Tag Archives: kids

May 9, 2013 · 1:55 pm

What career advice will you give to your daughters?

When I was growing up all I heard my mother say was that we had to make something of ourselves; that we must “stand on your own feet” – a term that Indian parents love to repeat, ad nauseum, or at least they did when my parents were in the stage of child-rearing that I am today.  Hindi films extolled the virtues of the phrase with lachrymose on-screen mothers telling their kids to “become something in life”.

So, it was ingrained in me very early – parents, cinema, et all – that I had to make something of myself. Stories of didactic brilliance, against all odds, were fed to us on a regular basis. The boy who sat under a street lamp and topped the national level civil services exam was the role model who we had to get inspired from, if not emulate.

So, my question is this. And, just to clarify, this is not to assign blame or say that my life would’ve been different had my mother prepared me for what lay ahead. But what I want to know is why no one told me one day I’ll have to make a choice – work or home? I spent years thinking, studying, working towards a career and then, whoosh. Before I knew it, I became that Stay At Home Mom, wondering if someone out there wants to hire a freelancer who is willing to work harder than “regular employees”, whose only limitation is that she cannot leave home for hours on end.

Why was I told that I must “stand on my feet” when that is exactly what I am not being able to do, whatever the term means?

The question that could be thrown back to me is – who told you to have kids? Or, did you not think about who would raise them? Well, not really. I mean, you reach a point when you want kids and you feel you’ll be able to figure to out as you go along. After all, the world has kids and juggles. My mom did. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

It’s not hard. It’s just life-changing. For those who can strike that magical (but it so eluded me) work-life-balance, I sound like a whiner (don’t like that term, my blog name notwithstanding). But I am not. I am asking a real question; more because I want to say the right things to my daughters. I do not want to lead them down a merry path only to have them reach a dead end later, or worse, to reach that wretched fork in the road where they’ll stand and dither and fall into the deepest quandary, the answer to which they will seek for the rest of their lives.

Should I tell them that they must work hard and dream big, but that one day they may have to let go of that dream, or a family? Or, should I tell them to be realistic and choose a path that will allow them to strike a balance between work and domestic life? So it’s better, say, to become a writer, academician (but wait, not dean, that’s time consuming), entrepreneur, teacher, consultant (so many women I know now “consult on a freelance basis) as opposed to any other profession, enriching as it might be, but which threatens to take them away from their homes for long passages of time?

What’s the answer? Is there one?

I want to, just because it’s sort of relevant, tell you this story. Make what you want of it.

I have a friend who was brilliant in college – the sort we thought would lead the way and we’d just follow. At 21 she got married. No one could understand it. One fine day, she just married this guy her parents had chosen for her. Just like that.

It turned out that her mother was this control freak who had figured life out and had laid out a plan for her daughter. She got this rich guy to marry her. By the time she was 23 she’d had her first and only child. She then, needled by her mother, did an MBA (while changing nappies – no diapers then). She lived with her parents-in-law (she, husband, kid on the top level; they on the lower, pretty common in India) So, the child was magically brought up while she worked. Long story short, today, she’s only 42 and her son is safely pursuing his undergraduate degree somewhere in the US. She’s on her way to the top management of her company with which she consulted (surprise surprise) for a few years while her son was young.

So, she’s set, as they say in Indian-English parlance. No stopping her till she reaches the top, which is less than an arm’s length away anyway. Her mother always wears this smug expression on her face – she’s something out of a Jane Austen book, where her only aim in life was to settle her daughter, first into a wealthy household by way of marriage and then into successful employment. Both were achieved.

Well, needless to say, I am not that mother. Don’t want to be. Besides, I’ve never asked this friend what she thought about being married so early. She never questioned it, at least not publicly, but I am not sure she loved being coaxed into domesticity while her friends went abroad for further studies, or ones like me who enjoyed single hood till my twenties ended.

I have no doubt about the reaction my kids would have, if I was to, in some wild imagination, turn into that controlling mother with the all-good intention of planning their lives. There’d be a mutiny, to put it mildly.

So back to the original question. What do I say to my daughters?

I ask, but I think I know the answer.

I am going to let them figure it out for themselves. Limiting their imagination right now for some future dilemma seems unnecessary and frankly foolish. They’ll cross the bridge when they come to it.  Hopefully, I’ll be living on the ground floor, looking after their babies..

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April 24, 2013 · 5:56 pm

Ok, so the angst is back. And this time, it’s brought Shelly and Frost..

Does it ever go away? I mean completely go away – as in, never to return, go away? I think not. It’s a bit like psoriasis, you can suppress it, but it will eventually come back, if only to go away again.

And, this is the angsty age anyway – by age, I mean both my age (40, sigh) and the age we live in (Kalyug, or the age of downfall, as it’s called in Hinduism). So the combination is pretty crappy. I know this is a bit of a pessimistic take on a pretty perfect life, but that’s the way I am feeling right now.

Why? Not sure. I have all the makings of a great life – three wonderful kids, a nice, big house (nightmare to maintain), a loving husband (trapped in the wheel of life, would ideally like to quit work but that’s unimaginable with three kids in junior school), supportive parents (old, frail and alone), caring siblings (sister has been menopausal pretty much for the past ten years), an affluent lifestyle (thank God, no really)..You know, all the ingredients that one needs to be happy.

And yet, I have the angst. Does this prove, then, that human beings can never be truly happy? As Shelley writes  in ‘To A Skylark’ (Gosh I still remember this, bless you Miss. Mehta, my English teacher in the year of the Lord – 1988):

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Good Lord, I am quoting Shelly. I think I need help. That, or maybe I need to get out of the house and do something that does not involve sorting fights about who snatched whose pen first, or being told that life was not fair, or calling the plumber to fix a pipe, then calling him back four hours later. Maybe I need to be talking to adults during the day for a change, and adults who are not the help or, worse, my mother-in-law, whose perennial problem is trying to work her iPad. Yes, I now have the itch to get out of the house. And I can’t.

To be honest, I’ve always had that itch (take it from me, every women who gives up work does) but now it’s becoming unbearable. You know you’ve been home too long when you tell your seven year old about the sacrifices you’ve made for her and expect her to understand the magnitude of your decision. Worse, I now say this to my three and a half year old twins. Of course, to them I say it more like a threat – “mama will go to office if you don’t let her work”. Again, I expect their little minds (quite capable, might I add, of impressive analytical reasoning when convenient) to take me seriously and leave me and my computer, and my iPad, alone.

Do I succeed? Do I really need to answer that?

So, the angst grows. Husband has his own angst, so I don’t dump mine on him. Also, mine sometimes involves gripes about his mother (we live together) and that’s never a great topic, to put it mildly. To be fair to him, he does not talk to her much either, he’s got quite the male, if I shut my eyes it will go away, attitude towards his mother and my relationship. Well, it does not go away and every so often blows up in his face, leading to more angst all around.

Anyway, coming back to the current anxiety in question, I am not sure why it’s bonked me on the head without warning. No, it’s not PMS. Well, unless, unless, PMS now takes over half the month? Hmm, possible; forties have lots of surprises and I have been craving chocolate lately..

But, the reason this has caught me by surprise is that I would’ve thought that now my restlessness would wane a bit – twins are in school, I’ve started to work from home a little (though that’s hard to do with the motley group around me) and we even had that splendid, splendid holiday (just husband and I) which I actually described as honey-mooney (blush, blush). So, then? Why all this fretfulness about what if I’d taken up that job?

Not sure I want to answer that. Somewhere deep down, I may know why, but I’d rather let that lie where it is. Tugging it out will bring up other stuff and before we know it, I’ll be quoting Frost.

Well, what the hell. Here it is:

‘The Road Not taken’

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

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April 17, 2013 · 6:46 am

We did it. And it was heavenly (pun fully intended)

The world, I believe, is divided into two kids of couples – the ones who holiday with the kids, and the ones who don’t (there are, of course, those who fall in between, but they remain irresolutely on the fringes).

We, till about a week ago, were quite firmly and utterly incontrovertibly the former. All our holidays for the past eight years – i.e. pre-first baby- have been with kids and all the paraphernalia that goes with it – you know, the occupy-them-on-journey games, the read-at-bedtime-books, the what-if extra pair of clothes, the can’t-leave-home-without them toys, the worst-case-scenarios medicines, the diapers, formulas, sterilizers, towels, potty seats, agh- the list is endless, and yet, totally relatable (not a real word but oh so apt) to any mother (not going to say father. Yes I know there are exceptions) who has packed for a holiday with the kids.

That, however, changed last week. And in such an unplanned and completely out-of-character way that it still makes me wonder if we really did this. But we did and I’ll tell you, it was the best thing that happened to us. Don’t get me wrong, I felt guilty about leaving the kids (a guilt that melted away, quite magically, as the aircraft lifted-off towards our holiday and hubby and I played scrabble on the iPad in an almost unsettling  silence, without some kid snatching it to play Temple-Run, or, worse, Dress-Up! See what I mean?)

So how did it happen? Well, I was talking to husband about a friend who lives in Goa (for those who don’t know, it’s a beach haven in India) and before we knew it, he was searching for flights in a general,  how-much-does-it cost kind of way. Cleartrip threw up some very enticing numbers for a weekend, with air-fare and hotel costs bundled into a most alluring sum.  It was a random Sunday evening and we’d had some wine; I sighed and said, only half-seriously, that we could think about it. I didn’t think he’d react, more because he knows my obsessive mothering disposition only too well. But, he’d had some wine too, which had probably had the dual (and extremely fruitful) effect of dulling his doubts and honing his confidence in my letting-go abilities. Anyway, long story short, we bought the trip. That was that. There was then no going back (Cleartrip does not let you).

In the next two weeks I went through mixed angst, which, of course, I completely shielded from the husband. I wanted him to see the new-me, the new, I-can-do-this me. So I nonchalantly walked about the house ignoring and pretending that the storm in my head was really my imagination; that I was this cool mum who was not going to fret about what time the kids would sleep or if they’d eat well and all of that. I completely resisted any what-if scenarios and did not even tell the kids till much later.

Instead, I called my mum. Wonderful as she is, she promised to stay the weekend (they live six hours away). And that was it. I knew it would happen.

Not only did it happen, it was glorious. Like a love-soaked honeymoon. It was hard leaving the kids, yes. And my older daughter (who knows only too well how to touch those buttons) was upset and cried a lot. She understood but didn’t accept it. Once my mum came, she was better. Once I was out of sight she was better than better! (any mother can attest the fact that kids reserve their worst behavior for their mothers – I still do.)

The weekend was unreal, and not only in a no-wailing-toddlers way (though that was a welcome change that took some getting used to). It was splendid because of the time that we spent together, most of which was spent talking, and not about the kids – something we tend to do so much when we are home. We talked about sundry things, drank copious amounts, unabashedly slept-in till late – sigh, it was perfect, so perfect that when I returned, I refused to jump back into reality (of course, I was pulled into it headlong)

So now we are one of “those” couples. I’ve crossed over to the other side, one to which I did not ever imagine I would. It is a side towards which I have always looked with a covetous (though detached) distance. And now, here I am, with a foolish grin on my face, completely rejuvenated, basking with contentment, glowing with utter joy and wondering why I didn’t do this earlier.

Our next holiday will be with the kids. Yes, that is true. The guilt has not left me. It had dissipated temporarily, but has been cajoled out of its dormancy by the kids and the control-freak mommy in me.  Also, it’s not about guilt really. We do love our holidays with the kids, the paraphernalia notwithstanding.

We’re not making any rules about this or that – some holidays make sense with kids and some don’t, that’s the reality. Earlier we’d just never consider the latter. Now, we’ve tasted blood, and also realized that some things are bigger in your head.  Of course, it’s not like one can mindlessly get away without thinking about who will take care of the kids, but the thing is that it can be done, with a little effort.And that effort is so so worth it.

I feel connected (for lack of a better word, really) to the husband again. Our lives have been so different in the past years, with him sinking himself into work and me into the house and kids, that this time together has breathed new life into our relationship.

I will always remember Goa as the place where I fell in love with him all over again. That, for me,  is a priceless. Hopefully, when my kids grow up and do this for themselves, they’ll understand why their parents needed to do this.

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August 7, 2012 · 5:06 pm

My Little Princesses. How I came to not mind that word.

When I was young/er and full of that – ew-no-pink-for-me, if someone had told me that my three daughters would play princess-princess in the afternoons wearing sparkly crowns, silky pink and (ugh) Disney-inspired Cinderella blue  satin dresses (given as gifts, I feel the need to clarify, from dear cousin visiting from Australia) I would’ve scoffed and told that someone they needed to get their Time Machine fixed. That ain’t me honey, would’ve been my only callow retort.

Right. So what happened? As I sit here and write, my daughters – aged 6 and almost three – are shrieking with delight as they swoon from room to room playing princess games with crowns and flowers in their hair, preparing for a make-believe tea party.

How did this happen? How one earth did I allow this? I mean I never bought (and that I still never do) clothes that say cutesie things like ‘li’l princess’ or worse, ‘daddy’s li’l princess’! I read to them about adventure, goblins and the Far Away Tree (sigh, to be six again); husband and I spend many evenings with them watching Serena Williams smash the ball to smithereens and terrify her opponent to bits (as my twins ask me about what happened to Sharapova); my six year old tells me all about how Mr. Pink-Whistle would become invisible and come to her school and then there’d be lots of fun. That is what our world is usually like. I want my girls to grow up not as princesses, but as independent, thinking women who’ll chart their own course in life (as opposed to mademoiselle damsel-in-distress Cinderella)

But then, there are days like today, when Enid Blyton sits in a corner and all that the kids wants to do is play princess. Do I mind this? Does it bother me?

Well, here’s the thing. I don’t mind it, somehow. I’ve come to believe – and this has been a journey, because even after I had them I was quite convinced that I’d never allow all this pinky-Barbie-oh–pretty-pretty-stuff – that some things are a part of growing up and deprivation is not always the right thing. If I banned Barbies (much as I’d like to) the kids would only pine for them more.  Let them have it, purge it out of their system and move on.

So, I allow them, in moderation, and use their non-playing time well. Also, I believe that kids need to have free play, one that is non-structured. This builds their imagination.  Even if it is playing princess, they are using props using their heads and having fun along the way.

So, if princess is what they want to play, then so be it. It makes them happy, keeps them engaged and that makes for a very happy mommy! Win-win really. To a point, of course. Any signs of the stuff taking on serious tones and I would kick into overdrive, starting all the diversion tactics.

For now, it’s a pleasure watching them giggle and play. Their tea-party looks like fun and my writing table is now full of all sorts of make-believe food that I am supposed to finish soon.  I am going to let them enjoy this afternoon and play.

Any mention of the prince, however, will need some mommy intervention.

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July 2, 2012 · 3:48 pm

Am I a tiger mom?

Not sure. Husband says there’s no question that I am. Needless to say, I differ. Er, I think I am pretty much like any other mom I know, is what I say to that.

So is every mom a tiger mom? Well, no. When I say other moms, I kind of use it loosely. Not ALL the moms around me are tiger moms, but, most of my mommy-friends are, at any rate. Husband’s answer to that is that like attracts like and that we get along (mainly) because our parenting methods are similar.

You see this whole debate started after I read the Amy Chua book (you guessed it). There are only two things that can happen when you read it (for those who don’t know what I am talking about, it’s ‘Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother’.) You will either flip the book over your shoulder and declare her as insane, overbearing and completely nuts, or, you will start to seriously doubt your parenting style and whip yourself into a frenzy for not pushing your kids enough. I don’t know about you, but the latter kind of happened to me. Don’t get me wrong, I do think she’s waaaay out there, but, I did end up wondering if I was being too soft on my older daughter and got into the whole you-got-to-fight-the-rat-race mode. The debate is endless and really there’s no right or wrong in this. It all depends on what you think is right for your kid, the definition of which is not a constant and could keep changing as you discover and learn with your kid.

My point is, and this is where I agree with her, that kids don’t know better when they are 5 or 6. They are not in a position to judge what’s best for them. Neither will they sit at a piano for five hours a day if it wasn’t for someone (usually the bad cop, i.e. mom) making them do it using coaxing, love, threats, deprivation, whatever works. So, if this kid ends up becoming a world class pianist, or let’s forget her example and say that if this kid ends up getting high grades, excelling at school and moving onto better colleges, then is that a bad thing?

Also, I think as parents we get too caught up in what the kid will say when he or she is older. Of course, there will be complaints (you didn’t allow me sleepovers, TV, blah blah – both of which Amy’s kids were not allowed btw) but then what is to say that the kid won’t complain in the reverse case? I know kids who’ve blamed their bad grades and lack of reading habits on their parents years after they grew up.

So, what the children will say is not something one can be sure of. As parents I guess we have to strike the middle ground. Except the reality is this: if you have to excel in anything, anything at all, you gotta work at it. And if you have to work at it, it’s going to lead to tears and this is what you need to steel yourself for. The world’s a tough place and you need to toughen up your kids for the immense competition that lies ahead.

My kids are young right now, so I am not sure how much of a tiger mom I will be. I can’t say that I have not been affected by this book. I have made sure that my daughter is ahead of her class in reading (math I am working on). And you know what, she loves it, she loves the fact that she’s better than the rest (or, so she thinks!). It gives her encouragement to stay on the top, something that’s more difficult to do than getting there.

So am I a tiger mom? Maybe. But I need to get better. If my kids have to get anywhere in life, I’ve got a part to play in it. So beware kiddos, I just turned the button a notch higher!

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June 22, 2012 · 5:26 pm

Why do perfectly sane women stay in abusive relationships?

One of my closest friends has been in an abusive marriage for fifteen years. Fifteen years. That’s something. And it’s depressing.

It’s pained me no end to have been at the other end of the phone line all these years and listen to her life, as she has cried her way into middle age. Well, almost middle age.

Have I tried to counsel her, asked her to get out, asked her to seek help. Yes to all of that. It’s been in vain though. She’s seemed so this-is-my-destiny in her approach to her life that it’s been tough to help her. At one point I transferred some money into her account so she could fly back to India (she lives in another country) if it got worse than it was (though that was hard to imagine)

She never used that money, of course, because she never left. And I never understood it. I mean on a theoretical level, I did understand – kids, family, reputation, honor (whatever that is) and stuff like that. Apart from the first point, I didn’t quite see the relevance of the others. But the thing is that the abuse started way before she had the kids, which is when I pushed her hardest to leave. I could not understand it. She was young, very attractive, very independent, educated, extremely smart and the rest of it. Yet, when this happened she kept waiting for it to get better. Which, of course, it didn’t. She now insists it did though, because now he only hits out when he’s really angry and can actually be loving when he’s not getting on her case (puhleeezz). Also, somewhere in her heart she has convinced herself, and this is because he’s been putting her down for the last fifteen years, that she is the one who provokes him.

I cannot describe what it feels like to hear her say that. Provoked? What the ^%&$## does he mean by that? What is he? King of the world? And what defines provoked by the way? That she answers back when he tells her to do something, she says. It makes me mad, mad mad mad and I want to kick her ass for such spineless servitude. But then I check myself, that’s the last thing she needs, because she confides only in me.

Not that I don’t tell her how I feel. I do and sometimes in not so sweet terms. But it does not work and she stops calling.This man has worked her beautifully. When he thinks he’s pushed her too far, he does something nice. Nice meaning, not yelling at her for say about two hours and maybe taking her out to dinner. Guess what, she’s confused and wondering if she really is the one who starts the fights. I’ve tried everything, but she chooses not to leave.

Now it’s becomes like a cycle. She calls every few months and tells me about her life. We talk, or rather I let her talk. She calls everyday for a few days and seems convinced that life has a lot more to offer, that she still can do a lot with her life and move on. Then she brings in the kids and how they would be affected. She then, quite suddenly, stops calling. A few months later she starts again and it’s the same story.

She called today. Nothing’s changed. The kid are now 8 and 11. I asked her why she still wants to stay in this marriage. She said because she’s afraid of loneliness and of the fact that her kids might hate her for breaking up the home. Relevant points I guess, except I could not see why she would prefer abuse over loneliness. Would you not rather be free, I asked her? Imagine, I told her, your house the way you want it (this guy is a control freak beyond belief), that you don’t get told off because you forgot to put one book back in its place (the place he wants that is), that you don’t have to cook, clean, feed, for him and his mum (who lives with them and does not lift a finger) and who only tells her how mediocre she is and hopes that the kids don’t take after her. Imagine a life of dignity.

She could not. It was like I was describing a life on Mars or something. She was quiet for a while and then said “that would be nice, really nice”. But, the big but was the kids.

I know that kids are the worst affected when it comes to a divorce. But is it better for them to stay in a home where there is violence? No, its not. I’ve told her that many many times but she’s convinced that he’s a good dad and that she would be depriving them of his love is she separated. Sigh. I give up.

I cannot help her anymore than listening to her when she calls. She needs to help herself and till she’s not ready, there’s really little I can do. Sometimes when I call and the man is around, she talks in this eerily-cheery tone that gives me the chills and I end the conversation quickly. Also, he does not like her to have friends outside of “their” friends, so I don’t like to cause trouble (even though I knew her waaaaaay before the unfortunate day she met him)

I feel sad tonight as I think of her in her bed (she must be asleep now). Here’s a girl who cooked and painted, danced and sang, laughed and yapped and lit up a party. Now she’s a maid in her own home who works like a dog and then gets abused for one little “mistake”. How did you let this happen? How?

The abiding memory I have of you is that one night when we all drank a bit more than we could handle and you stood up, picked up a piece of fax paper roll as a make-believe mic and sang ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’ at the top of your lungs. Well, tonight, I cry for you.

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May 9, 2012 · 8:50 am

Time to listen to the body, and unfortunately, to the husband too!

My husband has been telling me for a while to calm down, to not get stressed about little things, to learn to take things as they are and not look for perfection in everybody and everything. He’s been warning me of medical repercussions, which, according to him, are just a matter of time.

I, needless to say, have not been too receptive to such candid feedback, which I see as a bit unwarranted. Predictably, I’ve countered his observations by insisting that since he is not in the house, it’s easy for him to tell me to let it be. After all, if I let it be, nothing will happen, nothing. The dinner will not be on time, the daughter will not finish her schoolwork (or eat properly, drink her milk, get her hair combed, etc etc), the laundry will not be done in time, or, worse, if allowed to get done without my fine supervision, it’ll be done all wrong, with the red sock making its way into the machine and turning all his clothes baby pink, the car will not get cleaned in time for him to leave for work, the driver will not show up in time, till I’ve called him a zillion times and he’s claimed to have been five minutes away for the last half hour, and all the rest of it .I have to yell if I need to get anything done, otherwise it will not happen. That’s the truth, really.

Also, I make it a point, at the end of any discussions of this nature, to point out that I wasn’t always this way, that this is something I turned into and I don’t like it any more than he does.

But, the hard fact is, he’s right. (how I hate that – that “I told you so” look!) My head has been reeling with attacks of migraines, of the worst sort. I’ve had them before; it’s something that’s been handed down to me as a legacy from them forefathers. Yup, it’s in the genes. You can escape everything, but you cannot escape your genes – not a chance. I thought I had though, but hitting forty is life changing in more ways than one. Your body starts to tell you things, things you don’t like but have to stomach. And them genes, they decide to come out of their dormancy and say “aha, so you thought we’d spared you? nope, not a chance in hell!” (You know that box that you fill in a health form – “family history of” – that box starts to mean something). You think about the blood pressure your mum has, the stent in your father’s heart, the rheumatoid arthritis in your family, and you take a deep breath. Then you think about combat measures. How long can you delay the inevitable? How long before your genes get the better of you? You get into survival mode (for the sake of your kids, you better) Yoga? That’s got to help you. Isn’t it the magical answer to everything? That and a host of other stuff like: low salt, low fried foods, low alcohol, sleep in time (early to bed..) I can almost feel my genes smirking saying “you want to beat us? Go right ahead dear, live this way if you really want!”

Anyway, I digress. Point is, migraines have officially made their entry into my life. I’ve seen my sister suffer from them and, of course, have lectured her no end about the stress that she creates in her life (it’s always so simple to solve other people’s lives isn’t it? I mean all you need to do sis is blah blah and blah and boom problem solved!) Now I am eating my big fat words and holding the receiver five inches from my ear when I hear such useless advice from my sister and mother. (why, why, why did I tell them????)

So now it’s time for resolutions, again. I think it’s time I listened to my body, or tried to at any rate. Am not going to change overnight (if at all) unless everyone around me does! But I can try, which is something I am willing to do (again, for the kids, though they won’t see that. It’s weird really – I yell because I care about them and now I will stop yelling because I care about them and don’t want to deprive them of a mother and want to be around till they are on their way in life – whenever that is!)

What I will and will not do: Will try and not yell (ok I am going to try because sometimes yelling is therapeutic), won’t get stressed about the little things, will meditate (this I find hard to do), will sleep on time, not do any crazy diets, look at the positive sides of everything (ok, that’s a bit of a tall order – maybe not everything, but most things).

In a rare moment of confession I will admit that the husband is right about the potential risk of harm from all the angst. I have to find a way to lessen the stress – I know. I am going to try. The migraine was an eye opener of sorts. It was nothing serious but the pain put me out for two days and I am not going to let that happen again. I will take his advice, but will I tell him that and give him ammunition for the future? Not a chance.

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