The Lazy Mom Scrapbook: Day does-it-even-matter?

It’s around 7 in the evening. The house is quiet except for the faint squeals of kids playing in the neighbourhood park. The living room looks like a post hurricane scene, with bits of paper strewn all over the carpet. I sigh and mourn the death of yet another beautiful pop-up book. The playroom I don’t even venture into, and quietly close the door. Tomorrow. That can wait until tomorrow. Walking around the house gathering the scattered bits and pieces of the day, I can’t help but shake my head. Today’s been a tiring one.

Remember how I had mentioned how mother’s are always wound tight? I recently read an article about the very thing. The word the author used was hyper vigilance. It made so much sense to me! It is true. Anytime baby girl is awake I am hyper vigilant. That seemingly innocent leather couch? Wait till she climbs on it, runs to the edge and looks at me with mischief in her eyes. Mini heart attack right there. The soft and squishy cushions that are supposed to well, cushion her? She throws them on the floor, sits on one and buttscoots across the floor until she almost topples over. Baby head and hard tiled floor; need I say more? So yes. Basically anything could be a potential danger, and given how creative little girl is when it comes to troublemaking, I am on my toes all the time.

Sigh again.

I walk to the bedroom to check on her, and can’t help but smile. So peaceful in her sleep, lying on her back with her arms above her head. Just like me. I debate whether a kiss on her cheeks would be worth waking her up and having to put her to sleep again. I can’t resist anyway. As sneakily as I can, I pop a tiny kiss and run out. At least it’s been an early evening. I know she might wake up at 3am wanting to play since she went to sleep so early but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Like I always do.

I know I start sounding like a broken record. I can almost hear you say “Enough of the chronicles of the stay at home mom already!” To which I will probably sigh again and say “But wait, I haven’t yet told you about what we actually did today”

Believe me. Each day is different, and each day brings with it new challenges and definitely new moments to hold on to. It really doesn’t feel like that during times like today but it keeps me looking forward to tomorrow despite the knowledge that it will be lather rinse and repeat again. For today though, I will take those lovely snapshots, edit the trying bits out, and pin them on my virtual scrapbook.

Snapshot 1: We go out to the park because for a change it is nice and dry and empty (no raucous older kids running amok) and walk aimlessly in circles, because of course she is leading. Then we sit on the ground and watch a really cute dog play fetch with his person*. She refuses to budge and sits transfixed for the better part of 15 minutes (an hour in toddler time) and I have to scoop her up forcefully because it is getting too hot. My highlight of the day is watching her eyes light up as she kept staring at the dog, with a faint smile on her face, occasionally saying a “Hi!” and blowing a kiss to the dog.

Snapshot 2: She spent over an hour “playing” with a beautiful book that’s about driving, and although at the end of the hour all the tabs have been pulled off and one page entirely ripped, I smile because she hasn’t mentioned the TV or the phone. Specially because she let me do the chores while reading to herself, her busy hands exploring all the wonderful little flaps and tabs. That she entertains herself, on her own, with nothing but a book, is something I am immensely proud of.

Snapshot 3: The landline rings and she stops playing and immediately starts saying “Phone! Phone!” and almost runs to the phone. She picks up the phone and says “Hello?” and starts giggling as she hears her Dadda’s phone on the other end. 

There. That should do for today. Some day when she is all grown up and I am relegated to being someone she needs but not always wants, I will flip through my scrapbook and smile to myself. Provided, of course, I still have my memory and sanity intact. Until that time, good or bad or really really bad, I will live each moment, sieve the trying times out and hold the good ones tight to my heart. Oh well, there’s room for so much love in there anyway.  

 *Bolt reference, just in case you didn’t get it.

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8 thoughts on “The Lazy Mom Scrapbook: Day does-it-even-matter?

  1. Ankita Baruah says:

    Sankhya. she iz really very sweet…. n u pen down everything so nicely!!!why dont u start writing story books for kids…m sure u will b a great one in dat too. n d good part will be that we can give our kids sumthn great to read apart from enid blyton n proudly say dtz my fren’s composition…do giv it a thought(i guess u hav already done so??)

    Like

    • ssamhita says:

      Ah, wishful thinking. Thanks for the encouragement!! A book would be nice to write but for now it takes a lot of motivation to squeeze in time to write a post. It is a pipeline dream though. But hey, hope keeps the world moving, right?

      Like

  2. anganad says:

    I have been a fan of your blog for years now.. Since the time you wrote from your bedroom on your lappy about laziness, the songs you are listening to..countdown to your wedding. I gulped it down with a psycho obsession not very uncharacteristic of me. I am so glad you are writing again and I look forward for your posts all the more. Your little one is morom. Your words are like sunny days from back home. So nostalgic even though I don’t know u. U r awesome sauce! Keep writing! You are so good!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Utpal Bhattacharyya says:

    The days are long but the years are short…..
    Sankhya Baa…, this is the first time I am reading your blog and I am glad I read it. Honestly, ur words are just so touching.
    I don’t know u in person but I have been following your facebook posts for quite some time now. The pics, in fact the smiles of your family brings smiles to me too. Keep smiling like this. Looking forward for more from your blog.

    Liked by 1 person

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