Mum

As I enter the world of motherhood, I find myself missing Mum more and more - she was the one that I would have called and asked 'am I doing this right?' Having said that, when I had to asked Mum a question (some months ago) she responded, 'how old are you Shalini? Well, that's the last time I looked after a baby, I can't remember...' but that didn't stop her from passing on a few words of wisdom.

It's been a couple of months since I heard the phrase, 'Mum has died'. Three words I, perhaps naively, didn't think I'd hear for a very long time.

A calmness surrounded me when I heard. Yes tears were shed, but essentially I was calm. Did I think I would be hysterical, beat my chest wailing if and when I would hear the terrible news? Perhaps, but I'm rarely that demonstrative and the truth be known, I was more at peace with Mum going than I thought I would be. On that day, having been told that Mum had gone into hospital, I didn't panic or start to fret like I normally do but I simply said to myself, 'she's in your hands now God'.

So many ordinary things make me think of her and it's amazing that despite the tantrums I threw and the arguments we had, all I remember are the times we had a laugh, when we would just share a hug or work quietly together in the kitchen preparing dinner. As I think about how I will be as a mother, I hope to pass on a few things that Mum taught me such as how to treat other people, having faith, a good sense of humor - as well as my own little nuances...

Some people call their mum/dad their best friend, but I never saw mine like that, she was just Mum. And it would be easy to be upset at not being her best friend, but I'm proud to be just her daughter. She knew everything about me even when I said nothing. She knew what made me tick, how I would react to a situation. As I got older, got married, our conversations changed and she talked to me as a grown woman - but still as her youngest.

A stylish, hard working woman who could make the most delicate sugar-paste flower to wallpapering an entire room single-handed, what ever she turned her hand to, it worked. She had a great sense of fashion, loved her 'bling' (her middle name should have been Swarovski) and wherever Mum went, she made a friend and had a smile for a stranger.

So as I tend to my daughters needs, I'm both excited and sad. There have been many little things I know I would have called Mum to tell her about for me to hear how she would have handled it or her experiences with raising me, my brother and sister; it's very bittersweet.

But as Hubby said, our daughter wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Mum because she had me - so there's a little bit of her in our little girl. It's a comforting thought and I can't wait to tell our little one about her remarkable Grandma.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

The recent news of Kanye and Kim calling their daughter North West, highlighted the difficulty of choosing a name and well, the stupidity of some parents.

With our little one on her way we have that important/arduous task of choosing a name that will be with her for life (obviously). They say a name makes the man or woman - why else would Norma Jean become Marilyn Monroe, Maurice Joseph Micklewhite, Michael Caine or Marion Robert Morrison be better know as John Wayne?

But they're celebrities, you understand why they changed their names. Yet why is it that certain celebrities, who have 'normal' names choose a name that the child may feel compelled to change? Or is it because they are born into a world of money and status that it's of little consequence what these children have to 'suffer' because of the choice of their parents?

What would you say if you knew a Peaches Honeyblossom (Bob Geldof/Paula Yates' daughter), Blue Ivy (Beyonce and Jay-Z's daughter) or Moon Unit (Franks Zappa's daughter) in your primary school? Admittedly, children are very accepting of what's put before them. There may be the slight 'huh?' when they hear the name but as long as you're willing to pitch in a game of baseball, who cares.

I spent last weekend looking at 1500 names. Yes there are that many and then some...I've amended the list of names we've put together, looked at them, coupled them with our surname and revised it (again and again) crossing off the ones that SO won't work. Hopefully we'll find something that we agree on...no Hubby and I haven't quite seen eye-to-eye on some names. We both have at one time or the other given each other looks of "are you serious?" Once we've chosen a name, I'm planning on having a couple on standby as she may not 'look' like the name we've chosen. Regardless, the search continues...

However, what I am sure on is that we won't be calling the little one Beetle. Yes that's the name of this boy in the UK somewhere. Can you imagine being in the playground - "hey, bug boy - pass us the football!"  And when he's older, sitting at an all important interview; "Hi my name is Beetle,"... poor child.

The Birds

A post for the feathered creatures of the world, or at least the ones outside my apartment.

I love hearing a good dawn chorus. It's uplifting, brings the promise of a new day filled with sunshine and laughter. It's also noisy.

I have no intention of stopping your morning song, but could you perhaps lose one two of the chorus line? Perhaps even drop a few lines of the song, a little less tweeting and chirping more of allowing a tired pregnant woman another hour of sleep?

And what's with carrying on in the evening? I figured a three hour performance first thing (in the morning) would be pretty tiring...no? Ah well, I can only ask.

Prom Night

The headline on CNN caught my attention the other day. It stated that Georgia was having it's first racially integrated prom: read article. I took a double take - first racially integrated prom? Are you serious? It's 2013, segregation ended about sixty odd years ago...?

It's things like this that makes me just sad. America claims to be this great, forward thinking nation and I agree in terms of science, technology and medicine. But in aspects of life which are just as important - race, gender, sexual orientation and money - the divide doesn't seem to get any smaller.

I could write all day about the injustice of this world but I'm not going to go there - narrow-mindedness annoys me. I'll move on to the lighter side of life. Thestory did remind me of my own prom.

As a fairly new concept to the UK, I remember being pretty excited about going but then the realization that I didn't actually think anyone would take me to the prom dawned. Lord how embarrassing! But I had a group of friends who didn't seem bothered by this concept. And me being me was deep in the background getting the snacks and drinks sorted out, a vague memory of decorations...

So imagine my surprise when this guy I was friends with asked me to go with him. I said 'yeah alright' to find out that the guy I kinda fancied wanted to ask me too. Talk about the proverbial bus, no dates for the entire five years and then two blokes want to take me to the high school prom. Ah well.

The big night arrived and I wore a red two-piece with diamante's thrown around the top. I felt stunning, but to be honest wouldn't have looked out of place at a Carrington (Dynasty) soiree - not really hip. But my date arrived looking very handsome and off we went.

All was going well until he decided to dedicate a song to me. As we stood at the back of the hall waiting for the DJ to play the song, my heart pounded. What was the song going to be? I smiled politely waiting and then it came on. As the opening bars of Color Me Bad's 'I wanna Sex You Up' boomed, I closed my eyes and...well, I can't actually remember me saying anything (to him) or how I ended up in the girls bathroom praying that the song would finish.

My friend came in to find me, I believe struggling to keep the smile off her face, and said that I couldn't stay in here all night. I thought why not? The rest of the evening was a blur, I can't remember if I said anything to my date for the dedication. It was a lovely gesture but...And yes, I still cringe when I think of that moment.

Well, even if they had to campaign for it, I'm glad these teenagers enjoyed their prom together. It's a time to vote for prom King and Queen and have a dance and a laugh with your friends, before entering the new world of work or college.

This week baby is the size of...

When I found out I was pregnant, I immediately started looking at baby sites. And believe me there are countless ones out there. But I didn't want to become obsessed with looking at all of them.

I finally settled on The Bump - a fan of its sister site 'The Knot' (a fantastic site for weddings), it seemed a natural progression. When you sign up they send a weekly newsletter filled with different articles that, as a new mom-to-be, you'd like to know.

And the main article in the weekly email is - You're Belly : Week X

It's a great, informative snapshot of what baby is doing as she's growing as well as what's happening to you, the mum. I'm fine with all of this, happy to read them. Except...the comparison to fruit and veg of how big your baby is.

Now maybe I need to take a step back and just accept the news that baby is the size of an onion at week 17. But the cook in me just had to say 'eh? An onion? Are we talking shallot, white, yellow, Spanish?' There are many sizes of onions out there. At week twenty, she's now the size of a banana. Again, we've all seen countless sizes of the potassium filled fruit, so it is a tad difficult to make a comparison. Nonetheless, I should stop being pedantic; it's a lovely little bit of insight and I'm looking forward to the email that says she's the size of a watermelon, but obviously not one that's been grown for the county fair's 'largest watermelon contest'...

Oh and I can share this produce fact with friends and family on Facebook - but I'll spare you that joy and just create a shopping list from all the fruit and veg. And when the little one arrives, as I chop away at a courgette/zucchini, I can tell her 'you know you were once this size...'

Boston Strong

After a winter that didn't seem to end, the sun shone brightly on that April day. As people basked in the warm rays, countless people cheered for those who spent the best part of a year training to run twenty six miles. Whilst others, cheered on the Red Sox all silently praying, 'this will be our year'.

And then the mindless act of two people shattered the lives of so many there at the marathon, even those safely watching the event at home.

How can any individual or organization justify taking the lives of innocent people? People who are consumed with their own little part of the world not religion, who may sympathize but have to get up to go to work, school, college. Questions are still being asked but until the second terrorist makes a full recovery will we ever understand their motives?

I've only lived in Boston for three years, but like to consider myself an honorary Bostonian. It's a great city, brimming with vitality and people from all walks of life. Boston is making its recovery, slowly but surely - and I couldn't feel more proud of a city and it's people who are not going to let this tragic day stop them living their lives. I'm glad we stand 'Boston Strong'.

One Fund - a charitable fund set up for those victims of the bombings.

Times Crossword

I love a good puzzle but always shied away from crosswords often because I'd read the clues and think "what in heavens name are you talking about?" Bizarrely enough, whilst I found crosswords difficult, I'd skip through 'codewords' like Mary and her little lambs on a spring day.(Codeword is a crossword grid with two starter letters and using the alphabet you break the code to find the remaining words).

The nearest I'd get to them would be the Daily Mail's back of the page brain teaser. But as soon as I lifted a pen to fill in a clue, Mother's radar would go off in her brain and she'd yell from whichever room she'd happen to be in with, "you'd better not be doing the crossword!" Reluctantly, I'd put the pen down and hunt for the codeword mumbling that I was just going to fill one in...simply because it was the only clue I got.

Nowadays, I'm a fan of the Times' efforts on this puzzle. At first I'd get about five answers out of the thirty odd clues. But as I got used to their quirky hints my prowess improved and soon I'd be left with three pesky answers that eluded me.

On the days I'd just stare at the black and white squares I'd search the internet for some help. And this is when I came across Crossword Solver, an absolutely brilliant site to help answer those clues that just bug you. And it was here that I came across the Forum.

Most days it's very helpful as often the clues I'm stuck on so is everyone else. But of late it's been bugging me as I'm increasingly seeing, "it's my last clue!" and "oh thanks for that, I'm finished," which is fine except I'm still looking at a lot of blank squares.

It certainly does nothing to alleviate the grumpiness that occasionally rears it's head. So whilst I sound like Mutley as I read, "just need the answer for 23 Across to finish", when I've just started the bloomin' thing, I try take a zen approach and say thank you for at least not leaving me with the final three pesky clues and you've helped me finish in 34 mins or less and not 12 hours. Yeah, whatever...anyone know 1 Across?...