Anticipatory review: The Forever Marriage

I don’t know if any one has ever written a review of a book they haven’t read (or admitted to it!), but I have to say, I am looking forward to reading Ann Bauer’s The Forever Marriage.

In reading the author’s journey towards getting the book published (see her blog post), I was struck by how much the protagonist, Carmen, sounded like me: manipulative, secretive, mean, uncaring… these are all ways I have been over the years.  Not easy to admit, as I commented on Ann’s post:

“I read your post and said to myself, “That Carmen sounds just like me.” I have done and felt so many things in my life that have been purely selfish and mean and manipulative. I haven’t voiced them to anyone for fear of people looking at me in horror, and some things I can’t even think about for fear of thinking myself a monster. But we all go through that (I hope) and anyone who says otherwise is deluding themselves. The fact that your novel has received praise from older women sort of proves that, in my opinion, because it takes age and wisdom (not necessarily correlated) to be that honest with yourself. It may be a hard book to read, but I look forward to it. If only to receive validation and hope.”

 How many of us can come to terms with that? It is an overwhelming concept; we don’t want to admit that we have not made the right choices through our lives. But here we are, the product of all those choices. And we either face it and proceed or ignore it and flail through the rest of the years we have on earth.

In one of those pathways lies the fleeting chance for living the rest of your life purposefully.

How to write like a seven year old

Nik: “Mom, I want to write an article about how to give your mom a massage by walking on her back.”
Me: “Okay?”
Nik: “And I want to send it to a magazine so that they can put it in there so people can read it.”
Me: “…….”
Nik: “Do you think I could write articles like that when I grow up?  Because I think I could do that, and it would be a way I could make money?  I think I could do that?”
Me: “That’s a great idea, Nik.  Why don’t you write that article when we get back home from school tonight?  I think you write very well now, and will get even better the more you write.”
Nik: “Yeah, I think I want to write articles for magazines.  Because I don’t think it will be that hard to do.  And I think I could do it.”

I love the fact that he is thinking so hard about what he wants to do when he grows up.

But starting now.

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The future

Nik asked me how old I would be when he and Anjali went to college.  I told him that I would be in my fifties.

He looked up at me and said softly, “The future is telling me that you will die when you are 64.”

I felt a chill go through me and asked carefully, “How does the future tell you things?”
Nik: “Let’s not talk about it.  It’s too sad.”

And then he gave me a long hug, patted me on the back for several minutes, and then walked away.

Young author.

Nik started writing a book today, called Nikhil’s Diary.

“Because I want to make money so we can buy a computer. How much should I make it? Cheap because I don’t think anyone will buy it.”

Halfway through the first page, he changed the title to Jake’s Diary. “Because authors don’t use their real names in the title, mom!”

Then a little later, he said, “I am writing mostly about my life.  But putting a different name.”
He painstakingly wrote out two pages, with a couple of drawings related to the story.  He only stopped because I made him go to bed (after letting him stay up almost two hours past his bedtime, because he was so into writing.)

He is so earnest, I could just cry.

Young fashionista.

Anjali, looking thoughtfully at me as I got ready this morning: “You know mom, everyone looks good in black.”
Me: “You know, I think you may be right…”
Anjali: “Yeah, I think black and white are fancy colors. So if people want to look nice, they should dress in black and white.”

She then points at the Sephora bag on the counter.  “See, even the commercials people pick black and white to sell you stuff.”

I don’t think I could put two coherent thoughts together at age five.  And she is pondering high fashion and marketing.

Bombay Omelettes

Every self-respecting hotel in Bombay has this omelette recipe on the menu…I looked forward to this on vacations, and luckily, my kids love it too.

Bombay Omelettes

Ingredients
6 large eggs
dash of milk
1 small red onion, chopped (1/4 american-style red onion, since they are huge!)
1 firm tomato, chopped
1/4 c finely chopped cilantro
1 green chili, finely chopped (remove the seeds and membrane if you are heat-phobic)
salt and pepper to taste
2-3 T canola oil
2-3 T butter

Directions
Heat butter and oil in large skillet.
Whisk eggs and milk in large bowl.  Add salt and pepper, continue to whisk.
Add rest of ingredients and mix well.
When the butter sizzles in the skillet, pour in the egg mixture.
Stir the eggs around, lifting the sides to let more of the liquid come in contact with the oil/butter.
When the eggs don’t run anymore, leave it alone until the edges lift easily and are lightly browned.
Flip omelette over and cook until done.  Remove from heat.
Cut into pie-shape slices and serve with buttered toast.

St. Paddy’s Day.

Clothes and pillows on the floor, sticky stuff underfoot, unflushed toilets, shadows seen out of the corner of the eyes, broken toys… hmmm, sounds normal for our daily life.

Kids saw a made bed in the guest room…aaargh! A leprechaun was here!

Living together.

Nik: can two boys live together?
Me: sure.
Anjali: what about two girls?
Me: sure.
Anjali: coz me and Haley? We don’t want to get married, but we want to live together and have two chihuahuas. Mine will be called Sparkles and hers will be called Diamond.
Nik: I want to live with Ollie. And I want a chihuahua as well. And his name will be Crusher.

I’m not ready.

So somehow, I found myself explaining to Anjali the change that happens to girls when puberty hits. Good lord. Thankfully, it was a brief explanation. But here is the thread of conversation that led up to it:
Me: “I won’t take the popovers out until the top is a big poof.”
Anjali: “Did you say PINK POOP?!!!”
Me: “No!”
Anjali: “Because can that happen? Pink poop?”
Me: “Not unless all you ever ate was pink cotton candy and pink everything, I guess?”
Anjali: “Well, I saw pink pee one day in the toilet…”
Me: “WHAT? at home?”
Anjali: “No, at the bathrooms in the theatre…”
Me: “Okay, phew.”
And then the conversation progressed down the path I was not ready to take, when my daughter is 5 years old.
But I did it, and it was okay.