Out of the mouths of brats and beans

The Brat is playing sharks and whales with two of my clips. Snapping them at each other and growling. He then tries to clamp them both on my head. “I can’t wear both, darling. My hair isn’t long enough,” I say.
He doesn’t even think before he answers, “Then use Garnier Fructis long and strong. It has fruit oil mixed in it. Your hair will grow long and I can put two clips on your head and hang from it.”
Err.. thank you Brat. And thank you, advertisers.


This is about two weeks ago. I am sweating it out, lifting stuff around the house, adjusting furniture, changing curtains and generally going at it. I sit down with a sigh and close my eyes to stop the sweat from running into them, because my arms are too exhausted to lift them up and wipe my brow. The Bean comes up to me, mewling and meowing and tries to wriggle into my arms. I push her away, feeling sticky and dirty, but she snuggles deeper and says, “I love you mama.” The Brat is fiddling with the AC switch and I snap – “Why do you need the AC?” He points to my forehead and says, “I don’t, but you do.”

Brats. Who needs ’em?


We have friends over for dinner a little after moving in. The kids are whining about something and I promise them a party in the evening, clean forgetting that they will expect it to be a kiddy party. No sooner did the doorbell ring than the babies were banging down the door saying, “Coming, coming, Mama’s coming to open the door.”

I open the door and much to my embarrassment the kids look beyond the couple standing there,  then turn around to look at each other in horror and finally turn back to them and say, “Where are your babies?”

The couple looks embarrassed and say, “Errr.. we don’t have any.”

I can’t really intervene you see, because right then I am wondering how I can melt into a puddle on the floor and evaporate.

“You don’t?” say my kids in horror, turning on me in anger at this betrayal.

Err.. no, we don’t, the friends confirm.

I try to help things along by muttering unintelligible stuff hoping it sounds like an apology to the friends and to the kids.

“But we WANT you to have some babies,” howl my embarrassing kids in unison.

I am by now, beyond embarrassment. I am floating in the clouds and ignoring this scene. Fortunately the kids are distracted with gifts and they almost forgive the guests for not having kids. The couple then turns on me,” So, this is how you train your kids to greet people, huh?”

Tearsndreams – you’d be interested to know that these are our common friends.


At the same dinner party, the next couple walks in, also DINKs. And we warn them at the door of impending invasive questions. Somehow they too come bearing gifts and they are spared the ignominy. The Bean however is a pure charmer. A few days ago she saw her father come in carrying something and she sidled up to him with a grin that was pure sugar, saying, “Daddy, you’re the strongest!”

I grinned, thinking to myself, ‘Ah, fathers and daughters… ‘

But then two days later she saw her brother carry something heavy and she looked up at him in awe and said, “Wow, you’re soooo strong!”

But that evening she took the cake. Hot kebabs were being served and Miss Greedy Glut wanted some but couldn’t hold the hot snacks in her baby hands. So what does she do? She looks up at the big guy, smiles her sweetest smile and says, “I want a kebab and its very hot. But you’re so big and strong, you’re a superhero, you won’t get burnt.”

To which the guy gives her his biggest grin, stands up and flexes his muscles wrestle mania style and picks up a hot kebab, breaks it into pieces and blows on it to cool it. And that is how he sat for the rest of the evening, a kebab cooling on his palm while the Bean skipped around the house coming back to daintily nibble on it.  If ever a female learned early how to manipulate the male ego, it is this one.