fim* disorder

FIM* = Foot In Mouth disorder

An occasional spasmodic condition wherein I say whatever it is I say and the whole world gapes and gasps at my unique ability to lift my foot high into my mouth and stuff it there with natural ease and elan.

Yes. Had a spasm a recent morning. The “Oh you laughable ignorant fool” kind. Amongst an audience that I shall see on an everyday basis at 7:20 am every morning for the rest of the days my munchkin will take the school bus. Dropping her to the 5 minute away school seems a more peaceful alternative when I think about it now.

O well, moving on to the FIM episode:

We are a street of 30 houses. I know that purely coz ours is on top of the hill and we are numbered 30 and our neighbor across is 1. So simple. We aren’t exactly neighborly. As in, I don’t go out of my way to make friends, no we aren’t anti-social, but it stops with chatting a few arbid stuff about lawns and trash guy and the schools (where there are same age kids involved). The husband of course stops with nodding and disappearing into the haven he calls home. I think it’s a husband thing. Please lie and say yes even if you disagree. Especially if you are married and/or are a husband.

So yes, despite what one infers from my posts, am a friendly person not a hugely social person. There’s a difference and it all lies in the extent of active energy that propels a conversation between me and the other entity. I can chat your ears off when we meet, but after that you won’t necessarily hear from me unless there is some motivating reason, apart from casual hellos. I could segue into the blog world, but I’ll stop and keep this post all about my FIM disorder in the real world. Blog world can wait.

As one becomes a parent, it is said that your children choose your friends for you. It’s true. Since all our free time (apart from the time when we are doing things to keep our tummies happy) is spent catering to the adorable vampires (that suck our time away, see am clever) and their friends (who are also vampires to their human parents), coz you are stuck carpooling to sleepovers and parties and group projects and such, well… it does make sense as you can tell, that we are FORCED into this bond with other vampire parents.

Kids will hang out with kids their age. 9year olds and 4th graders will know other 4th graders. 1st graders will know and play with other 1st graders. That rule will change once they hit middle school or tween-age. By 7th grade your child will know more kids than you will ever know adults in your entire life. That’s just the way it is and sooner you deal with it the better. After they hit 9th grade, they want you more as chauffeurs; when outside your home than as parents , so yes, you are allowed to have a social life devoid of your kid’s influence and monopoly.

It’s liberating celebrations after that. You may even cursorily nod, walk the opposite direction when you bump into other parents in the aisle, and not say more than a hello if forced to sit next to each other at school concerts, bands and random school events. It’s perfectly fine. No one cares. Including your now less-of-a-vampire-kid.

Till recently, for these socializing purposes, I forgot I have a 6 year old at home. No playdates, no school events to volunteer at, no socializing. Heck we didn’t even throw her a birthday party this year and she being the 5 turning 15, didn’t care either. In all fairness, when you have not one but TWO teens at home, they rule.

She rides the bus to school, when the highness decides she couldn’t bother pouting her lower lip to get one of us chauffeurs to drop her off at the school directly. I love our street corner at 7:20. For every adult, there is a dog on a leash. Except for me of course due to reasons we shall not go into now, coz that’s a rant for another gray day. These canines are of all sizes, shapes and personalities. Vicarious pleasures of owning one is fulfilled by spending 10 minutes petting them cuties, while making pointless conversation about weather. It’s always the weather. It’s safe and everyone has something to say about it.

I know most faces who should matter. Some stand out more than other coz well, remember that forced friendship I spoke earlier? I had a long gap of 8 years between the older two and munchkin, when I wouldn’t have known how many babies were born during that time, and so for all practical purposes I have lost track of a whole generation! Can’t blame me for being a good parent and just focusing on schlepping my vampires around right? Yet, the fact does remain that I may not know the kids born during this period, but the parents I would and should for the bizarre reason of sharing same time and space. Correct?

Apparently I missed one, and a very gorgeous one at that too. Shame on me.

So the morning in question, I see this very same gorgeous lady – she could model for those catalogs like Coldwater Creek etc – walking along with the others up the hill to the bus stop, the legendary coffee mug in hand. She was one of those that you would not forget easily. Yes, even us women. She has this angelic cutie next to her and we all land at the corner. One more neighborly friend decided to take charge and she introduces the girls. Three of them, all first graders. Shy smiles all around. Teachers names get exchanged and more laughter, small talk about older kids, high schoolers etc.

***

Then just like that this model lady steps across the leashes where much bonding was happening between the canines, thrusts her hand out and

Says “Hi, I am …<insert name that can belong to gorgeous ladies all over like Diana or Pamela>”

Me: Hi, I am rads.

FIM Alert:

Me, in an attempt to make conversation and divert attention from my “what-did-the-cat-drag-in” look to her put together fresh-as-a-lily-outfit say: So, did you guys just move into the neighborhood recently?

She: uh.. no.

Stares hit me. I should have known and recognized that stare by now and shut up. But no, we are notoriously famous for ignoring obvious signs of caution, even if it were written on huge billboards thrust up my nose.

Me in a state of FIM spasm: Right, over the summer?

The other neighborly friend jumps in: Oh no, they are the original owners, they live right across our home. 12 years now.

The other nice gentleman who makes more than polite conversation with me starts chuckling.

I’d have turned a nice beet root red under all the tan smothering me, but no one notices of course, so I try to valiantly pull the ankle out.

Me: Oh! Am sorry, is she your first?

She grinning: No, I have a 4th grader and then she.

Me: O really? Gosh, We are so bad with not knowing who lives down the road!

More stares. I realize that I am now choking on my half downed calf.

Me: I know, it’s me, am bad.

Sheepishly grin and scuttle home to whine to all within ear’s shot about my FIM episode.

Husband pipes: Ouch, that’s as bad as asking her if she was pregnant!

***

Precaution: During an episode of FIM, please do not look towards or approach husband for support. It will trigger a self-inflicting MHS* episode that will last long AND will hurt YOU.

MHS – Multiple Head-Smacking disorder.

a block

Apparently I bought it on my shopping trip. The one that I had to force myself to limp to over the last couple of days.

Yes, you heard me right, I am limping. Again. It’s like deja Vu – 2008 all over again (that was not the whining pre-surgery post, but then I like this one, so there!). And just to keep with the saying “history repeats itself” and not be hugely radical about sayings, I even decided to go visit the cute doc tomorrow. If not anything, he would listen to me whine and cluck appropriately.

So anyways, been doing all the back to school shopping coz we love to do things last minute. Adds to the whole drama that is our life on the first day of school. Very exciting and quite the workout I assure you. Just don’t blame me if you get trampled over at walmart or target. Try Office depot or Staples if you aren’t a cheapskate like me or if you don’t have one too many sidekicks to cater to.

You must be wondering what I bought that am making such a deal about?

It’s this:

Yes, it’s huge and completely cramping my style.

Anyone want it? I’ll throw in a few perks free, like a blank white wall with strategically placed spots that you can bore holes into staring at it, pens without ink, pencils chewed down to the lead, reams of spotless white paper, keyboards that are gooey to the touch etc?

Hmmm…

Though, really if you were smart, you’d want to know the real reason behind the drama around my above mentioned ill-fated knee?  It’s along the lines of this guy, Doug’s remedy  to the writer’s block.

Yep. I’ll have my knee to mock for a bit?

uber solver

When to-do lists grow on refrigerators, bathroom mirrors, and the dining table like weeds on miracle-gro and the hands on the clock seem to swallow numbers in a hurry…

Where there isn’t a single byte of space left in your little pea brain to process the red light ahead that you just jumped..

What does one do when there are too many things to do?

Not sure about you, but I’ll just sit here and do nothing. Works for me.

Inception aka gyanugget 2

You know how we go through life right? Forever rushing, squeezing in 101 things in the time it takes to do 3, multi-tasking and pretending to be super heroes when we are actually common little beggars, begging for more time to do whatever we want to do before time runs out or our engines do. Living life and our every-days as if they were on loan, which they could very well be philosophically speaking, but no, let’s not go there now.

No time to eat a proper breakfast, no time to return calls, no time to laugh, no time to cut nails, no time to get a haircut, no time to sort photographs, no time to write a to-do list leave alone check it, and so on..

So, I was thinking that Chris Nolan, apart from being the genius behind movies that not just make millions at the box office, but has everyone’s jaw dropping (irrespective of comprehension) and such,  has unwittingly stumbled upon the answer to this supreme problem of time. Or maybe he was frustrated himself, and then during one evening when things got to a head between him and his wife managing three kids and careers, the light bulb went off and he says to himself “Eureka!”

(No, don’t believe this whole hogwash of Nolan wanting to explore dream space etc that’s written everywhere, it’s just there for positioning. Yes, I know, the absurdity indeed.)

If you haven’t watched Inception yet, please do, not coz the whole world and their dog has seen it and you’ll be the only one living under the rock and people will point fingers at you and laugh when you do come out, but because, well, as I said earlier, the answer to your ultimate question – I need more time!- lies therein. Just don’t fall for the sci-fi mumbo jumbo. Stay focused the last 45 minutes of the show and you’re home free.

So Nolan comes up with this theory that, as we enter dreams, time slows down.

Let that sink in for a moment. Real life snapshot moment.

Imagine the possibilities and imagine the applications of all those possibilities!

  • Imagine the tedious godawful or even challenging tasks that you can now complete stress-free?!
  • Imagine the productivity that’s gained from doing things slower?
  • Imagine the underdog, the one who’s always at the end of the race, not coz he isn’t smart, he’s just a tad slow, slower compared to the adrenaline charged peers?
  • Imagine the moms who want to just enjoy a little more of their babies before they become a selfish bunch of selfish teens?
  • Imagine the folks who actually really would want to watch and enjoy a game of ping pong played by the masters, aka the chinese?
  • Imagine the basketball games’ timeouts and how 30 seconds can actually be a lot more?
  • Imagine the deadlines that we wave bye-bye routinely to, that we actually can get to meet and greet!

Brilliant I say!

You agree don’t you? So, just to please me and let me have my moment of fun, you decide to play along.

You ask: “How?”

I say: “Don’t ask me. Nolan conceptualized it. Go sleep.”

To all the skeptics and sneers making fun of all the dreamers , I have one to thing to say:“Dreamers rock”