Instant diarrhea in a bag.
Instant diarrhea in a bag.
They don’t fade easily.
Those worn memories.
Drops in the ocean
of never meant to be.
How is it done, by the world, the rest?
To treat them as strangers.
They, that were once guests.
In the most tempestuous of courts.
The longing of mind,
the desire of hearts.
There are days when my brain works at a speed and efficiency that surprises even me. On those days, I am charming and at my witty best. I also manage to churn out draft after draft of the most fantastic blog posts, the sheer awesomeness of which would completely boggle your mind.
Then there are those times when I can’t even spell wow and only every so often is there an occasional blip in the flat line that is my brain activity. All those fantastic blog posts are trashed and I wonder what I was high on that I ever considered them good enough to publish.
This blog post has been stuck somewhere between those two states of mind.
As I sit and type, son 1 and son 2 are jumping off and climbing back on my king size bed. They’re chasing each other and laughing like maniacs. There’s a lot of noise and hyper activity.
Occasionally I have to move my laptop out of the way for fear of one of them crashing down on it.
Son 2 just sat on son 1’s face and farted. I was going to say something, but before I could, son 1 laughed hysterically and shouted Mine will be worse than that!
The joys of being the only female of the house.
My sons think women don’t have gas because they’ve never heard me share it before.
After a week’s worth of monkeying around, picking up of toys, fighting, shoving, crying, refereeing, complaining of utter boredom, and trying to keep from losing my sanity, Son 1 had his first full day of school, post spring break, last Monday.
Back when I was a student, spring break actually started in Spring.
The icing on the cake was the surprise snowstorm we got on the first day off. We woke up to five inches of the white stuff on the ground and temperatures low enough to make sure it stayed there. For the entire week.
The snow meant no chasing the chubby little bunnies in the backyard, no swinging or sliding on the play set, and no digging tunnels in the freshly exposed dirt to see if you could get to China without paying for expensive airfare.
So with the situation as it was, the kids were plenty bored. PLENTY bored.
Which led to my husband buying them a brand new way to have some fun.
I have a strong feeling it was more for him than the kids.
The game system brought excitement and even more fighting, this time for who would get use of the fancy new controller.
Look, they stuck a little TV in it.
It’s been almost two weeks since then and I’m still waiting for my turn. 😡
Times sure have changed. I grew up in a house with four siblings. If one of us ever complained about something as frivolous as being bored, we didn’t get toys. We got lectures. And not even your typical lectures.
Our lectures consisted of stuff like how we were the lucky ones, how kids in the old country would be happy to trade places with us, and that we were bringing shame on our entire family, plus a few generations back of ancestors, by not making the most of our time off and doing math problems.
No one does guilt like Indian mothers do. 😐
I tried the guilt thing with my kids once. Just once. I was sick and probably also slightly off my hinges for even thinking any of my parents approaches to discipline would ever work.
I said to my boys Can you please keep it down? I’m not feeling so well. I could use some peace and quiet.
They didn’t care.
Frustrated, I said If I had daughters, they would care that their mommy was sick. They would tell me to rest and make me breakfast in bed!
My boys looked a little shocked at that and traded nervous looks with each other.
I thought Jackpot!, but no.
Maybe you’ll have better luck next time was the apathetic reply.
I was almost desperate enough to start pretend crying next, because every man I know, from my 61 year old father to my 4 year old son, gets nervous and fidgety when the water works start.
But I didn’t. I just lay down on the sofa, propped my feet up, and let the two of them play a game of who can jump over Mommy without crash landing on top of her.
Not my boys, that’s who.
Anyway, all that came to an end the moment Son 1 got on that giant yellow bus and I waved to him from our doorway. I told him to be sure and thank his teacher for me as soon as he saw her on the first day back.
What for? he asked.
I replied Don’t worry. She’ll know.
I’ll bet he had to wait in line.
I am a die hard foodie. I get excited just hearing about what was served at parties. I like to cook and I like to eat.
I swear, when I die, it’ll be probably be with a french fry in my mouth.
And of course it just happens that when a foodie goes on a diet, she gets invited to a beautiful wedding that is hosted by other foodies.
And the dessert table makes you think you died and went to pastry heaven.
My sister and I snuck some of these goodies out with us. 😁
I only had one piece of baklava because I believe in eating in moderation when there are 600 people eating with you.
Then you take the rest home and stuff your face.
So my sisters had this idea.
Because sharing the same gene pool just isn’t enough. You need a tattoo to solidify the bonds of sisterhood.
My sisters are the more adventurous of the bunch and I’m slightly more cautious.
Okay, so I’m a worry wart.
They do stuff with abandon and I crawl after them, metaphorically of course, worrying about any and every repercussion.
I also was not very excited about the idea of any of my limbs being the canvas for permanent art work.
But I must admit, my interest was piqued. We started to discuss what kind of inking we would get. It had to be something all three of us would like, so we thought why not just get the word ‘sister’ tattooed in some fancy looking arabesque calligraphy?
Kuthi means bitch in Urdu and Hindi. We passed on that one.
Meaning there is no way in hell you are getting that on me.
By this time, we had shot down quite a few ideas and Sister 2 was getting frustrated.
To which Sister 1 was not very sympathetic.
We managed to get past that little snafu and decided on some sort of sisterly symbol instead of the word itself.
That made me sound like someone’s deranged stalker.
Then we hit another road block.
That idea was then also scrapped.
I’ve decided that if I am to get a tattoo, it will be for and around my next birthday. I’ve narrowed my choices down to two that I like.
Now to get my sisters to agree. You’ve already seen how easy that is.
I’m not crazy about permanent inkage and I absolutely hate needles. As a child, I once ran out of the room during a doctor appointment during which I was to get vaccinated. I would’ve made it out of the building, too, if the nurse hadn’t dragged me back.
But the idea of just one, really cool looking, bad ass tattoo is tantalizing. I’ve never been bad ass before.
According to my younger brother, with whom I have regular back and forth sessions of what I like to call insultathons, I have been a fat ass, a lazy ass, and a dumb ass at various points in my life.
It’s like a mini Comedy Central roast every time we meet up.
But I have never been bad ass. And who doesn’t want to be bad ass?
I do. I really do. Especially since I have always been told I have a sweet little baby face and I remind them of Winnie the Pooh. 😐
I’d love to whip out my tattoo, and with a crazy look in my eyes, ask the commenter Would Winnie the Pooh DO THIS? Would he?! 😈
I’m just kidding. I’m not that nuts and I really don’t mind the comparison.
But I would like to cross get a tattoo off my things I want to do before I die list.
Smoke a cigar and try hookah were taken off said list last year, on my last birthday, which was an important, milestone birthday. I wanted to try something crazy, something I had never done before. I figured Why the hell not? Everyone does it.
Bad idea, boys and girls. To all you impressionable young people out there, don’t even.
Both the cigar and the hookah tasted like shit. Like dirty ass crack shit. I couldn’t even stop coughing long enough to inhale or enjoy the stuff. The smell of tobacco smoke clung to my hair and my clothes, mingling with my perfume.
The end result of it all was that I got home at 3 AM, looking like a zombie and smelling like a cheap hooker.
This is what the Chicago area currently looks like, even though Spring officially started last week. 😒
I think this is karma for gloating over Boston having it worse than us this winter.
This is my living room floor.
And so it begins.
By the end of the week, the room will be littered with toys and there will be no carpet to be seen.
From my Facebook news feed.
Spring is officially here!
*Doing a little happy dance*
School and homework are keeping me busy. The weather is getting better and we find ourselves spending a lot more time outdoors.
I haven’t had the chance to read any of my favorite blogs or devote much time to my own. 😦
Today’s blog post is another click a pic one. Over the weekend we visited my sister on/near the campus of the University of Illinois in Chicago. One of the highlights of the trip to Fati aunty’s are the fantastic views you get to see along the way and while there. Chicago is, after all, famous for its architecture and skyline.
I lived in Queens, New York before moving to Chicago when I was fourteen. This city has its pros and cons, but New York will always be close to my heart.
If my husband were awake, he’d read this over my shoulder and say So you enjoyed the smell of sewer water and being mugged twice a week? and I would tell him to take his country ass back to Kentucky.
We’re soul mates. ❤
Seeing the Chicago skyline while cruising down one of the city’s many highways is awesome. Being in the city always gives me a thrill. Must be the New Yorker in me.
The visit to Fati’s turned into a sleepover for me and my kids because of how late it had gotten.
It was so lovely to see this when I happened to wake up around dawn. It felt like the whole world was waking up with me.
At night from the balcony.
After seeing all these beautiful photos I have come to one major conclusion : I need a better camera.
I can’t wait for my classes to be over. School is a pain in the ass. I wanted to elaborate on the name of my blog and explain why I am so in love with views, but that will have to wait for another post. I have a mountain of backlog of homework to do. 😥
– William Henry Davies
For my husband’s belated birthday celebration, we had a small party at our house and then he and I went to see a late night comedy show at the Improv Comedy Club.
We had two cakes at our little party because my mom’s birthday is the day after my husband’s and we usually celebrate them together.
How I wish we could’ve spent more time at home with the family. Instead we ran out of the house in a hurry and left the cleaning up and the kids for my in laws and my mom, i.e. the birthday girl, to take care of.
But they didn’t mind because what else do grandparents want other than to spend time with their grandchildren?
Their words, not mine.
We were headed to the club for a “meet and greet” session with one of my husband’s favorite comedians, Marlon Wayans.
Here are some pics of the night.
All the VIP badge meant was that we paid extra to be first in line.
Seriously. That’s all it meant. 😐
But being first in line got us a super nice table in the front row, so it worked out.
They didn’t allow any photography during the show, which was fine with me because we were laughing too hard to even eat anything.
Then came time to meet the man.
And here we are with him. He was a nice guy. Friendly, polite, and hyper.
That’s us with those fat white circles covering our faces. Just in case you couldn’t tell.
The night was a lot of fun. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if Shawn Wayans had shown up as well. Sumi and I always thought he was the cuter one of the two.
They gave each group a maximum of 2-5 mins with Marlon, which was a real bummer. Given the chance, I would’ve loved to have had a conversation with him in which I would mention that I have a sister who is single and finds him quite attractive.
My husband had a great time and so the night was a big success. He said the fun we had made him forget that he was now closer to 40 than 30.
Now I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do for my birthday in order to forget that I’m turning 26 again for the fifth time.