Of two two tiffin boxes

Yes, yes. Tiffin is a misnomer, because one of those boxes will contain lunch. Donot ask how mamma has managed to land herself in the situation where she packs two boxes of edible items in the morning. It all began post Diwali vacations when Mamma realised the brat's term payment for the lunch plan had expired, and before coughing up the requisite cheque, decided to ask the brat politely if he wanted to continue with said lunch plan. After all, he was the one who had to ingest food items on offer with said lunch plan. And he was the one who had to brave the throngs to the canteen, fight to be seen at the counter, face vicious attacks and pushing asides by older kids who had sprouted facial hair and had voices gravelly enough to dub for Brando in Godfather. The food, I am told by competent authorities, read teachers who eat in said canteen and other parents who have occasionally wandered in to partake of the fare on offer, is good. Piping hot. Nutritious. Varied. And completely balanced. Nonetheless, I asked. "Brat, do you want the lunch plan or will you take lunch from home?" I sat with pen poised over cheque a moment away from signing away said three teeth fillings worth of amount on a term lunch plan, unaware that my fillings were going to be knocked out by his response. "No," he said firmly. "I donwantu be a canteen child. I wan tu bee a lunch box child."
"Eh?" said mamma cleaning out her ear wax. Had no one informed this child that his mamma was the world's number one terrible cook? Did he not know that grown men said a silent prayer and crossed themselves before sitting down to a meal cooked by her? Did he not know that people pour Digene into their glasses rather than water to be sipped accompanied said mamma cooked meal? Was this a challenge he'd set for himself? For mamma? Or did he assume that mamma's expertise in making jam sandwiches, cheese sandwiches and peanut butter sandwiches was an overall indication of her cooking skills?
But a mamma's heart is a soppy heart. And so it came to pass, that Mamma has been rising at the unearthly hour of pre-dawn to make the morning tea, and two two tiffins. The first, thankfully, is the standard snack of jam sandwich. Which is part of the fixed menu, until the next obsession floats in. Have I ever mentioned how the brat gets food jags and fixations? He ODs on one particular item for days until he sickens of it so terribly and doesnt touch it again for years to come. Chickabugawidcheez which was a daily item of ingestion a year or so ago has thankfully gone the same route. As has Kurkure. And Maggi Noodles. And Maaza Mango. His current hot favourites are Jam/Butter/Bread and Popcorn. Classic Salted. I'm not complaining about the Jam/Butter/Bread. It takes me all of two minutes in the morning, including 10 seconds of butter microwaved to spreadability. And edge cutting. What I quake at the knees about is the second lunch box. That of actual lunch. So far, in the past week since school reopened, the brat has taken, French Fries, Roti Sabji (with two rotis filled with sabji and made into rolls), Dosa Sabji, and Alu Paratha. I should bow before the humble tuber. Nonvegetarian stuff is not allowed. Or mamma would have unleashed the contents of the frozen meats section onto the humble tiffin box with burger patties, sausages and fish fingers. Five minutes frying. One minute packing. Voila.

Therefore, this humble request: Your easiest and simplest recipes for snack box items. Should be filling. The brat does not consider raw veggies and fruit lunch. Will be duly brought home unconsumed. All recipes will be personally tried by me and brat reactions duly reported, uncensored. Best (read easiest) recipe givers get truckloads of blessings from Mamma.

Mull over this

"Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious
learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really
the work of childhood."

Fred Rogers

If this is true, the brat has seriously learnt. He's a real, real hard worker.

How to relax with kids

Thank you IBH for this forward. I don't normally post inspiring,
educative stuff, but what the heck, somedays can be an exception to
the norm, can't they? My responses are the ones in italics beneath each point made by the author.

How to Learn to Relax With Your Kids
by Leo Babauta
"If there is anything that we wish to change in the child, we should first examine it and see whether it is not something that could better be changed in ourselves." - C.G. Jung
If you're a hyper parent, you might not even know it — we parents tend to be in denial about that sort of thing. But if you are, you might want to earn to relax — for your kids' sake and for yours.
Hyper parents are spotted when they are trying to educate their child from the womb and expose them to the most intellectually stimulating
music and art and literature before the kid can crawl. They obsess over everything, from whether the child is learning fast enough to how safe every single thing is to every little scrape and bruise. They are overprotective, overbearing, overwhelming to the child.
I admit, I was a hyper parent once and still can be sometimes. It's a habit I'm trying to break, with some success. And for those of you who are hyper parents and will admit it if only to yourselves, I'd like to share some things I've learned, with hopes that it'll help.
Be forewarned that some of these suggestions take a very different approach to parenting than the traditional methods — I'm not suggesting everyone follow them, especially if you're not willing to break with traditions. What I am suggesting is that these methods will help you relax, will help your child feel freer and less controlled and more able to explore and learn on her own, and could possibly result in a better relationship with your child and a happier child overall. I don't have proof of that yet, but I have a strong hunch based on how my kids react when I do these things right.
1. When you get angry, pick them up and hug them. Instead of scolding or spanking or time outs or other controlling methods, try love. It's a much better response, and you're teaching your child through your actions rather than your words.

Yup, I will pick him up and hug him the next time he draws an elephant bang in the centre cushion of my newly upholstered sofa. After I count to ten very very slowly. And after I burst into tears of frustration. And after I call the laundry service to ask whether black permanent marker on rust suede can be taken away without damaging the fabric. I will hug him then. After he gets the whopping of his life.

2. Make this your mantra: treat them with kindness, treat them with
respect. Seems simple, but it's surprising how little respect we give
to kids, because they're kids.

Isnt this what we should be doing with every human being, kid or adult?

3. Drop your expectations of the child. Often parents have high hopes
of the child doing well academically, or in sports, or of becoming a
professional, when that's not what the child wants. Or the parent
hopes the child will be a certain type of person, and tries to steer
the child toward that — a mild, kind child, or a bright, cheerful
child, or a studious, hard-working child — but that's not who the
child is. Drop these expectations and celebrate the child, as she is.

I didnt turn out to be the best selling author my mother thought I would be. My son might not turn out to be the rockstar I think he has in him. But a little fantasy is good for my sanity.
4. Let her play, let her explore. Stop being so overprotective. Allow
the kid to be a kid. Let her run around outside, ride a bike, explore
nature. Teach her, of course, about safety and dangers, but let her be
a kid.

Please. I want him to play and explore and get out of my hair. Dont call for me until blood is drawn is my motto at the park.
5. Say yes, or some version of yes. Instead of saying no. Often
parents have an instinct to say no. But this is controlling and
stressful, to both child and parent. Stop trying to control the child
and give him some freedom. That doesn't mean you can say yes all the
time, but it does mean you can say "Yes, we can do that … but perhaps
later, when I'm done with what I have to do now."

Why sugarcoat? I say yes when I mean yes, no when I mean no, and maybe if I mean maybe. The world outside is not going to sugarcoat their responses to him. When he grows up, he might not be able to deal with nos if he never gets to hear them from me.

6. Stop trying to overeducate and get out of the way. Parents try to
impart all kinds of knowledge to the kids. So do schools. But kids
learn naturally, without us. Get out of the way, stop trying to force
the kid to learn what you think he needs to learn. Encourage him to
explore and read and figure stuff out. Get him excited about things.
When he's excited about something, he'll learn. When you force it on
him, he'll do what he's forced to do, but not learn much other than
you're controlling.

Overeducate? You got to be kidding. I am the duh-est parent on this planet. I dont even know all the names of the Alien Force aliens on the Ben 10 force. It is me who gets an education everyday.

7. Just focus on making the next interaction with them positive. Many
of these changes are difficult to make for parents, as we have deeply
ingrained habits, stemming from our own childhood. So just focus on
the next interaction. Just try to make the next one a good one. Don't
worry about when you screw up — just apologize if you've broken a
trust, and move on.

Life is full of positive and negative. The child has to learn to deal with both, and who best to teach him than a parent. The child must know that certain things are non negotiable and a parent will not have a positive interaction with him if the non negotiables are tampered with. I call it, My house, my rules.

8. Take a moment to pause, and see things from your child's perspective. If you get angry, it's because you're only seeing things from your perspective. The child has a completely different view of things, and if you can understand that view, you won't be mad at the child. You'll try to make things better for her.

I will see from the child's perspective. The child wants the Rs 2000 Ben 10 Omnitrix watch which has no practical use apart from creating an infernal racket. I could use that Rs 2000 to fund his monthly tuitions. I dont get his point. I will pick up a Rs 99 fake of the same, and reach an amicable compromise.
9. If the kid is "acting up", try to figure out why and meet that need. Often it's a need for freedom, or attention, or love, or to be in control of his own life. Figure out what that need is, and find a more productive way to meet it.

If the kid is acting up, he is fed if hungry or ignored if being unreasonable. It gets him on track quick enough.

10. The kid is already perfect as he is. You don't need to change him. You don't need to mold him into the perfect person. He's already perfect, just as he is.
That he is. I will not argue with this point. All our children are perfect. It is we who are still on the road to being perfect parents, learning on the job.

And now, relax. Enjoy every moment with your child, because they are too few, too impermanent. Trust me — my oldest daughter is 16, and I can't believe how fast her childhood has come and gone. Cherish this time with them, and make every moment a good one. You'll never regret those moments of happiness, those moments when you said yes, when you let your child play, when you stopped controlling and started loving.

Of wedding plans..

The brat sat with mamma, with the room darkened and pappa snoring on the other side of the bed, and his Ironman action figure in his hand.
Mamma, he piped up, when I grow up, I will get married to A.
Mamma, in sleep haze, murmured hmmm hmmm in suitably non commital manner.
He continued undeterred. She iz very priddy.
Mamma repeated the hmmm hmmms, but fully alert now and going back to her mental list of appropriate answers to be given at every situation.
But the brat wasnt looking for validation or approval. He was a man who had made up his mind and was presenting me with a fait accompli.
An wen we get married, I will sleep next to Pappa and she will sleep next to you. And we will gerrup together, and go to skul together.
I guess congratulations are in order. I am on my way to being a mother in law.

And school reopens.

School reopened yesterday. The brat opened his eyes in the morning with the happy anticipation of having an entire day of holiday spread in front of him. Mamma could perceptibly see his expression darken like a storm as he glimpsed his school bag set on the armchair bang opposite the bed. "Tuday is skul?" he questioned mamma aka serf lackey imperiously, in the manner of one who brooks no arguments, and no news contrary to his expectations. Mamma nodded meekly, and told him to get on with it if he expected to make it into them school gates before redline-late mark time. Mamma swore she saw his eyes flash fire.
"I is nod going to skul. Is Diwali vakashun. I is staying ad home tuday. You go to office."
Mamma enlisted Pappa's help to physically haul him off the bed (Sadly, Mamma cannot carry her baby anymore, he's become too big a boy for mamma to carry him without throwing her back out). He struggled hard and flailed limbs helplessly. Divested of clothes, he stood grimly back against the wall in the bathroom, mouth firmly shut as mamma stood with toothbrush in hand. "Brat, brush your teeth."
"I is nod brushing. I is nod having a bath. I is nod going to skul."
Mamma force bathed him, brushed his teeth, dragged him out of the bathroom and Pappa got him dressed. Pappa combed his hair carefully with the off centre part that Pappa gets line calipers to measure preciseness of. Brat was pleased with the result. "I is looking very handsome?" he said to no one in particular as he admired himself in the mirror. "Is waste of time going to skul," he muttered at his reflection.
Mamma completely agrees, but isnt going to let him catch on that she agrees. And then he throws the zinger. "Mamma, I be hansome at home today?"

And here's the Sixth Budday Pahty

Brat with frens. Dont miss the ramrod straight pose. The outfit was black leatherite racing jacket and silver grey jeans.

Brat with Mamma and frens, as nana looks on.

The Ben 10 budday cake.

Papa and Mamma and brat and frens during the cake cutting. Frens helped him blow the candles out.

Since I've yet to get the photographs

Budday Three: Red Leatherite jacket and Black leatherite pants, and a Noddy Cake.

Budday Five: All dapper in brown tee, orange jacket and white pants (not seen in picture).The cake, and the theme, Superheroes.

Budday Four: The gangsta rap hoodie look. And Spongebob Squarepants cake and theme.

Budday Age One: In nana's godi, head freshly mundanofied. Thankfully, a simple Monginis cake and no theme. I had still to morph into a budday pahty momzilla.

Next instalment: Budday Pahty Six.

We are swamped by Ben 10

Ben 10 Tshirts. Ben 10 action figures. Ben 10 Magic Wand type thingie. Ben 10 guns. Ben 10 eye mask type things. Ben 10 Cars.
The brat is in Ben 10 heaven since gift unwrapping happened.

Happy Birthday to the second love of my life...

Dear Krish,

You turn six today. I honestly have no clue where these six years went. Cross my heart. You were much longed for, much prayed for, and you took your own sweet time coming into our home. Eight years to be precise. You were a sweet baby. A model child. The trouble came later when you crossed one. Two years of hell. Therapy. Hospitalisations. Mamma greying rapidly. All that is past us now, hopefully.

You are the laughter in our house, the spark in our eyes, the music in our hearts. You are naughty and innocent, stubborn yet endearing. You are the kind of slacker who gets away with slacking over his studies and homework with such charm that it seems a crime to enforce you to a daily routine of padhai.

You went from a chubby gurgling baby to a skinny runt within a few years, I felt shortchanged. Where had all that cuddlable cuteness gone? You made up for it in other ways, by being so innocently precocious that I spent hours mulling over your statements. By figuring out things I had never bothered to question or think about. By proving to me time and again, that no matter what they told me at school about you lagging behind the class, your brain was first rate. You are very intelligent, Krish, and dont you forget it. I will let you ride on your charm. I'm not one for book knowledge too. I'd rather you learnt what interested you, than you mug up what you need to scrape through in school.

You are such a sociable child. You have so many bes frens that you are constantly being fought over on the playground. You have aunts and grandmothers who adore you and drown you with gifts to the point of spoiling you completely. You have folks coming over home specially to meet you. You are the kind of sunshine child who warms a parent's heart.

You are an amazing dancer. Your body moves so naturally to rhythm, it is a sight to watch dumbstruck. Your shoulders move on their own when youre listening to music. You enjoy drama, you love play acting. Mamma wonders if she should take you out of school and put you straight into acting school, because clearly, that is where your calling is, music and dance and acting. You are a natural born entertainer. And you are destined to be a Bollywood hero. Much as Mamma hates the species. You love the spotlight on you. You adore attention. You want to be in the forefront. You fight to get on stage. Pappa almost landed there you know, mamma held him back. I dont think I would be able to hold you back from whatever you want to do with your life.

Happy Birthday my darling son. May you always bring us joy and pride.

Love,

Mamma

The brat turns 6 tomorrow...

And he finally gets his budday pahty. Not the kind he is used to, with the party hall, and the hired entertainment and the DJ, Tattoo artist and balloons and decorations and catered food. But a simple one at Papa Johns, which has him really really excited because he has always loved the ones he has attended there, with many of his friends having their parties at this joint.
He's been very very enthusiastic about planning out his guest list and inviting his friends. Even down to writing the names on the invitation cards. So terribly, that mamma cringes as she distributes them, but sees the pride and joy on his face when he finds the card he's written for a specific fren and hands it over, telling the fren all the details contained within the card, "Pleez come on Wenisday ad six oclock. Ad Paapa Jons. Is my budday pahty. I gotta Ben 10 cake." The cake obviously to him, is the clincher, the kind of factor that PR folk throw at mamma when they want to invite her to any event, aka reel of a list of unfamiliar names. And then silence. And mamma with her zilch celeb radar will ask, "Who are they?" The said PR will prolly cringe at mamma's total lack of clued in ness and conclude the conversation by saying do come, and clink the phone off. Such is the Ben 10 cake for the brat. The clincher. How could anyone in their right senses resist a Ben 10 cake?
Mamma has been going mad with Diwali stuff. And then vamoosed to Pune for a couple of days of R&R and is just back today, which is all she has for card distribution, and return gift picking up. And picking up a birthday outfit for the brat to wear. He's got his heart set on a green leatherite jacket with 10 on it, aka Ben 10 Alien Force. With a black tshirt inside, and dark blue jeans. He's grown his hair to appropriate levels. But we have not been able to find said green jacket after combing all possible markets. As a compromise we have picked up the Ben 10 costume which he insists he will wear for the cake cutting. Mamma is okay if he wears a monkey costume as long as he cuts said cake without too many tantrums.
Another milestone, the brat is also now officially a big boy. He has shifted himself out of the parental bed and is now co-sleeping with the daadi. Much to daadi's irritation at the constant kicking, muttering, endless trips to the bathroom for su-su. Mamma feels a little twinge in heart at the wide empty space in the centre of the bed, being used as she and Pappa had gotten to hugging the edges of the bed, and sleeping in defensive posture to keep self safe from flailing limbs of starfish posture in deep sleep brat. Mamma kept waking up in the night, and patting the empty space and jumping up in a panic wondering where the brat had wandered off to before realisation sunk in. The Pappa was awake for a better part of the night too.
This morning there was a knock on the door at 6 am. The door was duly opened and a sleepy brat tumbled in and onto the bed between both mamma and pappa. "I is very sleepy. I cannod sleep poperly in dat bed. I is sleeping here only." We promptly hugged him and sidled to the edges of the bed happily, and went back to snoring in unison.

And during Navratri...

...This is how the brat and gang of half sizes harassed the hapless gentleman manning the music system into ditching the dandiya beats and playing their Hindi filmi numbers...

Kaminey lyrics rewritten...

...By Krish Manral

Aaja Aaja Dilli chodein
Raat ki matki todein
Koi to leg nikale
Aaj us leg ko todein

Yes, too many action movies have been happening.

Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel

And Blobbie is here!!!!

*Drumrolls* Doula Sue and Doula K are proud to announce that Rohini is now a proud mamma to a beautiful baby girl. All of 3.2 kgs, baby and mamma are doing fine.
More updates as they happen.

Of birthday parties being cancelled

The financial situation at the House of Manral being dire, the parents of the brat have decided that there will be no great shebang this year for the brat.
Given that even a casual home party would mean a minimum of 40 must invite kids from building complex, friend circle and school, that plan has been scrapped too on pain of mamma going insane.
Now, the scary part is breaking the news to the brat and figuring out a happy alternative to spend the day without him missing the big do with the works he's gotten used to. Suggestions?
Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel

Of kutta pahjamas to cut a cake.

The brat had his Diwali party at school today. Mamma was asked to send pav bhaji for the class. Mamma being Mamma promptly threw her hands up at the thought of managing to rise at the crack of dawn, prise both eyelids open and get down to making pav bhaji for a bunch of tykes, and manage to get bathed, dressed, breakfasted for self and brat and then out of the door by eight. Yes. Pigs would also fly without wings by the end of the morning. And George Clooney himself would ring mamma's doorbell, with a red rose in his hand. Ah, be still my beating heart.
Anyway, mamma browbeat the class teacher into allowing her to get away with storebought snacks, so wafers and kaju katli were organised the previous evening. As was chocolate cake. With Happy Birthday Krish written on it, and six candles taped to the box. The brat's birthday will fall during the Diwali vacation, and Mamma always has to send the cake in on the last day of school pre-vacation. And the brat had to wear Indian traditional, so he had carefully laid out a brand new red kurta with white pyjama, and his hair gel on the chair the previous night itself, in case, mamma in her usual disorganised manner, forgot about the traditional part of the Diwali party and ended up sending him to school in regular uniform and hair ungelled. Blasphemy. Attending a party with ungelled hair would be akin to social harakiri.
The brat therefore, bounced up the moment his name was called this morning. No need for the tickling, the gentle calling of name, which rapidly progresses to loud shouts and water on the head when said brat refuses to emerge from the land of Kumbhakarna. "Is my budday tuday?"
Mamma tried to explain that the birthday was still some days off, today was the day he would celebrate in school.
"Wherez my geefs?"
Mamma explained with even greater patience that the geefs would come on the birthday and this was only a cake cutting ceremony in class for his school friends.
"Dey will give me geefs in skul?"
No, no, Mamma hastened to inform him. He wouldnt be getting any gifts at all today.
His face fell a bit. He sulked around, a frown furrowing his brow. "Den I is nod going to cut d cake and give it to my frens if they is nod gonna give me geefs. I is gonna cut d cake and eat it all apne aap."

Think about this....

Your child is on Facebook and Orkut. Your child is exposed to countless strangers not all of whom are his or her age, and not all of whom are looking on your child with an avuncular view. And anyway, tell me of one woman who hasnt had a bad experience with an 'uncle' through her growing years, and I will show you someone who is very very lucky. But this shocked me beyond the pale. A friend finds out her 13 year old is connecting with an almost forty year old on a social networking site, and the forty year old comes home, with condoms and such like when she is away. And the part that twisted my gut? The 13 year old is a son. And the almost 40 year old is a mother of two. Her own children would be as old as this boy. It turns my stomach so I want to puke. I want to hug my friend and tell her her son will be okay. He will.
I have a son. I need to now protect him from sexual predators of both genders. I used to think parents of daughters had it tough. But recent incidents I hear about and read about make me realise that boys are equally at risk. I spoke about this to the spouse, and in typical male chauvinistic fashion he laughed about it being a rite of passage for most males. And almost got into confessional mode about his first encounters. My stomach turns. I dont want to think about these things. Most times I dont want to hear about these things happening. I am an ostrich. I want to hold my son and build a wall around him. But I know that is so not possible. You never know what could happen and where. And nowhere is safe.
How does the fact that the 13 year old is a boy and the 38 year old, a woman make this any less of sexual abuse of a minor than if the genders were reversed? I'm glad my friend was checking on her son's Facebook account. I'm so so very sorry she had to find this out.
I am going to be a very very snoopy mother. I am going to be the one listening in on conversations, checking emails and such like. I am going to be conducting surprise checks on playdates and sleepovers. As it is, I am the only mother around who refuses to send her son down on his own to play in the park. The brat has already been told about where touching is permitted and where it is not. He is not left alone with random adults, apart from the spouse, grandmothers and trusted friends. I dont know how long I will be able to control his environment and his exposure. He is only six, there are years to go. I am going to be shamelessly paranoid, because I need to be. I am responsible for my child till he is an adult. And I will be to the best of my ability. I dont mind being called paranoid. And here's praying our kids stay safe.

Birthday party time

The brat's birthday approaches and mamma's stomach starts getting stitched into knots. For one, she needs to sit down and calculate the number of birthdays he has attended over the past year, and return the favour. Given that he attended four birthday parties just over this weekend, you can imagine the size of the guest list he will have. The brat is a popular invitee. As is his mother, mamma would like to think. At last count we had 80 children who just had to be invited. Many will be accompanied by responsible adults.
The trouble lies in the birthday party mamma plans. The guest list starts with new borns to teens and inbetweens. Therefore the worry starts.
This year the brat has been announcing to all and sundry that he wants a 'Ben 10 budday pahty!' This is being announced to all and sundry in the fond hope that some soft touch soul will shell out the dosh required to buy the obscenely priced Omnitrix hanging beckoningly on the shelves at Shoppers Stop and Lifestyle to ensure that he is able to morph at will into ugly creatures that call themselves Jet Ray and SwampFire and other such retch inducing terms. Whatever happened to the simple cartoons of my youth, aka He-Man, I wonder...nice macho man, with rippling muscles, and swords and fighting simple evil Skeletors. Anyway, to get back to Ben 10, the party is to be Ben 10 theme. Which means, the brat's birthday outfit will be the green sports jacket, the tee and the dark indigo jeans.
The decor will have ugly aliens all over the room. The invite will be Krish as said Ben 10. The food, thankfully, will be earth grub and not intergalactic engineered capsules of necessary nutrients.
Mamma has it all planned in her head. Now for the execution. That, my dear reader, is another post altogether.

A rainy day holiday

It has been an uncharacteristically wet October weekend. It rained all through Saturday, with the kind of lightning and thunder that was patented by horror movie makers, right down to the point where you're supposed to see a face with fangs outside your window. Anyway. Lets keep this in perspective. It thundered and roared and flashed and crackled through Saturday night so fiercely that had I not to be the brave person the child clung on to shaking like the leaf he spoke about in his leaf poem, I would be the terrified coward clinging to the spouse in trembling fear through the storm. It also didnt help that the glass panes showed us the horizon right upto the Arabian Ocean, when scary flashes of lightning struck a dark sea.
Yesterday, it poured through the day. This morning, we woke to a thunderous sky and pouring rain. "Tuday iz a rainy day holiday?" asked the brat hopefully. "No, not at all," said Mamma sternly, as she got brat through the paces for a quick bath, and breakfast and ready to go to school. Suddenly, the sky growled angrily. And some lightning sparked through again. Mamma jumped in fright. And shrunk back. "Is a rainy day holiday na, mamma," repeated the brat hopefully. "Is lighting and thunding. Is very scary day."
Ah well. Okay. Mamma succumbed. The brat stayed home. Mamma came to work, driving through pouring rain, with fog lights on. And is dreading the drive back. Something tells me we have to do a rethink on the 'seasons' part of the curriculum they learn at school.