tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80543816594452287012024-03-24T00:34:26.367-07:00Life's Trivialities-not so trivial, after all!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.comBlogger402125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-16625636240177511072010-07-31T16:47:00.000-07:002010-08-01T05:49:17.922-07:00MigrateI have finally caught the 'wordpress' bug. Not sure if it is going to make a whale of a difference but am willing to give it a shot. The new address is<br /><br /><strong>http://sukanyabora.wordpress.com/</strong><br /><br />Still need to work out some kinks but do visit and leave a comment on the new look!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-70130536846146537802010-07-30T15:25:00.000-07:002010-07-30T20:52:46.624-07:00DifferentWe know our true friends when we are in the dumps. In my case and for most of you, this was perhaps one of the many hard lessons we learned growing up.<br /> <br />Now that I am a mom, I can confidently add, we know our kids when we are unwell. But in a good, comforting way. <br /><br />I had a health setback last night. With soreness coupled with excruciating pain and restricted movement, it wasn’t pretty. I did what I do best when I am indisposed. I groaned, moaned and whined! The kids, seeing their mother’s despair (read melodrama), went into action, in their own distinct ways.<br /><br />A, my 3 year old got the sofa ready so I could rest my injured leg. She brought me cups of water and at some point even a cookie while constantly asking me, <em>is you pain better now, mama? </em><br /><br />On the other hand, D, her older brother, sat afar with a frowned forehead, observing me and his sister closely. Concerned he was going to bawl, I asked what’s the matter, sweetie? I don’t like to see you like this, was the reply I got. He sat away from all the activity until I proceeded to get in bed. He jumped right in with me, gave me a tight hug and said <em>Mama, I love you. I am sorry you are in pain. Please get well soon.</em> Hugging me tight, he laid next to me, the warmth and love of his embrace giving me the strength to fight the paralyzing pain. <br /><br />Two little people with different modus operandi. One a pragmatic, ‘hands on’, commonsensical doer who scurried into action the minute something went awry. The other, laid back yet sensitive and emotional, contributed in a way he saw fit. <br /><br />This uniqueness, no matter how often I witness, always amazes me. In some instances, it is very subtle but more often than not, the nuances are simply there in front of me, reminding me of the intricacies of human behavior.<br /><br />PS: BTW, setback was a severe muscle pull while playing badminton. I brought it upon myself-didnt warm up enough before I plunged into the game. Much better now although the soreness continues to be there. Will take maybe another day or so to recover fully.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-91600998859602270962010-07-25T18:58:00.000-07:002010-07-25T19:36:01.276-07:00D's New ProjectMy 6 year old has decided to keep a diary. He picked up a 'spongebob squarepants' (one of his many favorite characters) themed notebook this afternoon at the mall. Unsure of its usefulness to him, I had asked him to reconsider his choice and perhaps get something else. But he was adamant about this tiny notebook. When I asked him what he was going to do with it, he promptly said, <em>I will write, mama</em>.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42la85f9JTGbC4TZ9n0E7AA4boi6cUIJUoXgXOp2Azx9-NVgFoD4Ny9UcETz7NtNRptmBMvSJKnuJW_N76xghOPYV5LDbEtwHHMhTmtwq1TAt8PMNuDRjJJXg-Pk1nYRpQ_zBk3KkPi4/s1600/P7250096.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42la85f9JTGbC4TZ9n0E7AA4boi6cUIJUoXgXOp2Azx9-NVgFoD4Ny9UcETz7NtNRptmBMvSJKnuJW_N76xghOPYV5LDbEtwHHMhTmtwq1TAt8PMNuDRjJJXg-Pk1nYRpQ_zBk3KkPi4/s320/P7250096.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498035004305563058" /></a><br /><br />He stayed up past his bedtime to pencil in his very first entry. The inspiration for it was the fun filled weekend he enjoyed with his cousin. Presenting you the very first write -up in 'D's Journey Book'. Yes, he decided to call it something special settling for the aforementioned name.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9b9SF24-tRXmMk0BZUIjp9D0KZl6JD5uo0WHseKJPACs26YGmcQ_rw6agARVkt8nn_gDC29dfhrv5wtcla2VwoKRSi7jvPSly3cuq-KujVClL2G5XzaWgYsb2Z0b_wcaKMGZaVv5UbiY/s1600/P7250098.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9b9SF24-tRXmMk0BZUIjp9D0KZl6JD5uo0WHseKJPACs26YGmcQ_rw6agARVkt8nn_gDC29dfhrv5wtcla2VwoKRSi7jvPSly3cuq-KujVClL2G5XzaWgYsb2Z0b_wcaKMGZaVv5UbiY/s320/P7250098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498035210637562642" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo4dW8dW3YtpEmeBJkitNbMY4BnWot4chcWPqAWUMktz8Dpw5yEIdoyzP0C2rdCUtDV-5wUjvIqWGVppHDGWmRvj9KMvabYq4ZmNYJLvK66zfvG3R7ZMBqhexavDnNt0JjfHJLLKmJ4U/s1600/P7250099.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo4dW8dW3YtpEmeBJkitNbMY4BnWot4chcWPqAWUMktz8Dpw5yEIdoyzP0C2rdCUtDV-5wUjvIqWGVppHDGWmRvj9KMvabYq4ZmNYJLvK66zfvG3R7ZMBqhexavDnNt0JjfHJLLKmJ4U/s320/P7250099.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498035410434634706" /></a><br /><br />Do check out the "heart". Nothing short of PRECIOUS!<br /><br />Pleased with his first entry, he informed me, <em>mama, I will try and write every day, so when this book gets filled up, I can read my writings.</em><br />I hope I can help him sustain this new interest and get him to journal regularly. If we can keep this up, who knows, we may soon have another Bora blogger making the rounds in the blogosphere.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-90442323557752677142010-07-23T08:35:00.000-07:002010-07-23T14:01:08.571-07:00Closeness* They put on their costumes, pretend to be fairies, princesses and superheroes at the crack of dawn. If they had their way, they would stay awake all night long.<br /><br />* They follow each other all over the house like little lost lambs, mostly the brother leading his two younger sisters, devising games, making plans only decipherable to them. <br /><br />* No matter how different their cores are, they giggle, laugh, cry, whine, scream in unison making the rest of us admire their seamless, uncomplicated existence. <br /><br />Yes, folks, kids fest is on at the Bora household. After much anticipation and waiting, cousin A is finally here and nothing can put a damper on their collective spirit, vigor and boundless energy. They don’t see each other often but when they do, it’s like they were never apart-such is the closeness they share. And I hope this closeness is able to withstand some of life’s inescapable twists and turns, becomes stronger, more meaningful over the years.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-17704184458887587542010-07-21T16:15:00.000-07:002010-07-23T07:02:43.088-07:00The Workings of a Toddler MindRice (Bhaat) is a staple in the Bora household. We call ourselves 'Khaati Axomiya'(pure assamese) - the ‘Bhotua’(Bhaat=Bhotua) types. Hubby Dear, especially, enjoys it thoroughly. He gets restless if he doesn’t get to eat rice for more than three days. <br /><br />Then there is A. His sweet, adamant daughter. She <em>hates </em>rice, to the point that even when a morsel is placed in her mouth, she pretends to gag. They are lot of things she and Hubby dear have in common, down to the looks, but this one, clearly, is not one of them. <br /><br />She falls apart the minute I say, <em>we are going to have rice and dal tonight</em>. Her usual retort is, <em>oh no, mama, I don’t want dinner</em>, with her tiny hand clamping her mouth. And believe me when I say its takes might to pry that hand off her. <br /><br />For the past few weeks, she has been complaining of headaches. So much so that it got us concerned. Yesterday, Hubby dear took her to the doctor for an evaluation. The pediatrician couldn’t detect anything but told us to carefully observe her going forward. If she continues with her complaints, we'd have to consult a neurologist, which I hope, will not be necessary. Seriously. <br /><br />She comes back home thrilled after a visit to her favorite place. Yes, she is still in the <em>-oh-I –love-to go-to-the-doctors-I –get-stickers-and –lollipop </em>phase. I decide to tell her how eating ‘good nutritious food’ is an ideal way to deal with the headaches. <br /><br />You know sweetie, this is the very reason I tell you not to eat junk food. I say, sounding overly patronizing.<br /><br />But I lurve junk food, mama. I love cheeps, cookies, carrots (thank God!), grape-ees,(thank god!) cereal, bread (thank God!), candy (Bah!) BUT I DON’T LIKE RICE! And you know what mama?<br /><br />What?<br /><br />The doctor told me yesterday that I should NOT eat rice. That it is the rice that is making my head hurt, mama! <br /><br />What? Did she really say that? I ask, believing her. <br /><br />Well, almost. Yes, my 3 year old trickster-in-the-making almost fools me into thinking that ‘rice’ <em>is</em> the culprit, the cause of the headaches. The sucker that I am. I am completely blown away at how her 3 year old mind works.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-61576284086400341392010-07-19T10:02:00.000-07:002010-07-23T07:04:20.755-07:00Til' SeptemberLast Saturday, Hubby Dear and I checked out <em>Til’ September</em>, a rock band at a local biker bar. They were <strong>a.w.e.s.o.m.e.</strong> After a seemingly long time, heard a local band of high caliber with a great vocalist and talented musicians. They played a couple of sets with a good mix of classic and contemporary rock and closed the night with the quintessential Doors classic-<em>Roadhouse Blues </em>with almost everyone on the dance floor.<br /><br />Most of the band members with the exception of the keyboardist belonged to the armed forces lending to the band's uniqueness. The vocalist, Scott, an army major by the day is Hubby Dear’s colleague. The keyboardist, a stay-at-home dad graduated with a degree in music. And oh boy, did he rock? With his fingers flying on the keys and strong back-up vocals, he was a treat to watch. Some of the proceeds (donations and tips) were collected for “Freedom Alliance”, a support organization for kids who lost a parent or parents to the war. <br /><br />Great music for a greater cause. <br /><br />I could not stop my feet from tapping to their music and eventually got pulled on to dance by a spunky, carefree middle aged woman who was a fixture on the floor. <br />The bar was unlike others I have been to. This was a place right next to a highway, a joint we sometimes crossed and were <em>suspicious</em> of. The minute we stepped onto the entrance, we were partially greeted by 'smokers', stealing a few drags in between their drinks. Although the crowd on the night of the show is somewhat diverse, its patrons are mostly heavy duty bikers on Harleys and mean looking Bullets, dressed up in their leathery gears from boots to head bands. There was this woman dancing provocatively and flashing intermittently to the men around her and at the far end, was a group of old ladies, quietly sipping their alcohol and swaying themselves to the music. By old, I mean old. Really. The beauty of this dichotomy was that everything seemed normal, nothing was out of the ordinary, everyone was groovin’. I shuddered to think about the scene these exact circumstances would create in a place like Delhi. <br /><br />It was a far cry from a high end bar, devoid of the bells and whistles but it wasn't sleazy. It had a simple lay out, regular tables and chairs filling up most of the area leaving a very tiny space for the band and its equipment. The actual bar took up most of its space and I have to admit, I was mighty pleased with their restrooms. They were surprisingly clean and well kept! They had a food menu which we didn’t try since we had filled ourselves up with a sumptuous sushi dinner before getting there. Hubby Dear was content with the big bottle of Kirin he polished at the Japanese restaurant. I wanted to drink some more though I was doubtful if this place would serve anything else other than beer and hard liquor. But the friendly server in somewhat shabby clothes surprised me with a glass of Shiraz. <br /><br />With a solid band performing, interesting company (people watching can be so engrossing!), I’d be damned if I asked for more. All along while listening to Scott belt out some classics and alternative stuff, I couldn’t help but think of my brother and his band. His singing and range were quite similar to my brother’s and made me reminiscent of all the gigs my brother’s band performed at and how proud, almost snootily, I was to be the rocker's sister. I tell ya, those were the days!<br /><br />The show ended a little after midnight satiating the hunger for good ole’ music in all of us. Hubby Dear and I congratulated Scott and came away feeling rather gratified but also wanting more. This is a band I would definitely listen to again. They rocked, to say the least.<br /><br />PS: If you live in the Baltimore/Whitemarsh area, check <a href="http://www.myspace.com/tilseptember">them </a>out. They seem to be in great demand and do shows mostly in that part of town.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-58717077187571894662010-07-18T15:34:00.000-07:002010-07-19T03:51:42.893-07:00HonorIn just about 2 months, the 2010 Commonwealth Games begin in Delhi. The host city has been undergoing a complete overhaul for this most anticipated event but apparently its not quite there yet. Not quite to some may seem like an understatement, particularly to those who feel that the city is presently in shambles to be the proud host of one of the biggest sporting extravaganzas. Residents, locals and sports fans are unsure of Suresh Kalmadi's capacity to deliver on his promises as the chairman of the organising committee. Well, however slow the progress has been, I hope Delhi pulls through like it has in the past and dazzles everyone at these games.<br /><br />On the other hand, the Queens Baton Relay, one of the greatest traditions of the Games is on its last leg traversing the capital cities, evoking spontaneous enthusiasm and support in sports lovers across the nation. It will reach Delhi for the opening ceremony on Oct 3. The Baton reaches Guwahati, my hometown, in a day and the city has gathered up some of its finest sportspersons to welcome and spread the excitement of this much anticipated event. Among them will be my father. Yes, my Bapi. The ardent lover of sports. The once famous footballer who was instrumental in putting his small state on the map with his skillful, stylish play and sportsmanship. He will be one of the privileged few who will carry the baton at the ceremony being put together by the state officials. <br /><br /><em>It is indeed a great honor,</em> he says to me this morning on the phone. <em>I will have to run and with my bad knee, not sure if I will be able to,</em> he worries. He is 82 years old and yes, his knee is bad. The knee that forced him to quit playing tennis in his later years. But he is determined to be there - to represent his state and country with delight, dignity and a pride filled heart. Apparently, he has been showing off to my brother how he will run albiet only a short distance.<br /><br />Bapi, words defy me for I cannot articulate how proud I am of you. You are an inspiration to one and all. I know I won't be there when you run with the famous baton but I will be there in spirit, cheering you on.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-14799296509462234872010-07-17T15:12:00.000-07:002010-07-17T15:19:44.183-07:00I am Lucky (in D's words)I told mama this morning that I am lucky. She asked me what I mean by that and I told her I am lucky because I have what I want. I have more than others and I sometimes get things 'double'. <br /><br />By double I mean, I swim two times a week, I can watch two movies...like that.<br /><br />Mama asked me to make a list of all the things I feel I am lucky for. She was going out to meet a friend for lunch in the afternoon. While she was out, I had to make this list. So I did and here it is:<br /><br />Things I am lucky for:<br />Swimming<br />Movie time<br />2000 toys<br />Games<br />Outside toys- my bike, scooter, soccer balls<br />Candy<br />Birthday parties-where I can eat cake<br />School, so I dont have to stay at home all alone<br />Friends<br />My sister<br />My cousins<br />My room- so I dont have to sleep outside<br />The magnets on our fridge<br />Library books<br />Kitchen to make food<br />Food-green peppers, carrots, broccoli, lettuce, pizza, sausage<br />Plates and cups to use when we eat<br />Aita and Koka*- especially because they are not 'very' old. <br />Plants in our yard. We need to water them quite a bit though.<br /><br />I think that's about it.<br /><em><br />* D's grandparents</em>Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-7655217619883449072010-07-15T14:00:00.000-07:002010-07-15T14:03:40.388-07:00A's New EngagementsShe is taking on a new avatar-that of a house cleaner. Especially when we expect visitors. Her favorite cleaning activity is tidying up the shoe closet.<br /><br />Ever since she stumbled upon my eye shadow kit a few days ago, she has been after my life to put some on her.....arm. Yes, you heard me right. Mama and daughter will spend a few hours this weekend exploring this new world of arm make-up. How exciting!<br /><br />She is a bag diva. Loves to tote her bags along wherever she goes. She does need to work on color coordination though. Carrying a purple bag with a green outfit is not my kinda fashion. But she carries it so confidently, she makes a fashion statement. Well, almost.<br /><br />I have said this before many times and here I go again. I love my baby girl’s zest, her spunk. If I feel rotten or low, the one thing that peps me quicker than a stiff drink is her. I just need to engage her in a conversation-her voice, the stuff that comes out of that tiny, edible mouth will blow the blues away in no time. This morning, as I hurriedly get dressed, she remarks, <em>mama can you please move? I cannot see (the TV)–your 'beeg' butt is not letting me see. </em>Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-52527887641955844402010-07-09T08:33:00.000-07:002010-07-09T11:45:36.372-07:00'Mama'To some, it is just a word. To many, it makes a world of difference. <br /><br />To me, it brings immeasurable joy. A simple word with a powerful meaning. It adds to my sense of being, my worth, makes me feel special, loved and important. It is sweet-sounding, almost poetic. It stirs up emotions I didn’t think I had in me. It intimidates me, making me shaky and unconfident, pushing me to question my capabilities. But this is who I am now. It is what defines me.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-43802178786306827602010-07-07T13:30:00.000-07:002010-07-07T14:40:12.461-07:00Pardon My BabbleGetting out of the house on time is ridiculously tedious. <br /><br />I am always running late, literally hauling the kids into the car to get to work on time. And for reasons beyond my comprehension, the kids know how to add to the stress. The more I need them to hasten, the slower they get. They stall, whine, drag their feet just to get my goat. <br /><br />I wish I could record the morning scurry that takes place in the Bora household and play it like an old silent, B & W movie. Like a Chaplin movie. I am sure it will be comedic. I am chuckling as I am thinking about this morning. It was a riot. People who don’t know us will think we are crazy just within few minutes of watching us in action. We don’t do anything funny. There is nothing laughable about our rushed mornings. We are in each other’s hair, messing each other up but in retrospect, it makes for a good laugh. I can easily spend the next thirty minutes replaying it with a wide, foolish grin on my face. <br /><br />I wish I could saunter into my office with every single hair in place, hormones under control, coolly and unstressed. But by the time I drop the kids or one of them off and get in, I am already looking harried and roughed up. At 8 o’ clock. Eight fucking a.m. Thus, my new motto in life - there is NO point ‘dressing up’ for work. I can’t recall the last time I put mascara or dabbed lip gloss on my non-existent lips. No memory what so ever. Not that it makes any difference. I look the same, dressed or not. Sad but true. <br /><br />I know all this calls for better time management. Perhaps become a follower of Covey’s principles but I don’t see myself going down that path. Not in a million years. Why? I am plain lazy! I rather whine or blog about my distress than do anything about it. This has been my strategy all along and strangely enough it has worked in some instances. Not many, but some. But I am happy with the ‘some’. Some change is better than none, after all. <br /><br />I am rambling, I know. Why am I writing about this and where am I heading with this post? I have no clue. I don’t even know why I am even blogging about something so inane and uninteresting. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNEz8hFX6hq7NS8gbp9jpY_ckL_OIt_shQtQEZ1E1jyXBT4x5Y90vBMN0WSnMuIoyDYnB86izfoTrVZPcrtCnAleey0S69gBhASs_nQuqDryQCe1gnOSArEX0VOl6zXflby0YqEfzNEME/s1600/blah.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNEz8hFX6hq7NS8gbp9jpY_ckL_OIt_shQtQEZ1E1jyXBT4x5Y90vBMN0WSnMuIoyDYnB86izfoTrVZPcrtCnAleey0S69gBhASs_nQuqDryQCe1gnOSArEX0VOl6zXflby0YqEfzNEME/s320/blah.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491282054510008306" /></a><br /><br />This is what I call ‘mid-week’ crisis. I am writing about something because I have this need to write about something. I want to write but don’t quite know what to write about. I have been reading quite a few interesting articles off late but none inspire me to pen. They are all tightly ensconced in the crevices of my inactive brain, refusing to flow out mellifluously. Too many big words in one sentence. OK, now I am REALLY rambling.<br /><br />Anyhow, coming back to time management issue- well, I think I can do a couple of things to manage my mornings better. I can:<br />1. Get ready the night before-prepare kids lunch, iron clothes to be worn etc.<br />2. Get up early-perhaps go for a walk-throw in the ‘fitness factor’. <br />Get an early start. <br />3. Sleep early to wake up fresh.<br /><br />Well, honestly if I follow <strong>one</strong> of the three, I will make a huge difference and not stress about running late and blog about my situation. But, remember, I am LAZY. Hence, none of the above options really work for me. I am not a proactive person, so option # 1 to me is a waste of time when I can do something else instead, like laze around in bed, watch some crappy TV until wee hours of the morning. Since I am prone to doing just <em>that</em>, how the heck do I wake up early and get a head start? I simply cannot! The only thing I can do to deal with this innocuous nonsense is to write about it. So there!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-60080050010651862732010-07-06T19:11:00.000-07:002010-07-06T19:16:01.790-07:00A's Nightly RitualA pint size story teller.....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3n0QI45z9vWI6lwn0Rk8iKoFuGjvJRx6D3g0cAROsFOSAQ-s1enpQzy-XupMbWxzyy-Yn1q_tWA8q7j3_DNvoF2TzZft9q2t3LNbwIGkW9C0aiU0sAoa0TSmh_Rw1FINXkio9bu0AKg/s1600/P7060079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3n0QI45z9vWI6lwn0Rk8iKoFuGjvJRx6D3g0cAROsFOSAQ-s1enpQzy-XupMbWxzyy-Yn1q_tWA8q7j3_DNvoF2TzZft9q2t3LNbwIGkW9C0aiU0sAoa0TSmh_Rw1FINXkio9bu0AKg/s320/P7060079.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490981650074378562" /></a><br /><br />animatedly narrating a story to a group of loyal listeners...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUrsx5biScrm5ibBVfuSks_ejX8L1QCrFEMEEBHGF8FG0I-Poge5SXrRe3SKYuEl1qp2iWgkqK_4WuJCxaTEWAqSuEykgeWisr8DEGJa6CNRb4CC3zogF-3QDQB4idHWnWcjghGtxZXM/s1600/P7060075.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUrsx5biScrm5ibBVfuSks_ejX8L1QCrFEMEEBHGF8FG0I-Poge5SXrRe3SKYuEl1qp2iWgkqK_4WuJCxaTEWAqSuEykgeWisr8DEGJa6CNRb4CC3zogF-3QDQB4idHWnWcjghGtxZXM/s320/P7060075.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490982011419516818" /></a>Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-12140188314306687682010-07-06T16:22:00.000-07:002010-07-07T06:36:59.003-07:00Sagely AdviceA doesn't do well with losses. She hates it when she cannot win. And she makes it known to her opponents by whining and moping about it. No, its not a pretty sight. So much so that we don't quite enjoy playing games with her, particularly board games. <br /><br />On a recent trip, she was gifted a 'Curious George' game and drawn by the novelty of it, we decided to try it out. As I read the instructions of the game, D looked at his sister who was suspiciously checking out the game. I think he anticipated the worse and decided to take preventive steps before all hell broke loose.<br /><br /> <em>"A, listen to me OK. It's not about winning or losing. This (pointing to the game) is just a game, all right?"</em>, he said.<br /><br />Yes, this is my 6 year old parting wisdom to his toddler sister. Didn't matter if his little sister got it or not. It was what he said and the way he said it. Priceless. <br /><br />As for the game, guess who won? Bratty A! While she reveled in her win, I was grinning ear to ear for averting a mighty tantrum.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-65856259660571897752010-06-30T06:32:00.000-07:002010-06-30T07:11:33.767-07:00Mama Misses YouMy heart breaks when I see your pale face. I hold you close and I feel the fever burning up inside your delicate frame. You play with your brother despite your weakened body but I can tell he misses your spunk. Inactivity doesn’t suit you at all, sweetheart. I want the naughtiness in your eyes to come back for they look droopy and sad. I miss your hearty laugh and wisecracks. Yes, you heard me right-the ones for which you usually get zinged by me. <br /><br />Well, what can I say- it <em>sucks </em>you are sick. I can’t wait for you to kick this damn infection!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-87442966506669297032010-06-27T14:07:00.000-07:002010-06-28T13:33:35.517-07:00It Has Happened...inevitably so. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHsg4_C5Oaavw1Mb6Sdot4DtYzUtS86YSjyloO2vCmxjy9udF58lJDfoOTkZPN4XxSK-l6hr9R5sgMU9g42HqSZpcjUwoylUGcCQ1Ut2Aaq7SxO1xFrmyUKP7kSYe-FMwlL9WELx5T7g/s1600/P6270591.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHsg4_C5Oaavw1Mb6Sdot4DtYzUtS86YSjyloO2vCmxjy9udF58lJDfoOTkZPN4XxSK-l6hr9R5sgMU9g42HqSZpcjUwoylUGcCQ1Ut2Aaq7SxO1xFrmyUKP7kSYe-FMwlL9WELx5T7g/s320/P6270591.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487568787505737250" /></a><br /><br />The above little post-it signage was found on D's door this morning. It's official. He has stepped into the 'no-girls' phase and is mighty proud about it. <br /><br />So the new rule is 'no girls in my room', except Mama (ahem!), A and cousin A. Yes, he did make some exceptions after giving it some thought.<br /><br />As my first born traverses this new phase in his life, I will hide in my closet and agonize about how quickly he is growing.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-25995509127431528382010-06-21T11:21:00.000-07:002010-06-21T18:27:35.099-07:00SummerSitting out on the deck, looking at the tree lined yard, it dawns on me how much I love summer in this country. For a long time, summer to me was scorching heat and humidity along with dust, incessant power cuts, cumbersome water coolers making loud, whirring noises, plenty of cold showers and drinking gallons of ice cold water. The heat made me languid, sweaty and easily restless for cooler temperatures. <br /> <br />Summer time in the US has been remarkably worthwhile. It is that time of the year when I am mostly outdoors, usually working in our yard- potting, watering plants, fertilizing the soil, getting rid of nasty weeds and watching everything bloom with a pride filled heart. The kids join in too with their own set of garden tools and their delightful company turns it into an endearing family activity.<br /> <br />The temperature drops as the evening sun colors the sky a beautiful red. As birds fly out on their last journey home signifying the end of another day, I make myself comfortable in a chair. Sipping a glass of my favorite Shiraz, I get lost in the beauty that surrounds me. It is green everywhere, lush and virile. The kids squeal riding their bikes, playing soccer, chasing bunnies and fireflies, high on adrenalin and making the most of the receding daylight. A cool breeze, tranquil sounds of the water fountain, the soft buzzing of a distant lawn mower and the sizzles and smells of a BBQ serve as soothers and transport me to a world of bliss. <br /><br />Ah! How I love summer. It is glorious and refreshing, gently reminding me of its hold on me. <br /><br />I blithely submit to its allure without a care in the world.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-43377170957545718632010-06-20T07:18:00.000-07:002010-06-21T06:10:33.462-07:00The Dad You AreEverything you do is subtle. You are intuitive specially when it comes to the kids. The sensitivity with which you interact with them is heartwarming and what can I say, I find immense comfort in knowing that you make a perfect father to them. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLentLX8kIaj6XcCsIGeP_0jVtXlOusKWrqazywSFCqQn0BzDyw56r4fMTTen2TLRd2ymfyiM3iBGMB6mru3XCvaykCwyXFB07ol_7ma_5ckvxGadx23zIHJ_vWJe_NxjHS763_dnWPuw/s1600/P6190556.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLentLX8kIaj6XcCsIGeP_0jVtXlOusKWrqazywSFCqQn0BzDyw56r4fMTTen2TLRd2ymfyiM3iBGMB6mru3XCvaykCwyXFB07ol_7ma_5ckvxGadx23zIHJ_vWJe_NxjHS763_dnWPuw/s320/P6190556.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484912248491524098" /></a><br /><br />Please take D fishing, his drawing clearly indicates that he wants you to and I am positively certain that when you do, you will have a blast!<br /><br />A, your pumpkin, your angel, is perhaps the only one who can get you to do things others can't with her charm and witchery. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrqwmUmA26S2fJlgoDoCmQuHysZMw9xPbH1RpiUvJjrzMyS-OPXDzW_EawJbjnKIR7j0sExQzjRbcpMm34gbTeJuse4fhmFhGP4UM3Mv9A1gObaTTOB4IyFMG7DMVTYkd_bhelNQ0aC8/s1600/P6190562.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrqwmUmA26S2fJlgoDoCmQuHysZMw9xPbH1RpiUvJjrzMyS-OPXDzW_EawJbjnKIR7j0sExQzjRbcpMm34gbTeJuse4fhmFhGP4UM3Mv9A1gObaTTOB4IyFMG7DMVTYkd_bhelNQ0aC8/s320/P6190562.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484912555367695330" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkEXRfyeV9RohX__q8WFL-Wf4_iSZ-jz-SJIqBGL_UkBYaNiD0mSWf2BebBaR3QPGqty6z2tDuTNbjBQHdthjIxuxCJd22j7kSLY3nyXX1UA0ZR_b2YY2bxcnmWV38wXCfFQVGXxhOCs/s1600/P6190563.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkEXRfyeV9RohX__q8WFL-Wf4_iSZ-jz-SJIqBGL_UkBYaNiD0mSWf2BebBaR3QPGqty6z2tDuTNbjBQHdthjIxuxCJd22j7kSLY3nyXX1UA0ZR_b2YY2bxcnmWV38wXCfFQVGXxhOCs/s320/P6190563.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484912739789014578" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxblQHvrT7YZpeHdPejIIgF8VTq0PsovkqQe8FKGAZHYIcQULKDhVNeNYhaCdPbxEI3G2S0VQGzkqu36MU3Mr86UhsPyD8AM5VCUzKH4C7-jyWj-JDCEv3BsnGaRnZrBdwiP1KtC-ZS1A/s1600/P6190558.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxblQHvrT7YZpeHdPejIIgF8VTq0PsovkqQe8FKGAZHYIcQULKDhVNeNYhaCdPbxEI3G2S0VQGzkqu36MU3Mr86UhsPyD8AM5VCUzKH4C7-jyWj-JDCEv3BsnGaRnZrBdwiP1KtC-ZS1A/s320/P6190558.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484913677485296162" /></a><br /><br />They are unmistakably blessed. As for me, all I can say is that you make parenthood seem effortless!<br /><br />Happy Father's Day!!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-54404527420186315652010-06-16T06:12:00.000-07:002010-06-16T09:05:21.370-07:004.0.0.Dear Blog:<br /> <br />Is it really blog post # 403? Wow! <br /><br />I started you in a lark, with a lot of skepticism, unsure of your longevity and use. I was surer of my neglect than my commitment towards you. But I have proven myself wrong in a positive, meaningful way.<br /><br />I have more to offer to you now. I have so much to share and I know you will continue to be my trusted companion as I uncover the mysteries and miracles of life. <br />It’s been a beautiful journey and I thank you for nudging me to write my thoughts and experiences.I guess I can proudly and officially call myself a 'blogger'.<br /><br />Forever indebted,Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-45995379656968215692010-06-13T18:27:00.001-07:002010-06-13T19:00:10.694-07:00Monsters with Brains and MusclesMama, I don't want to sleep in my room because monsters will come and get me. <br />They have muscles and a brain in their tummy. That's why they are strong and people can't fight them, says A, right before her bedtime.<br /><br />Oh..so people don't have muscles?? I ask mainly to see where this is going.<br /><br />No, they only have hands and fingernails. <br /><br />Oh..so people are not strong because they only have hands and fingernails? <br /><br />Yes, mama and monsters are strong because they eat beeg rice, beeg broccoli, octopus and tissues. People only eat macaroni and cheese, that's why they only have hands. No muscles. (note to self: stop feeding the kids mac and cheese!)<br /><br />And when monsters get you, you become dead and then you have to go to the hospital and stay there for a long, long time. And you know what, mama? I am going to be a doctor and give people shots. They can then go home with stickers and get muscles and fight the monsters.<br /><br />This is a 3 year old's imagination running amok. Together with her animated voice, expressive face and hand gestures, this conversation at the end of a long, tiring day makes it all worthwhile. Moments after she narrates this, she is in deep slumber, perhaps dreaming of acquiring a brainy tummy and muscles so she can fight those darn monsters!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-16012742170432712202010-06-10T11:18:00.000-07:002010-06-11T10:46:08.706-07:00Goodbye KindergartenD ‘s last day before the summer break is fast approaching. This week has been packed with countless fun activities like bubble gum day, beach day, bubbles day, favorite book day to name a few. Lately, he’s been on a high, enjoying every moment of school. The idea of moving to first grade has finally dawned on him and one can easily discern the excitement in him about moving up. For him, it an indication that he is getting bigger and he ‘thinks’ he will get to do big boy stuff. Yep, he ‘thinks’. It's no secret-he is in a hurry to get “big”. <br /><br />It has also dawned on him, to his chagrin and utter disappointment, that Ms. Smith may no longer be his class teacher. He adores his teacher. Try saying anything against her and his protective fangs come out. He listens to her more than he listens to us. Not sure if this is something we are thrilled about but I suppose it’s one of those battles that we can afford to not win. D is not alone in sharing this sentiment. His classmates too enjoy her and I am certain will be equally sad not to have her as the class teacher in their new grade. <br /><br />Last night, he sat down to draw a card for his favorite teacher. He drew a pretty picture of a rainbow-bright, cheery and colorful and on the inside, he wrote a special message for her:<br /><br /><em>Dear Ms. Smith.<br />Thank you for being a great teacher. I will miss you a lot.<br />D</em><br /><br />He neatly tucked his creation into his school folder among other things as he got his bag ready and said, <em>You know mama, I think Ms. Smith will like this card and I think she will miss me too. </em><br /><br />I couldn’t help but smile and marvel at my 6 year old’s compassion and confidence. Moments like this remind me how blessed I am that he is my son, my creation, an extension of me. <br /><br />And just as he will miss his teacher, she will miss him too. Perhaps, even more.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-21968907783656771812010-06-07T08:51:00.000-07:002010-06-07T12:19:33.342-07:00SmittenA little boy has caught A’s attention.<br /><br />We were at this boy’s birthday party yesterday afternoon. He, let’s call him M, is one of D’s close friends in his grade and is cute as a button. I totally get why A likes him. I would too if I was her age. He is kind, warm, loving and has a level of maturity not typically seen in kids of his age. He is strong despite his small built, has a sunny disposition. And to top it all, he is a great ‘sharer’. <br /><br />A was completely taken in by his chivalry. Someone snatched a ball from her during the party and M brought it back to her, assertively announcing to the group of little tykes, <em>this is her ball, she had it first so she gets to play with it, OK!</em> <br />This, of course completely melted A’s heart. The girl who is usually haughty with a careless attitude suddenly turned into this bashful, demure little missy. M charmed her so much that for the rest of the party she had her eyes on him and followed him like a lost lamb. They looked adorable together- held hands, played ball, shared candy. M, protective, watching out for his damsel in distress and A, secure and safe in her knight’s presence.<br /><br />As we were leaving, she shyly told me, <em>Mama, M is my favorite. He is so cute. He gets to come to my birthday party! </em><br /><br />By the way, her birthday is nowhere near. It is five months away but as you can tell, her planning has already begun and little man M heads her list of friends to be invited!Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-46585832226279003322010-06-04T12:18:00.000-07:002010-06-16T11:44:42.432-07:00My Nemesis<em>(Disclaimer: A overly dramatic post ahead. Don't tell me I didn't warn you!)</em><br /><br />I haven’t read a book for a few weeks now and I feel like a fish out of water. I feel almost guilty for not keeping up, for breaking the continuity. But guess what, this post is not about books and the fact that I am behind with my reading. It is about my tormentor cum nemesis called WEIGHT. <br /><br />The other night, I was trying on an outfit. A business dress I hadn’t worn for many years since I bought it, simply because the last time I had tried it on (a couple of years ago), I could fit TWO of me in it. Yes, I was in my best shape ever and although I couldn’t wear the dress despite my plan I came away giddily happy for the weight I lost. That night I hung up this dress with the thought of donating it just so someone <em>'bigger than me' </em>could make good use of it. But the thought was never acted upon. So here I am a few days ago, pulling out the dress, absolutely confident that I will slip into it easily. <br /><br />After all, I haven’t gained much have I? Just a few easily ‘sheddable’ pounds. Nothing to worry about. Really. <br /><br />With this confidence I tried on the dress only to find that I couldn’t pull it up beyond my knees. My thighs, yep, the thundering thighs along with my well endowed but flattened backside a.k.a, 'ass', 'tikaa', 'bottom','buns', whatever you want to call it joined forces together to stop this dress from moving up any further. No matter how hard I pulled, yanked at it, it just wouldn’t budge. So here I was, half naked in my closet, dress stuck right below my bulging, layered torso, my eyes filled with disbelief, almost teary cursing the life out of everything, especially the dress. It was after all the dress that was inflicting all this sudden, unbearable pain I was experiencing. It’s not my oversized limbs or buttocks. No way! <br /><br />Yes, it was the dress. It had to be, right, when in came my 3 year old. Her first reaction to my state (read pain) was a deep throttle laugh accompanied by ‘mama, you are lengta (naked)’. Hee, heee, hee, she chuckled. Then she came closer, inspected the dress (not me, mind you and my poor state) but my stupid dress and commented, “mama, this dress is stuck. You are TOO big for it!” <br /><br />Did I ever mention how able my kids are at RUBBING IT IN??? Yes, if there is a prize, a medal for that, they will win it! <br /><br />She then proceeded to call her older brother, who quite promptly arrived while I hurriedly and cumbersomely tried getting out of the dress and added, mama, what did you do to the dress? Are you sure it is yours? It looks like somebody else’s dress.....may be a little girl’s!<br /><br />At this point I was ready to throw myself in a cup of water and end my life. And to add to this misery, hubby dear, my so called partner, my trustworthy friend watched this unfold from afar with a massive grin on his face.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-90711143078037727662010-06-01T14:55:00.000-07:002010-06-02T03:43:06.317-07:00Happy Birthday, PapaWe are wishing you another year<br />Of laughter, joy and fun<br />Success, love and happiness,<br /><br />We love the way you play with us,<br />For the fun things we do together<br />For the lessons you teach us<br />For making us feel special and loved<br /><br />We hope you feel deep in your heart,<br />How very much you mean to us,<br />More than you can know.<br /><br />We love you!<br /><br />D & A<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOckWGqZiOiUYUfPJF5lH04mdWJbGf9tSssCHwksPGM7XOBepEeT9R48ymugIa4rKo0EUida5fZ73K6DRKzdmf3UlOko0e25QDWFNPphCN74Y5A-rDwZx2EFlzXUxldeJRzpIjKHRf1Qc/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOckWGqZiOiUYUfPJF5lH04mdWJbGf9tSssCHwksPGM7XOBepEeT9R48ymugIa4rKo0EUida5fZ73K6DRKzdmf3UlOko0e25QDWFNPphCN74Y5A-rDwZx2EFlzXUxldeJRzpIjKHRf1Qc/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477928566884024610" /></a>Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-62359842832083776322010-05-25T12:46:00.000-07:002010-05-25T15:03:38.768-07:00Marriage Plans & Other JustificationsMama, why are you married to Papa? A asks last night as we go looking for Hubby Dear’s birthday gift. <br />Because I love him.<br />Why? Who will you get married to? I ask, now curious.<br />I am not going to get married to anyone, replies my 3 year old haughtily.<br />No? Why not?<br />Because I will get married to me. I LIKE ME VELLY MUCH. <br /><br />**********************************<br /><br />Upon asking D why he enjoys watching TV so much, he says with a sneaky grin on his face, Mama, I watch TV because it gives me information about what’s going on all over the world. That’s why. Not for any other reason.<br />Guilt showing all over his face. <br /><br />Sonny boy, I am not sure how much Tom and Jerry or Mr. SpongeBob can help you with global updates.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054381659445228701.post-13690667476046854902010-05-19T09:15:00.000-07:002010-05-19T15:40:03.790-07:00ScreamerI scream at A for peeing in her pants despite being fully aware that it was just an accident. Well, what can I say-I have a short fuse. Something I <em>still</em> need to work on and take control of. I say still because I have been struggling with this for a while now. It is one of my greater flaws. <br /><br />Later, feeling horribly guilty for exercising my wrath on my sweet little child, I humbly ask for her forgiveness. <br /><br />Darling, I am so sorry for screaming at you a few minutes ago. I know it was an accident. Accidents happen and you are just 3 years old. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I am very, very sorry. I say.<br /><br />She looks at me, gives me a big wide grin and says, It’s O.K, Mama. Don’t feel bad. You can scream at me but once in a while only…all right? <em>Ah, did I ever tell you how much I adore my little girl?</em><br /><br />Her comment obviously implies that I scream more than I should at my kids. And I do, I have to be honest. I love them as well as admonish them with equal intensity and depth. I am very passionate that way. But after this conversation, I am beginning to have dreadful visions of ending up with a ‘screamer’ reputation. No matter how many good deeds you do in your lifetime, it’s always the bad ones that people tend to remember. Such is life after all. Therefore if I don’t amend my ways, I am likely to be labeled as a high strung, inconsiderate and insane mom. <em>‘My mama used to holler all the time’ </em>or <em>‘mama was a yeller’ </em>is what I hear my kids saying about me in a few years!<br /><br />I better get my act together before the damage is done and is irreparable. Jeez, I have so much to work on. As I go through this reflective moment, I remember the phrase my father used with me when I was a kid, <em>you have a lot of growing up to do, my dear girl</em>. Evidently, it applies to me even now as much as it did then.Sukuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03687700782885198456noreply@blogger.com0