A story of love, loss and second chances by Nikita Singh, releasing this Valentine’s Day.
Are you taking care of the calcium needs of your child ?
A mom working from home is like a Milkha mom – on a perpetual marathon to get things done without being recognised or compensated for it.
It shakes me up from my peaceful slumber. It dictates, it instructs, it irritates and that automatically generated sound from my head erupts…”Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh its morning again”.
I may be a woman, an individual, and the time starved writer, so what?
Time for the right part of the brain to instantly remind the left one.
Oh! “Hello the woman, the writer, put your ever rising emotions to rest. Damn you! You are a full time mother. Do you need to be told time and again?
I oblige and respond.
“No, no … let’s get to work”.
And the race begins…
Sorry! A marathon indeed.
P.S. (I do not have a servant at home since long for all the unavoidable circumstances. Though he/she is a luxury)
6:00 am – I get up from the bed not at the first, but the second alarm, that too every single working day quarter heartedly (I don’t wish to use half heartedly here, coz its much less than that).
First thing… shake the kids, ask them, and instruct them, what? They don’t pay heed… are they still asleep? Just howl at them. Eventually they will start getting ready.
Next thing – I run to the kitchen. I turn on the gas, I warm the milk, I pack their lunch boxes, put it in their bags, fit in the water bottles on the sides, comb their hair and before the school van would ring the doorbell twice, send them right down.
“Ok bye…finish your lunch,” and wave and run back.
“Oh let’s postpone the morning walk which I had decided to resume last week!” I instruct the woman in me with a straight face.
“Just get back to work,” she tells me too.
7:15 am – I open the fridge, I take out the vegetables, I wash, I clean I chop, I cook, I curdle the milk, as I finish preparing lunch.
In between I do a little favour to me. I consume my green tea in haste, and yes positioning the day’s time table simultaneously.
8:30 am – I pick, I place, I set…what else? The clothes, the books, the notebooks, the pens, the pencils, the slippers, the comb, the unfinished milk glasses, the medicines, the phone chargers, the hand towels, the napkins, the dirty clothes, the keys, the TV & the AC remotes, the blankets, the pillows, the cushions, “Ahhhhh…..why does nobody keep the things where they should be?”
“Stop cribbing and complaining, don’t expect them to change. Get on to the other chores of the day. They need to be taken care of!”
“Alright! Of, course I know… and here I go”.
9:00 am – I pack husband’s lunch. Give him breakfast. Have mine too.
10:00 am to 12:00 pm – The door bell rings one after the other. The milkman, the vendors, the guards, the garbage guy, the maids and I pick, buy, pay, settle, assist, instruct and supervise.
I attend calls, I whatsapp, I scroll through FB updates, check my mails, and I go through the newspaper. I get hold of the laptop, I navigate through the topics in mind, I type, the deadlines, the forthcoming events, the …. And in between I need to make notes for their tests.
I bathe, I change, and I rush before having a glimpse of me in the mirror. I ignore, I hurry, I attempt to finish my pending write ups.
2:30 pm – Ohh! The time just slipped by. What if some day I could catch hold of it, abduct it and lock it for long?”
“Oh listen! You mother of the two… cease the thought. Fetch your twins from below. The door bell has rung again!”
“Oh Ok! Sure. Who else will?”
3:00 pm – I settle their bags, quickly inspect their lunch boxes and homework, I serve them lunch, nagging time and again, “Will you hurry up, will u take bath”?
“Mama I want you to come with me for cycling”, orders one of the twins. Along came the other demand from the other room, “Mom I don’t want to go cycling I wish to play with my doll”.
I devise, I plan, I adjust, I manage, take one for cycling, the other at home.
5:00 pm – Time for homework. I appeal, I request and then of, course I howl.
I serve the evening milk, fruits, begin to prepare dinner, nagging and requesting along, trying to play hide and seek with my day’s time table, pacifying my wishes vis a vis my priorities, juggling work and household chores.
6:00 pm – One goes for swimming, the other for her dance class. I again hurry, urge, scream, and run.
7:30pm – We are back home. The kitchen has been missing me. I enter again. I let the washed utensils depart to their respective places, I quicken up for the dinner.
9:30 pm – Dinner is moving slowly towards the finish line. I come back to the kitchen. Do the morning preparations, lay the bed, and push them to the bathroom for their one last visit of the night before they head to bed. Instruct again to switch off the TV, pack their bags and settle their stuff. And when I am just about to ponder over the day gone by, my little one comes to me and says with a grin, “Mom you are like Milkha Singh, running all day. Please come to bed. Have some sleep”.
One line and the weariness of the long stressful day just evaporated within seconds. I smiled, I hugged and the thought intrigued me, hovering for a while.
Yes! I am a mother and no less than a sprinter, runner, exhausted yet always on the move kind of a homemaker, without my trophies, recognitions, increments, incentives, applauds, or any glory.
I am indeed a Milkha Mom. And I am proud of it without a declaration. And I am sure each one of you can more or less relate to this unceasing marathon day in your life.
So are you too the Milkha Mom?
Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay
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