You Win Some and You Win Yet Again

I have Chiku all sorted out, as long as I catch her in the right time. Rana Pratap the famous Chittor King, had about the same sentiments about Akbar’s army, when he planned his guerrilla wars against Akbar’s platoons. Guerrilla wars are warlets, catch them in their weakest moment and vanquish them just for a while. I am one of them, the vanquisher of a moment.

Timing is extremely critical. Here is how:

“Chiku, why are your socks on the stairs? You left your shoes outside the shoe rack (one face down to the north and one face up to the south). Why is your school uniform strewn on the floor? Why haven’t you kept your school bag in your room yet?” The quintessential remonstrance of a mom, thrilled at the return of her kid from school. Some days these war cries are enthusiastic. Other days they are in-effective. On yet other days the warrior in me is stoic and submissive. But Chiku remains the apple of my eyes, regardless of who clears up the mess.

The joy of seeing her run in after school and hug Penny, our dog, and kiss her a hundred times. Even though we have warned her a thousand times, not to kiss the dog. Oh how she plays on the floor with the dog, lying flat, petting her and getting licked by her. Her two lanky ponies, unkempt and dangling, her face dark and sweaty from being in sun, her pinafore slipping off one shoulder; she is cuteness defined. I want to scoop her up and carry her around once again. But I have to settle for dragging her to my lap and planting a few kisses while she squirms, before she tears herself off and rushes off to her room.

Though her room appears to be a perennial battle field, her belongings engaged in constant Armageddon on her desk, on the floor and over the bed. But that is just a disguise. In truth this is her sanctum sanctorum, her favourite place in the world. Chiku is at home only once she enters this room. 

And soon the afternoon rituals begin.

“I want the iPad!” Chiku explodes.

“No iPad today!” I counter explode.

“Just Half an hour.” Chiku entreats.

“No,” I retort sharply.

“Please!” she pleads.

“No,” Sharper now yet I am melting inside.

“Okay then your phone.” She changes track, to my relief.

“I am using it!” I respond flatly.

“Please!” Chiku entreats yet again.

“No,” I howl, between whatever it is, she is disturbing. “Don’t snatch it from meeeee,”

“Please, please, please!” She plays her trump card, the cute begging look and all.

“No.” I harp and go back to work.

“I don’t want rice and dal today,” She is now at the table and making annoyed protests.

“But you did not have it yesterday either,” I reason.

“No,” She declares with the build-up for a skirmishy cry. “How about rice and curd and jiggery?” She suggests in between the pitter-patter of sniffs.

“No! You can’t have sweet stuff now,” I counter.

“Uuuuunnnnn,” whining aimlessly, fretting and not listening.

Not that whining again. I am quite melted already with all that No, No and No of the afternoon. “Okay have your way, but only today.” I finally surrender.

A bright smile is followed by a, “thank you.” Chiku effortlessly morphs into her cute avatar. Till the next demand, disagreement or discomfort or whatever triggers the next tantrum.

I was caught unawares. When I undertook this journey as a mother no one told me much. No one suggested to exercise my vocal cord to become a mother, Lamaze is all they ever talked about: puff, puff, puff, take deep breaths and push the head out! And then what that head does after emerging was kept a secret! No one suggested regular yoga and meditation to hold peace through the battlefield of mothering, oh no. No one told me you had to be good negotiator to be a mom. No one told me you had to be a social scientist to be a cool mom. No one told me to be a warrior to become an effective mom. I just discovered these things on my own! And I dare say I am barely managing.

Oh how I'd love to leave my daughter alone to live as she pleases! But she is a kid and this is not how it works. If kids were left alone to deal with life, this is how they would live probably- Wake up play, play some more, don't eat, play, play, play and play and then don’t sleep just play. At least this is what mothers think their respective kids would do, myself included. Though the kids have surprised us often, but surprises are called so because they are scarce.

In the ten years that I have been a mother, I think I have chosen my battles well. I have made the choice to speak or not to speak, to whack or not to whack, to punish or not to punish, to protect or to let her fight her fights, to reprimand or to ignore her faults, to lie or not to lie to her. And I have been quite content with the outcome.

And truly, the war is not over, it is never over. Later in the evening, no lessons learned from the afternoon, I begin all over again:

“Chiku have your dinner,” I insist, “it is getting late.”

No answer.

“Chiku quick I am losing my temper.” I fume.

“But I will finish what I am doing before I go.” Chiku finally answers nonchalantly.

I try the tough tone repeating myself all over again.

Nothing! Just silent denial.

“Chiku I am really happy you are doing this interesting thing,” I change tracks, “but food needs to be eaten on time.”

Bingo! I have her attention. Or so it appears. But I can’t hide the whole truth from the readers. Sorry no, there is no real victory in parenting! Chiku still completes her work before she eats.

She seems to know exactly how I can win the war without really winning any of the battles. She just displayed her grit, determination, focus and fearless pursuit of her goal, all over again. Didn't I truly wish for that! 

You win some and you lose some. But in the parent kid battle you win even when you lose. Keeping up the fight is more important than winning the fights! Hush listen carefully! Did I hear the great Rana Pratap, the great proponent of Guerrilla warfare, cheer for me?