I am alone. One of a strange species.

Among my contemporaries, that is mothers with children below 10 years, I am a strange breed. The activities of my offspring do not arouse passionate vibrations in me. I mean their legitimate activities. The other kind impels me to pick up the nearest hard object just like everyone else.

Homework leaves me cold. Recitation is alright, because the poems are, for the most part, interesting. As for 'taking up' their lessons, that's only when there is no escape. I am aghast when a mother talks of inadequate syllabi which she 'has to' supplement.

Fortunately for me, my children attend an enlightened school where the pressure on children in lower classes is light. Homework is light and often interesting. Come evenings, mothers are spending quality time with their children. No visitors, no television, no distractions while they coach the kids through the day's lessons. At home we each tend our own business. While I relax with a book or in front of the idiot box, my kids are engaged in homework or other nefarious activities. Occasionally I do take time to answer questions groaning as they gain momentum and grow nebulous.

Ever notice that when you are ready to give your kids time and ask questions about the day's happenings, nothing has ever happened. But once you're absorbed in something interesting, you're treated to long stories.

Tuitions used to be something that had to be hidden from the rest of the world, but now the brightest are at special classes for that little extra. Sadly there are hardly any children around in the evenings at play. Extra curricular activities are the rage. Besides the dance and singing classes of yore, karate, languages, musical instruments, tennis, swimming… pick at least three.

I too wish to nurture and foster the talents of my children, though so far they've hidden them successfully even from me. Hardened by years of singing and dancing classes with little to show for them, I realise the spirit has to be willing even if the talent is missing. So, when my daughter tells me that she doesn't want her dance classes, I let her be. Time enough for latent talents to rupture when she is ready.

Maybe this laidback attitude stems from my childhood spent amidst numerous aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. Our parents never gave us any special attention only because we were theirs. We had to find our own feet. Exams were our own affairs. The affairs of the household - weddings, festivals, guests, comings and goings - went on regardless of who had to study. And now, when the mother of a five-year-old tells me she can't come over because her daughter has exams, I wonder am I alone?

Food - this could be my strangest aspect. I lose no sleep if my daughter goes without milk for a day. If she skips a meal, I don't skip mine. As a matter of course, I do chant "drink your milk" and "eat your vegetables," but I draw the line at making little happy-face men with beans and tomatoes.

Some of my most embarrassing moments have been spent at the pediatrician's. I am hard put to answer questions she asks. Does everyone else keep track so minutely of their offspring's input and output? Really?

Reading aloud to them is another golden rule I have steered clear of, warned by numerous cartoons depicting Daddy dropping off before offspring. Perhaps with no other recourse, both my children read a lot.

Why am I confessing all this? Because, all around me I see mothers whose lives are devoted to turning out super achievers; very often, it is a case of transferred ambition. A mother who stretches herself too far in making her child excel is definitely going to feel let down later on. Children don't like too many sacrifices being made for them. It is enough if they know they are loved.

All we're striving for is to turn out fairly well-mannered, healthy, competent, responsible, happy people who can make a reasonably good living and savour life's joys. A happy mother who finds fulfillment first in herself is definitely showing the way.

As they say, lazy people make good mothers. So all you lazy, happy mothers, come raise your hands with me.

(Written aeons ago when the kids were still biddable)
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