Shenanigans of the oldest of 8

Last blog post! Let me just begin by saying: thank you to all of you for your wonderful comments (required as they were =p ). It was great to hear your personal stories, but also to know that whatever craziness I threw together made you smile =) But now, on to this week’s story:

If you have any experience with kids whatsoever, you’ll know that their brains are the craziest things ever. The methods and thought process they use to rationalize any action are fascinating. But while it seems like insanity to our mostly developed college brains, it makes perfect sense to the little 5 or 6 year old.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when I think about the time my two younger siblings and I thought it would be a good idea to “hide” our baby brother on the top shelf of our linen closet.

My partners in crime and I,

My partners in crime, present day

were playing THE ultimate game of hide and seek. One person counted, while one of the other two hid, and the last one hid him/herself AND the “baby”

(baby was about two years old at the time… excuse my not having any of our baby pics on my laptop…).

Well I, in my 7-8 year old brilliance, enlisted the help of my brother Joe (the dude in the top picture) and with great skill (I am still in awe of how we managed… to this day I can’t reach the top shelf) managed to get our little brother (who was a chubby bunny back in the day) on the uppermost shelf. He was a pretty quiet kid. Didn’t make a peep.

The game progressed as per usual, and my brother and I watched with glee as my sister searched high and low. After forever and a half in kid-time, she finally found him!

We then went about the business of releasing baby brother from his elevated hiding spot.

There was just one problem.

We couldn’t.

He was stuck.

After several body-contortionist worthy stunts, none of which succeeded, we took a break and sat down to consider our options. We looked at the closet. And then at each other. The closet. Each other. The closet. Each other. Baby brother was beginning to get upset. A whimper. We looked at each other again.

Did I mention he was stuck?

After careful but swift calculation, we decided we had approximately 30 seconds before the dam broke and Baby Brother started raising people out of their graves with his cries, and approximately 32 seconds till Mom abandoned whatever was on the stove and came sprinting upstairs.

And so we did what any other rational kid would do in this situation: go to her before she gets to you.

Supermom arrived, did some expert manipulating, removed the tiny human from the little closet, gave us our well deserved verbal hiding, and went back to doing her thing.

As was evident, in this case Alls well that ends well. Brother was safe, but it was a couple more years before we tried to put another kid in a closet shelf (… and that time I was not part of the debacle).

.the end.

Anyway, thanks for reading guys! and peace out to ya’ll from the Abraham crew =)

Frustration at the result of my senior year stress-related junk food consumption.

GIF credit: http://rack.1.mshcdn.com/media/ZgkyMDEzLzA2LzE4L2M4L0hhcnJ5UG90dGVyLjNlYTQzLmdpZgpwCXRodW1iCTEyMDB4OTYwMD4/dea0da87/d7c/Harry-Potter1.gif

Image credits:
http://www.someecards.com/usercards/viewcard/MjAxMi1kNjBkNGI2ZTczYjM1MzI0

http://www.turbokicknj.com/ultimate-reset-day-21-i-did-it/hurrah/

Being the oldest of 8, and that too, a girl, misconceptions will often arise in random situations. But for real though, are people really that misguided or quick to assume sometimes? Hereafter follows a few short stories of different things people have thought about my role in the family 🙂

Incident #1:  I’m often told that I don’t look my age. But this was even more true when I was 12 years old. At least from a purely physical perspective, I could’ve been 8 or 9 by most people’s standards. Anyway, the summer after my 12th birthday, I was recruited by my mom to accompany my sister to a violin camp she was signed up for. The camp, which was more like a workshop, required an “adult” chaperon for all kids under the age of 12. My mom couldn’t afford to take out 8 hours every day for five days, and so with special permission, I was assigned the duty of keep my sister in line, being the ripe-old age of 12 myself. I remember one day my sister was just doing her thing in one of the group classes while I sat in the back and devoured a book. A sweet Asian lady leaned toward me, pointed my sister out and said: “She plays beautifully!”

“Thanks!” I replied.

“Is she your daughter?”

My world screeched to a halt. Me? Mothe…? Wha? =O

I was such a little kid (and very naive to boot) that her simple and innocent question threw me off completely, and I found myself staring at her with my mouth several inches open. After the passage of several moment, I managed to get the hinges of my mouth working again and spluttered: “No, she’s my little sister…” (side note: this “little” sister is currently several inches bigger than me…). I spent the rest of the day wondering about how adults brains work.

I was going to share more examples, but that may have to wait till next week. Till then!

GIF cred: http://photobucket.com/images/person%20waving?page=1

Hello Everyone!

My name is Annie. I, am freakishly cute… and I know it. This is me:

The Hair… oh, and the nose, and the eyes, and those cute bracelets on my hands… what’s not to love?

See? I toldja! Freakishly cute to a tee.

Let me tell you a little bit about myself.

I’m a pretty cool chick. First of, I’m the youngest of 8 kids. I know, it’s crazy. Which basically means that instead of the usual 1, 2, or 3 people, most kids my age have, I consistently have at least 9 people to spoil me. 

I was a little bit of a surprise. When my dad told my older siblings that I would be coming along, they thought he was joking. As in, they were actually rolling on the floor laughing until they realized he was serious. I know right? I couldn’t believe it either: to even verge on considering my existence a joke? Hmph.

But then I was born, and I knew that jokes aside, this fam was crazy about yours truly and loved and adored her and all her darlingness dearly.

My Servants

So as the months went by, I increased in wisdom and cuteness. To sweeten the deal, I also became a pretty adventurous babe.

I’ve been to the top of the Sears tower, and treated everyone there to a unique gymnastics performance on the glass floor. Scared? Pshh, ain’t nobody got time for that!

Sears Tower

I also climb mountains in my spare time. . . The ones with the 3,165 ft elevation are my favorites.

Mount Monadnock, NH

Yessiree, I climbed to the top allll by myself. And then I alternated piggy-backing on various siblings and adults shoulders and took an extremely well-deserved nap on the way down. Yeah I know, I’m a tough ‘un.

One of my favorite adventures was my trip to Niagara falls. Check me outtttt. And just absorb the aura of pensive thought that I am emitting.

Pensive at Niagara

The moment didn’t last long though. To be precise, it ended shortly after I turned to my Amma (mom) and said: “Amma! Look! I jump in like 1, 2, …!” She didn’t even let me get in the 3. Parents these days…

Well, unlike you college kids, I still have a bedtime, so I’m going to head to sleep– but no worries, I’ll be back again next week! I know you’ll be dying to see my face again…

Did I mention I’m cute? (Despite my sister’s lack of non-blurry-photo-taking skills, that is)…

You just exploded in awe of my cuteness. Or my obnoxiousness. You pick.

          As I write, I sit enshrouded in a hoodie, thrown over a long-sleeve shirt with the hood completely drawn up. Two pairs of socks, three blankets, and comfy sweatpants. . .  and I am STILL shivering and feel like crap. The wonderful cold and wet weather we have going on outside doesn’t help much either. 

  I look kinda like this right now:

Yeah, not pretty. Like, worse than normal.

          My misery takes me back to another time and place. A time when I was one of 6. The time, when my entire family, excluding my mother got the stomach virus, AND the flu. . .  at the same time. I remember piles and piles of blankets and all of us kids laid out on them side-by-side like patients in a war zone hospital ward. I remember my poor mom racing back and forth getting tea for one person and toast for the other, scooping one kid up to run them to the bathroom, and then running back to grab the next. It was crazy.

          Props to my wonderful mama for being able to put up with all of this. In some circles, she’s know as “super-mom,” although she considers herself as barely pulling through. All I know is, we’re just incredibly lucky to have had someone who was not afraid to get down and dirty. More on my mom later, but as flu and sickness season sets in, what I’m more interested in, is how you keep from getting sick.

          Cuz matter of fact: my immune system sucks. So back at home, if one person in the family got sick, I was basically guaranteed to get whatever they had. We’ve got the basics, wash hands, eat healthy, etc., etc. What else helps you stay on top of your health come this cough-able time of the year? And what do you do to keep from spreading those lovely germs to your friends?

Heard of arranged marriages? You know, that outdated, regressive way of finding a life partner?

This may be one aspect of my life that most of my non-Indian friends and acquaintances are surprised by, and something that they’d never have guessed for themselves. Before jumping to conclusions, let me just clarify, I am NOT the one with an arranged marriage (nor is that in my definite future plans). . .  I’m referring to my parents.

Trying to “be all cool and stuff” 🙂

Weirdly, after coming to my house and meeting my parents, the most common question I get asked by  people is: “How did they meet? What’s their story?”

Now not to brag, but my parents are pretty fantastic.  Which I would never say to their faces. But the truth of the matter remains. They aren’t just great parents though, they’re also great spouses So people are often surprised to hear that before they were married, they’d only known each other for a little over a month, and that during that time, they’d only talked a couple times.

People’s faces when they learn of the arranged nature of my parents’ union

So in today’s world, what does an arranged marriage entail? It’s not quite the same as back in the day when the first time you would see your future husband/wife would be on your wedding day, but things are still quite different from a typical attraction-dating-love-marriage relationship. Essentially, it’s typically a kind of a blind date set up by your parents and family friends. Which I know sounds weird, but hey, it’s worked out quite well for a number of folk!

So what makes an arranged marriage different other than for the obvious? Let’s look at some of the stats. In general, arranged marriages around the world have a 3% divorce rate, whereas most marriages in America (which come about in the more common way) have a divorce rate ranging around 50%. there are obviously other factors that play into this number. These areas in which divorce is lower are also areas in which divorce is highly stigmatized and looked down upon.

I am not advocating one over the other, nor am I saying that one is inherently better than the other. I’ve seen beautiful marriages that have come about as the result of both. But here are, in my opinion anyway, a few of the benefits of an arranged marriage.

To be honest, I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. But I think it’s something worth talking about. Although probably not feasible in our culture here, many of the values that this system is based on are things that I think are still applicable. I’ve been really impressed by many of the couples I’ve met who have had arranged marriages, but at the same time, I’ve also been impressed by people who have not. I’ve also seen some arranged marriages that have turned out really badly, but then of course, I’ve seen it otherwise as well. There’s alot to learn from both sides of the spectrum. And although for most of us these things lie in the future, it’s worth considering for a moment or two 🙂

My parents on their wedding day… yeah I know they’re dorks 🙂 It’s a picture of a picture so excuse the weirdness and random dots 🙂

Just shoot me a line if you would like any of the image credits! My computer crashed and I lost the files that had them, but I’d be happy to find them for you. All pictures except for those of my parents were taken from online sources. 

(Part 2) [See Part 1 HERE]

     Apparently I was also sorely deprived in my social life and activities. I didn’t know to try to be like the “popular kids” on my sports teams— heck, it didn’t even cross my mind.

     “You probably didn’t get to meet many people though, being homeschooled and all.” I mean, I only took gymnastics, tennis, figure skating, art classes, piano, violin, and guitar lessons, and got licensed to use a firearm. Oh, and I’d only been to a few countries and a couple dozen states. Guess I just didn’t get to meet people like the rest of my graduating class did. I didn’t just hang out with the same kids of the same age year after year, but with people from different schools, cultures, backgrounds, and beliefs.

     “Gosh, it must’ve been hard to not see your friends everyday.” Crazy, I know, but the keystone of my happiness was not dependent on the amount of time I spent with my best friend. ‘Twas a most painful existence.

      In ninth grade, I entered the realm of the public schoolers. With melancholy music playing in my head, I walked through the doors and into the sinister walls of what I accepted would be my prison for the next four years. It wasn’t quite as bad as my dramatic young mind envisioned. . . really. That is not to say it was a cinch. I come from a really small town with just one public school. Reaching out and making friends with people who had been in the same groups since kindergarten was no easy task. However, as the months went by, I began enjoying what my school had to offer, reveling in my many teachers and classes, and the diversity of the students and their beliefs. I’d been exposed to much before I went to school, but here I was exposed to more and different things.

     Though I’ve grown and changed after I entered the public school system, homeschooling has left an indelible mark. It gave me the advantage of being molded by my own experiences, and forming many of my beliefs and ideas before I entered high school. I was very aware of who I was as a person and where I stood on certain things, and therefore it was easier for me to not go with the flow, and to fight the tendency to do what everyone else was doing, if I didn’t think it right. I’m not saying that I haven’t sometimes failed, but rather that I’ve come to acknowledge and greatly respect the struggle to be who you are, regardless of what’s going on around you.

     On a slightly unrelated note, Jordan, from youtube’s Messy Mondays, puts things quite nicely in this wonderful video:

NOTE: I am not bashing on public schoolers, OR the public school system. I loved my high school, the people I went to school with, and (most) of my teachers. I just wanted to clear up some misconceptions, and to state that being homeschooled doesn’t mean one lives under a rock– which, a surprising number of people do believe to be true  😉

     So after first grade, my parents decided to switch to homeschooling. The reasons were varied and many, but here’s a reflection on what that meant for me, and my attempt at a mildly sarcastic tribute to their decision 🙂 Please don’t take offense– I only mean half of what I say 😉

     “Wait, so does that like. . . mean that you like. . . got to sleep in, and wore pajamas all day, and like. . . never did work!?” I inwardly roll my eyes at the question I’ve heard a hundred and one million times before, and launch into my explanation of what a homeschooler’s life is really like. Proudly declaring my homeschooling past often elicits thunder-struck awe, or one of those looks that says “What planet are you originally from?” It’s funny, isn’t it? How the slightest change from the norm can turn you into a curiosity— or a monstrosity?

     “At least you didn’t turn out weird like some homeschoolers,” someone said to me sometime last year. I’m afraid many of my peers would disagree. I was quite “weird.”

     Weird, because I didn’t know who was dating whom, or whether leggings or jeans would be more flattering with an outfit. Weird, because of my strange fascination with these things called books (they’re those pieces of paper bound together with specially-arranged lines on them), or my interest in a strange genre of ancient music (a.k.a. “classical”). Weird, because I didn’t have a cell phone or a Facebook, and was mostly out of the loop with whatever current social media drama was trending. Weird, because I wasn’t allowed to watch most of the tv shows kids my age delighted in. Weird, because someone didn’t design and slap something on a screen for me; I had to create my own characters: fairies, wizards, and motorcycle-riding heroes, sparkly-eyed heroines, and solemn villains who brooded over the happiness of their ever triumphant adversaries. Oh, the “tragedy” of inadvertently being “forced” to use my imagination.

     “Child labor,” some said when they heard of my childhood culinary endeavors, whipping together soups and sandwiches, desserts and smoothies. As the oldest, I had to take responsibility for my younger siblings. Being at home all day meant that this became an even bigger task. Sometimes putting a baby to sleep while mom cooked, or taking over the cooking when little brother #2 banged his head on a table. I learned very early and very quickly the best ways to calm a screaming kid, how to do laundry, give baths, change diapers and cook and clean while balancing a full school schedule. I know right? Must’ve been scarring, having to take on some adult responsibilities at “such a young age…”

(end part 1) 

          I’d just like to begin by apologizing for the somewhat gloomy and un-amusing nature of this post. It was just my mood 🙂

      Some of my earliest memories, are of belting (VERY out-of-tune) melodies to my seemingly enraptured audience of close relatives, who would respond with enthusiastic applause as I took my living room bows. These solo performances were from when  when I was the only child, the oldest grandchild on both sides of the family. Years later though, I was no longer along in my private performances. Music became one of the things that was a major bonding influence between my siblings, my cousins, and I. For years we played and sung together (very badly I’m afraid, but together nonetheless), presenting our talents at church events, every family function and gathering, and eventually even coining the nickname “the Indian Von Trapp Family.”

     Now you may be wondering, what does this have to do with my family? That’s what this whole shindig is about anyway, right? My cousins, my mom’s younger sister’s kids, are as much a part of my family as my siblings are. We’ve grown up together and shared almost all our major life experiences, even though we’ve lived 100 miles apart from each other for most of our lives.  They call my parents “Appa” and “Amma” (Dad and Mom), and my parents have always treated them like their own kids. As for us kids, we never considered them as less than brothers and sisters.

I didn’t realize though, just how much music has influenced our relationship until my cousins moved halfway across the country this year. Music wasn’t just something we did together, it was how we were together. I don’t know what we were expecting as to how we would feel when they moved, but I realized shortly after just how much I’d taken them for granted. In a moment of nostalgia, my brother, Joseph, my sister, Elizabeth, and I threw together a quick-iPhone-recording of a random song, throughout which each of us was keenly aware of where our cousins voices, instruments, harmonies, countermelodies, and at the risk of sounding cliche, their very souls would have come in and intertwined with ours.

. . . Which led me to think about whether or not I take my own biological siblings for granted. Honestly, I had to say that I do, to some extent. With this realization, I began to work on my approach to my interactions with them, and was amazed at how some of their quirks and funny habits I’d previously found annoying, became endearing.

Whom do you take for granted? What would  life be like without them? What about them annoys you. . .  and is it really that annoying? What do these people, whom you take for granted, add to the music of your life?

I’m attaching the video we took, excuse the quality and my brother, who got a little too excited about the “woah-oh”s at the end. It’s not by any means perfect,  but it’s heartfelt 🙂

<3 Anjali

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okegrcdcrfQ

Hey Everyone!

     My name is Anjali, and I’m a freshman here at Penn State (please excuse my obviousness). For my passion blog, I’ll be writing about different things that relate to living in a large-Indian-Syro-Malabar-Catholic family. Regardless of what your background is, having 10 people in a family isn’t exactly normal. Especially with my Desi (Indian) background, it’s kind of more than abnormal. I’m one of 8 kids (yes, all from the same set of parents), the daughter of very devout, Catholic parents. That basically means that my life can get kind of crazy sometimes. So I’m going to try to convey some of the wonderful craziness that occurs, and the things and thoughts that “arise” from growing up in such an environment.

     Of the many things that relate to my topic, the reactions people have to different life style choices my parents and our family in general have made, is something that’s really fascinating. So also is the way in which each child in my family has developed differently based on the number of siblings that are older and younger than they are, and the age of my parents. Although I’m not yet completely sure whether I’ll be focusing on something particular, or if I’ll be just providing snippets of life, I hope to widen your worldview a little, by giving you a peak into mine. I hope I’ll be able to do the same, in reading and responding to your comments.

      I’m not the best with words, but I’ll try my best to give you an accurate peek into my life. From the imaginary world we created and played in as elementary school kids, to international travel with our troop, to our pseudo joy rides through the streets of north east Philadelphia, the stories I’ve lived through both with my family and without have resulted in some very interesting times and thoughts. Hope you enjoy!

<3 Anjali