Tag Archives: grandson


When IB (grandson) was here, he would forget to close the fridge door. It remained open for hours on end, till I visited the kitchen on some errand. At reminding, he wouldn’t acknowledge his misdeed. Someone at home did it everyday. It wasn’t me, and he said it wasn’t him, so there it rested till another day began anew. We never agreed on who did it?

Last evening my mind recalled what IB used to do, because Nola’s fridge started beeping. Son and I should get a fridge like that when IB visits us again to remind him to close the door of the fridge, after taking out whatever he wants.

Yesterday evening I was talking to Nola (daughter) on FaceTime. I was trying to remember something I wanted to tell her. The darn thing wasn’t coming to mind, and without realizing it I started tapping at my chin. Nola watching me mimicked my movements. She was laughing. It was then I realized what I was doing, and stopped. In my case the cells for recalling must have shifted there somehow without my knowledge.



I couldn’t sleep last night. I was missing IB (grandson) wondering when I’ll be able to see his dear face again. So the next best thing I did was to scroll the recent photos I had of him, and played puzzles. The app makes photos into puzzles. I had a happy hour doing the puzzles, and the bonus of seeing IB’s face grinning into the camera all over again.

How difficult it is to find decent foot wear for walking purposes? Whenever I have the opportunity I look into the footwear section. My old ones are fast disintegrating, but I’m not finding any pair to my liking. Hope till then my old ones last.

My foot size seems to be a universal size for all women. It’s always missing from the shelves. The other sizes are there except for my size, or they are available in designs I won’t like. Does this happens to others too?

Picky Eater

IB (grandson) is a picky eater. Whatever you put in his plate multiplies by five. When you look at his plate, say after half an hour, the food is still there— all scattered into bits on the plate. By this time he is fed up with his food as well, because magically it has not been finished, so he removes himself from the agonizing sight of food, and plonks himself on the sitting room sofa.

He gets engrossed with his iPad, and completely forgets that he hasn’t done any justice to his food. After sometime he notes that nobody (means me) is watching him, he raids the pantry, or the fridge to find something else to nibble. That something maybe chips, cans of fuzzy drink, or coke, or cotton candy.

He doesn’t like onions, or tomatoes in his food. The bits of tomatoes are all fished out of the food, and left on his plate. I’m getting smart with his ways. I put the lot through a Ninja, and finely blend it to trick him into eating. He used to like pineapple on pizzas when bought from outside, but a homemade pizza with bits of pineapple on it is a total no no.

Last night, after I had served him with my homemade pizza, he told me scathingly, “No one puts pineapple on a pizza”. His father reminded him that he always ordered it to add it on for a store bought one. IB turned to me for the final word, and ordered, “You can live without it”.

He never finishes his food, but today it’s a wonder— he drank his milk, orange juice, and ate his waffles, and strawberries.

The sight of IB’s empty plate brings joy to my heart.


This photo of IB is of three years before.


Yesterday was super exciting, because IB (grandson) was arriving from Houston for a month long visit. His flight got late, and it got to Boston at nine at night. Son had booked a ticket for IB a month earlier. Both of us would have liked it much better if IB could spend more than a month with us.

As we don’t live in Houston anymore, we are starved of IB’s company. When we lived there come every second weekend, IB would spend three days, and two nights with us. Living so far away from Houston has its disadvantages.

I wish Son’s ex was more accommodating in allowing IB to spend more than a month. It would have been simply wonderful.

IB as a baby.



One of the synonym of Incubate is encourage, and that’s what I’m doing with the seedling of an apple. I move it daily from the kitchen (where it usually is to keep it warm) to put it in front of the sliding doors to the balcony in my bedroom. The sun rays sneak in to keep a watchful eye over it. When they depart elsewhere to have more fun, I bring the pots back to the kitchen. Two more seeds have decided to show their tiny heads above the soil, but you can’t see them as they are tiny white specks in the soil.

Son is certain that my little friend is a weed. He keeps asking, “Are you sure that it isn’t a weed?” I’m irritated over his oft repeated question, and as to why he won’t believe me.

He has his logic behind this question. Back in Houston, my flowers died in the rectangular pot I kept in the balcony outside. I kept watering it in the singular hope of reviving them. Weeks later, much to my delight, a plant showed up. I watched it grow thinking it a flower plant, and getting excited over my endeavors. IB (grandson) the little Einstein wandered outside one day, and asked me, “Why are you trying to grow a weed?”


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IB watching his IPad while having breakfast.


I laughed when IB (grandson) told me quite earnestly, “Dado you don’t have to spoil me. You shouldn’t pamper me”.

He had refused the dinner I had cooked, telling me he didn’t feel like eating anything. Worried that he might feel hungry later at night, I offered to make whatever he wanted. I wasn’t able to tempt him to food, and he only had an apple before he went to bed.



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Yesterday in the evening Son, IB (grandson), and I went with a realtor to look at some houses. In one home when I looked at the ceiling, I saw evidence of a leaking roof. I drew the realtor’s attention towards the spots. It turned out the painters had done substandard work. The painters had put a lighter color over the previous darker one, and it give the appearance of leakages.

Some of the houses were old, constructed in the early eightees. Two houses were devoid of ceiling fans. Some didn’t have sprinkles outside. Whereas some had the fixtures for washers, and dryers in the garages which does make life more difficult to live. It appeared we will have to make major purchases if we decided on one of them. One , or two had power lines passing through the back yards.

IB would skip to the room, nearest to his dad’s master bedroom, and would claim it as his own, relegating me to the guestroom in every house we went to. He is currently living with us. Son’s ex is out of the country at the moment, leaving IB with Son.

IB is a total delight. I was trying to write while he distracted me by showing  a magic trick with cards, and I lost my concentration. He has many card tricks up his sleeve, and would like nothing better than to teach me these tricks. He keeps insisting that I should learn them. I enjoy his company. I asked him why doesn’t he continue to stay with us once his mom comes back? I was amazed at his reply (impressed really).

I can’t. H (his older brother) will miss me. He should enter the diplomatic service once he grows up.



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