Now that I have a vocabulary….

It’s funny when they say what goes around comes around and that’s been happening with me and Re. My mother always used to say that I talked too much for my own good and “you just wait till you have kids of your own,” etc, etc. Now Re is totally upstaging me in the vocabulary department with his comebacks and witticisms and the result is a series of wtf moments. Some nuggets:

Me: Here, drink this milkshake. You will be stronger.
Re: I can be stronger with water also.


Don’t shout mamma. Othewise I will cancel you.


What happened here, I point to a red bump on his skin.
Yesssturday when I was going in the snow no, a purple rabbit bit me here.


Me (at spa): I will have a pedicure.
Boy: And I will have nail polish.


I really don’t want to take a bath.
It’s holiday time.
I’m sorry.


I want to comewichu to office, boy said.
But you will distract me, I said.
No, I will not distruck you.


Boy and I went up a mall.
Boy hugged a mannequin.
Mannequin had a great fall.
Boy and I not going to mall again.


8 am. Morning play.
Me: what a mess!
Boy: don’t chubble me now. I’m just cleanupping everything.


Boy: I’m a good boy no?
Me: Yes. And I’m a good girl no?
Boy: No you are a good boy also.


Re: Mamma, boys don’t know. Ony girls know.
Me(saying): Of course not, you know too.

Me (thinking): That’s a great pick-up line.



He said, she said

I am in that phase when the boy is spewing enough nuggets for me to want to pin a  dictaphone to myself. But since I am technologically challenged, I try and store them in my little head, sometimes punch them into my phone, and sometimes, put it down on this blog. I guess the joy of him being on the verge of three is that he still has a baby voice. Which makes the sound bytes a tad more appealing. Here are a few in no particular order:

Mamma. I don’t like you.


Because dadda likes you.


(Boy is making the bed and then lining all his toys on it. I walk in.)

Mamma. There’s no place for you.


Because cheetah haffto sleep. And lion haffto sleep. And zebra haffto sleep. And tiger haffto sleep. And rhinoscissors haff to sleep. And hippopotis haffto sleep.

Okay then.


Mamma, can lion be with the zebra?

Yes, technically it can.

Oh, okay.

And can tiger be with the zebra?

(Me, increasingly nervous now) Yes, why not?

Okay, so they will do ninni together.


Mamma, I want to tell you something.


I think you are not a boy. You are a girl.

Yes, that’s true.

Mamma, I want to tell you something..


I think you are not a girl. You are a mamma.


Mamma. I am not a bad boy. I am a good boy.

Yes, you are.

And you are a bad girl.



Boy is singing his school prayer (with a twist)

God’s love is so wonderful, God’s love is so wonderful, God’s love is so wonderful,

O, wonderful love

So high, we can’t get over it, so deep, we can’t get under it…

* Thinks, pauses, and then says*

But….we can get… through it!


Mamma. Nadia beat me. (Nadia is the feline sibling)

What did you do to annoy her?

I put her on my cycle.


Mamma, please tell Bravo not to sit on my chair. (Bravo is feline no. 2)


Because it is a baby chair. It’s not a cat chair.


(Am trying to give boy a bath. He wants to have a no-soap, no-water bath, which I am trying to explain is a tad tricky. After leaving him to his own devices, I peep into the bathroom to check on him)

Mamma. I told you don’t come in my room.

So this is how it all begins, I think. That space thing.

Driving Mr Pricey

I am experiencing the worst form of back-seat driving. The following is not a fictitious account and the persons in this drama are real and bear extreme resemblance to me and my 2.8 year-old boy. I have attempted here a transcription of what happens to me at least twice a day.

Scene: I am on the wheel, boy is behind me in the car seat.

Mamma, don’t fall my paani!

(That’s me driving over a speed-breaker.)

Sorry  I fell your paani, but the road is full of potholes. How to drive? (I attempt a change of mood, and sing a cheery song)

What’s that noise mamma?

That’s me, singing.

Mamma. Don’t sing.

(I continue)

Mamma! Choo choo times I told you don’t sing!

(I stop singing.  Suddenly there is a stretch of open road. Fourth gear, here I come!)

Mamma. Why you doing car-racing?

No, I am not doing car racing.

No, you doing car-racing. Look, mamma, you boke my cheese toast!

I had nothing to do with it. It was Re misjudging his bite.

Mamma, whose house that?

It’s HSBC’s house.

No, mamma, it’s not a house, it’s a bank!

Okay then.

Mamma, stop. I counting windows.

I can’t stop here, it’s peak traffic!

Just then, a car nicks me on the left while trying to overtake. I lose it.

Ben—–ten! I say.

Mamma, I told you don’t shout!

But I am not shouting at you. That uncle broke our side mirror.

Contemplative silence.

Mamma, I want to keep my bag on my lap. Please gimme my bag.

Bag is on lap. Along comes a bump. Car jumps.

What’s that noise mamma?

I decide to beat it at his own game. It’s BAD TRAFFIC noise. Suddenly I shout, GO AWAY, BAD TRAFFIC!


And thus, another trip to school is accomplished.