So, I was suffering from a bout of ugly fever which went on to a round of even uglier coughs. Remnants of the smoker's wheeze can still be found as part of my punctuated conversations. Towards the end of such an uneventful week, where even the weekend refused to pay a visit, my little one's effort at cheering me up paid me one, a small, sound visit. Twas a badly torn on the left side, thinly lined paper, off a diary that C must have fished out of the many. And she must have got hold of one of my fountain pens because the writing spilled on to the reverse side quite remarkably. There were also sketches of mini things. This is what she wrote, in cursive:
"Mom, you must do gaargel. You distup me when we sleep and you cannot the-end a story. There is sound in you like train. So I will write you a story. Then when I am big I will write you a laytar. There is a gaarden outside our home where tall jiraaf stay. They are orange colour with white polka.dots like my night suit. You told me they are called polka.dots. Then one day, the jiraaf came to your windoe and bring you many flaawars and a caard. This is that caard. Get well soon Mom. The jiraaf took away my packet of chips on your deks and your packet of cigeret. What will jiraaf do with them? You will tell me. Then you can the-end this story. Ok, bye. Bye-o-nara. I love you Mom. Mom, do you want to play with Chutti? We will play, ok. Niharika."
:)
I cannot tell you how this card from the giraffe felt. C needs serious spelling lessons, but not one in imagination, persuasion and loving. I have not felt better in a long time. No medicines, no visits, no rest could make me feel this elated as her red, blue, green masterpieces of a cup and saucer, a kitten and couple of balloons did. I think I am going to frame her card twice. I am so happy that I am doing my little-whoopy-dance and have gurgled thrice since last night. I owe her one the-end this weekend.
The End.
"Mom, you must do gaargel. You distup me when we sleep and you cannot the-end a story. There is sound in you like train. So I will write you a story. Then when I am big I will write you a laytar. There is a gaarden outside our home where tall jiraaf stay. They are orange colour with white polka.dots like my night suit. You told me they are called polka.dots. Then one day, the jiraaf came to your windoe and bring you many flaawars and a caard. This is that caard. Get well soon Mom. The jiraaf took away my packet of chips on your deks and your packet of cigeret. What will jiraaf do with them? You will tell me. Then you can the-end this story. Ok, bye. Bye-o-nara. I love you Mom. Mom, do you want to play with Chutti? We will play, ok. Niharika."
:)
I cannot tell you how this card from the giraffe felt. C needs serious spelling lessons, but not one in imagination, persuasion and loving. I have not felt better in a long time. No medicines, no visits, no rest could make me feel this elated as her red, blue, green masterpieces of a cup and saucer, a kitten and couple of balloons did. I think I am going to frame her card twice. I am so happy that I am doing my little-whoopy-dance and have gurgled thrice since last night. I owe her one the-end this weekend.
The End.
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