Of Bake-a-thons, Trike-a-thons and Wannabe-Soccer-Mom-a-thons

As an active, full-time, work-at-home desi mom of a twenty-three-months old toddler, I am still familiarizing myself with the concepts of play dates, sing-along sessions, friendly Fridays, pretend-play Mondays, and select park fun times. Even though I am aware that these are key activities that will help her hone her motor, verbal, linguistic, cognitive, and socio-emotional skills, among others, I am possibly just in awe of the notion of introducing my little one to a range of pre-planned activities for groomed interaction.

So, while I thought I was getting up to a good start for summer at the onset of spring, I was told off by a couple of park district centers. Apparently, when I was busy building snowmen with my little one, or perhaps, visiting temples to commemorate a range of Hindu festivals, the others (mostly Americans) had gotten their forms signed and enrolments sealed. And now with waiting lists brimming over, I’m apparently only good enough to get on one of them. So while I wait it out to see if my little one can join in with other little gymnasts and water sport enthusiasts, my thoughts go drifting down to the summers of yesteryears, back at home in South India. I don’t recall my parents losing sleep over what I’d do in the summer, or any other turn of season. Summers, for instance, were meant to be spent outdoors, feasting on succulent mangoes and cool melons, taking leisurely, free laps in the officers’ club pool, rolling in a grubby playground playing hopscotch, or “kho-kho,” or even hide and seek, as the sun sank unhurriedly. And with the resulting fatigue making way for hunger pangs, I’d be eating early dinners at neighbors’ homes, chasing a coy moon as it slipped behind feathery clouds, from wide open, balmy rooftops.

And then there were unscheduled visits to aunts’ and grandparents’ houses, where a bunch of equally excited cousins would indulge one with fun activities, including, but not limited to, clambering up random fruit trees in the neighborhood, drinking tender coconut water from street-side vendors for lunch, and going on afternoon riding expeditions on vintage, grandfather bicycles, often barefoot. The only time our activities needed adult intervention was during a brawl or mishap. And of course, as the years rolled on and one grew older, when the good old holiday homework had to be dealt with, which, more often than not, comprised writing an essay on what had ensued, or how productively one had spent one’s holidays.

For now, I am stuck with making more enquiries about organized group toddler activities, scheduling June play dates in April with some friendly neighborhood folks, and wondering what else I can do to get my little one to enjoy the summer. Of course, there are rounds of visits to parks, zoos, and houses of the few relatives and friends around --- all planned ahead, to the littlest detail. But no impulsive sprees, or wayside carousing activities, like I enjoyed in India, to take her by surprise, and enthuse her curious mind.

In retrospect, given that there are not too many choices for a desi parent like me, to engage my little one, it’s perhaps time to accept these exclusive socializing concepts, and go with the flow. What can one possibly do to bring change and freedom in a place where the Ramayan and Mahabharat are reduced to folklore meant to be discussed in the weekends, in the premises of a temple? Or gather a bunch of kids for playtime after scheduling appointments months ahead with their busy parents? Or call to check if the weather, and rules are conducive to take my little one trike riding in the park? (While also ensuring that she’s appositely dressed, in Shimano shoes and light clothes, to ride on the right trike for her age).

I’m sure she’s soon going to learn to see the joys of being independent, and wait her turn at the park, pool, or bake-a-thon. Until then, I’m going to have to make do with prepping her up, and watching on, as she learns to play by herself, and feel belonged in a cosmopolitan community. Of course, I must keep her off the neighbors’ gardens and teach her to ask before she eats at one of their houses.






Parenting in these shores is wearying, but there are rewards, and they’re bigger than life. For instance, those little eyes that seek answers to everything on my face, they’re what keep me going - they wake me in the middle of the night, and boost me to shout hurray, enact teddy-bear-turn-around, or say, put my thoughts down like this.




Enchanted, I look on. She turns away, beaming at her success still, and then, swerving a little out of control, grabs quickly on to the curvy handgrip with tiny palms that were busy making circles in the air. An array of emotions manifest all at once on her face - fear, joy, sorrow. I smile, even as I grind my teeth together in horror, and cheer her on. It works, like magic. And she goes all out for more, and more. And with each encore, she looks at me, as if to check on the pride in my eyes, and flashes her dimpled-cheek smile. These, to put it mildly, are moments I live for. What’s so special about a twenty-three month-old toddler learning to ride a tricycle on her own, you ask? It’s in knowing that for nine months even before she came into this world, you only knew she possessed those feet, and then, when you saw them, and re-checked their authenticity, they still were practically useless. Then came the action - flapping, kicking, and gradually, crawling. Yet, those little booties, they never got dirty, and then came the pre-walkers, and finally, pairs of real shoes. And now, suddenly, it’s time for Shimanos, the easy-on-feet biker shoes. Well, I guess it’s routine for mothers to glorify every bit of progress their children make, and delight in all the fudge surrounding it - even if it’s something as flat as cleaning dirty shoes to a shine. Although I wonder if her shoes will get even half as dirty as my shoes did, when I was growing up in India, given that her playtime has been restricted to the confines of the house until now.

But with summer finally around the corner and the mercury soaring steadily, it’s time for haggard moms like myself to crack and track tot rock and toddler fun programs. It’s all very new to me, and curiously so. While I thought I was getting up to a good start at the onset of Spring, I was told off by a few park district centers, and with waiting lists now brimming over, I’m apparently only good enough to get on one of them. So while I wait it out to see if my little one can join in with other little gymnasts and water sport enthusiasts, my thoughts go drifting down to the summers of yesteryears, back home. I don’t recall my parents losing sleep over what I’d do in the summer, or any other turn of season. Summers were meant to be spent outdoors, feasting on succulent mangoes and cool melons, taking leisurely, free laps in the officers’ club pool, rolling in a grubby playground playing hopscotch, or “kho-kho,” or even hide and seek, as the sun sank unhurriedly. And with the resulting fatigue making way for hunger pangs, I’d be eating early dinners at neighbors’ homes, chasing a coy moon as it slipped behind feathery clouds, from wide open, balmy rooftops.

And then there were visits to aunts’ and grandparents’ houses, where a bunch of equally excited cousins would indulge one with fun activities, including, but not limited to, clambering up random trees, drinking tender coconut water from street-side vendors, and going on afternoon riding expeditions on vintage, grandfather bicycles. The only time our activities needed adult intervention was during a brawl or mishap. And of course, as the years rolled on and one grew older, when the good old holiday homework had to be dealt with, which, more often than not, comprised writing an essay on what had ensued, or how productively one had spent one’s holidays.

For now, I am stuck with making more enquiries about group toddler activities, scheduling play dates with some friendly neighborhood folks, and wondering what else I can do to get my little one to enjoy the summer. Of course, there are rounds of visits to parks, zoos, and houses of the few relatives and friends around --- all planned ahead, to the littlest detail. But no impulsive sprees, or wayside carousing activities to take her by surprise, and enthuse her curious mind.

Soon, she’s going to learn to see the joys of being independent, take charge of her choices, and ask to be enrolled in ballet, or say, ice-skating classes. Until then, I’m going to have to make do with prepping her up, and watching on, as she learns to make friends and feel belonged in the community. Parenting in these shores is wearying, but there are rewards, and they’re bigger than life. For instance, those little eyes that seek answers to everything on my face, they’re what keep me going - they wake me in the middle of the night, and boost me to shout hurray, enact teddy-bear-turn-around, or say, put my thoughts down like this.