tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65575933871103583162024-03-13T10:15:20.716-07:00Being a MomTarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-15884923918294280822022-03-21T00:31:00.006-07:002022-03-21T14:09:00.618-07:00For a special day<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has been a while, and I don’t know where to begin 😊. So how about I start with a story.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-80871c1b-7fff-78fa-fff8-05ebb31a601c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I start, a little disclaimer - </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is a work of fiction. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Names, characters, business, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you know where the inspiration is coming from 😉, at least for now.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">//Chronicles of Sam</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Episode 1: A story we are here for</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was exactly 6am when she came running into her parents’ bedroom “Daddy, Mommy, I am late for school!! Today is the first day of my chess class and I don’t want to be late.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sam’s dad woke up first, looked at the clock and whispered in amazement and half sleep “Sammy, there is still time. Go back to sleep.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But Sammy was adamant about waking her parents and so she did. While Seth and Tara were still waking up, Sam did her morning routine with utmost efficiency. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">She made her bed. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She brushed. She got ready for school. She decided not to rely on her parents for breakfast that morning, because she didn’t think she could. Instead, she went downstairs to the kitchen and took her own bowl of favorite cereal with milk.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the time she was done with her cereal, Tara came down into the kitchen. At first, she admired the wonderment of a child Sam was – fierce, independent, someone who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Then she remembered there were 10 minutes left to go to school for Sam’s early morning chess class, and there was breakfast and lunch to be prepared! Breakfast for Sam’s two brothers – Ray and Kay, and lunch for Sam.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just in time, their 2-year-old Aussiedoodle, Oz, came running downstairs and stared at Tara with an intense look that only he could give. Screaming with his deep blue-brown eyes, “Where is my food mommy, it is about time!” Tara told Oz “I know! I know! But you have got to wait, Oz. I need to make sure Sam does not get late for school.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sam said, “Don’t worry mom, I can feed Oz. Oz, come on boy, let’s get some food in your belly.” And just like a champ she was, she took out some kibble for Oz and asked Tara to mix some rice and yogurt in it so she could give Oz his food. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tara made breakfast & lunch, and in her typical morning fashion started to yell at all three kids “Kids, come downstairs. NOW!!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before anybody knew it, Sam was sitting in the car, with her shoes, jacket, and backpack on. Waiting for Tara to get her act together and drive her to school for her chess class. It was a quick drive, but Sam’s favorite conversation in the car is almost always about her next birthday, when she will be 11 years old. She told Tara, “Mom, on my 11</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 0.6em; vertical-align: super;">th</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> birthday, I will stay in my room. You, dad, Ray and Kay can be downstairs and decorate so you can give me a surprise. You can let me know when you are done so I can come down and be surprised.” So, this is how her 11</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 0.6em; vertical-align: super;">th</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> birthday will be celebrated. Sam had decided this the day after her 10</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 0.6em; vertical-align: super;">th</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> birthday.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the school drop off location, Sam’s chess coach, who she refers to as the chess wizard, came to get her and other kids into the class. Sam likes to play against the chess wizard, versus the other kids. It totally works for the wizard as well, so she is in good company.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the end of the school day, Sam gave the biggest, the warmest, the brightest hug to Tara when she came to pick Ray and Sam from school. Ray came jumping and hopping, throwing his hoodie in the sky, and catching it, and doing the usual shenanigans. This is what he does with his excess storage of energy. The three talked about a bunch of random things on the walk back from school.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few minutes later, Sam reminder Tara, “Mom, you forgot to ask how my chess class was.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tara said with shock and excitement, “Oh that’s right, Sam! How was your chess class? What did you learn today?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I learned some chess moves. Duh. I played with the wizard and enjoyed my class,” yelled Sam in her happy excited voice.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was a fun mid-afternoon routine for the three of them to walk back from school, often with a few of their community friends who lived in the same area. Ray would always take the side muddy trails running parallel to the walkway where the rest of the group walked. Sam joined him sometimes, but only if she could convince her walking buddy Taylor to join.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the evening was routine, there were times when Seth and Tara were at their wits ends. Tired with their day, getting kids to and from their soccer, getting dinner ready, and trying to stay sane while at it. Dinner was ready, and no kid wanted to come to the dining table to eat. Instead, Ray and Kay decided to go outside and play soccer. Tara lost her lid and started shouting at them for taking things for granted, not valuing what they have, not respecting others’ time, you name it. Sam realized this wasn’t the time to talk to Tara about anything. She quickly ran to her room, and furiously started writing on a piece of paper. Five minutes later, she handed the paper to her mom.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tara read it and started to cry. But they were happy tears. The letter read</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom, I have a great idea. How about you stop shouting at Ray for some time and let him play soccer for 10 minutes before dinner time? You can take a deep breath, relax and calm down.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sam</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was the magic pill Tara needed that day. Sam’s pearls of wisdom.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Sam saw Tara cry after reading the letter, she hugged her mom and said “It is ok, mom. I love you. Are you ok?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Now I am”, Tara told her while giving her the tightest hug on the planet.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That night, in a routine fashion, Sam asked Tara to lie down next to her in bed for a few minutes before sleeping. It was their favorite thing to do. As they both lay, talking about the day, the good, the bad, the ugly, Tara realized that Sam maybe onto something. Sam had a superpower that she couldn’t put into words. Something she used often to alleviate tension, pain, suffering from her surroundings. Ray and Kay may beg to differ, but that is a sibling story for another time. Her smile lit up any room she entered. But most importantly, in some strange way, Tara realized that Sam is the reason why she is sane, somewhat. And in her mind, Sam’s adventures were just beginning. There is so much to learn and explore about who Sam would become, how she would use her superpowers in days, months, and years to come.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That is a story, both Seth and Tara are here for.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">//End of Episode 1</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyhow. Back to normal programming.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know if, how and when I will continue with these episodes. How much of it will be real, and, how much of it will turn to a fictional tale of what could be, should be, would be. But the reason I shared it today is because, after all, it is that special day of the year – 3.21.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First observed in 2006 by Down Syndrome International, March 21 was officially declared World Down Syndrome Day by the United Nations General Assembly in 2011. Events all around the world happen on this day to raise awareness and create a single global voice for advocating for the rights, inclusion, and well-being of people with Down syndrome.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The date 3.21 represents Trisomy 21, the medical term for Down syndrome, which is the third replication of the 21st chromosome.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We switched schools this year and Sammy has a new team of teachers and support team at her new school. We feel blessed for the kind of love, acceptance and support Sammy receives. When we talked about 3.21 being special for our family, we got some good ideas on how they could celebrate at school as well. We suggested kids wear fun, unique, non-matching socks to school that day.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is an idea behind using fun socks to celebrate this day.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As part of the celebration around the world, people are encouraged to wear crazy socks. The idea was to get people talking and asking questions about Down syndrome. The idea is to wear brightly colored, mismatched, long, printed socks — or even layer three socks, one for each chromosome. But to keep it simple, we go with fun, any kind of mis-matched socks. The striped socks resemble chromosomes. It also signifies, that socks may be different in pattern or color, but can still be worn together quite happily if we change our attitude about having to wear the same matching socks. Wearing mismatched socks reminds us to celebrate the things that can make us each unique.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sammy’s class is thrilled to be wearing fun socks today and discuss inclusion & support for Sammy. A lot of which they are already doing, and brainstorm some new ideas. Isn’t that great for fourth graders (yes, Sammy is in fourth grade now, and I CANNOT handle it!).</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This video captures a lot of what occupies Siddharth and my brain. I can’t get through it without crying, but that may be because I am a crier.</span><a href="https://youtu.be/GpJN49B1FCM" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="color: #303030; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><a href="https://youtu.be/GpJN49B1FCM" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://youtu.be/GpJN49B1FCM" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="509" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GpJN49B1FCM" width="612" youtube-src-id="GpJN49B1FCM"></iframe></a></div><a href="https://youtu.be/GpJN49B1FCM" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><br /></a></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As they say, onward. </span></p><br />Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-88061358087517870462018-03-21T19:40:00.003-07:002018-03-22T00:45:44.020-07:00Mumma, just ignore it!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today is 3.21. No big deal, really. But special nonetheless.
3 copies of the 21<sup><span style="font-size: xx-small;">st</span></sup> chromosome map to this date and make it
special. So, if I can call out this co-incidence to bring attention to and awareness about down syndrome, then why not.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We don’t know what we don’t know, but what I can do is share
a little bit of what we do know. One of the easiest ways for me to do this is by
sharing some of my favorite memories with Samaira in the last year or so.</span></div>
<ul>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sammy running to her class singing “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no one knows…how far it goes…</i>” from Moana. Very loudly. Every. Single. Day. My heart aches when she sings the line “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I wish…I could be the perfect daughter…</i>” But, it secretly makes me proud. So, I let her be loud when she is singing this song. It is her inner voice...and she should be loud and proud. Songs come and go, but I will be sad when she will move on from this song!</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She is obsessed with water! She can spend 2 hours in a pool, followed by some time on the beach, followed by food, followed by pool again. This was what she did most days in Mexico when we were down there during Christmas break.</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I like how she enjoys her Aikido sessions with Sensei Bill. She comes home and demonstrates it for her 2.5 year old brother, Kabir, so he can get some advanced lessons. He is quite charmed with Sammy and is in complete awe of her. </span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira is convinced that anytime Siddharth and I go on a date night, we are actually going for some concert. We are probably way cooler in her head than we are in reality. I am going to make no attempts to correct her notions until she figures it out on her own!</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My absolute favorite is Sammy pretend playing with her brothers as if she is an eye doctor and the other two are her patients. She pretends to pull out some glasses from a pretend frame-wall and puts it on Kabir. She then tells him to read what’s written on another pretend wall but cheats a little. She basically tells him what to say. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kabir, say 1</i>.” ”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now say 2</i>.” ”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now say 3,</i>” “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perfect, now let me try these other glasses.</i>” This can go on for easy 30 minutes and I don’t know where time goes when I am watching her play.</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She is happiest when she sees people around her be happy. I think it is a very kid thing. Natural. Pure. Unbiased. Unadulterated. It inspires me to be happy! </span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira is fearless! Most days it scares me. I wish she was a little fearful. But I also wish I could grow up to be like her! I can use monsters to scare my boys (I am definitely not awaiting any parenting awards for this tactic)! But not Sammy. She challenges me and goes behind the curtain to tell her brothers I am bluffing and there is no such thing as monsters! And I am frikkin scared of monsters!</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The other day I wanted to work with Sammy on reading, so I told her “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sammy let’s study.</i>” Her response to me was “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does study mean</i>?” I responded with “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I mean, let’s read a book” </i>Hmm…. We are either doing something really wrong, or really right. I can’t tell which one!</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She came home from school one day and told me “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Felix snatched my hair tie</i>”. I asked her what she did in response. She said “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I ignored him. I sat on another table. And I told him I don’t like it.</i>” Now, I don’t know if that’s what really happened, but I was quite impressed with her response nonetheless.</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This girl often is my voice of reason. I realize one of the side effects of having kids is not realizing when & how often my pitch goes from normal-talking to yelling within 5 seconds. Samaira, of course, realizes I am angry and somewhat irrational so she comes up with the best response anyone possibly can. She tells me “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mumma, just ignore it</i>!” It works!</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Happy down syndrome day, people! </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CxZ4NDPiqLw/WrMXUQFgmHI/AAAAAAAAUD4/LgEPvp9qSPYCoLYVYy-Xw9ZKcfD1aKxSACLcBGAs/s1600/Scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="940" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CxZ4NDPiqLw/WrMXUQFgmHI/AAAAAAAAUD4/LgEPvp9qSPYCoLYVYy-Xw9ZKcfD1aKxSACLcBGAs/s640/Scarf.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy figured it is about time she wears my scarf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Or4k79ipxhs/WrMXUYODZ1I/AAAAAAAAUD8/pXLIB_KvLs8MGd12-WTahPNk50DmEkxmwCLcBGAs/s1600/Water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="626" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Or4k79ipxhs/WrMXUYODZ1I/AAAAAAAAUD8/pXLIB_KvLs8MGd12-WTahPNk50DmEkxmwCLcBGAs/s640/Water.jpg" width="940" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy doing what she loves most!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-62772868520545437632017-10-10T01:08:00.001-07:002017-12-07T17:04:29.543-08:00October<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, the other day, we
were eating dinner at home and everyone had a place to sit around the table but
me. Sammy found some humor in the situation, so she teased me saying “Haaaa
Haaa…you don’t have a spot to sit.” To which Rehan responded “Sammy, this isn’t
a kind thing to say.” And Sammy said pointing to another chair, “Oh, sorry.
Mumma, you can pull that chair and sit.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira is a funny
girl. She legit has a sense of humor and she knows it. She will often do something
funny or crack a joke and will have that smile when you are trying not to smile.
Because in her head she shouldn’t be laughing at her own jokes, but she can’t
help it, because come on </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;">😊</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira and Kabir
share a very special bond. Kabir needs his own space, doesn’t like hugs and
kisses. Sammy, on the other hand, is all about hugs and kisses. Kabir is the
first to tell her “Sammy, no thank you!” when he disapproves. But if Sammy isn’t
around, Kabir gets extremely anxious and is constantly looking for her. Sammy’s
face lights up when she sees Kabir. While she doesn’t like when Kabir is constantly
meddling with her lego blocks or puzzle pieces and has his own agenda, she makes
sure she drags him around whenever she is playing.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira wants to be a
teacher when she grows up. Apparently, she loves to discipline.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">These are teeny tiny anecdotes of our lives. If you are at all curious,
or have questions about down syndrome and our family life, Siddharth and I will
be more than glad to talk to you. We clearly don’t know it all, but we are happy
to share our journey so far. If your kids have question about down syndrome, or
Samaira, the best way to talk about it would be through facts. The fact that our
body is made of chromosomes. Every person is born with a fixed number of
chromosomes that determines the make up of their body – hair, eyes, nails,
nose, height, feet, you name it. People with down syndrome have an extra copy
of the 21</span><sup><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> chromosome. It just means that people with this extra
chromosome have different traits. Sometimes they learn differently, they talk
differently, or look different. And differences are ok. Our differences are what
makes us unique. If there are things that make you different and unique, wear
it on your sleeve. Encourage others to do the same. Be yourself. Help others be
themselves. Celebrate these differences! </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w79HBL9oejk/Wdx_08oUBRI/AAAAAAAASaM/n0BAQbYv4acCV1GG8H1TcHRKEBCYqnehwCLcBGAs/s1600/Kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="626" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w79HBL9oejk/Wdx_08oUBRI/AAAAAAAASaM/n0BAQbYv4acCV1GG8H1TcHRKEBCYqnehwCLcBGAs/s640/Kids.jpg" width="940" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">THIS is LIFE!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Alright, off my soapbox now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">October is down syndrome awareness month. While raising
awareness doesn’t have to be restricted to a month, this still makes it a very
special month! </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In fact, first Sunday of every October is </span><a href="http://downsyndromecommunity.org/puget-sound-buddy-walk/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Buddy Walk day
in our county</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. We have been attending this buddy walk since 2012 with our
friends and family. It is a very important day for our family. For the most part,
it is a celebration of individuals with down syndrome and that makes it special.
More importantly though, it is a chance for us, our friends and family to see
and meet other families who have a kid who has down syndrome. This year too,
our friends and their families came to support us and share this journey with us.
Sammy was super thrilled because she likes that she gets her own buddy walk! Plus,
all the kids get a medal at the end of this walk.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On a separate note, 2017 has been a very important year for
us. Gone are the days when your kid going to college, or getting their first
paycheck, or getting married, or having a kid were the only big milestones. In the
21</span><sup><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> century, this esteemed league of milestones is joined by your
kid going to kindergarten! </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Samaira started kindergarten in September and I was so
nervous in all the months leading up to September. I couldn’t explain it
because I am used to sending Samaira to day care and school and this wouldn’t be
the first time she would leave home. But I was a wreck. I did think about all
the things that could go wrong. Siddharth tried to balance it by reminding me
that Sammy has done well so far, her day care and preschools have been very good
and receptive, and I don’t have very much to worry about. But I wasn’t convinced.
I kept telling him that we have been living in a bubble for the last 5.5 years
in which our friends, family and schools have been so supportive. This isn’t how
the world operates. Clearly, you can see who the glass half-full and half-empty
in our relationship is!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We created Samaira’s Individualized Education Plan (IEP),
something all kids with disabilities (should) have in public schools in the US.
Our focus was making sure that Samaira was getting in an inclusive environment,
which is what she has been in so far. I was nervous about it because it isn’t necessarily
how everyone thinks today. Some believe inclusion is good, and others think
that it is in a child’s best interest if they spend time in a contained,
protected environment, where they can thrive and learn. One of the many challenges
of the “contained” approach is that such an environment doesn’t teach a child
with disability about “real life”. It also doesn’t teach typical kids about the
part of the society that, for lack of a better word, isn’t “like them”. An inclusive
environment is better for all. Some kids need individual attention, but the
attempt should to balance individualized needs with the fact that we are all
social beings and ultimately need to learn to live in a society, and learn to deal
with the good and the bad of it. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our IEP meeting was good. We talked about what we want for
Sammy and worked along with the school principal and Sammy’s team to draft a
plan that will help us achieve that. To be honest, my worries for Sammy aren’t around
how or when she will learn to read, or be able to do 7+12, or learn her
spellings. My worries were more around how her classmates will receive her and
accept her, and vice versa.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A couple of days before school started, we had a chance to
visit the school and meet the teachers. We met with Ms. Thompson, who is now
Sammy’s class teacher. Our 5-minute conversation with her washed away any
worries I had about Sammy and inclusion. Sammy’s teacher is so supportive, so
positive, so amazing – that I am finding myself looking at the synonym feature
of Word to sufficiently express how I feel about her. But I won’t go there. After
home, school is the place where characters are built. Especially
in the formative years. Kids learn from their peers more than they learn from
books. A teacher sets the tone of the class, grows a mini-culture in the class,
creates a garden in the class in which each kid can bloom at their own pace. We
love this mini-garden that Sammy is in this year. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, this has been a big year for us. We continue to explore
and learn more. But for the most part, we are thankful for our environment and the
people we are surrounded with.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In so many words, the point I am trying to make is that our bubble is
getting bigger!</span></i></div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-49242753008912131542017-03-21T14:18:00.001-07:002017-03-22T11:38:17.417-07:00Celebrating 3.21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Siddharth and I are celebrating this special day by flying
to New Zealand for a 2ish week vacation while Samaira, Rehan and Kabir enjoy an
extended party in India with Nani (my mum), Nanu (my dad), Masi (my sister), and
“<i>P & A</i>” (my nieces). Sammy & Rehan can’t get enough of their
cousins & love spending time with them. Kabir has developed a special bond
with Nani that even I can’t compete with. Here is the conversation that
happened as Siddharth and I were heading to the airport to catch our flight to
New Zealand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Sammy - Mumma & Daddy are going to New
Zealand now and you are going to have a lot of fun with Rehan, Kabir, Nani,
Nanu, Masi, ‘<i>P</i>’ didi & ‘<i>A</i>’ didi.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b> (whispering softly): Mumma – Maybe I can come
with you to New Zealand. Is that a good idea?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me</b>: It is just Daddy and I who are going to New
Zealand this time. How about you party with everyone at Nani’s home and go eat
some ice cream now?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: Ice cream. Woohoo! I love ice cream. My
favorite flavor is chocolate. But I will have vanilla, just like you. (I had
told her at some point that my favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and she ran off to find her ‘<i>P</i>’ didi and “<i>A</i>’
didi so she could drag them to eat ice cream…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>---***---<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Siddharth, Sammy and Rehan spent a week in Seattle without
me because I flew to India with Kabir one week earlier. We co-sleep, and at
night Siddharth would put Sammy and Rehan to sleep. In this one week, Rehan somehow
always ended up sleeping in the middle as he likes to get sandwiched between Samaira
& Siddharth. Here is what happened in this week:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Siddharth</b>: Sammy – Can I give you a hug?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: No. I don’t want to be touched. (we have told
kids to be unhesitantly vocal if they don’t feel like giving a hug to someone at
any time)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Next day…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Siddharth</b>: Sammy – Can I give you a hug now?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: No. I don’t want to be touched. (And she ran
off to play with Rehan)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Next day…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Siddharth</b>: Sammy – Can I give you a hug please?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: No, Daddy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Siddharth</b>: But Sammy, I want to give you a hug.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: If you want to give me a hug, then you can
sleep in the middle and give me a hug! Otherwise you cannot give me a hug.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Siddharth</b>: ??##!!??!! (Speechless)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both of us were amazed at two things. (a) She is like me in
that if she isn’t happy with something then she shuts down on that topic (I
understand it is neither advisable and nor desirable). And (b), With a little
bit of coaxing, she could articulate the outcome she expected in a situation.
While a lot about this situation is non-ideal and it would be great if both
Sammy and I articulate our issues as opposed to shut-down, we were excited to
see Samaira transfer her emotions into words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>---***---<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Samaira tends to avoid doing anything that is hard for her
to do. Her strategy is to get other people to do it for her. For example: If
her hand does not reach a switch and she wants to turn on the light, she asks
Rehan to get a chair so he can climb on it and turn on the light. If Sammy
refuses to do something because it is hard, often this is the conversation that
happens:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Rehan</b>: You can do this, Sammy. You are very strong!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: (<i>Whining</i>) Noooooo. I can’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Rehan</b>: You can, Sammy. Let me show you how (<i>Followed
by a demonstration</i>). Now, you try Sammy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samaira</b>: Noooo. Stop it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While Samaira needs time to warm up to new challenges, it is
heartwarming to see Rehan encourage Samaira to explore her abilities. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>---***---<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am convinced that half of Sammy’s heart lives in Kabir.
She is always baby’ing him. Not something Kabir is a fan of though. But he has
got to deal with the all the extra care and affection that Sammy showers on
him. Also, Samaira is convinced that she takes better care of Kabir than we do,
and he is her responsibility. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She will often check his diaper to make sure he hasn’t done
pee-pee or poo-poo. If she suspects anything, she comes to us and tells us, “Can
you please change Kabir’s diaper? He has done poo-poo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is also the first to point out “Kabir is crying. Can you
please give him some milk?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>---***---<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are curious about what everyday life with T21 as an
integral part of our family looks like, this is what I’ve got for you. This is
our Sammy at 5. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-No1jWMw_5-4/WNGX5kM_iHI/AAAAAAAAPGQ/wb2EG_DRje4CGYO_vUez-WS98ciqzhjBgCLcB/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="626" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-No1jWMw_5-4/WNGX5kM_iHI/AAAAAAAAPGQ/wb2EG_DRje4CGYO_vUez-WS98ciqzhjBgCLcB/s640/Image-1.jpg" width="940" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next challenge we are bracing for is around inclusion.
Meaningful inclusion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sammy wouldn’t be top of mind if you are looking for a kid
who is good at following instructions or protocol. She is a rebel.
Anti-establishment of sorts. If we tell her not to do something, then we can
say with a fair bit of certainty that she will do it. If kids want to play a
game that flows a certain way, then she will be sure to not follow it. It
worries me because I don’t know what’s in store for her as she enters
kindergarten later this year. I don’t know how many instructors will accept
Samaira as she is and accommodate her needs, versus prefer sending her to another
environment where her needs could be more conveniently met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know how many of her classmates will accept her even
though she will not play Hide & Seek, Whisper Challenge, or Snake &
Ladder per the rules of the game. How many of her friends will still include her?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One aspect of inclusion is ‘awareness’. Knowing that there
are differences and understanding what they are. Another aspect of inclusion is
‘acceptance’. Knowing that there are differences and it is ok! It really is ok.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as Sammy will begin her Big 5 transition to kindergarten
this Fall, I am more insecure than ever. Siddharth does not share my
insecurity. He has more faith in the system, people, us, and above all – Sammy.
I am insecure because we will truly be stepping out of our little bubble in
which everyone sees Sammy for who she is, and not for what she has or what she
can do. I can only hope that the new wave of people in her life will encourage
her, include her and accept her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something I have heard since Samaira was born was that we shouldn’t
overthink putting Samaira in schools that are highly ranked. It is probably
better for her to be in schools that are average in rank, because she will have
a sense of accomplishment in the things she can do as the environment will not be
super competitive. To be honest, it isn’t something we have internalized, yet. So
far, our circle of family, close friends (more like family), schools, day
cares, teachers – have all celebrated Samaira. Included Samaira. Accepted
Samaira. This encourages her to do more and be more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the same time, I also realize that 5 year olds are like
little adults. They are intelligent. They are sharp. They understand the
differences in skin color, language, and abilities. And while they are innocent
and naïve, without appropriate guidance from grown-ups, they may not always
know how to treat these differences. Some kids will not let these differences
come in the way of their friendship. They might even provide encouragement
& help as needed. But there could be kids who don’t know how to process and
deal with these differences. Their reactions may range from confusion, to
mockery, to non-inclusion. While I wouldn’t blame kids for their behavior, it
for sure will hurt when it happens. And that’s when I hope, we the adults can
play a role in creating awareness and acceptance about differences and
disabilities. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the first 5 years of our journey with Samaira, we haven’t
felt the need to have the “talk” with other kids and parents. We have gone with
the flow and let everyone discover who Sammy is and everything she can do. I am
not sure we can continue to go with the flow much longer. I think we will need
to have deliberate conversations and engagements that make the upcoming
generation more sensitive and accepting of disabilities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down syndrome does not define Samaira. It is an integral
part of her. But there is a lot more to her than down syndrome. Her abilities
surpass any label that could be associated with her. So, this year, on 3/21, I
want to talk about being inclusive. In schools. In activities. In play. In society.
It wouldn’t benefit just Samaira, but also folks who are being inclusive. It
makes society more open and tolerant to differences. Something we could all use
a little extra dose of given everything that’s happening in the world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-quuZBSLWK2Q/WNGYU9naFiI/AAAAAAAAPGU/ZtjR_0BUhOwml_UtLvfH6KevFcCHFApAgCLcB/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="626" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-quuZBSLWK2Q/WNGYU9naFiI/AAAAAAAAPGU/ZtjR_0BUhOwml_UtLvfH6KevFcCHFApAgCLcB/s640/Image-1.jpg" width="940" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine this society: Different skin color, different
language, different religion, different god, different faith, any disability,
different clothing, different values….no problem. Let kindness and friendship prevail.
Everyone is welcome! This is the essence of being human.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are curious about down syndrome, I encourage
questions, conversations, and discussions. We will be happy to share our experiences
and whatever we know so far. We will do our best to find out what we don’t know
to answer your questions. Talking and asking questions is the first step to building
awareness and acceptance. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy 3.21, folks!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<!--StartFragment-->
<b>PS</b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">: 3.21 = March 21<sup>st</sup> = World Down
Syndrome Day. Medically, down syndrome is defined by 3 copies of the 21<sup>st</sup>
chromosome. That’s all there is to it. An extra copy of a chromosome. It only
means there is more of Sammy to love! Lucky us!</span><!--EndFragment-->
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-11283787783634175782016-06-16T23:34:00.001-07:002016-06-16T23:34:43.400-07:00I don’t know your story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #232323; line-height: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Almost 13 years back I was coaxed into attending a 2-3 day Art of Living course by my roommate, who was (and probably still is) an ardent follower. I was reluctant because at a time when I was still a student, earning negligible and had a lot of student debt to pay, I didn’t want to shell out close to $200 for a workshop I didn’t care much about. But I couldn’t figure out a way to say no. So I said yes. I attended the course and was surprised to see the wide demographics of attendees. There were men and women all the way from their early twenties to late fifties. There were students, working professionals and home makers. 13 years later, there is only one thing I remember from that entire session. It was an activity that we did in which everybody sat face to face with another person for, I think, a minute and then switched partners. We essentially got to sit opposite most of the people in the group. While sitting opposite each other, all we had to do was hold hands and look into the other person’s eyes. Yes. That was the exercise. I am giggling like a teenager as I am typing this. And I had a similar reaction back then as well. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Well, this is an awkward exercise. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Once we got over the initial awkwardness, something magical happened. There was this guy in the group and I had totally judged him the minute I saw him, for no particular reason. When I got a chance to sit opposite him and hold his hands and look into his eyes, I realized that all my judgement washed away. Looking into people’s eyes is powerful. It is probably the most honest part of our body. Our eyes tell our story. And more often than not, we don't pause to look into people’s eyes and take a moment to see them. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Really </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">see them. I think I have told this story before. But it is by far one of the most important experiences of my life. Because it taught me to try to understand people before judging them.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The most powerful way, I have learned, of not judging people is to know their story. Everyone has a story. It is so easy to look at everything and everyone with one single lens and assume them to be good or bad. Until, of course, we know their story. Stories help us understand why people behave a certain way, or eat certain things, or spend on a certain item, or read a certain book, or play a certain sport, or wear certain outfits. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our story conveys the reason why we do what we do. Our story conveys how we got to this point. It makes us, even if for an instant, think about somebody else’s point of view. It makes our heart bigger. It makes our actions kinder. It makes our mind broader. It makes us love more. You will find out there is always more to people than meets the eye. You will understand people even when you don't agree with them. You will pass fewer judgements on people once you know their angle, their story. Especially when they are people who don't look, or eat, or dress, or think, or act like you. It will make us a better human.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stories are important, people. Let us make time to find out someone’s story.</span></span></div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-58040835443059463872016-06-09T17:58:00.004-07:002016-06-10T16:19:04.532-07:00Rules, Who?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever seen anything great happen when people follow
rules? By great I mean out-of-this-world, or path-breaking, or
crazy-innovative. Following rules can definitely result in excellence. In fact,
to some extent excellence maybe a result of following some set of rules. But I
highly doubt it can result in something that would change my life as I live it
today. Changing lives means bending or breaking rules. It means taking a
different path than the rest of everybody else. It means saying bye-bye to the
crowd. It means having the courage to stand up when you stand out.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The thought itself makes me cringe. The thought of breaking
rules. Not that I have never broken any rules. I totally have. But not enough.
And there is a reason why this thought makes me cringe. It makes me extremely uncomfortable
and reach out to my mind-space that I am not used to reaching out to. The
discomfort in merely articulating this thought process is indicative of how
deep-rooted our notion of </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">following rules</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
is.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I think I am no exception. I think that most of us would
believe in following rules, give or take. We are taught this as kids. We are
conditioned to believe that is the way. We are rewarded for following rules. We
are punished for breaking rules. We are awarded for being like everybody else –
in actions, thoughts, ideas, appearance, you name it. We are laughed at when we
don’t blend. In fact, I am now doing the same with my kids now. I am
establishing rules for them. All day every day I am trying to make sure they
function within a set of rules. And I am beginning to question myself. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am in no way trying to encourage the state of absolute
entropy. I am not trying to encourage anarchy either. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My limited point is, why rules? Why so many rules? Why rules
about what we do, what we don’t do, what we wear, how we dress, how we eat, how
we talk, how we look, how we react? I mean there are obvious reasons. Most of
the reasons will be hard to argue with. We follow rules for safety, coherence,
sanity, civility. But there is something fundamentally wrong if the unfamiliar makes
us cringe and uncomfortable and sometimes adversarial. I want my kids to be
safe. I don’t want them to break rules that will hurt them. I want to be
protective about them. I want everybody to like them. I want the world for
them. Anyway, that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter, pretty much at all, what
I want for them. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But how will they grow if they don’t break rules?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">None of the innovations would have happened if we all
followed the rules. Innovations happen because people challenge, because people
are curious, because people question, and most importantly because somebody
decided to follow a path not chosen by the rest of us. Our lives change because
somebody decided to break the rules. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So while I don’t do it myself, just yet, I hugely admire
people who do. The breaking rules part. Unless of course, it is my kids. Then I
get mad because they broke “the rules.” I mean how can I not yell at them for
eating from the counter top as opposed to their plates. Because, you know,
those are the rules. I have tried hard to figure this out about myself. Figure
out my line. The line I can cross, and the line I can’t cross. When is it ok
for my kids to break my rules? And when is it not ok? I do know that one of my
lines in this regard is pertaining to health and safety. Anything that hurts
them or others and makes them unsafe is off limits. But what about the rest of
the rules? How do I deal with that? Should I want my children to conform to the
norms? Or should I encourage revolt? This question can get really hairy and controversial
in about 5 seconds. And I don’t have a good response for that. But at the end
of a rule breaking day, when it is dark and all the kids are tucked in, I can
chuckle to myself. And maybe feel a little proud. Feel proud that they broke a
rule today. Is that bizarre? Honestly though, with two toddlers and infant, I
have those moments often. They break rules. All. Day. Long. It is exhausting.
It drives me nuts. It makes me shout. So it doesn’t take much effort for them
to break the rules. But this kind of rule breaking as a silver lining. This
kind of rule breaking takes the face of innocence, that most of us lack. The naivety
of belief, of faith, that most of us lost long time ago. I look for that silver
lining, while I struggle with this decision for my kids. Because for most my
rules, my kids react with “Rules, Who?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-79993044456759948982016-05-26T23:52:00.006-07:002016-05-27T11:11:56.189-07:00What do you want?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When we hear a child cry </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Our first instinct is to try</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To try to find out</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
What this fuss is all about</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
To try to understand what he needs</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Maybe it is time for his feed</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
To figure out what else it could be</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Our next step is to plea</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
What is it that you want my child</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I wish you would speak so I don't go wild</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Is it a toy that you want to hold</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Of course not, even if it is made of gold</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Maybe you need a new diaper</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But then maybe not, because you are still so hyper</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I am pretty sure it is time for a nap</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I really wish all the kids came with a map</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
A map of all their possible moods</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Why you cry or sulk or brood</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I tried everything I possibly could </div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But I still couldn't figure it out and there you stood</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
You stood with your eyes fixed on me</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
What could it possibly be</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
And then it occurred to me</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I felt so blind as I could not see</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
It was not a toy or food</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
It wasn't even about his mood</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All this while it was right in front of my eyes</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All you needed was a smile for a smile</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
And me right by your side</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All you needed was my attention</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
It wasn't as if you were asking for a fourth dimension</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
All you needed was my time</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
It isn't some crazy novelty or a new paradigm</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I am sorry if you felt a bit alone</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I should have been with you all along</div>
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-6716730262124864102016-05-19T23:02:00.000-07:002016-05-20T00:27:22.557-07:00Where am I?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hidden in this simple three-word question is a far deeper
question of “where exactly am I?” at any given point. Unfortunately, the probability
of the answer being “not here” is very high. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There were just a handful of people who owned a smartphone
about 10 years ago, I think. The rest of us were naively and happily carrying
our flip phones or the non-smart phones. Without the slightest inkling of what
the streets and the subways and the homes and the restaurants would look like
in the very near future. Not to mention the humans. You know what has changed
in us humans over the last 10 years? Most of us spend a lot more time looking
not at our eyesight level, but a little below. A lot more time. While walking.
While eating. While waking. While waiting. While playing. While watching.
Nobody looks up anymore. Everybody is busy looking down. Most of us don’t even
know who or what passed us by. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To be honest, it is not just the phones. It is a more
generic human tendency. To not be in the present. To brood over the past. To
worry about the future. To think about the unthinkable that may never happen anyway.
And fear endlessly. It is so easy and ubiquitous to distract us from the “now”
that it has become our second nature. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We live in this beautiful Pacific Northwest. It truly is
drop dead gorgeous. The colors that compete with each other are all different
shades of green. In the most beautiful way possible. There are mountains
covered with tall, green trees. There are mountains covered in snow. Every single
neighborhood has its own gem. A simple drive from home to the supermarket can
be filled with beautiful picturesque views. We had to go someplace the other
day and it just took us a little over 30 minutes to get all three kids settled
in the car before we could leave. I was thinking about the dinner and the meals
and the ride and don’t-even-ask-me-what and its almost as if I was doing all of
this with my eyes closed. I know I had my eyes closed because I opened my eyes for
one tiny moment. I mean, really truly opened my eyes. I noticed. I exhaled. To
my right was a beautiful lake overlooking these beautiful peaks covered in
beautiful shades of green, except for the top, which had a shade of white as if
wearing a hat. It was a sunny day. The sky was blue. There was not a single
cotton ball to be seen in the sky. Not even one that could resemble a sheep
without legs. It was almost perfect. Except that I was not there. I was too
busy to notice it. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">All of us are so busy running around, trying to finish
chores, cooking, feeding, missing appointments – that we don’t have time to
pause. To take a reverse gear for once. To bask in the glory of absolute
nothingness. To be free. To look into someone’s eyes and say “what’s up?” and genuinely
be interested in a real response to this worst question ever. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I hereby promise. To be in the moment. To pay attention to
the surroundings. To look around. To soak it in. To pause. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At least once a day. </span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Well, to begin with anyway. I promise to bring
this once-a-day count higher and higher each time. You know why I am trying so
hard to achieve this goal? Because that is the point. “Pause” is the point. “Break”
is the point. “Nothingness” is the point. “Non-goal” is the point. Everything
else that happens in between – chores, laundry, meals, work, deadlines,
appointments, you-name-it, are fillers in these pauses. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The meaning of life is </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">the
pause</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> that we forget to take. That break. That blank. That nothing. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You see what I did there? Very conveniently and smoothly I
snuck the “meaning of life” in this seemingly banal post. Boom. I may have
exaggerated a tad bit. Let’s bring it back. So, maybe not the meaning of life.
But seriously. We live so we can take these pauses. We don’t take pauses so we
can live. As long as I remind myself of this golden rule, I think I will be
fine. At least I would have made a solid attempt at being fine.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DBUgBPFQu18/Vz6n3JSUJRI/AAAAAAAAL2g/ntdI0qI9Zp8x-GOEMoRUYgxeKLn9eTPFACLcB/s1600/IMG_2231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="626" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DBUgBPFQu18/Vz6n3JSUJRI/AAAAAAAAL2g/ntdI0qI9Zp8x-GOEMoRUYgxeKLn9eTPFACLcB/s640/IMG_2231.jpg" width="850" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This. Right Here. The tree. The flowers. The yellow. The purple. The blue. The mountains. The field. It is all here. Right here.<br />
And that man on the phone...the irony is not lost on me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
</div>
Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-16739004131728971662016-05-12T23:06:00.000-07:002016-05-12T23:16:31.612-07:00Peppa Pig and her magical spell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For the uninitiated, where have you been? Peppa Pig is the
sassy, curious pig. She has a brother, George. She also has a Mumma Pig and a
Daddy Pig. And they are British. Most importantly, she rules the world. Peppa,
that is. The toddler world anyway. She has a certain power over my kids that
even I don't have. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Oh, and those muddy puddles. One of the most
important aspects of Peppa's life is the muddy puddles. And now, it is a very
important part of Sammy and Rehan's life as well. These two words can shine
bright light on their faces like they have been promised one chocolate ice
cream a day for the rest of their lives. Sammy may be crying her lungs out for
whatever reason, and I will have her attention if I merely utter the words
"muddy puddle." Those two words are enough for her to stop crying for
30 seconds, until she figures that it is a trap and I just used those words to
stop her from crying. Rehan could be having a horrible tantrum, and his
tantrums will melt away as soon as I ask him "Do you wan to watch Peppa
Pig?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We all know what good parenting involves. It
involves not giving into your kid's tantrums. Not enabling them. Not fulfilling
the very request they have been throwing a fuss about, because otherwise they
use that as a strategy to get what they want, all the time. It involves being
consistent and following through. I could go on. Most of us know these golden
rules of raising a disciplined child. But I can promise you, there will be
days, and more than you would like to admit, when you will knowingly throw
these golden rules out the window. Simple because you are too tired, either
mentally or physically. Or just because. I keep telling myself, "<i>It is ok. It happens.</i>"
I console myself before anyone else can condemn or console. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We have this rule of permitting screen time
for kids only on weekends. They could cry and request all they want but they
don't get any screen the rest of the week. Unless of course, it is not our day.
A day when Parents = 0, and Toddler = 1.
When all three kids are wailing at the same time. For no good reason. Or
maybe, perfectly legitimate reasons. They have still not had their dinner even
though they are starving. You know, because it is so much more important to
throw a fit than to eat. And it is just Monday! They just had their screen time
over the weekend. And the rest of the week seems so so long. So in the middle
of our crying, screaming kids, I whisper the words "Do you want to watch
Peppa Pig?" Suddenly, two out of three kids stop crying. "Yes,"
in unison they say. In my head I say "Victory." I know we have a
rule. But today is not the day to feel married to it. Today is not the day to
follow that rule. I need these little people to stop screeching at a 100
decibels. So I take out the evil-iPad and start the one and only, Peppa Pig.
Magically, these kids turn into the most well behaved beings you may witness on
this earth. They finish their dinner. Even ask for a second helping. They wipe
their faces and drink their water. They clean their hands. Almost as if they
are not my kids and were switched during the meal. So here we are. Watching
Peppa Pig on a weekday.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Last month we were traveling and I noticed
this super cool dad-mom duo traveling with their toddler and infant. They sat
in front of us outside the boarding area. Eating their home cooked meal.
Feeding broccoli to their toddler. Carrying a jogging stroller. Super fit. I
was so inspired that I was borderline jealous. "<i>If only I could be like
them.</i>" I could hardly understand what they were saying to each other
at a distance. But suddenly I saw the dad pull out his phone from his pocket
and say something to his son. The only words I understood were
"Peppa" and "Pig." Boom. Just like that. They became so
much more relatable. My first thought was "<i>I knew it! There had to be a
catch!</i>" My second thought was "<i>Thank God it is not just us!
That makes me a tad bit relieved.</i>" My third thought was "<i>Parent,
I hear ya! We all give in from time to time. Perfectly understandable."</i><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Parents all over the world, coming from various
different cultures, religions, regions, ethos, philosophy, race, etc., need a
Peppa in their life. It is a magic spell that works no matter where we are
from. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-275679930687653932016-05-05T16:22:00.001-07:002016-05-10T12:45:48.092-07:00Keeping it real<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Long time no post. I figured I will start with what happened since the last post. So we are 5 now. Two vs Three. Four Hands vs Six Hands. And I have to admit the struggle is real. All of me wanted to debunk the myth around three-under-four. Not that I wanted to prove it is easy. Just prove that we were able to glide this phase with a little bit of dignity. Grace. Or something like that. But boy oh boy! Is it hard or is it hard!? </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I sometimes get transported to the time when I wasn't a mom yet. But being a mom was still on my mind. All the things I said to myself. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will never let my kids eat fries, junk food and unhealthy food.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will never say “no” to my kids. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will not shout at my kids. Ever.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will never punish my kids. I will not give time out to my kids.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will never let my kids cry, and pick him/her immediately to console.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My kids will be the most disciplined kids out there.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will always cook fresh meals for my kids.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My kids won’t be those screaming, shouting, yelling kids you see on the streets and restaurants. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will never lie to my kids to get them to do stuff. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will be the best mom out there. Basically.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Because you know, all this modern parenting and attachment parenting and stuff. I was such a good parent until I actually became a parent. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fast forward now. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My kids eat all the junk food known to mankind. Fries are their absolute favorite. Rehan could survive on sweets alone. Until some time back, Sammy was repulsed by any green and nutritious looking food. So much so that she refused a cake this one time because it had green icing on it. Rehan now refuses to eat anything that’s not sweet. <i>We won’t tell his dentist.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every other word coming out of my mouth is a synonym of “no.” I try to be creative and look for other words so I can convince myself that at least I am not saying “no.” But who am I kidding? As much as I try to talk about the consequences and tell them “<i>It’s not a good choice,</i>” I resort to the regular negatives. Don’t. Stop. Never. Don't you dare. Don't even. These words are very typical in my vocabulary now. On top of that, these kids have the <i>why </i>mania. I try to be a good mom and respond to all their whys in the most respectful and intelligent way possible. But I have my limits. Depending of their questions, my mood and the time of the day I respond with a “<i>just</i>” or “<i>I don’t know”</i> or a shrug. Although Rehan is quick to reciprocate with “<i>But mumma, I asked you why</i>.” But how do I respond to “<i>Why is this a couch, mumma ?!</i>” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And do you even want to guess whether or not I shout at my kids. Heck yes, I do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I do try to punish my kids. While some people believe in “talking it out” with their kids, others believe in straightening them with shouting-screaming-scorching words. I haven't figured out a punishment for my kids yet. What I mean is, I haven't figured out what my kids consider a punishment yet. Most time outs are fun exercises for them and they actually enjoy it. If I stop talking to them for some time then they go to each other for more fun. So as it turns out, what I consider punishment for them is actually way more fun. Its almost like they are showing me the middle finger in their own playful way. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I remember someone telling me “<i>I can’t imagine putting my kids in day care. What if they are crying and the teacher can’t pick him/her up because she is busy caring for another kid.</i>“ In my mind I was like “<i>How did I not think of this concern before enrolling my first kid in the day care!?</i>” And now that we have three, of course our kids cry. And we let them. In fact when Rehan is crying for what we think is no-reason-whatsoever, we tell him to go to another room to settle down before coming back to the room until he is ready to talk. I had someone visit us recently and witness the spectacle that we are during dinner times. It was one step short of food flying around like it would in a space shuttle or in a gravity defying area. To top it, Kabir was screaming and was almost about to fall off his rocker because I forgot to buckle him. That did not stop me from finishing all the vegetable chopping I had to, because I knew I would be done chopping and be there to pick up Kabir before he could fall. And because secretly I know I am a super mom. But our guest did not know this, clearly. So they are staring at me in disbelief with their eyes saying “<i>Lady, if your hands are full, do you need me to lift your infant so he doesn't injure himself?</i>” My eyes communicated back to them “<i>I got this…kind of.</i>”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Don’t even get me started on discipline. Our kids are not disciplined. At least not with us. They are slightly better behaved when we are not around. But ever so slightly. I have some folks give me advice based on their expertise because their kids are so well behaved and sorted. But none of that advice works on my kids. Or maybe it is me. Oh, well! I haven't given up. But my way of disciplining could look a lot different from your way of disciplining, to the point that it may look the opposite of disciplining. But believe me, I am trying to discipline my kids.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am not a firm believer in fresh meals. I believe in left overs. I could almost call it my religion. I love left overs. Fresh food is over rated anyway. In fact my attitude towards kids’ meals is so unsettling for some folks that I almost suppress my natural instincts around people when it comes to feeding my kids. I try my best to let my kids eat on their own. And on the days they don't eat on their own, I let them be. I don’t wait for them to eat before I eat. I don’t cook any special ultra-nutritious food for them and just feed them whatever we are eating, which, let’s be honest, has questionable nutrition content to begin with. It bothers me to sit around waiting for kids to finish their meals, and spoon feed them if they aren't eating. Does that make me a bad mom? God, I hope not. But maybe it does.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Oh, I forgot. Let me introduce you to my kids. Their middle names are <i>screaming</i>, <i>shouting</i> and <i>yelling. </i>Respectively. Or in no particular order. Who cares? But wait. Those are their first names. Because I don't believe in middle names. Point is, they shout. They shout when they want something, they shout when they don't want something, they shout when they get what they want, they shout when they don't get what they want. You get the idea. They shout. Especially, Rehan. He is an angry shouter. Sammy is an experimental shouter. And then I shout back “<i>Stop shouting!!!</i>” You are probably wondering if it works. And the answer is - no. It absolutely does not. Being patient works sometimes. But I don't always have time for patience, you see.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lying is a touchy topic with me. I can tolerate almost anything in my life but for lies. I have been honest to the point of being stupid. I used to either not speak, or speak my mind. But not lie. The worst thing for me in a relationship was lying. I have always hated being lied to. If I did not like you, chances are you would have known it. I am now getting better at this whole lying thing, because, well, life. But in this context, I lie to my kids. All the time. I tell Rehan, “<i>Wear your shoes otherwise bugs will take it away.</i>” When I am all out of patience, and time, and motivation, and energy, and he still has plenty of all of the above, I use his pretend-fear of bugs to get s**t done. He doesn't like bugs. So if he needs to eat his dinner but he wants to eat an apple instead, I tell him it has bugs so he can eat his dinner. I don't think it will last long though. Because off late he has started picking on what I am doing here. And he insist on eating the buggy-apple because he thinks he will like it more than dinner. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So. Do I get mom of the year award? I am so bummed I don’t. But I think it is more important to live. So I will do without the award and the accolades for now. As much as I wanted to pretend to be modest, yet boast about my perfect family of five, all the struggles are so very real. I don’t need other people to judge me because I am constantly judging myself as a mom. <i>Am I breaking my kids? Are they going to be ok? I could be doing so much more with them! </i>I am in awe of and am surprised by parents who can’t stop talking about how awesome their kids are and what a great job of parenting they have done! That kind of confidence in themselves as parents is mind blowing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In fact, I often wonder how Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton deal with their toddler Prince George. I think he is roughly the same age as Rehan. When I saw Prince George greet President Obama, I wondered what Rehan would have done if he were to meet the President. First, I wouldn't let that happen. Because, toddler tantrums. Doesn't Prince George throw any fits? Doesn't he cry and yell when he meets strangers? Or when he doesn't get that one candy he probably needs for survival? How can a toddler be graceful when he is a threenager! Doesn't he embarrass his parents? Doesn't he make the Duke and the Duchess hide their faces behind the curtains and pretend like he is not their son. How do they do it? That will always be a mystery to me. A mystery I probably don’t want to solve anyway. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While there are days when unicorns don't feel real anymore. <i>Wait, did you just say they aren't real anyway?!</i> While there are also days when I am trying to remind myself of the rainbows and the baby feet and the chubby cheeks to get by. While I oscillate somewhere between trying really really hard to be patient, and wanting to kill the next person who wants to give me advice on how to feed, or raise, or treat, or discipline my child. I do get some very real rewards. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It is rewarding to see Kabir being a panacea for Sammy and Rehan. Kabir is their life line. They are majorly obsessed with him. It is almost scary because ever since Kabir was a month or two old, Sammy wanted to lift him and run with him in case she saw us coming in her direction. She still wants to hold him. She has understood that running with him <i>is not a good choice</i>. <Wink>. Rehan comes to Kabir and talks all about his sorrows because he didn't get the ice cream he so badly wanted. Tough life. The point is that it is heart melting to see them laugh and cry together. It is lovely to see Kabir being so loved by his (barely) older siblings. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It is rewarding to see Sammy and Rehan be excited for each other. To see them play with each other for the 10 minutes in the 24 hours that they are not fighting (of course there is just a pinch of exaggeration) is my absolute favorite. I take Rehan to pick up Sammy at the bus stop every day and that’s one of the happiest times for Rehan. As soon as he sees Sammy’s bus in the horizon, he starts jumping until the bus stops in front of us. It involves about 20-25 seconds of continuous jumping. But he is beyond excited to see Sammy. In fact he can’t stop talking to her as soon as he sees her. “<i>Sammy, I got hurt here. See. That’s right, Sammy. I got hurt here. I fell down over there. I was running and I got hurt. Do you want to play with me Sammy?</i>” He goes on and on and on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">These rewards manage to bring all the mushy gooey feelings in my liver. Because my heart is too full. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her Expressions: "I will play nice for the next 2 seconds". His Expressions: "Get me out of here". My Expressions: "Hurry! You have the next 2 secs before they run in opposite direction".</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His Expressions: "Lady, do you even know what you are doing?"</td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-62374369476068902182016-01-21T17:56:00.002-08:002016-01-21T17:59:08.891-08:00Kabir<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It took me a while to get comfortable with the idea that we will be sharing our super special news with our friends and extended family come time.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I think it was about a month or so after Rehan was born. I was sitting and watching Sammy and Rehan interact with each other. Something about that one moment kicked my mommy hormones enough to want a third child. Add another one in the mix. There wasn't much more to the idea than “<i>It will be nice to have three kids.” </i>It was just a feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I chewed on this idea for a while before bringing it up to Siddharth. I underplayed my excitement when I finally brought it up with him. “<i>What do you think about having a third child?” </i>I expected a reaction of “<i>Are you mad?” </i>Those were our sleepless-in-Seattle days when Rehan was waking up pretty much every hour in the night. Both of us were massively sleep deprived. And under-rested. To my utter surprise, Siddharth reacted with “<i>I am not terribly opposed to the idea.” </i>Even before I could be happy for his reaction, I was shocked. But I hid my surprise under a solid layer of “<i>yeah, makes sense</i>.” I thought if I acted surprised then he would change his mind. So I played super cool. As if that was the plan all along, when in fact it wasn't. I did have a twinkle in my eye. And in my silly heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We were super ecstatic when we found out we were pregnant. We started thinking of names. We started thinking of how we will manage grocery shopping when three kids will run in three different directions and we will just be two. Officially outnumbered. We thought of how noisy our home will be. How crowded our dining table will be. How messy our carpet will be. How chaotic our lives will be. How foolish in love we will be to relish it all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the back of my mind I did think about how most people would react to our news.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“What’s wrong with you?” </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“It is hard enough to handle these two. How are you planning to put the third one in the mix?” </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“What were you thinking? Or not thinking?” </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>“Well, I would never do this. But good on you.”</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I didn't really want to be judged for our decision. I told Siddharth about it. He laughed. He laughed thinking how much I cared for what people thought. Especially regarding a decision that is so personal. His reaction did put me to ease. Laughing it off. I realized the silliness of my worry. Oh, well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Of course it is challenging. It isn't easy. We still have a total of four hands. And three kids. It doesn't always scale, you know. But sometimes it isn't about the hands to kids ratio. It is about how many people I want at my dinner table. My magic number is five. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So here we were. With the last bit of our magic number in my tummy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My babies tend to enjoy the outside fresh air more than my tummy’s amniotic fluid. Both Sammy and Rehan were born in the 8th month and didn't quite reach the 9th month. And history was sure to repeat this time as well. So I rested. A lot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was relieved as soon as I crossed the milestone when Rehan was born (35 weeks 5 days). This was the most pregnant I had ever been. I was pretty much ready to pop after that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">November 1, 2015, 7:30am: It was a lazy Sunday morning. Siddharth and I were still not out of our bed. I was telling Siddharth all about me being really cognizant of every little thing I felt in my tummy. Every little kick. Every little braxton hick. Every little whatever-else-happens-there. As I was telling him this, I felt a massive kick. I told Siddharth “<i>Like this one. I don't know if this was a kick or a contraction. A real contraction or a fake contraction.” </i>Siddharth was like “<i>You will know when it will happen. Don't worry.” </i>Even though he knows that “worry” is my real middle name. 5 minutes later I felt like I was leaking. And I knew. I said “<i>it is happening.</i>” Siddharth knew that face. He had seen it before. Twice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Given that this was the third time, we took time to brush our teeth, freshen up. We didn't rush out like the world was going to end in the next minute. We took it a little easy. Just a little though. Then we went downstairs and told my mom and sister. Tata. Bye bye. See you later. With one more little person this time. All of us were super excited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We called the hospital before leaving home. We also called our doula on the way, “<i>We know we haven't discussed this yet, but we need your help. Do you mind coming over?” </i>Being the awesome person she is, she did not hesitate. We reached the hospital and were greeted by a bunch of nurses who knew that I have a history of 2 hour labor and premature delivery. They were all ready. I was quite impressed. My gynecologist happened to be on the rounds at the time and she saw my name and dropped by. “<i>So, you are here!</i>” “<i>Yup</i>,” I said with a grin. She was with me for the entire duration and I am so thankful for that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Three hours, painful contractions, and a couple of major pushes later, we had our baby in our hands.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2UY6SNQK50/VqGLqTJmuuI/AAAAAAAALfM/0tuoQ8I3hqI/s1600/bw-22-Kabir-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="940" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2UY6SNQK50/VqGLqTJmuuI/AAAAAAAALfM/0tuoQ8I3hqI/s640/bw-22-Kabir-22.jpg" width="626" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And I have to say, it doesn't get old. The happiness. The rush. The giddiness. The warmth. As much as I wondered “<i>how can I love another child as much?” </i>I realize that I am able to tap into my unseen, undiscovered pool of love to feel just as much madness for my third baby. My Kabir. It is quite nuts. This whole phenomena. It is pretty unreal. As much as the second and third kids survive on hand-me-downs and lack of attention (thanks to their super demanding older siblings), they get more love from their older sibling(s) than their parents. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sammy and Rehan have their heart in Kabir. I was surprised to see how much they instantly connected with him. Kabir happens to be Rehan’s confidant. Anytime Rehan is not happy, or gets hurt, he runs to Kabir and tells him “<i>Kabir, I got hurt. I am sad.” </i>And then he gives him a tight hug. It melts my heart. Sammy loves him so much. A little too much for his own good. She wants to hold him, play with him, bathe him, nurse him. I am pretty much not needed. Except, I am. Over the next few weeks or months I will be able to comment on the reality of three kids. But I am in my honeymoon phase for now. The rest can wait.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My life is made. Pretty much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few months back, I wrote a poem on “<i><a href="http://tarangkaushal.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-chase.html" target="_blank">The Chase</a>”</i> to find happiness in life. Siddharth penned a response of his own to my poem. He called it “<i>My 2 cents</i>” :). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My 2 Cents</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In response to your latest blog</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I’d like to share a mere thought</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As a person I might be thick as a log</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The one thing I agree is that happiness cannot be bought</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While I understand that happiness is the real key</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shudder to think why there are so many locks</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even though some say the key resides within me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The closed doors are just nature’s mocks</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You might think that you are in a bind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Only you can free yourself from the shackle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the end it’s just a state of mind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Your negative thoughts are what you have to tackle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If you look deep inside, 'happy' is already a part of you</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Everyone you know does think it’s true</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I know some days are bright and some days are blue</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Just remember that we are no longer just two</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We now look forward to Kabir, if you’re counting, that's five</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We’ve already met Rehan and Sammy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I couldn’t have asked for a better life</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">With kids so cute and a wife so dreamy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">:)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I feel so lucky. Here is to the five of us!</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-48136870993687456732015-10-01T23:12:00.001-07:002015-10-02T13:53:11.088-07:00October<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Samaira will be 4 at the end of this year and Rehan will be two and a half. Its crazy! When did this happen? My favorite thing about them is watching them grow. Watching them grow into these quirky little (actually mega) personalities. Another favorite thing of mine is to watch them interact with each other. We could sit and watch them interact all day. Literally. Until of course they start pulling each other’s hair or biting each other or hurting each other in any which way. Until then they are on their own.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Both our kids are small enough that they have not started questioning their differences just yet. They look at each other and notice the differences - differences in behavior, attitudes, who shouts more, who says please, etc. Not quite about their physical features. They don’t question these differences just yet. We haven't heard Samaira’s classmates question her differences either. So we haven't crossed the bridge of explaining to them that Samaira has down syndrome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is the down syndrome awareness month. And one of the things that I do wonder about is how will we cross that bridge when we get to it. We do put it off to “<i>We will cross that bridge when we get to it,</i>” but there are definitely moments of “<i>But, how?</i>” Honestly, the answer is I don’t know. I don't know if there is a right way or a wrong way. If it is ok to proactively discuss it with Samaira’s surroundings, or if it is better for her friends to form their own opinion about her regarding, or regardless of, her diagnosis. I am kind of divided in my own head about it. We even got some books that we could share with our friends and family. But I am not sure if that’s the route we should go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In either case, if a kid does get curious about differences between Samaira and them, then here is how <i>I think</i> I will handle it. Maybe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>All of us are made of some building blocks. These building blocks are called our DNA. Our DNA decides the color of our hair, the shape of our eyes, the color of our skin, our height, our nails, and so on. We all are uniquely different people in every possible way and a big part of it is our DNA and the information that resides in it. So if you see someone talk differently, behave differently, look different, etc., know that a big part of it is because of their DNA. Down Syndrome means that there is some extra information in that person’s DNA. That extra information results in some differences, which is what you see. It results in different physical features, different learning capabilities, different speech, different pace of reading and writing. But then, we all have different features, different learning capabilities, somewhat different speech/accents, different pace of reading and writing. So it just proves that we are all different. Someone with down syndrome may seem very different, but those differences are just a small part of their personality. There is so much more to them than the differences that may jump out on face value. But you can only find out more about them if you make a friend with someone with down syndrome. You will know about things they like, the movies they like to watch, the people they like to hang out with, the food they like to eat, the story books they like to read. You will know a lot more about them once you get to know them. They will do great things in life, just like you will. They will do it at their own pace, in their own time. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So that’s my hypothetical shpeel. I don't know if I will use it. But it is a start. It is a seed. We will take it from here w</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">hen time comes</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For now, here are some very unique things about Samaira that I want the whole world to know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This girl can mimic. It is a talent either you are born with or you are not. She mimics Rehan syllable to syllable. She has started saying <i>meeeaaalk</i> for <i>milk</i>, because that’s what Rehan says. She says <i>yeow </i>for <i>yellow</i>, because that’s what Rehan says. She mimics not only the words, but also his tone, his accent. Everything. She says it his way and then she smiles. She smiles because she knows exactly what she is doing. That sharp cookie. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Samaira’s teacher sent her progress report a few days back. It said something like “<i>Samaira has great leadership skills. She has the ability to convince people to do what she wants. She now needs to work on her ability to follow when other people are leading.</i>” In other words, she can be really lazy sometimes and get other people to do the work she is doing. She is stubborn and has a very strong mind of her own. We somehow need to tell her “<i>Sammy, the world doesn’t run according to you. Not everything works the way you want to it to…following is just as important as leading.</i>” That’s for another day. For now, we just chuckle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She is also a big tease. When she knows Rehan really really wants something, she snatches it from him and runs away and makes sure he is following her. She giggles because she finds it pretty darn funny. Rehan cries “<i>Sammy took it away.</i>” Sammy is so used to this routine now that when she snatches something from Rehan, she proactively comes and tells us “<i>Sammy took it away</i>.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Samaira can tell I am not happy, or am not 100% myself without me saying a word. It may sound nuts, but she can look at my face and see I am not ok and she is the first one to ask me “<i>Mumma, are you sad? Why are you not happy</i>” All I can do in that moment is look at her in wonderment and think to myself “<i>What did I do right to deserve her?” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are a lot of other unique things about Samaira and these are just a few. But you have to know her to find out what makes her so unique. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We celebrate Down Syndrome Awareness Month every year now, with a little bit more information, a little bit more knowledge, a lot more joy, a few more fears. We don't know everything, just yet. We have a lifetime to figure out everything about down syndrome. But we can always share whatever little we know anyway. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl rocks my world!</td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-64373215678089621662015-09-20T00:30:00.004-07:002015-09-20T16:27:42.211-07:00Control<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I was talking to my sister recently about positive and negative events in our lives and how they impact us. We went for hours talking about the so called positive and negative events. We talked and talked and talked and realized that we are talking about the stuff that we have known for a long time anyway. There was nothing new in our conversation. There was no groundbreaking discovery. There was no eureka moment. There was a constant realization of “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I know. Easier said than done.</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">”</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We talked about negative events being and feeling negative because of the perception more than the event itself. What makes a tragedy a tragedy? It is not the tragedy itself. It is our perception of that event. Tragedy is probably too severe a word to use for our everyday life instances. But you get the idea. The way we think and process the events in our life have a greater impact on us than the occurrence itself. While the reality is that we are better off without a bad event occurring in our life, there is also the reality that when you think something bad is happening to us, it is not that bad in the large scheme of things. But it is hard to see it in that moment. In fact, more often than not it is impossible to see the greater good amidst some crappy experience you may be going through. That is why it is so much easier said than done that life is all about perspective and a bad event may not be as bad as we think it is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In fact, there is so little in our lives that we can actually control. It may seem like a very regressive statement in todays day and age of technology, innovation and breakthroughs. But a big part of me really and truly believes in this statement. The philosopher in me treats this as a holy grail of our existence. We spend out lives planning and figuring and creating and inventing and progressing. All in the hope for a better future, more advancement and an easier life. But I am sure all of us have faced realities amidst these breakthroughs that ground us. That level our thinking. That make us realize that as humans keep getting more and more powerful and omni-<i>everything </i>each day, there is a part of us that cannot control it all. We as humans are not supposed to control this Universe and all its events. If that were the case we would have been born with a remote control to control this Universe. But we are born with the ability to control ourselves. And therefore we are born with our minds in our body. The point is that you can control yourself, your thoughts, your actions, your reactions. And you better know your limits. Of course, easier said than done. But it really puts a lot of things into perspective. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My sister recently attended a seminar and one of the things she took away from it was the realization of how we treat things and events differently based on our convenience or perception. For example we all deem smoking and drugs to be vices that we supposed to be bad for our mind, body and soul. But we don’t treat negative emotions such as jealousy, contempt, anger, and so on similarly. While the reality is that these negative emotions harm our body, quite literally and physically and not just emotionally, just as much, if not than any drugs out there. But while we build our perceptions around physical substance such as drugs and cigarettes, we forget to pay attention to emotions that fundamentally make or break us. The truth is that we should be treating anger and jealousy with an equal force. But of course easier said than done. I read somewhere long time ago: <i>When someone else does something wrong or unacceptable, we blame it on their character. But when we do something wrong or unacceptable, we blame it on our situation. </i>I don't know about you but this is especially true for me. Once I put this thought at the back of my mind, I realize how much I actually do this. We are so willing to give ourselves the benefit of doubt and blame our faults on the situation. We are equally unwilling to realize that someone who did something bad to us did it because of their situation and not because of who they are. We are so quick to call people mean, selfish and money minded. When in fact we demonstrate similar behavior and conveniently ignore it, or attribute to factors outside of us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What is the point of this long, random, round about piece of writing? Well, there is no one point. Maybe there is no point. But there is a realization, yet again, that we are small tiny fractions of unit in this world that we can’t really deem ourselves more important than we really are. While we deal with all sorts of events and emotions that happen around us, we just need to know our strength and our limitations. And <i>control</i> is a very important part of it. Knowing what we can control and what we can’t control is at the heart of making peace with the happiness and the sadness of life. Here is a to digging one layer deeper every day in knowing more about us. Our limitations. Our strengths. Our controls. And our non-controls.</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-11730286312264079732015-09-10T22:58:00.003-07:002015-09-10T22:59:34.432-07:00Judgement & Opinions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It has always been very easy for me to identify which side of the argument I stand on when it comes to being judgmental. Don't be. That is my side. Always. I make a conscious effort to practice that side. I am pretty sure there are times I fail. But it is one of the few things I really care about. Not being judgmental. Everyone has a different story, a different context, different circumstances, different background, different priorities, different sensitivities, different sensibilities, different likings, different disliking. You get the idea. The point is, everyone is so different. It is so unfair to to declare in your infinite wisdom that “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">a certain something is the only right thing to do.</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">” In an absolute reality, that just isn't true. Be it about what people eat, or wear, or read, or see, or write, or say. That said, there are some guidelines I still tend to follow. Like, it shouldn't impact your health negatively. I can never ever in a thousand years be indecisively negative about smoking. I am absolutely, 100%, decisively against and repulsed by smoking. I don't think it is good for your or others’ health and I am quite judgmental about it. So health issues are slightly off the limits when it comes to this topic. So are issues pertaining to hurting oneself or someone else. It does get a little gray here. Some things that people do in the name of discipline or religion could be considered as things that potentially hurt you at some level. But I treat that differently from physically or emotionally hurting someone or oneself in certain other ways. If that certain something is causing someone I love to be negatively impacted in any which way, then all bets are off. None of what I have ever said may or may not be true. I may be after your blood. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Not really. Only metaphorically. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Lot of subjectivity going on here. I get it. But the point is that I am </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">generally</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> accepting of people and their choices especially when they don't impact me or my loved ones.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The thing I am attempting to reconcile this with is opinions. Opinions are important. For your self, for your self esteem, and just because. It is important to have a point of view. I quite value it. In my mind, not being judgmental does not and should not translate to not having opinions. But how is it really possible? This is me talking out loud. But wouldn't your opinions make your judge people accordingly. I am not sure what spectrum I fall in. I want to believe I have the best of both worlds. That is, I am not judgmental and I have opinions. But something’s got to give. If you have strong opinions on a topic then how is it that you can be non-judgmental regarding the same when it comes to other people. Is it because while I have opinions, I don't care enough? That sounds little too detached to me. I don't want to sounds that detached. I am not really sure where acceptance, non-judgment attitude and having-opinions meet on a spectrum. Or if they meet ever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My mind is actively arguing on this issue. But I am not able to resolve it. On one hand I feel so passionately about not judging other people for who they are and the choices they make. On the other hand I value having opinions and standing up for them. Being non-judgmental means people can see two (or more) sides of the same issue. You understand why some people could like something and others could hate the same thing. But then you have your own opinion on whether or not that thing is likable. So what do you think of people who don't think like you? Does simple having the understanding of the other side release you from the ability to judge them. This logic, somewhat makes sense to me. But how true it really is. Do we just pretend to be understanding of other people’s opinions and choices while still harbor our strong opinions? Do we pretend to be non-judgmental while persisting our opinions? Or do we really, truly emphasize with people who have different opinions than ours’?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I haven’t figured this one out yet. So I don't know where to begin concluding this post. I am going to leave it open ended. Until I crack this code…</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-73792415116259492772015-09-04T22:49:00.003-07:002015-09-05T16:28:50.628-07:00Way out of negativity <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">While it sounds somewhat negative, I am writing about it because I feel rather positive right now. I can’t think objectively about negativity when I am in negative state of mind. For me to think objectively about negativity, I have to be in a somewhat positive state of mind. That said, it is one of the things I wonder about quite often. Why do we feel negative? About things, circumstances, people, anything. It is a slightly tricky one for me because I get easily influenced by what is around me. We feel negative toward circumstances when they are not favorable toward us, or when they don't go as we planned, or when we feel like we are not in control. We feel negative toward people or things when we feel let down by them, or we get a sense of judgement or pessimism from them, or we feel anger toward them. I honestly don't know how to not feel negative in such situations. But I also know that the only entity that suffers through our negativity is us. It is not the circumstances, or the things, or the people who caused you to get in that negative zone to begin with. And there lies the catch. Albeit, easier said than done. It just means that even more important than feeling positive is the act of trying to stop feeling negative. While feeling positive may sound like the ultimate goal (</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">it does to me anyway</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">) it is not the step in life that helps us get stronger. It helps us stay happy for sure. But it is our drive and the will to stop being in a negative place and get to a positive place that determines how we fare. It also depends on our point of view. I have very often seen people draw positive and negative conclusions from the exact same situation and people. It depends on how you look at things. Some people have an always-wrong whereas some people have an always-not-wrong outlook when viewing situations. I have realized what a world of difference it makes in whether or not a situation or a person will make you negative or positive, or at least not-so-negative.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For all this abstract mumbo jumbo I have typed, here are some instances and people that make me realize the crux of point of view, frame of mind, what makes us negative, how to be positive and not-so-negative.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The other day I was at a clinic where I spent 30 minutes waiting in the reception area just to be called in by a nurse. I waited another 20 minutes to see the doctor once I was finally let in by the nurse. I was so incredibly mad that I wanted to yell at someone, or hit someone, or worst yet, cry. How on earth could something get so inefficient. There are two possible outcomes when I am feeling so negative - I could let it all out and spit out some very negative words and emotions, or, don't say anything at that point to avoid all the negative stuff from coming out. At that point I avoided saying anything. But on my way out I called Siddharth and told him what happened. I was so angry that I was literally shouting at him while narrating the experience. He responded “<i>Sorry babe, you had to go through all that. It sucks. I hope the patient before you is ok though because if the doctor took this long to see you then he must be spending more time with the previous patient, which probably doesn't bode well for them.” </i>Seeing the enormous outpour of empathy for a patient we didn't know and doctor Siddharth didn't see that day hit me like a massive snowball filled with ice. I obviously wasn't thinking of anyone else but me. Most people would probably do that, because why not. But Siddharth’s first thought was the other patient who needed so much extra time from the doctor. My extreme negativity was quite a contrast to Siddharth’s extreme empathy and not-so-negative outlook. And there lies the difference. He always functions in the mode of giving people the benefit of doubt. I always function in the mode of ‘they are not right’ and ‘they need to prove otherwise’. Except nobody is really bothered about it so I am left feeling all the more negative. This difference in our outlook makes such a big difference in whether we feel negative or not so negative and how we cope with it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another story I remember is that of my paternal grandfather (<i>papa ji). </i>He passed away when I was less than three. Weird enough, I have a distinct and real memory of talking to my <i>papa ji</i> in our old family home and I remember him handing me a pen or something like that. That is obviously besides the point. Anyway, the point is, all of what I know about him is through the pictures and stories my parents tell about him. He was a freedom fighter, he worked in theater, he wrote poems, he wrote songs in movies and private albums back in the day. He did a lot of stuff. But most importantly he was a free spirited person. They lived in a very humble home. Nothing extravagant. Simple. Basic. This one time there was a theft in their home. I am not sure what time of the day it was. I think it happened overnight when everyone was asleep. They discovered in the morning that somebody broke in and their house was in complete shambles. While everyone was in a major panic mode, <i>papa ji</i> was relieved that all the family members were safe and that no one was hurt. He was calm and asked everyone to calm down, drink a cup of tea, and then start looking at what we had lost. <i>What!? How is that reaction humanly possible?! </i>Obviously path breaking. But it reflects on his tendency and inclination to think of the positives before thinking of the negatives in life. I wish I could have known him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every time I see my brother and his much better half, <i>A</i>, I am reminded of how the spirit of life trumps the circumstances in life. We all go through ups and downs in life. But every time I look at <i>A</i>, I am reminded that her enthusiasm toward life is like that of a five year old child. And I love that about her. No matter what is going on in life, her spirit and positivity toward life are unparalleled. It makes me jealous and make me want to have the same streak. But a part of me believes it really comes from within. We all are pre-disposed to thinking one way or the other. Not that you can’t train your mind and body to drift away from your natural tendencies. But it takes a lot of work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is kind of similar to how Siddharth reacts so differently when he finds out that he is let down by someone. My knee jerk reaction “<i>WTH !? It is unacceptable.</i>” His reaction on the other hand is “I<i>t is not their fault. Maybe there are circumstances that caused them to say these negative things. Maybe they don't mean it. We don’t know what they were going through when they said something.</i>” I try to think like him and give people the benefit of doubt, but that is so not my natural tendency. It takes so much of me to be the bigger person, and yet I fail more than 50% of the times. So the same person, the same conversation and the same circumstances ignite a very different reaction and feeling in the two of us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel like I am all over the place on this topic. But I constantly feel the need to re-evaluate my reactions and my tendency to feel a certain way in certain circumstances or with certain someone. The easiest way for me to not feel negative is to avoid circumstances and people who bring out the negativity in me. And while avoiding is not a great strategy, it definitely helps to surround ourselves with people and things that make us happy. They do, to some extent, lend to happier circumstances. And they are the ones who help us out of our negativity. That is my easy and quick fix remedy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Strangely enough, there are two paradoxical things that happen simultaneously. I do strongly believe that positivity is infectious. If you surround yourself with the people who lift you up, are supportive of you in front of you and behind your back, ground you, keep it real and keep it jolly - you will surely feel more positive than not. That said, I also think that negativity is a state of mind that you have to fix from within and no outside factor can change it for you. You can have all the luxuries of the world, or be in an unprecedented crunch - you could still end up feeling quite negative. And the only person who can take you out of that rut is you, and your point of view. Sometimes I am feeling negative enough that I seek help from my dear ones, but I realize that no matter what they say or do, it is me who has the power to shift the balance from negative to positive. Same way, sometimes I see my dear ones feel negative and be in a non-ideal place in life and I want to move mountains and bring the moon to the earth just so they can feel better. But beyond a point I can’t make the shift for them. They have to do it on their own. So while there is power in surrounding yourself with positive people, there are limitations to the same. There is only one way out of a negative spot - and that is you. </span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-57943169560074172202015-08-13T23:46:00.002-07:002015-08-14T22:13:25.003-07:00 No !<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Samaira had learned to say yes before she learned to say no. All the kids around me were learning to say no first. And it is so darn cute. Where is the fun in yes? And what is cuter than a baby uttering in their ever sweet voice the word “no”. Very few things, I can promise you that. But here is the catch, it is cute so long it is happening in other families. Samaira did learn to say no, eventually. Now she prefers it to yes. In a lot of ways I am thankful. Thinking that she will say no when she does not want something and it is a very important skill to have. Many of us don't have it. We don't know how to say no. We don't know when to say no. So saying no is important. I really really value no. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until it becomes a <i>statement </i>that my toddler chooses to use in response to pretty much everything and anything. Here is what our conversations look like these days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Samaira</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Samaira, are you hungry? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Do you want to play?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: How about we sing a song?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: So what do you want to do?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Sammy, really wh…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: Noooooooooooooo</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: You want no?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: No</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Samaira no</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Samaira</b>: <i>giggles</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She thinks this is funny. Most of the times it is. But it isn't always funny. Sometimes it is exactly the kind of conversation that will push you over the edge. But those edge moments aside I am proud of kids and people, pretty much all humans, who can say no. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Like when I tickle Rehan and he isn't feeling up to it, he immediately responds with “<i>No mumma. I don't like it.</i>” It makes me so proud. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or like when I am trying to put cream on Sammy after shower and she responds with “<i>No. I don't want to be touched.</i>” While it makes me proud, sometimes the timing could be tricky. In my head I could be saying “<i>Girl, you need this cream on your body. You skin is dry. It is scratchy! Put some firkkiin cream on it.</i>” But she doesn't want to be touched so I follow that. Mostly because she doesn't like the smell or the idea of cream at that point in time. So I talk to her until she feels like putting cream is the right thing to do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The point is, Sammy and Rehan love to say no. They make it ample clear. While their timing annoys me sometimes, I am mostly jealous of their ability and alacrity to say no. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Siddharth is the kind of person who does not hesitate to say no. The reason is because he does not really process yes or no as a yes or no. He processes it as what he wants and what is in his head. What is in his head will invariably be on his lips. Without going through the pre-processing of what it could be interpreted as, the repercussions, the intent, the impact. A no comes out as a no. The reasons of saying no are plain and simple with no extra coating. A yes comes out as a yes. Same logic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I on the other hand spend a lifetime pre-processing and two lifetimes post-processing a simple yes or no. Should I say yes or no? Can it be interpreted the wrong way? Will it hurt someone? Will it hurt me? Should I say one way or the other? Is it fair? I don't like to lie. That is a whole another topic I could write about because I have a lot to say about it. But do I feel the need to defend myself when I say no? Yes, I do. And that is the problem. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't have to defend myself. An unqualified no should be just fine. In reality, I don't think it is. But that's the point. To look away from what is expected and say what you really want to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is so much better to be a child (or Siddharth) when it comes to complicated matters in life. A yes means a yes and a no means a no. What is in your heart is on your lips. There is very little to no pre-processing. There is honesty and rawness. It obviously comes with a bunch of side effects. But a part of me prefers these side effects to the fake<i>ness </i>of a yes. A no may be hurtful. But it definitely deserves a lot more respect. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not sure if that made any sense. But feel free to say <i>no </i>if it didn't :).</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-5291723518198470862015-08-06T17:40:00.002-07:002015-08-06T22:12:59.719-07:00Daily escapes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When your toddler tests your patience every single day, every hour of the day, maybe every 30 min of the day, or maybe every 15 minutes of the day - you need an escape. The good thing is that these same testy toddlers are the ones who have an innate ability to provide you with the much needed escape. Sometimes I feel like I have a live cartoon network channel in my house when kids are around.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I remember my brother, sister and I loved to watch <i>Tom and Jerry</i> as kids. I finally know now that the makers of the show probably got their inspiration from real life kids. The way they fight, the way they love, the way the annoy each other, the way they bump their heads in the wall trying to run in the opposite direction, the way they think - the whole shabang. I can see how Sammy & Rehan are quite well experienced to play a part in the Tom & Jerry series. I won’t be able to tell who is who though.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Samaira and Rehan are turning into extremely mischievous and naughty kids and I know we are in so much trouble in the upcoming years. In a very weird way, I am looking forward to it. There are times when our kids do something and all we can do is stare at each other with slightly confused and astonished faces and a thought of “<i>what did just happen!</i>” These are the moments that provide us an escape from this (somewhat) evil thing called the <i>routine. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well here are some of these escapes that make my heart smile. Yes. My heart smile. Because it is totally legitimately possible to make your heart smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our sleep training is going quite poorly. I know that doesn't sound like an escape, but wait till you hear it all. Firstly, the bright parents that we are, we decided to sleep train our kids at the age of 2 and 3.5. We spend anywhere from 30-90 minutes with the kids in their room playing with them, jumping around, reading books, telling stories, singing songs, chatting, you name it. And then we finally tell the kids it is time to say night-night and mumma and daddy will leave the room. The myriad of reactions at this point include wailing, “<i>no</i>”, “<i>mumma sleep next to me</i>”, no reaction, and a sad face. It is not easy. Ever. I think of giving up every day. There are days I do give up. There are days we don't give up. They cry the minute we leave the room. Sometimes they cry for 5 seconds and sometimes for 5 minutes. More often than not they revert to getting back to un-crying. That’s when their fun begins. They start chatting. It is almost like they need to catch up on the entire day’s events. They pretend to read books (in the dark), they do their own thing, they open and close their wardrobe, they take out the lens of the baby monitor (we keep it on the window sill), they unplug the baby monitor, they sing songs and rhymes, they tell stories. It is kind of fun to hear their conversations. Miraculously, it is probably the only time in the day they don't fight with each other. Leaving aside the exceptions, of course. Because how can they not fight. Rehan is my little happy-go-lucky-rowdy and Sammy is my little-mischief-ball. Rehan triggers a shouting competition. You are probably wondering how? Well, he will shout out loud and then start giggling. Of course Sammy will do that same. So she will shout and giggle. Then he will shout and giggle even louder. That is how he is the instigator of a shouting competition between them. Sammy on the other hand will coax Rehan in other ways. She was ask Rehan “<i>Rehan, do you want to watch TV?” </i>Rehan typically responds with a “<i>Yes.” </i>Sammy tells him what to do next “<i>Call Daddy, and say I want to watch TV?” </i>Clearly Rehan follows the instructions. He shouts “<i>Daddy, I want to watch TV.” </i>When we don’t respond, Sammy shouts “<i>Daddy, Rehan wants to watch TV.” </i>We know what you just did there, missy! Then there are times when Sammy will convince Rehan that he needs to use the potty seat and call for Daddy’s help. He is not even potty trained. He hates sitting on the potty seat. But like an obedient younger brother, he calls for help “<i>Daddy I need to go potty on the potty seat.” </i>Yeah, right! While we are the prime examples of what not to do for sleep training the kids, we find this whole sequence quite entertaining. It can sometimes, only sometimes, compete with our Netflix obsession. So we quit the show we are watching and start watching the baby monitor. It is just as fun, I swear. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then there are these weird quirky things that our kids say. If I were to do a count of the things that Sammy and Rehan say the most, the word “<i>fartu” </i>might surface to the top.<i> </i>It has gone from being this socially awkward and unacceptable thing to being a normal, perfectly routine, humorous, borderline pride worthy thing in our family. So when Rehan and Sammy fart, they get really excited. They know to follow it with an “<i>excuse me.” </i>But that is besides the point. They proudly come and announce when they fart. Like we are expected to respond with “<i>good job”</i>. We don't go that far though. You know, keeping things somewhat civil so we don't shock the normal humans who visit us. The new obsession they have, thanks to my sister, is the concept of a <i>fartu kiss. </i>Ladies and Gentlemen, we do not take this lightly in our house. It is a very earnest way to show affection and love. The way it works is I make a fart sound with my mouth when I am kissing my two monkeys. It is a gesture that indicates all is forgiven and we are all in a happy unicorn wonderland with our fartu kisses. There are only giggles and laughters for the 30 seconds after we give a fartu kiss. Of course, what happens beyond that 30 seconds is up for grabs. But at least we get 30 seconds of pure unadulterated laughter and giggles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I remember when Rehan was less than a year old Sammy would watch me nurse him and she would pretend to nurse her doll, <i>Piku</i>. She would say “<i>Are you hungry, Piku? Let me feed you.” </i>Now Rehan plays with Piku and pretends like she is his baby. Sammy and Rehan care for her like they would take care of a real baby. They pretend to feed her, put her to sleep, change her diaper. They fight for her, which is scary. They throw her away when they are done pretend playing, which is scarier. But if I conveniently leave out the aspect that involves them pulling her apart and throwing her away, there is something extremely zen about watching Sammy and Rehan baby a doll. My little people caring for other little people. Feels like a fairy tale. It doesn't last forever. But I cherish however long it lasts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have turned into the mom who keeps telling other people “<i>Oh, you are going to love spending time with our kids. They are so fun.” </i>I have to remind myself that I find them fun because they are my kids. Others could find them annoying or maybe don't care. I don't look at the age or the stage of people when I make this comment either, which speaks to my ignorance in this aspect. In my completely unbiased opinion, my kids are quite entertaining. But hey, they are the ones who have a sense of humor and provide us with the escape. My unbiased love emerges from these escapes. Who can blame me?</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-41035672825867655162015-07-29T23:47:00.002-07:002015-07-29T23:52:22.253-07:00Universe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We talk about stars and the sun and the moon and the planets and the universe and the solar system often enough. Yet it takes me actual sitting down and letting it sink in to internalize it all. Every single time. I haven’t internalized it the way I have my home, the streets around us, our city. Every time I focus explicitly on the Universe and everything that is a part of it, and everything that we don't know is a part of it, I get goose bumps. I shudder with awe and fear. I try to comprehend the actual vastness of this system. Not as I see in movies or read in books and articles. But in reality. Like I know my streets. I fail. I try to comprehend the life that is possibly out there. It is naive to think that we are the only ones to inhabit this Universe. It makes me wonder even more. What kind of life is out there? What kind of atmosphere do they thrive in? What stage of evolution are they in? What do they look like? What do they eat? What do they think? Do they have hands and legs? Do they have faces? You know. Normal everyday thoughts and questions.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The more I think about the life that we don’t know about, the more I realize the magnitude of the life that we do know about. Life on our planet. It starts with me, my family, my dogs, people I grew up with, surroundings I grew up in, country I grew up in, food I ate growing up, the country I live in now, the people I know now, the religions I am exposed to now, the culture I am exposed to now, the food I eat now, the house I live in now, my friends, this city, this state, this continent, places I have traveled, people I have met there. It has no end. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a mom, a dad, a brother, a sister, a husband, two kids. My family is not that big. With respect to this Universe, I mean. But each one of us is SO different. It is hard to fathom how we belong to the same gene pool. Our thoughts, our attitudes, our taste buds, our likings, our disliking, everything. We are very different people. Add to it my friends, we are different in every aspect imaginable. There are similarities too. Clearly. But differences are uncountable. Add to it our neighbors. Other acquaintances. People we run into. People we see on the streets. In the mall. On National Geographic. The bugs. The dogs. The snakes. The life. In general. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It also makes me wonder about the time we spend mulling over our differences. Difference between plants and animals. Difference between black and white. Difference between tall and short. Difference between big eyes and small eyes. Difference between long hair and short hair. Difference between low income and high income. Difference between the IQ and the EQ. Difference between job and no job. Difference between a Honda and a Tesla. Difference between a homosexual and a heterosexual. Difference between a vegetarian and a non-vegetarian. Difference between a Hindu and a Muslim. Difference between Art and Engineering. Difference among our eating habits. Difference among our accents. Difference among our parenting styles. These differences seem so big to us that we choose who we want to spend time with, who we want to call friends, who we want to not hang out with based on these differences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But when I pause to reflect on the Universe and forget all about the human and life differences, I feel so petty. So small. Our differences seem so insignificant. I then tend to see only the similarities. I can’t help but wonder at the amount of time I waste thinking about differences on this planet, when we are teeny tiny part of an extremely ginormous and incomprehensible Universe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It kind of puts things in perspective a little bit. I don’t mean to undermine the differences. I acknowledge the differences. But to what effect? It is what we do with those differences that changes for me. Knowing that I am a small part of a vast entity makes my heart and mind open more. It makes me more accepting of the differences around me. It does not make me ignore those differences. It does not make me blind. It just makes me realize that there is so much more, so much different, so much unknown out there. It makes me realize that the differences I see around me are exactly that, different. Nothing more. Nothing less. It doesn’t change how I view the vessel that carries those differences. It makes the importance of differences diminish in my eyes. There is a not-so-fine line between acknowledging and accepting. It is in fact a very wide line. It is very easy to walk that line. And it is mostly in our minds. Acceptance is a mind game. It is about our perception. It talks more about us than it does about the person or entity that is different. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And just that easily I slip into the unknown of this eternity. Trying to soak it in. Trying with all my might to make it more tangible. Yet I fail. But I don’t stop admiring it. I am forever in awe. Of this thing so large, so incomprehensible. No dictionary contains a word I could use to describe how I truly feel about it. So I will stop this rant by accepting that I don’t know most of what is out there, I know the differences around me seem larger than life when I see them in isolation, but they are utterly insignificant in this macro concept of life, and, I accept it with wide open arms and a grateful heart.</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-26192802405508845782015-07-22T22:38:00.005-07:002015-07-23T06:47:44.841-07:00The Chase<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She looked at me with her innocent eyes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And asked me what I kept searching for</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I looked around yet again searching for what lies</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Behind a huge closed door</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I tell myself happiness is right behind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I may have to follow it just a few more miles</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can’t help but notice what is always on my mind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is to follow the happiness till it is mine</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes it is getting an object or two </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Other times it is achieving a goal I may have set</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But if I look inside to see if it is true</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I find that it has nothing to do with what I will get</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What if I got everything I had ever wished for</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What if I had achieved every milestone and every target</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What if I don't find happiness in spite of all the downpour</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of things and objects and materials I could ever get</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What does it mean to have everything yet nothing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What does it mean to feel abundant yet empty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Does it amount all my desires to something</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or does it leave me with more wants and envy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It feels more natural to search outside in this endless sky</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Than to take a peek within</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This eternal chase to find happiness makes the time fly by</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I lose the sight that it is not about the win</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is about finding the spark inside of me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And not looking for the next big thing to achieve</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is about finding the small things that set me free</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A tiny smile that makes me want to believe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A little gaze that is wider than the sea</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is about giving up the chase and time to receive </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The world of happiness that is inside me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know now <i>I am the key</i>.</span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-938659150151984182015-07-15T23:12:00.001-07:002015-07-15T23:12:26.486-07:00The balance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">At first when Samaira was born, I went into a full blown over-protective mode. I wanted to save her from the world. Make this world better so I could remove obstacles from her course. But I learned rather quickly, or not so quickly, that she does not need that level of protection from me. Rehan does not need that level of protection from me.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In fact, sometimes I feel like I need to protect others from them. We all know that the world knows no fury like the fury of a toddler whose wishes are not granted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They may, and most likely will, face bullying in their lives. I want to be there to support them. To face it. To combat it. To be strong. To emerge winners out of a hopeless situation. In fact I have had the conversation in my head several times. <i>People who bully are unhappy and insecure people. They try to find happiness in other people’s misery. They try to find easy targets to find their own happiness. When someone bullies you, they want you to be sad so that they can be happy. If someone bullies you, look them in their eyes and tell them “I feel sorry for you. I hope you will find a way to happy by not hurting someone one day.” Definitely don't stand and watch if someone hurts you physically. Fight back. Protect yourself. But people who fight with words are deeply insecure people and don't let their words hurt you. Words hurt in that moment. But when you look someone in their eye, you will see beyond their words. And don’t ever let someone like that hurt you too much. Just a little bit, maybe. Nothing that cakes or good music or good company can’t fix. </i>Obviously, easier said than done. But I have had this conversation so many times in my head. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But a part of me is also worried about my kids hurting other people. I know it is all about parenting, but what if it is not. I will try my best to raise Samaira and Rehan as humble and empathetic individuals. But it is possible that they will not always be the victims. At some point in life I will have to stand by a victim and tell my kids that they made a mistake and that they need to fix it. I know I am willing to do that. But I am not quite sure what that conversation would look like. I don’t have to know it already. I am perfectly fine being spontaneous. But for an over thinker like me, I surprise myself that I am not able to concoct a conversation I have pictured a scenario for. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But in the meantime I continue my journey to resolve Samaira and Rehan’s innumerable struggles for blocks, dolls, blankets, forks, plates, and so on. And dote on their evident display of affection, love and care. They balance their own actions and they balance each other out. I do believe that all kids are like that. They are all sweet angels, feisty monkeys, innocent charmers, naive thinkers, straight forward go-getters. They are capable of deeper thoughts than we expect of them, fighting over the most inconsequential things so much so that we have to pinch ourselves if it is for real, displaying the most loving gestures, and the most helpless temper-tantrums than this universe can comprehend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In all honesty I wish this world was a bed of roses. No one, including my kids, would ever be the victims or the bullies. We will just have a happy bouncy earth. In which everyone is good. Happy. Content. But that’s not life. I think and rethink. And as much as I love happy and bliss, what makes it so precious is the opposite of happy and bliss. I am not sure if I will appreciate the good in the same way in the absence of bad. For example, I appreciate good toddler behavior because I have seen really really bad toddler behavior. The very synonyms of life include love, hurt, heal, health, disaster, happy, sad, differences, kind, sad, lousy, hope, and, phoenix-like-something - unstoppable and eternal. It is that balance. We don’t always achieve it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But it keeps everything in perspective. </span></div>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-57104320820899072552015-07-08T23:55:00.000-07:002015-07-08T23:56:47.701-07:00Reflection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Rehan has found a new obsession. One among his many obsessions. Shadows. He looks at his shadow. He gets excited when he sees shadows. He chases his shadow in an effort to catch it. I remember when Sammy was obsessed with shadows. There is something very fascinating about seeing your own shadow. Even now I find my shadow fascinating. The tall and the short of it. The dark and the light of it. It looks nothing like me. Sometimes I find it hard to believe it is my shadow. But that is the very function of shadow. Shadow is my reflection, yet very different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The thing about shadow is that it lets you see your reflection as another person. You see it for what it is. You don’t see it is as yourself. You see it as a slightly different entity. So it is easier to be objective about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The thing about reflection is that when we reflect on our past, our actions, our words, our thoughts, it is not always possible to be objective. Not for me, anyway. I am biased for me. Even when I am trying to be objective. I am able to see my shadow as another object. But when I am reflecting on me, I can’t separate it from me. I have shades of gray. Not sure how many. <i>Wink. No pun intended. </i>The point is that I have positives and negatives. There are some people who have seen my good side and believe in my good side. There are some who have seen my bad side and believe in my bad side. Same is true for how I view other people. More often than not, I categorize people and things in “<i>I like them</i>” and “<i>I don't like them</i>” as opposed to “<i>good</i>” and “<i>bad</i>.” I understand that there might be huge overlap in all these quadrants if a venn diagram were to be made. But that makes the whole reflection and being-objective thing so tricky. Reflection is a recursive exercise with the self that never ends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is so much easier to see someone else yell or shout and think “<i>Oh, what a jerk. I will never be that person. I will never behave that way with anyone.” </i>But the reality is that the actions we condone of others are the ones we do ourselves. Several times a day. We don’t judge ourselves the way we judge others. That is because we reflect poorly. It is difficult. I can’t truly reflect on my actions as long as I am seeing myself as me. I need some distance from myself if I want to reflect. This is the reason why I find it difficult to reflect objectively on my actions as they are happening. It is so difficult to distance us from the current. It takes us days, weeks, sometimes years to really understand what happened. What we did wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That said, it is important to reflect. Reflecting is important to grow. As a person. As a human. It allows us to hope for a better tomorrow than today. It empowers us to not repeat our mistakes, or repeat them knowingly. It tries to fight ignorance of the self. There are different levels of ignorance and I think the ignorance of self is the most dangerous. Lack of reflection does not change the reality. And knowing the real you is important. You may or may not want to do anything once you have the knowledge of the real you. You may just want to embrace your positives and negatives in all their glory. But that awareness gives us the perspective to know that each one of us has various facets to our personality. There is no single good or bad. Your good could be my bad, and vice versa. It allows us to accept us for who we are. It gives us the chance to be a better version of us. If we want to be, of course. Or just skip to the next step if we don’t want to change.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The point of this super abstract thought process is, that reflection allows us to acknowledge and accept ourselves in the present. It allows us the opportunity to potentially be better. It allows people around us to learn and grow with us. It is one of the most important things I do in my subconscious mind. Obviously non-scientifically speaking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just wish I could view it like a shadow.<i> Mine. But not quite me.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids reflect differently, I think.</td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-22945589639055249962015-07-01T22:49:00.000-07:002015-07-09T09:52:20.675-07:0010<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">10 sounds like a lot. But it doesn't feel like a lot. In fact, it is shocking how big a number it sounds to how short the actual time period feels. Yesterday we celebrated 10 years of being together as a husband and wife. June 30th. One of the most important days of our lives. Siddharth and I are far from perfect. As far away as you can possibly imagine. As individuals. As a couple. As parents. As a lot of different things. Siddharth actually makes an effort to be a better person everyday. It is typically a non-goal for me. He talks a lot in terms of “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">that is the right thing to do” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">and “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">that is wrong on our part, we shouldn't do this.” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I entertain my </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">greed </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">and </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">selfish </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">side plenty. The point is, we are not perfect. But we love each other that way. We prefer each other that way. In fact, we </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">really</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">like</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> each other. I don't have a lot more to say or add to it. We are a team. A solid team. And I can’t imagine, not for one day, my life without him. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did celebrate our anniversary in Vegas this past weekend....sans kids...thanks to our super amazing friends!!</td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-24860884898811914052015-06-24T22:14:00.002-07:002015-06-25T08:29:18.964-07:00My Men<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My brother, my sister or I could have done the absolute worst thing on this planet, but we know if we were to go to our Dad and tell him that, his very first reaction will be to give us a hug and say “<i>I love you.</i>” And then he will get to the point and tell us whatever it is that we need to be told. It is unreal how much patience he has when it comes to us. The comfort in knowing that you can go to your Dad with any problem and in any situation is a cushion that is unparalleled. My Dad is my absolute first love and the most special man in my life. Dads are special beings that way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Siddharth is the next special man in my life. I could count endless reasons for why he is so special. He is my best friend. He has stood by me through all the good and the bad times. He has always made me a priority. He knows me way too well. I love who he is with Sammy and Rehan. He is as integral part of their routine and life, just as I am. I am so so proud of Siddharth for being the way he is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have never complained to Siddharth about the stereotypical stuff. Like pick up your socks. Pick up your towel. Help with the laundry or the dishes. Help with the kids. Help with cleaning the house. Etc. On the contrary, he does most of these things before I can get to it. So I never ever complain to Siddharth about any of it. Most of the times I end up saying “<i>Thanks, Siddhu. For everything.</i>” Even the kids are quite aware of this phenomena in our house. Anytime they see Siddharth walking in the pantry, they know out will come a broom or a vacuum. So when Siddharth enters the pantry, Rehan says “<i>Daddy, are you cleaning?” </i>Yes. That’s our dynamic. I am not saying this to prove that I am the lazy one. Oh, God no ;). The point is that if I am busy doing something else, Siddharth will be finishing some or the other task without even mentioning it. Without making any deal about it at all. It is a whole different story that Siddharth is way more particular about household stuff than I am. I remember in our initial years together, I used to fold the laundry and Siddharth would re-fold it. Most of it anyway. My reaction was often “<i>Whaaat? Why?” </i>And he would go on to show the right way to fold shirts, pants, towels and even underwears. No joke. He has a method to it all. Anyway, the point is, he is a true partner for me. In every possible way. I don’t know where Siddharth gets all his energy from. At the end of the day, he rarely complains about being tired. He knows that Sammy and Rehan will come to him for all the mad fun. They just know who to go to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These are the two most special men in my life. There are obviously more men in my life - but these two are my first and long lasting loves. So on this non-Father’s day, because Father’s day has come and gone, I want to acknowledge how lucky I am to have these two men in my life. My Dad, and the Dad of my children. I do not take them for granted even for a single day.</span><br />
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-63196254345658363532015-06-17T17:27:00.001-07:002015-06-17T22:04:53.160-07:00The thing about being a parent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A friend asked me a long time ago “<i>Why should I have kids? I have a perfect life. I can travel when I want, where I want. I can lay under the stars in the middle of the night and enjoy it with my husband, in peace. I don’t have to tend to any crying babies and poopie diapers. My time is at my disposal. Why would I give that up to have a child and lose my freedom?” </i>I gave her a text book answer of “<i>They change your life. It is a mind-blowing experience in spite of the middle-of-the-night feedings and poopie diapers. Trust me.” </i>But over the years I have realized that I don’t really have a good answer for her question. If someone is really hesitant to give up their freedom to have a child, there is no convincing required to how awesome a child can be. At the end of the day it is a personal choice and there is no right or wrong. These are just different experiences and people choose the experience they want to live. I can only talk about my experience. Only somewhat. I am limited by my vocabulary and what words can convey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What a child brings to your life can only and only be felt after the child is born. Maybe you were born with a maternal instinct and always knew you would make a great mom. But if you weren’t, which I wasn’t, then there is no outside force, discussion, argument, reasoning or logic that would have convinced me to have a child. I had a child because I wanted to, for no specific reason except I felt more ready than ever at that point in time. That’s it. There wasn’t more thought into it. There wasn’t any less thought. It was that exact amount of “<i>I’m ready, I think.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The moment when Sammy was put on my bare chest within 5 seconds of being born is really when my maternal instinct hit me for the very first time. That’s when she went from being a sort of an unreal-reality, who was mostly real via the ultrasound pictures and in-tummy-hiccups, to being a real flesh and blood person lying on me, 5 inches away from my eyes. Seeing is believing, they say. And that’s what made it real for me. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t frikkin’ stop it. It was uncontrollable. It must be love, I thought. I was relieved to know I could love a child. Little did I know how much. It is nuts. Everything around me was suddenly brighter, happier, clearer. I clearly remember when Rehan was born, I had this sudden rush of joy and love. It was a slightly familiar territory for me. I held Rehan and I had the instant and uncontrollable urge to be a better person. In that moment of intimacy with him, I felt like I could be standing in front of anyone and I would shower love on them. I could forgive anyone. I felt like he made me a better person in an instant. It is extremely strange and I have no idea how to explain it. But holding him for the first time made me want to be a better person. That thought of being a better person stayed with me for a bit before I went back to being myself. Oh, well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I must also point out that unlike the popular notion, new borns aren’t the cutest thing in the world. They are often times quite the opposite. Their skin in wrinkled, their nose is somewhat squished from being born, they look nothing like what they would look like in just a few months. To top it, labor and birthing are hard. Really really incredibly hard. If it is possible to fall in love with a new born in a state of extreme frenzy, then it is a kind of feeling that can only be felt and cannot be explained. It is mere impossible. Up until having Sammy I thought I knew <i>love</i> inside out. I have always been crazy in love with my family, my dogs and thought I could get an honorary doctorate in love if there was one. But I was so wrong. The birth of my children showed me I didn't know a thing about love. I didn’t even know the “<i>U” </i>of <i>unconditional</i>. I get it now. I get it more every day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The point is, having a child is life changing. It is unsurmountable joy and love that weirds you out because of the sheer intensity of it. It is a rush. It is a change in priorities. It brings back the innocence you lost, a little bit at least. So to say that anyone could have told me what a child would do to my life, before I had a child, is a fallacy. No words, no person, no song, no empathy could have really told me how I would feel after being a mom. I could only feel it one way. The only way. It required no convincing. That’s the thing about being a parent - you have to want to get there on your own, without any convincing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I don’t really have any words for someone who wouldn’t want to give up their freedom by having a child. If you ever go through it, you will see it for yourself. Or else, you will continue to enjoy your freedom. No words of wisdom there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At this point, I can’t imagine what I did with my time before Sammy and Rehan were born. I love myself more now that they are in my life. I love who they are. They are fascinating little creatures and small things they do can turn my rotten day into a feeling that can only be compared to being high. Not that I know what being high feels like. But I have heard and I can relate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Don’t get me wrong. Kids are a full time job. They are exhausting. They are tiring. They are testy. They can make you testy. They throw tantrums at the most critical times and places. They embarrass you, although the concept of embarrassment does not exist for them. They don’t want to eat when its time to eat. But they might wake up in the middle of the night hungry and starving. Everyone has a different take on parenting. Not a right or a wrong take. Just a different take. Siddharth and I are relatively easy going - with kids’ learning, their eating, their almost everything. We don’t fill our days trying to teach our kids new things. We spend most times playing with them and singing to them. We eat together. There are days when they don’t want to eat and I am ok with that. I don’t fret about it, I don’t feel bad about, and I don’t feel guilty about it either. I got that from my mom and sister, I think. My nieces are picky eaters but I never saw my sister or mom running behind them trying to feed them. I do mimic my sister and mom a lot when it comes to being a parent. I don’t wait for my kids to finish eating to eat my own food. I take care of myself plenty. I make myself a priority. I do love my kids to the moon and back. They are my world and my universe. But there are more things in my world and the universe. I love that Sammy and Rehan are as obsessed with Siddharth as they are with me. I love that they need him as much as they need me. The only thing we build into our agenda for sure is running around the house for 20-30 min. Everything else is up in the air. It happens to be Sammy and Rehan’s favorite game. “<i>Daddy, I want to catch you.</i>” “<i>Daddy, run</i>.” They say. This is our parenting style. It sounds really adorable sometimes, selfish some other times, and borderline careless some of the times when I read it out loud. But that’s me. That’s us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Being a parent is hard. Most of the times you are second guessing yourself. “<i>Did I break my child?” “Did I do something wrong?” </i>The other half of the times other people judge you. It is a tricky territory to be in. I do admire mom’s and dad’s with all different parenting styles. It is quite amazing to see the uniqueness that is there in every parent-child relationship. Sometimes we learn from them. Sometimes we choose not to learn. In either case, it is admirable. There is nothing more precious than seeing a mom or dad hug their child with all the love in the world irrespective of their parenting style. That’s the thing about parenting. There are so many ways to bring up a child. I think any and all approaches are fine as long as there is love. The rest falls into the bucket of <i>individual family dynamic, </i>which is, like it sounds - <i>individual. </i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These crazies...is why I know love better!</td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6557593387110358316.post-49916717837873220642015-06-10T17:48:00.000-07:002015-06-10T17:51:27.593-07:00I Wonder<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here is my excuse. I think I have changed. Not exactly. But kind of sort of. Or maybe I have not changed at all. Instead, I have hit a realization. I have always written. I have been blogging since 2003. I used to blog in another location back then. So I am familiar with this territory. But over the last few months, every thing I wrote had a hint of __ in it. I don’t have the exact word for it, just yet. So let me come back and fill it in later. But when I read my own writing, it felt like I was pretending. Like I am standing on some higher ground and everyone should come and read what I write. Because, hey, I am that good (<i>sarcasm)</i>. I am not a preacher in my attitude. I am not a teacher by profession. I am no expert in my caliber. And yet when I write I say “<i>Listen to my words of wisdom.” </i>Not in those exact words, but in some shape or form. And I hated the smell of it in my writing. I realize that it comes with the territory of writing a blog. The fact that I have a placeholder where I write and it is available for public consumption implies that I am writing with the knowledge that people will read. There is an air of presumptuousness in that assumption. And I dislike being associated with that air. So even though I wrote, I didn’t feel like posting anything. I just wasn't happy with the content and the quality and it left me not wanting to share what I wrote. I myself love to read other blogs. I realize that I gravitate more toward humble writing. I find that more attractive and entertaining. Anyway, I clearly overcame that reservation. Not because I stopped being preachy. Neither because I am ok with being preachy. It is just that I am slowly coming to terms with the perils of this platform and accepting it. The fact of the matter is, I missed writing a blog. I just wonder how honest and true I can stay to myself when I write. The answer is, <i>I don't know</i>. I will continue to wonder about it without stifling my creative instinct to write. So, I think I will resume writing for now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">And now, people, listen up. I have something very important to say. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Totally kidding.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since I am writing a blog after a long time, I figured I’d start easy. Something that I won’t have to think too much about. Something that will start, flow, finish and I won’t even know it. Something that will be a result of me tying non-stop without any pause. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">So I decided to write about a few random things </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I wonder</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just the other day I was watching a video of a man under water, in a half-cage (open from top), surrounded by fishes and a shark. The shark came close to the man, that man petted it, and in a few seconds the shark went around him and around the rope that was holding the cage in the water and vanished. Maybe to appear again. I don’t know. Then there were these other small fishes swimming around the man, around the boat, around the rope. And I wondered, what is that shark thinking? What are these fishes thinking? Are they happy? Sad? Angry? Curious? Upset? Excited? Nervous? I really really wanted to get in their heads and know what was going on inside. Do they like human company? Do they gossip about us? I wonder what would happen if I could read animal minds? I will have so much more empathy for the world. Maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice? I wonder.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Rehan has this sweater with a green colored teeny-tiny dinosaur on it. For some reason I kept calling it a crocodile. In my defense it is too small to really tell the difference. Rehan came to me one day, pointed to the creature and asked “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Mumma, what is this?</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">” He likes to test his mum’s general knowledge from time to time. I responded “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I don't know. What is it?” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He said “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It is croco-dinosaur.” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">How does he come up with stuff like that? I wonder what will happen if I were to leave his imagination alone and not interfere with his thoughts. Kids are creative. They have no bias and prejudices. They think pure. They talk pure. They think the unthinkable and they speak the unspeakable. They are fearless about failing. The more we interfere with this natural tendency, the more they lose this ability. I wonder when and how to stop interfering and just let them be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Sammy has taken on the big sister role quite effortlessly. She is constantly telling Rehan what to do and what not to do. “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Rehan, walk here.” “Rehan, hold my hand.” “Rehan, don’t kick.” “Rehan, I don’t like it, ok?” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">She is three and half already. She grew up to this point rather quickly. It feels like yesterday when Rehan was born and Samaira was super excited to play with the new baby in town. At some point she even wondered when this new baby was going back to his home. Eventually she settled with the idea that he is here to stay. Now, after having shared a two year camaraderie with her brother, she knows she is the big sister. And she knows how to be one. I wonder when that transition happened in her mind. She didn't even let me know of this metamorphosis. My little girl is growing up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Sometimes I wonder why growing up takes so long. I spent my teens trying to get people’s attention. In my 20s I realized attention isn't everything. There is college, friends, family, food, nature and so much more to look forward to than mere attention. I spent my 20s being insecure about myself. In my 30s, I am finally realizing that I have no one else to please but myself. The person I need to love first and foremost is me. The way I love me is how others will love me. I don’t know why I couldn't get it in my 20s? Like, really-really get it. Why did I have to be in my 30s to feel so secure about myself? I would have spent my 20s with so much more confidence and flare had I figured it out then. I am spending my 30s learning to forgive and forget and not be angry about stupid stuff other people do. But why is it so hard to do? I think I will be somewhere in my 40s when I will ultimately get it. Sometimes I tell myself “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">grow up already!” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">But sometimes I wonder if growing up is such a good thing after all. On one hand it gives you stability and peace. But on the other hand it takes some bit of innocence away. I wonder which one is better.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Last few days I have been cooking my childhood non-favorites. All the vegetables and curries I didn’t like growing up. I like them now. I am obsessed with them now. I remember I absolutely disliked these vegetables and curries. I would be upset the day my mom would cook one of these items. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I have always been emotionally attached to food. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">But several years down the road, and I am loving the same things I detested early on. How did that happen? When did it begin? I wonder.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I wonder how Siddharth is the man he is. He will be considered an </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Inhuman </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">in the world of Marvel comics. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">No, it is not the same inhuman as we refer to in the English language. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Inhuman have special powers in Marvel’s world and Siddharth’s special power will be being a nice person. If I point out something I don’t like about someone, his immediate response is something that indicates understanding of what the other person might be going through. How? How is the world so black and white, and mostly white, for him? Why do people never have bad intentions in his world? How do people’s not so positive words have something fundamentally positive behind them? This one, I will probably wonder for the rest of my life. I just don't get it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I wonder what miracles look and feel like. Not “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">life is a miracle” </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">kind of miracle. A real life miracle in which a genie appears or something disappears or some real life magic happens. </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I know, I wonder about this kind of stuff too. For real. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I wonder about my reaction to such a miracle. Will I freak out? Or will I be like “</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I knew miracles are possible!”? </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I guess I will never know.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wonder why more people don't wonder more. It is quite rejuvenating and empowering.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What did you wonder about today?</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1FcGtcEsU_w/VXjYte8C6MI/AAAAAAAAKIM/3FcB-1NYUm0/s1600/Sammy.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="626" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1FcGtcEsU_w/VXjYte8C6MI/AAAAAAAAKIM/3FcB-1NYUm0/s640/Sammy.jpg" width="940" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOztBvzoEj8/VXjYtw3XUAI/AAAAAAAAKIU/K3XK6ftJ3sg/s1600/Rehan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="626" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOztBvzoEj8/VXjYtw3XUAI/AAAAAAAAKIU/K3XK6ftJ3sg/s640/Rehan.jpg" width="940" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">These two are as close it comes to miracles as I have seen...</span></td></tr>
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Tarang Shahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05515199120379569179noreply@blogger.com0