Ordinary isn’t ordinary.


THE days I strive to fill with spectacular are the worst days ever.I have too many unreal expectations of myself and of all those around me. On such days I assume the weather to be good,the light cheerful.And without a doubt a fine breeze to blow bouncy bubbles. I seek cooperation from universes , big and small. And quiet in my own world.

I pretend that after yesterday’s temper blizzards ,the toddler will be peaceful. There will at least be a lull before the storm. It will be easy to find a detour around the daily drudgery and crack my boots in a new neck of the woods. I blow gently to make a big bubble so big it looks like a rainbow exploded inside.

I have set  myself up for failure, I realize early on. The all too structured day punctures the air ball. Brutally bursts my bubble. POP. I wipe the slight splash and pack away the spilled contents of discontent back into the brain box.

I am ready to be a picture of mediocre misery once more.

Well the same old, same old.

On days ordinary when I am not on any secret missions to the extra-ordinary, I am content in the familiar . It is then that things  really start to happen. When exceptions get allowed and exemptions follow suit. New explorations to boot.

When like bubbles ,  I am gently lifted.

Blown away

To find that I can rise above the ordinary.


The little Mrs Big Bear.

door If you ever took the time to look in behind a nondescript door tucked away in a noisy, crowded city where either there is too much character or not at all,there are not many chances you would find little Mrs. Big Bear.

She is awkward, and quite out of place. She isn’t a very groomed Mrs. at all. Not hairy enough for a Bear. A little too hairy to live in a big city. If she isn’t remarkable, she isn’t ordinary either.

kitchenIf you did take the time to look in behind nondescript doors and did chance upon a house lit differently from the rest, with plenty of homespun little things everywhere, little Mrs. Big Bear might be home. If she isn’t ordinary, she isn’t obscure either.

She can be found. Mostly in the kitchen, busying herself with ladles in pots and pots in sink all the while keeping her cubs warm and busy. Frisky on her toes  and briskly on her fingers passes the day. Come night and the bustling little Mrs. is all spent. The deliberations of long days sometimes calibrate night musings and Little Mrs. and Big Bear both longing to cuddle engage in a fight instead. The voice in the Mrs.’ head resonates then,” If she isn’t obscure, she shouldn’t be overlooked either.”

Lately, all her cooking is gone wonky. She and the mate are both cranky. Things don’t look like things at all. Only if days could be spent in bed, they wouldn’t go

in-bedso awry. But cubs , little cubs. ” Pooh, pooh ,” thinks the Mrs.

A cuddle, a nuzzle would be nice but it isn’t time to end the fight. If she isn’t overlooked, she isn’t giving up either.

A silent day, a sullen night. It is enough to break her might. She will give up. She wouldn’t fight. Little Mrs. believes a hug can set it alright.  Sometimes hugs are hard to come by.  Charming nasty little things. They give her the fuzzies and they hurt. When she doesn’t get them , she needs them most. If she isn’t giving up, she isn’t keeping it in either.

Letting go. let it go. ” Poor ,poor Big Bear” , thinks the Mrs.  Tonight is the night we cuddle and make up. Letting go. Let it go.

If she isn’t  keeping it in , she isn’t showing it either.

Embrace Big Bear. Little Mrs. says lovingly.Love must be shown. If she isn’t showing it, she isn’t hiding it either.

Hugs .( Hinting at the amorous.)

Things are holding up just fine for now. Behind the door there are happy Bears. The day went in a hustle. And the Mrs and Mr. might be getting busy tonight.

That is all. If she isn’t hiding it, she isn’t going into details either!!

in bed1

Delusions ,dilutions and a disaster

Delusions are dangerous. Especially the ones that are formed out of teenage angst. Thankfully, I have been cured. I am not a teenager anymore. Not to say I am twenty now. I am not twenty at all.

Delusions dilate vision and dare you to dream. Dreams that are dilutions in varying proportions ,so earnest that you believe in them and in your own super powers.Till life pregnancy (technically life?) strikes and the delusions abandon you in a hurry. mommy hair15Oh wasn’t it fun, saying you had a cold and then not to rest. Sniffles got sympathy and attention and warm soup.To choose not to rest when you could?

mommy hair14And then sniffles stopped getting sympathy and attention and warm soup. You could not rest when symptoms said you should.

mommy hair13The only choice sometimes was to yell or not to. And of course you yelled.

mommy hair6You felt guilty then and remembered what a good person you were not so long ago. You who read and seemed to know most of what the world could offer you. You were raging inside to add to the future of the world.

mommy hair12And add you did. You added life and found yourself lost. Lost ,lost, lost. You are trying to find yourself again but the pace is so slow. One word at a time and it takes two years to finish a little book.

mommy hair16You give yourself consolation that things weren’t always all good in the past. There were hard times then too. Like when you cut your hair in a way that made you look silly. You stroke your hair of now and suddenly recognize DISASTER!

mommy hair8You try to keep yourself strong. You are the example that your little ones are to follow. You try really hard.mommy hair9You give it all it takes and sometimes even more. And at other times you just give up.mommy hair10You let go. Let go of your long hair. Keep it short and simple. Because there are no delusions, no dilutions. And you must face disaster without them. And make it still.

I hope Mr Melville wouldn’t mind:

“The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster bright eyed teenager to a sailor tired eyed mommy, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca  meaningless TV and the Stoics spirits of the alcoholic kind to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off in time.”

And then all that can save you is the blinding joy only love can give.



fast and furious

fast and furious

This is how I have been. RUN OVER. Splattered. Sprayed. Sprinkled. Blown into a bubble. And busted.

Crinkled. MunCHED. Shoved away. Found again to be chewed once more. I have been candy one moment and gross-whatever the next.

Unexpected. I have been attacked by surprise. By a whir vroom sudden rise in the frequency of tantrums my toddler can display in a day ( and night).

It starts with a quiet whine. Then a slight grumble that hastily becomes a chortle and a ROAR that explodes and makes my cells cough all their plasma out.(insert sound of hacking cough in whispers.)

I have just been hit again. RUN OVER. Splattered. Sprayed. Sprinkled. Blown into a bubble. And busted.

How it starts and why I can not explain. It is some absurd complex contraption of a toddler head. If I didn’t kiss within some well-defined radius of a boo boo or I forgot which of the seventy-seven scribbles was a banana. I really can not explain.

Just that it comes on FAST. Just that it comes on FURIOUS. Just that I stand no chance. Just that I am RUN OVER. Splattered. Sprayed. Sprinkled. Blown into a bubble. And busted.

No, time-OUT doesn’t work. Nor do distractions.  I am beat. My toddler is a beast. For today at least. My brain has run out of space for tomorrow. The tea isn’t working. Cough cough. Excuse me my cells-were-a choking.

Oh! yes I am fine. Just hoping this will go. Just as FAST as it came. Whir vroom. At least it will give me a cautioning “BEEP -BEEP” before I am RUN OVER. Splattered. Sprayed. Sprinkled. Blown into a bubble. And busted.

So I can breathe, channelize the yin and the yang. So I can have a moment of enlightenment before I approach the FURIOUS.