Liar, Liar

That's what I am. A big, old liar. It's how I get food into the kid lately - food that I know she wouldn't try if I didn't make up a fabulous story about it. To the left you see Coco Wheats. That not-so-glorious breakfast food of my youth. But it's nothing so mundane as Coco Wheats here, instead we call it Hot Cocoa Cereal. A few marshmallows on top and a sprinkling of mini-chocolate chips and it goes down as slick as snot. Not that I'm wild about the marshmallows and chocolate chips, but we must pick our battles wisely. When trying a new food and one that I really want her to eat because I'm not too scared of how it will look if it revisits us, I'm not above bribery.

To the right we see Amiya after finishing her very last magic shell. That's right, it's magic in the Gupta house. Here's how you can make your own magic shells:
1 box shell pasta, cooked
1 can tuna drained
1 shallot chopped
1 c. frozen peas
1 handful chopped celery
1 handful of cheese cubed
mayo
salt
pepper

Toss it all together and chill.

That's right, magic shells are nothing more than cold tuna noodle salad. You're onto me! Amiya was having none of it, absolutely none of it. Mommy wasn't making something else so I told her that if you can find two shells with one inside the other, you just have to close your eyes tight and make a wish. Happily, shells often get glued together, so there were lots of wishes going on at our house. And Amiya kept on eating those magic shells even when Mommy's (odd) tuna craving had passed and I wanted nothing more to do with the leftovers.

Bond, Kevalin Bond

This is how it starts and then it just happens so fast, so slick, so suave.




All he needs is a girl with a dagger strapped to her

thigh in an orange bikini.

Kevalin Bond, Secret Agent

Shower Smiles

Could he be any sweeter?

When it rains, it pours....

Not only true because we live in Tampa, but because when Amiya gets sick, she really ties one on. We try not to be over-zealous doctor goers. A cold is a cold, a cough is a cough. The only thing that gets us to the doc instantly is ear issues because, well, she's had ear issues. It now appears that we should have taken her in sooner.

(And now it's time to finish your breakfast, your cocoa, your snack. Trust me. Walk away until your stomach is ready.)

She woke us up Sunday morning at 4:30 by spewing vomit all over her bed and herself. Good times. She wasn't chipper, but she wasn't miserable, either. A few bouts of not-so-pleasant emissions from the other end on Monday and a bit of a cough. We thought she had the stomach bug that her good friend Aubrey had. But no, it wasn't to be so simple.

After conferring with the nurse Tuesday morning about lack of appetite, general lethargy, etc., she said we should come in. So off we went to see Dr. Jacob. Amiya did not want to go and generally she loves Dr. Jacob, so it was pretty clear that she was feeling pathetic. Dr. Jacob diagnosed not only a viral infection in her digestive system (check, Mommy got that one right), but also bronchitis (minus, bad Mommy - it wasn't just a cough).

So, two prescriptions and a liter of pedialyte later, Amiya is enjoying her first relationship with a nebulizer and she walks around the house with the above tupperware container. Not so much for puke, but because the poor girl can't cough and spit, so when she's got something to get rid of it just sort of dribbles down her chin. (Aren't you glad you're not enjoying a warm, wet beverage at this moment?)

She won't touch the pedialyte with a ten foot pole, wasn't even interested in the strawberry-limeade from Sonic's that she usually steals from me or the slushee that Daddy brought home from Sam's Club, another favorite that we thought would be sure to cross her over to the beverage world. True to form, she only wants water.

She's better today and will hopefully be even moreso tomorrow.

Two (TWO!) is the magic number!

9/11

I remember making phone call after phone call to family and friends on the days following this one five years ago. No one that we knew was at the WTC and like many people, there was really no single place to focus all my feelings. So I called and was called by family and friends to try and make sense of it all.

I will always remember a conversation with my very good friend Amber. She was already the Mom of a precious girl and was talking about working on baby #2. I couldn't fathom actively trying to bring another person into this world to have to face the kind of grief and angst I was feeling. Wouldn't it just be cruel? Wouldn't it be setting myself, Vinay and ultimately that child up for more of the same? And then Amber, being Amber, reasonable, moderate, thoughtful Amber, talked a bit about why it wouldn't. That having a child is in fact a beautiful thing. Having a child creates more beauty and more happiness, for us as parents, but for the world community, as well.

I was so wrong about it being cruel to bring a child into this messed-up world. In three short years and six short months, Amiya and Kev have brought so much to our lives. We have created peace, love, happiness together. So much more than anyone could ever take away.

So today, we remember senseless, tragic loss, on our shores, in Afghanistan, in Iraq by the hands of others and by our own. I cry for the Mothers who have lost a child, such a beautiful being, because now I know. And I hope that my children and their friends, here and there, known and unknown, do a better job at taking care of each other, of respecting each other, of delighting each other, of loving each other, than we have.

Valid Excuse

This time I've got a legitimate excuse for not getting on to update more often:

That's right, she's 3 and we've got a computer nut on our hands. We regularly are asked if she can play computer games and if it's her turn. www.sesamestreet.com has had to switch to a new server because Amiya is there all.the.time.

Ok, so I exaggerate a wee bit. But truly, she thinks she's a little whiz kid now that she can work the mouse. We dread the day she and Grandma figure out how to instant message back and forth.