I never knew it was possible to be relieved and comforted that you were indeed right on a hunch and also feel letdown at the same time, and yet feel completely in control, valiant and wise.
To have risen from the ashes with your head held high.
Talking of rising, this afternoon, since the family is at home lazing away President’s day, we were quite jobless. We pottered around the house doing odd chores. Laundry, cleaning under the couch, discovering at least close to $17 in pennies and dimes, the old TV remote a dried fully black banana that looks like it could be used in voodoo magic or more like the shriveled you know what of a dead African warlord. Some did their assignments laying flat on the couch, while I loaded and emptied the dishwasher twice in between shooting some crazy emails, and shuttling the husband between oil change trips.
The son whined and sulked coz I didn’t let him go shoot some hoops, and he kept trying to corner me into sending him. Like physically. He had his sidekick (munchkin) support him, and while she attacked my knees and held onto them like a crazed monkey, he kept begging me to drop him off at his friends’. I was looking at him square in the eye. Now, that isn’t unusual. Except that I was actually buckled down a bit (remember the monkey at my feet?) and yet, I stared right into his eyes. It didn’t seem right.
I summoned a family meeting.
It’s been an ongoing tradition at home every once in a while that we line up next to the kitchen pantry and judiciously mark the door jamb with various color markers. Mostly propelled by the shooting teens at home who would rather kill each other off if we weren’t looking, and since I’ve told them that it wasn’t a choice, they instead settle to beat each other by who shoots taller by 1/2 an inch. When they are done swiping each other’s pencils, or hiding the other’s paperwork, or tripping the other down, or hiding the others’ underwear, they come down to measuring themselves. The heights. Weights they are very happy.
Daughter calls son “fatty”
Son calls daughter “skinny”
*I know, not very creative, but the tones at which they say it more than makes up for it.*
A grand difference of 2 pounds and everyone’s quite happy.
Coming to measures of the vertical kind, we measured late December. They both measured 5’5″ and were sticking their tongues out at me coz well, an inch was what separated us, except when I wore 2 inch heels to work.
Mid-Jan, they measured themselves again and were overjoyed that they BOTH made it to my mark.
5’6″ marker now has extremely thick colored lines running across.
Today, I stood them up and then with my husband chanting “giddu, giddu” in the background with munchkin doing the jumping-jiving special move to his tune, I got on my toes to mark them.
Son is 5’7″ now. All of 12.5 years old.
Daughter is still 5’6″, and she’s 13.5 years old.
Daughter: What? How did this happen? ARGHHHHHHH
Me: How did he shoot taller than meee???!!
Daughter: Mom, nobody cares for you. How did he get taller than meee?!
Husband: heh, mom’s becoming more and more giddu. Actually we can start singing the same song for daughetr too!
Daughter: Dad! *glares* Realistically, I still have a few more years to grow. I have to become 5’9″ at least!
So yea, am officially the 3rd shortest, or tallest person in this house depending on how you want to look at it. Thank heavens I can fall back on Munchkin’s 3’7″ height to last me awhile.
Though really, just not fair, I used to be the tall skinny girl, the palm tree, the daddy long legs, the one who is shooting so much we won’t find a husband for her, the one who stood always at the end of the assembly line at school prayers, the one who was worried, she wouldn’t get cotton saris to wear if she shot anymore..
Now, she’s just average. Yeah, any idea what kinda thrill it was to come here to US and pick a pair of jeans and realize that you were “average” and not “tall” ?!
Still, I protest !!!