coke. We're able to divert her attention but she doesn't forget. I have a secret stash of up'n'go in the stairs. When we bought it, she lectured me that this was her medicine and not daddy's. She saw it today and reminded me of her comments. There were surprises coming back from India though. Tales of her happily eating eggplant and melon dishes with Deepti's sisters. I look back at that and her now complete disdain for anything more complicated than fruit or meat or bread and wonder where that kid has gone.
Her biggest strides are in independence. Toilet training has been conquered, which is a wonderful feeling, though I take no credit. It was achieved in India. We've had the odd accident since (see Coming Home), but she's pretty good. Naina's now able to dress herself. Favourite colour top - pink, favourite colour dress, pink, favourite colour pants - pink, favourite colour jacket - pink (curse you Barbie!). Although struggling with getting singlets on over the top, she pulls them up from the floor and then squeezes her arm out last. Funny. She's even started using the shower. It's a sense of joy that we can guide her rather than do this stuff for her. And she's reluctantly able to teach her little brother.
Naina is meek and mild and a worrier by nature. She insists that I give Deepti lots of love instead of arguing when I'm teaching Deepti to drive. N then falls asleep for two hours whilst we do meanders of Moorabbin's Industrial areas. Advice was given and received today on being careful not to burn my mouth on the soup/noodles. She insists that I not go to work when the weather is bad. That my boss is a bad man who she's going to smack if she ever meets him. And that Sarva's always to blame and "Mein kutch ney kiya" (I didn't do it!).
Naina's also started three year old kindy, which she calls school. As with other kids, she's not fond of going, tolerates it for three hours and then cries when she sees Deepti again at 4pm. Though I think Deepti's heart breaks a little bit too, sending N. Maybe that because N's gone pathological on one of the teachers: she's not too fond of the "fat" teacher at pre-kindy because that teacher goes around hitting the kids. I have no documented evidence of this. That said, N did not cry once when she attended pre-kindy and the "fat" teacher was not there. Still not evidence.
There's a scene in the Simpson's first season where Bart is sent on an exchange program to France and nervous Marge is told:
Pr. Skinner: He'd be staying in France, in a lovely chateau in the heart of the wine country.
Marge: But Bart doesn't speak French.
Pr. Skinner: Oh, when he's fully immersed in a foreign language, the average child can become fluent in weeks!
Homer: Yeah, but what about Bart?
Pr. Skinner: I'm sure he'll pick up enough to get by.
N returned to Australia completely fluent in Hindi. And some Maghi, a regional dialect of Bihar. Verbose, demanding, and utterly fluent. Only now, eight to nine weeks after returning, with saturation western TV is her hindi breaking down to a little more English. But she's able to comprehend English at a reasonable level, with some sense of accuracy. Though explaining chi-chi to the kindy teachers has been bemusing.
Obviously, taller, thinner, shorter hair. The usual things. Naina has always been a fussy eater, but now, she contentedly scoffs her food, with a bit of cajoling. She knows McDonalds means chips. Nando's means chips. Coke cans mean coke. We're able to divert her attention but she doesn't forget. I have a secret stash of up'n'go in the stairs. When we bought it, she lectured me that this was her medicine and not daddy's. She saw it today and reminded me of her comments. There were surprises coming back from India though. Tales of her happily eating eggplant and melon dishes with Deepti's sisters. I look back at that and her now complete disdain for anything more complicated than fruit or meat or bread and wonder where that kid has gone.
Her biggest strides are in independence. Toilet training has been conquered, which is a wonderful feeling, though I take no credit. It was achieved in India. We've had the odd accident since (see Coming Home), but she's pretty good. Naina's now able to dress herself. Favourite colour top - pink, favourite colour dress, pink, favourite colour pants - pink, favourite colour jacket - pink (curse you Barbie!). Although struggling with getting singlets on over the top, she pulls them up from the floor and then squeezes her arm out last. Funny. She's even started using the shower. It's a sense of joy that we can guide her rather than do this stuff for her. And she's reluctantly able to teach her little brother.
Naina is meek and mild and a worrier by nature. She insists that I give Deepti lots of love instead of arguing when I'm teaching Deepti to drive. N then falls asleep for two hours whilst we do meanders of Moorabbin's Industrial areas. Advice was given and received today on being careful not to burn my mouth on the soup/noodles. She insists that I not go to work when the weather is bad. That my boss is a bad man who she's going to smack if she ever meets him. And that Sarva's always to blame and "Mein kutch ney kiya" (I didn't do it!).
Outta my way sunshine!
Naina's also started three year old kindy, which she calls school. As with other kids, she's not fond of going, tolerates it for three hours and then cries when she sees Deepti again at 4pm. Though I think Deepti's heart breaks a little bit too, sending N. Maybe that because N's gone pathological on one of the teachers: she's not too fond of the "fat" teacher at pre-kindy because that teacher goes around hitting the kids. I have no documented evidence of this. That said, N did not cry once when she attended pre-kindy and the "fat" teacher was not there. Still not evidence.
Coming home
It's been a while. Naina Sarva and Deepti got back around 12 May. Two months have shot past. This time the time apart seemed much shorted, more hectic. Last time, in 2009, dragged on and on. Before I knew it with gardens and handymen the time was up and there they were:
Positioned in exact same spot as last time, to see how time has wearied us all. See if you can spot the differences:
Last time
That's right, Vodafone weren't a sponsor in 2009.
The trip back was much kinder than the trip over. Going N had delightful gut emptying experience on landing in Bangkok. Coming back she only managed to loose control over her bladder in the customs hall at Tullamarine. I reckon that's real improvement.
Naina recognized me, for Sarva I was a stranger. Not unexpected. More about raging bull later.
Positioned in exact same spot as last time, to see how time has wearied us all. See if you can spot the differences:
This time
Last time
That's right, Vodafone weren't a sponsor in 2009.
The trip back was much kinder than the trip over. Going N had delightful gut emptying experience on landing in Bangkok. Coming back she only managed to loose control over her bladder in the customs hall at Tullamarine. I reckon that's real improvement.
Naina recognized me, for Sarva I was a stranger. Not unexpected. More about raging bull later.
17 April 2011
Oddities of gas
Naina had gas pains until she was two years old. It took us the best part of the first year of her life to realise why she was waking up screaming at midnight in uncontrollable pain. Doses and doses of infacol were consumed. Alternative medicine treatments were tried. Not feeding to sleep was tried. Formula was tried. No formula was tried. No medicine was tried. More medicine was tried. No luck. At completely unexpected times, like the middle of the day, Naina would develop screaming colic pains that made us fear she'd broken something. Confusingly, when she did break something (fell down the stairs and broke her clavicle), we did assume it to be gas.
When Deepti and Naina went to India in 2009, a single traumatic evening at a hotel was the worst of it. For the rest of that trip, the gas never re-occurred. Nothing. No medicines, no treatments, no rubs, no lotions, no potions. No no lotions, no no potions. I think you get my drift. The change was so dramatic, so reversed from the previous presentation one would think we were hypochondriacs who munchausenly made her develop gas to satisfy our desire to increase our affinity and spend at the local pharmacy.
Fastforward a few months to little Mr S. He too developed gas. He too would scream uncontrollably in the evenings and nights. Sometimes even with a dose or two of Infacol on board. I felt conned. Surely this never happens to little white babies. A keen eyed maternal health care nurse suggest something a little more rough and tough. Basically, baby mylanta. And cue trip to India.
Gas? What's gas is the basic refrain. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Seriously conned. All good things must come to an end. They're coming back, sometime soon. I am already writing the next chapter (when little S returned from India...).
When Deepti and Naina went to India in 2009, a single traumatic evening at a hotel was the worst of it. For the rest of that trip, the gas never re-occurred. Nothing. No medicines, no treatments, no rubs, no lotions, no potions. No no lotions, no no potions. I think you get my drift. The change was so dramatic, so reversed from the previous presentation one would think we were hypochondriacs who munchausenly made her develop gas to satisfy our desire to increase our affinity and spend at the local pharmacy.
Fastforward a few months to little Mr S. He too developed gas. He too would scream uncontrollably in the evenings and nights. Sometimes even with a dose or two of Infacol on board. I felt conned. Surely this never happens to little white babies. A keen eyed maternal health care nurse suggest something a little more rough and tough. Basically, baby mylanta. And cue trip to India.
Gas? What's gas is the basic refrain. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Seriously conned. All good things must come to an end. They're coming back, sometime soon. I am already writing the next chapter (when little S returned from India...).
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