Mom’s been driving home this week with a big smile on her face. No, she didn’t receive an offer to become CEO, nor was she offered a seat at the executive table. She doesn't even have assigned parking yet. But, for the first time since she’s been driving across town and adding to the daily air pollution levels, she’s made it home the last few days in a record 48.5 minutes.
It’s amazing how a small seasonal event, such as spring break, can rid the streets of all those pesky commuters and allow mom to observe vast stretches of asphalt, hitherto unexposed during rush hour, on her way home.
Weekday traffic flow on the city's major artery can be accurately gauged by mom’s entrance into the house on any given weekday:
- A cheery “Hello!” indicates light traffic.
- A heavy sigh and the bathroom door slamming indicate middling to heavy traffic.
- A Shoorpanakha-like countenance, combined with a dramatic flop face-down on the bed with her shoes still on, indicates that the average speed for the last 30 miles was 7.8 miles per hour.
To keep her head from hitting the steering wheel in somnolence and frustration while driving, and when she’s had enough of observing the guy behind her pick his nose, mom often engages in an internal dialogue, filling her mind with metaphysical observations, such as:
- “I wonder if anybody sent me e-mail.”
- “Ugh, look at my spare tire. Why can’t I look like that blonde in finance who wears tight skirts and four-inch heels and rests her implants on the files she carries around? Oh, wait, if I were to look like her, would dad still respect me for my brilliant mind?”
- “I wish my entire house looked like a Pier 1 catalogue.”
- “Not Celine Dion again, please! Sigh, oh well, it sure beats listening to dad hum “This is Our Country” every Saturday morning.”
- “Dang! I haven’t called my aunt yet. My parents are going to be so pissed. Why do they make me call everyone who lands in the US? And I can’t believe I hanker after their approval even at this age. Will I ever grow up?”
- “Sure, lady, cut in front of me. Why would I mind?”
- "Why doesn’t A blog anymore? Life simply isn’t worth living.”
- "Why do I like bullet points so much?"
- “Oh, look at that billboard! That’s where I want to be right now - Hawa-eeee - Oh wait, do they have lizards there?”
- “I wonder if anybody sent me e-mail. Am I obsessing about it a little too much? Maybe we should move to a village in India with no electricity, like Shahrukh Khan did in Swades. Dad and I can sit on the veranda and count the stars.”
- “I wonder why it’s called a gentleman’s club when there’s nothing gentlemanly going on inside.”
- “Oooh, dude alert in the left lane! Holà, handsome!”
- “Hmmm ... if a car were a phallic symbol, what message is this trying to convey?”

20 comments:
I thought they are going to build 24 lane highway in your part of the country. I think, mom would be smiling and be radiant everyday after that. :)
*must ... resist ... the ... urge ... to ... comment*
dang it, i lost! :-( lay it on, o really anonymous one!
"It’s amazing how a small seasonal event, such as spring break, can rid the streets of all those pesky commuters and allow mom to observe vast stretches of asphalt, hitherto unexposed during rush hour, on her way home."
us troglodytes do not experience spikes and troughs in traffic. waitaminute!!! hereabouts, spring break spikes the traffic and so do the snowbirds in their snowplows (if not in looks, at least in speeds!). now you know where your commuting f(r)iends are!
“I wish my entire house looked like a Pier 1 catalogue.”
the 'head(mistress) mom of my household' would definitely think the same. except, she would use 'bookstore with coffee' as the model, and would hope that someone comes and takes away all books in the house!
refuse to click on the link on the last bullet. howering over it reveals a suggestive name. need to go home first! (terri, give me some credit for will-power)
- s.b.
Terri - you are one crazy guacamole! So much fun to read your crazy posts!
I could actually substitute traffic (and the reactions thereafter) for how well my son ate. The other day I got up after feeding him his meal singing loudly some little kid's song and my husband said - your voice sounds like you are skipping - he must have eaten well! And email - yes - nice if there were a ton of personal mails rather than mass mails when you open the inbox.
Anon, if you build it, they will come. I think we should go back to the troglodyte (yep, had to look that up) days of cotton fields and dairy farms, with no Internet connection. I’m sure life was a lot simpler back then, despite the lack of adequate indoor plumbing.
s.b., don't allow anons to scare you off – for all you know, I could be writing only for you.
I'll think of you the next time I'm on the I-10 and we can curse the snowbirds together.
And, pray, why do you feel the need to click on a phallic symbol?
noon, I've been called a lot of name, but never guacamole. Good to see you back in action.
Noon, you stole my comment :) My husband judges my daughter's hunger levels from the direction of the lip curve on my face. If it droops, he makes a U-turn and heads back to work. Need I mention, he gets a LOT of work done?
Terry, I clicked on the phallic symbol. Much against my will. I hope s.b. fared better !
Ah, ladies, I see the age-old maternal guilt factor at play.
Mom went through a similar gamut of emotions with her first-born, ranging from "My baby will starve to death if he doesn't eat the last grain of rice in his bowl," to "Not tonight, honey, the baby didn't finish his mum-mum."
The only way to stop obsessing about the first child is to hurry up and have the second one.
old jungle saying: ladies, the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
new (concrete) jungle saying: men, the fastest way to a woman's heart is through her kid(s)' stomach.
ladies and gentlemen (i discount other readers of terri's blog, be they canine, equine, etc, as this probably does not apply to them):
"The only way to stop obsessing about the first child is to hurry up and have the second one."
check this out before you make any plans. also, note that the of this one are two girls. from personal experience (terri might choose to contradict this!), it is magnified by a factor for one of each gender. god knows how it gets when you have two boys.
terri, this is just a disclaimer so you are not sued for causing the current generation to become grey hair boomers.
re: the link. mountaineers climb mountains because they are there, likewise i link hop! an fyi, the local mom had the honour of clicking the link :-).
- s.b.
Wow, only you can convert a hot dog ad to a phallic symbol! But my writ is not to question but to read and be amused.
"I wonder why it’s called a gentleman’s club when there’s nothing gentlemanly going on inside." - Now ladies get to set the rules of being a gentleman.
"...still respect me for my brilliant mind?" - Are you sure the respect is due to your mind!
Agree, I need personal mails to just to believe that people love me more.
s.b., watched the video. That scene could have been from my home with the scattered toys, shrieking kids and harried parent.
I wouldn't have it any other way though.
And are you saying your wife clicked on the link? You told her about me?!!! Does this mean I'm going to have to watch myself around you? Er ..., she's not a NASA astronaut by any chance, is she?
kk, I checked. It has to be mom's brilliant mind, since she:
• Doesn't look like implant babe
• Cannot make a decent palak paneer
• Didn't bring a sizeable dowry into the marriage
• Is nicer to her in-laws than his own
Unless he's fallen for the fact that mom can spend money faster than you can say 'shopping.'
"harried parent"
why singular? when she is not commuting or working, does mom blog away her days, typing and editing? :-)
omigod! i told her about you, terri not your moooom, so you guys are ok! now, not that it matters in the big picture, but what is your gender anyway? my best guess is he-dog, but with a name like terri (i have come across tari, teri and terry before but not terri), i can think of only the snl character pat (or desi kiran)who is more mysterious! sorry if i come across as denser than a dunce!
- s.b.
p.s.: having said that, there sure are several diapers (used and unused!) lying around this house too (among the toys, books, shopping bags and whatnots), and local mom sure can stitch and drive ... ;-)
Tag alert !
Ter -- you are not just a dog but a sadistic one at that! Has mom not given you enough love that you want to unleash your anger on other unsuspecting souls?! Getting them into deeper trouble - and it will be too late when they realise it! :) La la la...Feeding, diaper changing, feeding, diaper changing! Go ahead, have the second one right away folks! :))
" The only way to stop obsessing about the first child is to hurry up and have the second one. "
"are there lizards there?"
haha haha! my number one paranoia too!
Its funny when I read this one,
"Oooh, dude alert in the left lane! Holà, handsome!"
It was like how guys do:
"Babe Alert in the left lane. Need to keep away from that lane. She looks good but looks combined with her driving can kill you (literaly)."
s.b., thanks for the warning. I'll just presume that the next desi stranger who approaches me is probably not an Amway rep.
noon, you guys jumped the gun even before my sage advice.
dw, I wonder if any part of India is lizard-free. What about cold places in the northeast? Kashmir, Nepal border?
kk, wise choice. I haven't heard of any real-life romances sprouting in the fast lane.
it's the number 1 reason i won't move back to india!
terri:
"now, not that it matters in the big picture, but what is your gender anyway?"
you didn't answer my question (see my comment above), but i got the answer on alpha's blog, and i assume she is correct and you are a 'he'!
- s.b.
s.b., you can't tell from my face if I'm male or female?!! Next, you'll want to know my age also.
terri:
hey, now that you've set the record straight about your gender, your age is (obviously) fair game. out with it, buster!
- s.b.
whoops. how did i ever forget? you were born the day i got mawwied!
- s.b.
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