Two months of school summer vacation are almost coming to an end with just two days to go. People of Middle East who were on their annual vacations to India are back, with Oman International Airport Authorities detecting banana chips in almost every single suitcase going through their scanners. Here we are, the couple who did not go on vacation and enjoying the scorching hot summer, eating freshly imported chips, playing the sympathy card.
So now all our friends are back from vacation and official projects that have been dragged beyond its capacity due to the absence of key resources (that were partying in India), are back in full swing. Little one’s school reopens next week, so that is when we will go to India. Well, his IIT JEE exams are not for another two decades and it’s not like alphabets and numbers are REALLY important for entrance examinations.
Annual leave is exciting, but the week before is a period of low in areas of sanity, self-control, emotional quotient and common sense. When these four key factors hit a low, then it is madness that prevails. When madness takes over, I am usually not seen in my best behavior. For example, one of the tedious exercises the week before travelling is emptying the fridge. Unlike a lot of people we know, we are unique in fridge matters. We do not store cooked food inside for more than a day, cakes and bread are a rarity on our dining table, but there are vegetables in its tray lying forgotten, grated coconut in the freezer, two sets of tomatoes I bought by mistake, and few other stuff ignored because ‘problem of plenty’. I realize that I am writing this when kids are starving in Somalia, and I am such a moron. One problem at a time, Anita, one problem at a time. Tomatoes and Broccoli.
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Basically, I can make yummy things with all the tomatoes and exhaust it completely. However, even though I hate to waste food, broccoli is something I wish got spoiled so that there is a reason to throw it away. I always get the grocery myself, but whenever the hubby does it, broccoli comes back with him. I never ask my kid to eat broccoli, because even my parents can’t coax me to eat it. Broccoli never was a reason we had Isaac Newton or Steve Jobs.
Coming to think of it, this whole thing is a project in itself with a deadline in place. The only difference is, I am my own boss. Life, my friend, is a consolidation of mini projects. Who you report to (it should always be you) and who will report to you (kids) matter. Deadlines should be met. Spouse acts like a CEO who is given the cabin and the status, whose contribution to the project is minimal, and is made to believe that he owns the project. As I write this, somewhere in the corner of the vegetable tray of my fridge, the broccoli is (hopefully) changing color.
It's time I use my corporate expertise in this situation. The strategy to be adopted is, I will wait until the last minute comes. Then I will escalate the broccoli issue to the CEO who can take a call on the matter. By then it will be too late, the CEO will have his hands tied and is most likely to approve the suggestion collectively made by the board of directors (kiddo and me).
Hey don’t give me that look, that’s how all projects run, right?