Huh! Really?

Your Blogging Type Is the Private Performer

Your blog is your stage - with your visitors your adoring fans. At least, that's how you write with your witty one liners. And while you like attention, you value your privacy. You're likely to have an anonymous blog - or turn off comments.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Not off the mark completely...The last point was accurate enough!

Their Grass is Greener. Really.

We don’t live in Wisteria lane exactly, but we could easily pass for the adjacent one. The underlying suburban traits are so obvious, and the competition is maddening. The landscaping is our lane’s favorite summer thing, and I’m fast discovering, my favorite summer peeve. We usually take solace from the fact that our front door neighbors are not in the mad race either. Our lawn and existing landscaping was quickly achieving a very Wild Garden look (that is a type of garden – a certain William Robinson declared it. My kinda guy). I helped Mr.G name the look we were going for and went right back to choosing rugs for the living room...not the hubby, he was losing serious sleep over this. But it’s been a busy year, to put it lightly.

The arrival of his mother brought a couple of things to light. For him, it was the fact that maybe there was one solution; his mother could water the lawn! And for me, I figured our where the passive-aggressive streak of competition in him comes from. It began slowly. She wondered aloud the first week about when the neighbors water their lawns as she doesn’t see anybody do it. I explained automatic sprinklers, reiterating the fact that it has been a busy year for us. Her face fell at first but quickly changed to fierce determination. A couple of weeks ago, she asked about beautiful boulders in other people’s front yards and the topic of professional landscapers came around. This time, the determination was mingled with anxiety.

Last weekend we were at the Boston Commons enjoying Shakespeare in the open...this was my first time watching “Taming of the Shrew”. As we spread our blankets and I settled down to an evening minus baby, I caught MrG staring at the grass. “It’s just Bluegrass Rough...not even Kentucky! But still pretty green, huh?” I sighed.

The next morning, I wake up to see MrG and his mom at the windows. I make my coffee and go to stand next to them to see what is keeping them there. Our front door buddies, our comrades in crime, have crossed over! They have hired professional landscapers who have driven up in a huge truck. Some 6 men jump out and roll out yards and yards of Rye carpet grass. In the course of the next few hours, voices are high strung and there is undeniable jitteriness in our home. Our neighbor waved to my husband, grinning. And needless to say, the landscapers drove away leaving behind the nicest lawn on our neighbor’s side of the street, and two very pissed off people on this side of it.

Its 11 PM as I write this and the mother and the son are in the yard, turning off our manual hose sprinkler. There has been much discussion on professional yard maintenance and landscaping. Our neighbor had apparently waved again, grinning. MrG gets on Local Google.

I take my opening line back – we could pass for Wisteria lane itself. Though the housewives are a tad laidback here, the desperate husbands are aplenty.

Feeling...

The weeks after the Maharaja was born were some of the most confusing of my life. The expected feelings of excitement, fatigue and exhilaration were all there and I was prepared for it. But what was somewhat disconcerting was the fact that I missed him. I missed having him inside me. When it used to be really and truly, the two of us. When the kicks and rolls were exclusively mine. As the weeks turned to months, I learned to share. He would gurgle to others, he would smile at everyone (Yes, literally, everyone – much to the amusement of the cashier at BabiesRUs or any random stranger on the street for that matter) and its okay. I can deal with that, I think.

This weekend my baby was introduced to solids. The way he has been watching us eat has made it quite evident that he is interested. With eager excitement, I spooned in the tiniest portion of rice cereal into his open, fish-like mouth, but he shoved it out using both his tongue and his arms, with Lilliputian-Herculean strength. Then he proceeded to spit out what little had made it in, with deliberation and patience. I felt a small, vaguely familiar, sense of relief.

You will invariably, lose your dependence on me, step by step...But let’s stretch this out as far as we can little fella! To live is to be slowly born, and you make me feel like I’ve only just begun.

Binding fear!

Two weeks ago...

My mom has called in to check on the status of her grandchild besides other things. Mr.G is dutifully filling her in with the details on the poo and pee stories.

Mr.G: Gabby is coming aunty, she just came back from the mall and...

Pause.

I run up the stairs taking two at a time..shaking my head and flailing arms wildly though I know that there is no way I can get there in time.

Mr.G: No, no aunty...she helps my mother a lot. She made dinner in fact.

“Thank you, thank you” I mouth. These moments of timely white lies are when my love for Mr.G doubles up.

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This weekend...

Mr.G is on his weekly call with his grandmother. This is the mother-in-law’s mom we are talking about. The topic is the great-grandson of course. Conversation is in tamil here, but the gist is fairly easy to understand.

Mr.G: Yes, yes he does. Yes, yes we do. No, no everyday. Oil bath.

Pause.

Mr.G: No, Gabby gives him his bath.

The m-i-l has rushed out of the kitchen...shaking head and flailing arms wildly.

Mr.G: Actually amma gives him his oil-massage and everything…Gabby only does the final part.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” m-i-l mouths, wrings hands and retreats into the kitchen.

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The decades that separate us notwithstanding, I think I just might get along with my m-i-l....as I find we have some basic things in common :)