This morning Maher noticed something dangling off a roof right next to our bedroom.
A snake had shed it’s skin last night.
The kids were intrigued. Until they looked at it closely, they thought it was plastic.
And then…it wound up in the play-doh.
Last year we celebrated the bond between brothers and sisters in our first Raksha Bandan. Leila tied a rakhee (usually an ornate string that symbolizes a bond of protection), around Rahul’s right wrist. Leila had to have one as well – that bit is what made it Raksha Bandan – Our Version. They hugged and fed each other something sweet.
We had a repeat of our version this year at our Koh Samui hotel room. My mum was with us on the day, the full moon of August 2nd, so it was all the more special even in the simplicity of our unmade beds, daily wear, and impromptu rakhees – I cut out the bookmark-ribbons from two of L and R’s story books and used them as rakhees. (Don’t tell my little brother;))
Here’s Raksha Bandan – Bond of Protection, the post I wrote last year about this celebration during my childhood.
Saying bye-bye to Anna and Rody. Until next time.
Some conversations from the last month:
Koh Samui, driving around the Southern parts of the island
Maher: Les gars, vous avez vu les vaches? Et il y a des chevaux aussi! (Hey guys, did you see the cows? There are horses as well!)
Me: Do you know what cows eat?
Leila: Gra-nola
On the beach one day:
Rahul picked up a strange white jelly-like fish egg (I think)
Me: What’s that Rahul?
Rahul: Mama, this lenses (as in contact lenses)
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Chengdu –
One evening just before bed:
Leila: What dat Rahul?
Rahul rubs his body: Keam, body. (As in body cream / lotion),
Leila picked up a tube of zinc oxide used for nappy irritation: What dat Rahul?
Rahul pointing at it: Toos paste that.
Leila tapping her bottom: No Rahul, Keam bum-bum.
Rahul: No, toos paste.
Leila: No, keam kiki(cute way to say vagina in French).
Rahul: Afu zizi, Leila zizi (cute way to say penis).
Leila: No, Leila kiki
Rahul smiling: Leila zizi
Leila: Noooo, Leila kiki
Rahul really pushing her button: Leila zizi
I had to pull them apart. Stop them from shoving and pushing each other after that one.
In bed that night:
Leila: Mama, where papa?
Me: He’s in Hengyang. He’ll be back in two days.
Leila crying: Leila kiss papa.
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Early, very early one morning:
Leila pointing at some soft boiled egg that she spilt on the table: Mum look. Fwog.
Me: Wow Leila, is the from jumping around in your egg?
Rahul walks into the kitchen, barely awake.
Leila: Rahul, look. Fwog. Egg.
Me: Hey Rahul, did you see the frog in Leila’s egg?
Leila: Fwog, water, jump ribbit ribbit.
A little later, still at the table that morning -
Rahul: Tomorrow xiao He ayi back. Some bady bump, went see doctor. Better now.
Me: Yes Rahul. She’s much better now, and she’s coming back tomorrow!
(He ayi, our dearly beloved nanny had a motorbike accident a week ago. A three-wheel-taxi driver bumped into her, watched her fall to the ground, and zoomed away.)
Still at breakfast-`
Leila: Banana mama
Me: Nana nana banana banana
L and R: Nana nana banana banana
L and R: nani nani chapatti chapatti
Me: Jiddo jiddo potato potato, teta teta batata batata
L and R: jiddo jiddo potato potato, teta teta batata batata
Rahul: Zazu Nanu, Zazu Nanu
Leila: Zazu D2, Zazu D2. D2 jiddo.
Me: D2 jiddo or Jiddo Kamal
Leila teasing: D2 Dubai
Rahul: Jiddo Kamal Dubai
Leila: Teta Houda Lebanon
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One evening all of us in bed:
Me taling to Maher about something: D2 was talking to his girlfriend.
Leila: girl-fwend mama?
Me: Ummmmm, D2’s girlfriend Stephanie, do you remember her? She is his girlfriend.
Leila nodding her head: Member mum.
Me: Ummmmm Pasca is my girlfriend.
Leila: Leila mama dotter. Rahul mama son. Mama papa girlfwend. Liu yan Marwan girlfwend. Leila Rahul girlfwend.
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The four of us together. Maher sings a song. I join in. After two years of “practicing”, I’m still out of tune!
Rahul says: Mama no sing!
I’ve never carried a purse that way. A purse?! Never worn pink, Winnie- the- Pooh high-heeled slippers that light up (flashing-red bling). I don’t own a flowery hat, or a flowery dress.
She’s two. Doesn’t dress like this every day only because she can’t have her way.
A Zimbabwean yoga teacher, MoT, sister who’s lived in the Middle East for several years claims to have figured it out, “It’s definitely her Lebanese genes!”
I remember the first time we went to Lebanon, she was 9 months old. Leila was mesmerized by an older woman on the plane, fixing her make-up. Wow! My insecurities came rushing up to the surface.
Another yogi friend looked me up and down today, looked at Leila styling, then said, “Yeah, of course she’s gonna be the girly girl. Just to, you know..?” and she winked at me.
She calls herself princess, and even tried to crown me. I resisted initially, I’ve never thought of myself that way. But hey, what’s the big deal if she wants me in her kingdom. Lucky me!
A week ago at the Koh Samui Airport; the four of us are rushing to our plane in an open air buggy.
Leila pushes me. She shouts, “WOW! Mum. Look’t Leila hair,” as she runs her fingers through her hair.
“Yes! Your hair is blowing in the wind.”
“Rawul awso,” she says, pointing at her brother’s hair.
She looks at Maher next, “Papa NOT.”
And then at me, “Mama Yes.”
Early Sunday morning, I tell L and R that I’ll be out until lunch; that I’ll be teaching Pranayama (breath-work) workshops.
“Afu Pa-ya-ma-na,” Rahul pleads with outstretched arms. (Afu is what he calls himself.)
I pick him up; tell him that he can do some Pranayama with me, but that he’s got to stay with “ayi” (meaning aunt, aka nanny in this case) for the morning.
10 minutes later, he blocks me from entering the shower, “Mama Yoga. Mama Pa-ya-ma-na.”
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The response was overwhelming. My Yoga teacher friend Judy, who organized the 2 sessions, back-to-back at her lovely little home studio, and I, haven’t worked together since I got pregnant two and a half years ago. It’s not only the “together” bit though, I haven’t taught at all.
Of course I was nervous. All week. It’d been a while.
But, I am confident about Pranayama, especially after all the workshops I’ve attended over the years, and most importantly, from my own regular practice: the years of regularity, the continuity of it regardless of bed-rest during the pregnancy, the slip during the NICU phase and stressful first year, the irregularity of practice coming back to it, and the decision of, “that’s it – it’s got to be for real, or not at all.”
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Maher attends the 9 O’clock session. L and R hang onto our sleeves, crying as we leave the apartment.
It does him good to have a refresher. It’s a nudge, to get him back into a regular practice.
“I need it,” he says to me, almost every day.
He’s sick more often than ever before. The children are always coughing. As soon as we’re in the street, I have sharp headaches. I catch myself turning around to see if there is someone smoking right behind me. All the time. We’re feeling the pollution. It’s worse than it’s been in the last 6 years. There are more buildings, more cars, and more people.
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A month ago I did my first serious workshop since before I was pregnant. It was in Koh Samui with Paul – my teacher. He asked if I was Back in the Game. He meant everything – Asana, Pranayama. He has children of his own. He’s had many other first-time-mum students who needed the push to get off their butts and practice again. He’s dealt with the ones who disappear for a few years, and then return, for a nudge. He knows about my pregnancy and the early birth, the stresses.
I suppose that’s why he asked me if I was back. A few times over the 2 week course. My doubtful but positive response at the beginning of the workshop had a completely different meaning to my confident one at the end.
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At the end of each session, Judy and I leave 5 minutes for questions.
“It’s doubtful that I will remember any of this. Can we have a follow-up class?” one of the students asks.
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I rush home after the second class. Maher, R, and L are having a good time. Laughing. Playing.
“They had a great morning; they didn’t cry a drop after you left,” ayi reports as she leaves.
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We’ve organized one follow-up session; possibly more over the next few weeks.
So am I Back in the Game?
A written declaration of it might make it more real.
