We stopped at the park after school. It was wonderfully windy and grey and the sky had a lot to say.
Don’t you just love stormy skies?
Weekly Photo Challenge: Letters
Can’t imagine life without them. But since they are all around us all the time, sometimes we just don’t seem to notice them, or really appreciate them. So thank you Cheri Lucas Rowlands for reminding us of their beauty and importance.
As a mother when I see these letters written by my kids (on endless love letters and pictures) nothing can describe the feeling of love that washes over me.
These letters name what I find in every corner, under the sofas, beds, the dining table and even in long tangled hair of Twin 2. I love cheerios. I just don’t like cleaning them up. I also don’t like the fact that they only seem to stick to my feet.
As a writer these letters on this device are my best friends, the ones on the screen and on the keyboard. The letters G-O-O-G-L-E take me to places I could never go.
Holy Spamathon. Much Wow.
Am I the only one? While I have been busy fixing up my novel ( after going nuts with pitchmad..I got requests!) my blog has been entered in some sort of Spamathon. The comment thingy is full of crazy spam, always keep your ‘pending approval’ thing on! So here is some entertaining stuff I am about to ‘mark as spam’ :
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site on regular basis to take updated from latest
news update.
Latest news update: I don’t give any news updates.
Marvelous, what a website it is! This weblog presents helpful data to us, keep it
up.
Thank you. I will keep it up.
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A donate button? Do I really sound that needy?
Extreme Parenting or How to Fix Your Obnoxious Brat
You know that parent you find in random aisles when you go shopping? The one with a UNICEF Ambassador’s concerned expression and the tact of a woodland creature surrounded by hungry wolves?
Their child is sprawled on the floor causing a ruckus that would shame a South American howler monkey. And they stand there being a good parent and continue to give this writhing, howling hell child “choices”.
“Honey, you can’t have both, you have to make a choice. Do you want the (sugar laden, cavity causing, hyper-activity trigger) cereal (made with loads of genetically modified stuff) or do you want the (excessively salty) chips (full of saturated fatty acids that will be sure to make you a candidate for cardiovascular diseases in the future) ?”
Devil spawn gets up glares at the parent and knocks down everything on the bottom two shelves. Because it couldn’t reach any higher than that. Not effective parenting.
I say, yes give the child choices. In fact I would give the child three choices.
“I can either whoop your ass: 1 here, 2 at home or 3 you can shut up.”
Being a bad ass parent literally means you have to be bad ass.
My dad’s cousins were bad ass mothers. These aunts of mine, they are oh so awesome! To this day they evoke respect and can make their grown sons shake in their boots. They believed in extreme parenting. Once one of their very young sons let them know that the story about the stork bringing babies was a lie, babies came from tummies. My aunt’s reply?
“Really? Well come here and I’ll cut your tummy open, let’s see how many babies we can find.”
Needless to say, the son never questioned the authenticity of her explanations again. Their children did not throw tantrums. Sometimes being extreme is the best option.
Some Extremely Effective Options:
1. Your child needs to go pee and refuses to acknowledge this. Options:
“Honey your bladder will burst and you will have a pipe attached to a pee pee bag that you will carry around for the rest of your life. Or you can go to the bathroom and save me a trip to the hospital.”
2. Your child can’t fall asleep because it is too hot. Even with the A.C working perfectly. Options:
“Honey I can stick you in the freezer. Or you can just go to sleep in your bed. Immediately.”
3. Your child can’t fall asleep because it is too cold. Replace ‘freezer’ with ‘oven’ in above option.
4. Your child is unhappy with you because you are an unfair mother. Options:
Pack a bag with some of their clothes and drive them to an ominous looking building. “This is the place for children with moms that aren’t fair. There are no x-boxes, no ipods, no birthday parties and no snacks ever. They are served only with leftovers, they wash their own dishes and clothes, and no one tucks them in at night or tells them stories. You can stay here or you can come back with me and live with my rules.”
Teens?
5. Your teenagers don’t listen. Ever. They don’t even deserve an option, post their bare bummed baby pics on Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter. Don’t forget to tag them. Another great pic is the ‘first time on potty’ pic.
6. They forgot to take out the trash? Dump it on their bed, that should improve their memory.
7. They don’t put away their stuff? Throw it in the driveway.
8. They don’t like what you cook? Kick them out of the dining room and lock the pantry. After two days of starving everything will taste gourmet.
And every night at bedtime don’t forget to tell them how much you love them. BTW I have used #s 1, 2,3,4, and 7. Extremely effective.
(all pics from Google Images)
Weekly Photo Challenge: Selfie
Selfie: A selfie is a type of self-portrait photograph, typically taken with a hand-held digital camera or camera phone, while in the bathroom in front of the mirror wearing undergarments and sticking out lips in a most nauseating fashion, giving the impression of being extremely constipated, going into labor or passing a kidney stone.
I prefer to be at the other end of the camera.
Daily Prompt: Copies
The sincerest form of flattery (or extreme source of annoyance) is to copy something you admire. I have always loved the poem Indian Summer by William Campbell. We had to memorize it in grade five. Which I could not, I was an extremely introverted misfit and would go blank at just the thought of having to say anything to anyone. My fifth grade teacher was a mortifying copy of Ms. Finster (you know from Recess!) I blame some of my trauma on her. Actually I blame her for 89% of it. Here is Indian Summer and my rendition below it:
“Indian Summer”
Along the line of smoky hills
- The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
- Throughout the autumn lands.
Now by the brook the maple leans,
- With all his glory spread;
And all the sumachs on the hills
- Have turned their green to red.
Now, by great marshes wrapt in mist,
- Or past some river’s mouth,
Throughout the long still autumn day
- Wild birds are flying south.
- “Kidsindahouse Summer”
- Within the walls of smoke-filled kitchen,
The offspring burn their toast.
And all morning I bury skull in pillow,
In sleep I am engrossed.
Now by afternoon the house is still standing,
Although a filthy mess;
And all my brats claim innocence
None of them confess.
Now its high time I got out of bed,
I really need some tea,
Throughout our abode the kids do scatter
‘Cause I’m petrifying to see.
My fifth grade teacher actually looked just like this.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Object
Desi Problems versus White People Problems
Last summer when I took the animals offspring to the park one beautiful lazy Saturday, I overheard a ‘white guy’ conversation about ‘white people’ problems. He was complaining about what a pain in the ass his ex-wife was. I felt sorry for him, of course I don’t know what her side of the story was. Maybe he was just a pathological liar. Some months later in a different park, I overheard a conversation between a young wife and her husband. I wonder if this makes me a pathological eavesdropper?
Anyways she was very loudly telling her husband just what she thought of him. Both these people had a lot of complaints and it was funny to me because ‘desi people’ problems are so ridiculously extreme compared to (some) white people problems.
White Husband Problem: “Man my wife was so pissed, I forgot our anniversary again!”
Desi Husband Problem: “Vat the hell is this? You call this roti? I wouldn’t feed this to dog on street! I’m going to my sister’s house!”
White Wife Problem: “My husband is such a jerk, he never puts the dishes away after washing them! I am so totally fed up of his crappy habits!”
Desi Wife Problem: “Hai Rubba! Vite men vash dishes?!”
White People Problem: “Oh my God I still can’t decide where we are going to go for vacation this summer and I need to book seats or we won’t get them in time!”
Desi People Problem: “Niagara Falls? Do you know how much ve vill have to pay for parking just to see all that vater go down a cliff? Ven it starts going up, tell me, I vill pay to see that.”
White Mom in the Morning: “Honey wake up or we are going to be late!”
Desi Mom in the Morning: “Oye kumbakhton! Get up lazy good for nothings before I bring jug of ice vater!”
White Girl Problem: “My mom said I can’t have like more than $300 to buy a dress for the semi-formal can you like believe that?”
Desi Girl Problem: Desi Mom to Daughter : “Semi-formal, vat semi-formal? How do you expect to be a doctor if you are always out for mutter gush and not studying?”
Would you like to add any problems?
(all pics from Google..just google Desi problems!)
Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave your shoes at the door!
This is an article I wrote for the humor section of Dawn Images (Newspaper). Leave your shoes at the door!
My shoes are at the door, and I put ‘his’ on. He has tips for bachelors, desi style! Glossary for non-desis: Saas-Jee: respectful for mother-in-law Sali: literal: sister-in-law. Slang:jerk Salla: literal:brother-in-law. Slang:jerk. Susur: father-in-law. Susura: jerk/idiot etc.
So you are about to take the big step?? You’ve given Mom the go-ahead to find the perfect girl. Good for you — it is time you settled down, not getting any younger right? Just some advice, don’t go for the looks (God knows what they look like under all that makeup), don’t go for the modern girl (she’ll keep you at the end of a leash), don’t go for the status (daddy will always be downsizing you at get-togethers). Go for the orphan. Really, I am not joking. Go for the orphan.
I know what you’re thinking, that this is some kind of pathetic joke; that’s because you haven’t met the in-laws yet. So you’ve seen a girl or two and met their families; nice quiet folks, polite and interested. It’s a trap, all part of the plan to snare unsuspecting, happily unaware innocent guys like yourself into the most complex and thorny role in the history of man. The son-in-law.
You think I am some jealous, lonely, scheming bachelor trying to keep you from marital bliss? Believe me man, there’s no such thing! I’m in it up to my neck, trust me. Married for five years now, or should I say I was sold into slavery five years ago by my parents with the connivance of my married friends. They couldn’t deal with my freedom — traitors. I am doing you a favour, giving you the inside story.
Before you are married, your soon-to-be mother-in-law calls up your mother to ask how you are and how your job is going. She cooks nihari (your favourite) and sends it over with your soon-to-be respectful young brother in-law. She and your future sister-in-law pick up the latest designer shirts for you when they go shopping and hope you like it, if not they get it changed. Future mother-in-law knows all your likes and dislikes; after your mother, she is the one who is most concerned about your well-being. Until you get married.
You remember that story about the kids who get lost in the forest and this nice little old lady lets them into her candy house? That’s the stuff I am warning you about dude!! She’s gonna sink her teeth into you. After you get married the only time your mother-in-law phones is to listen to her daughter’s complaints about you and your family. She doesn’t talk to your mother because your wife always reaches the phone before anyone else, no matter where she is in the house she can hear the phone ring and it’s always her mother calling.
When Saas-jee does talk to you on the phone, it is to inform you that she needs to go somewhere and she’s giving you the honor of driving her there. While you are driving, you will have to listen attentively as she tells you how to live your life and the errors of your ways. You will be required to make sounds of agreement, and nod your head in the affirmative; never, ever speak, even to agree. What you have to say is inconsequential, you must only nod.
Gifts will be bestowed upon you on birthdays, anniversaries and Eid. The apparel is usually last year’s sale leftovers that were going at 80 per cent off. And if you think there is no way you would be caught dead in a parrot green kurta, think again my friend, think again! You have no idea how your sali searched every shop in Ramazan, whilst fasting, to find you the perfect kurta. Sali.
The only dish your wife’s rude little brother brings over is your wife’s favorite, which coincidentally, is some weird tasteless concoction with an even weirder name. You are informed it is French and given a patronizing look by your sala, who has incredible tolerance in dealing with your inexperienced, simpleton ways. Sala. Beware of Daddy (susur jee), the once jovial, back slapping, ‘so pleased to have you as part of our family’ gentleman. You whisked his princess away, you don’t treat her right, and man he is no longer pleased to have you as part of his family. He will let you know this, often and publicly. Be prepared beforehand and have your doctor prescribe you some heavy antidepressants. Always take at least two before attending his dinner parties, that way you’ll be totally out of it and won’t realise you are the butt of all his jokes. Susur(a).
Never think of older sister-in-law’s husband as an ally just because you are in the same boat. Big mistake; he’ll sink your boat to ensure smoother sailing of his own. He lets you believe he’s on your side, but after you get married, he gets promoted. He’s Big Daddy’s spy, he’ll sell you out just to get an approving nod from the old guy.
And that’s the inside story, just a second, phone’s ringing, “Hello? Yeah I’ll be there in 10 minutes. What? Be there in five? No, no it’s no problem at all. Five minutes, I’m coming.” Sali. Do you have a painkiller?
Writing: Adventures of a social media illiterate technophobe.
In a fit of spasmodic enthusiasm I joined a variety of social media stuff I have not an inkling about. I’m convincing myself I can be social media savvy and cool as the hipster 20 somethings who wear plaid skinny pants and large amounts of multicolored medical gauze wrapped around their necks, forever engrossed in their expensive tablet-phone-camera gadget thingy.
Okay maybe I don’t wanna look like that.
But I would like to be savvy. You know just because I am at that point of life where I realize I have no idea where the past 17 years of my life went since the birth of offspring numero uno. It’s like waking up from a coma and thinking you are still twenty something because you were a little while ago. And I realize I am still stuck in the technology of the nineties ie: I can turn on a computer if I can locate the on button.
Being a wannabe author writer you are advised to have a platform. Agent websites will tell you in their extremely detailed instructions of do’s and don’ts that you need to have a substantial following. They don’t want to be bothered by some person who nobody knows. And nobody wants to know a person who Agents don’t want to be bothered about. What?
I joined Tumblr (against Teenager1’s advice), Delicious, Quora, and Hootesuite. I was already on Facebook (the only one easy enough to use), Twittter (where I tweet into strangely empty nothingness) and Google+ (but I didn’t know it!) I am also on Agent Query Connect, where I feel more at home. But I haven’t visited in a century because I haven’t managed to figure out a way to completely forego sleep.
According to Teenager 1 parents really should not be on Tumblr. It is for hip, emo, intellectual, whatever kids. Parents should stick to ‘mainstream’ stuff like Facebook, where they can post endless pictures of what they cooked the night before or how much snow they had to shovel from the driveway. I persisted however and I can now navigate my way around to find blogs that interest me. I also managed to hook up WordPress and Tumblr so that my posts appear there. Woohoo! I think by the end of this year I will actually manage to have at least two followers there. Hey you, follow me dammit!
The only thing I found Delicious useful for was bookmarking the endless amount of pages I use to research what I am writing about. These days? Politics and conspiracy theories. Did you know our existence is only a simulation? Delicious is pretty easy to use.
Quora is too much information at the same time for my aluminum and fluoride ridden brain. You can ask any question (you have to see the stuff people ask!) and people from all corners of the Earth will answer you. I get all my answers from Agent Query Connect. But Quora is interesting if you have loads of time and nothing better to do than be intellectual. When I have loads of time I clean out the litter box. And brush my hair.
“Fat Kitty needs to poop. Clean that litter box woman!”
Hootesuite is very handy because it organizes all the stuff you’ve entangled yourself in. I suspect the packages must be really good because what they are offering for free is quite useful and not that hard to use. It only took me a couple of weeks hours to figure out how to link all my social stuff up and be able to post from there. But I like posting to WordPress directly because I couldn’t manage to get pictures into the post from Hootesuite. I must be doing something wrong. If you have any idea let me know.
One piece of advice, if you are a dinosaur like me, use a nickname rather than your real name just in case you are scared to press buttons. I was, and for some reason whenever I press a button to test something out, I can never find out how to edit/delete it. Why can’t edit/delete buttons be big enough to find without a magnifying glass? Or a map. That way you won’t be embarrassed by a dumb post like “This is a test. I am uncool a newbie loser and this is my first post. Idiot Technophobe trying to learn lol.” Teenagers. Extreme facepalms.
The point is you have to invest a lot of time. Which really bugs the heck out of me because I want to get that novel written. The Young Adult world needs a Conspiracy Thriller that involves real people in the real world. There are too many witches, faeries, and demon slayers out there.
khaula Siddique 