Grocery games

Image result for sad grocery shopper cartoon

I used to love going to the grocery. It was like a field trip that I looked forward to each month end. I would make sure all the members of the home clan are washed and fed, dress myself up and head out. I don’t favour carrying the whole family to the supermarket with me though unless I really have to. Boyo doesn’t like to stay in the stroller for long periods of time even in wide aisles and air-conditioned comfort. Mam’zelle and Son-son forever squabble about who gets to push the trolley which drives me up a wall and Husby always makes me buy random stuff outside my budget.

Now I say ‘used to love’ because even with my happy intentions and my genuine need to put food on the table, I’m finding it to be a droll chore. This is mainly because there is such a heaviness when I observe people (read: women) in the grocery. One after the next stare at the shelves at the products, hemming and hawing, deliberating, pro-ing and con-ning. People quarrel to themselves, mutter under their breaths, suck their teeth (steups) and even outrightly complain about what a state we are in with food prices rising and rising to seemingly meet the Lord. And I completely understand it. The fact is, money is tight and when you make out that monthly budget, that allocation marked “Grocery” seems to be rising higher, denting your other categories of spending.

Image result for sad grocery shopper cartoon
Adapted from https://www.attwiw.com

Once I spoke to a friend of mine who told me she wished she could just walk into the grocery, see what she needs/wants, take it, dump it in the trolley, head to the cashier, pay and leave.This may seem very normal to some of you reading this, but that reality is far removed from some of us like me who live in the middle.   Going to the grocery is indeed a process. You spend more time doing mathematical functions, adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing as well as justifying, predicting and wondering if it’s cheaper in Pricesmart or Maharaj Wholesale.

The thing is I usually make sure I get everything I need to I wouldn’t have to buy food outside which is a bad habit that I’m trying to cut down on. Eat home and save money? Sure! But this idea is also under the scrutiny of a ‘cut-eye’. Example: hot dogs work right? For dinner, work, lunch kit, breakfast, you name it unless you are a parent who is adamant against processed meats but dais not me. Everything requires balance like box juice one day, freshly squeezed the next. Anyways I wanted to upgrade my hot dogs so I decided I will buy the jumbo ones instead of the usual skinny franks. Usually I make those with the lettuce, grated carrots, the full nine for family dinners or for school. There is a particular brand I like that I’ve been buying for $32.99 for the longest while. Aye aye, when I gone this month to pick it up, is $39.99 staring me in my face yuh know! The prospect of paying that extra seven dollars out of nowhere hurt me, made me consider a hit or miss with a next brand, a return to the skinny franks with an addition of tortillas or fries to the meal. Sigh, I really liked those jumbo hot dogs dammit!!!

Food prices are ridiculous. Now let me say for those of you who are thinking “set up a kitchen garden” or “budget your money better!”, my thumbs are as black as they come and if my budget were any tighter it would give millennial jeans a run for their money. Mankind needs to eat and you see particularly as Son-son is hitting puberty and again, nobody adequately warned me about his voraciousness that has no bounds, I have to do what I must. But the fed-upcy is growing. You know with carefully crafted buying of ingredients, follows the carefully crafted providing of food for a month using said ingredients and meals must be varied. At times this mother here does not have the mental fortitude to win at this game every day and with the way things are looking at the grocery, the odds are beginning to stack higher.

Adapted from http://www.fiterature.com

Bless up

TMIDM

Wanna hear a story?

Here it goes:

Once upon a time on a random Tuesday afternoon, a teacher set aside her lesson to scold her class of form ones (11-13 years olds). They had been behaving badly in recent times and they needed a shake up to try to bring them back to reality.

When the teacher was finished and the bell had rung signalling the end of the school day, she had scarcely reached her office and begun to pack up when she was confronted by another teacher who indicated that two girls who were part of the class to whom she had spoken earlier, had instigated a fight with another female student that very minute. The teacher was aghast. Hadn’t she just spoken to these students about their deportment and their lack of discipline? Was it simply a matter of her 35-minute sermon going in one ear and coming out the next? Had she lost precious teaching time for nothing?

The teacher went outside and proceeded to call the two girls who proceeded to delay in walking toward her. This got the teacher annoyed because she began to think about her own biological children who needed to be picked up from school a whole 60-something kilometres away while she had to be there dealing with that nonsense. She began to shout with authority at the girls about the mere stupidity of their actions and insisted that they go to the office.

Concurrently, one of the girls had a boyfriend who was in another class who decided that he would jump into the fray to save his girlfriend from the teacher who was admonishing her. Upon realizing that the boyfriend was addressing her, the teacher turned to the young boy and spoke to him directly, indicating that no one had called him and he should excuse himself. The boyfriend muttered. The teacher asked for clarity and indicated that if he had something to say he should come to her directly. The young boy bounced up, pointed a finger in the teacher’s face and said she should mind her business. Unrelenting in her purpose, the teacher told him that he had no authority to point at her to which he replied “Hush your cunt”. The teacher replied that she didn’t know that he was aware of any body parts belonging to her and then turned to the girlfriend and said, “You have great taste in men.”

In the office, while writing up the notices to see parents for the two young girls, the teacher’s annoyance switched to amusement.  In all of her years working at the school, never had she been so disrespected but she felt as though if it had to happen, it should have been someone a bit more worthy. She jumped in her car and went on her merry way, eager to give her husband the joke about these students’ obvious loss of mental capacity, ruminating on her strategy for the following day and boy would it be a good one.

THE END

EPILOGUE

The mother picked up her own children from school and after her usual pleasantries, realized that something was wrong with her son. He was unusually quiet. He then randomly asks (or maybe not so randomly) when was the next occasion for Confession at their church. This made the mother anxious. At home she realized that he was shadowing her and kept asking for hugs. She didn’t ask him anything but merely waited. Eventually he said he had something to tell her and after almost five minutes of fidgety eyes and playing with his fingers, he said that he knew she was going to get mad but he proceeded to outline what happened. Apparently he was part of  a WhatsApp group with boys commenting using very strong obscene language. A parent found out and the boys got in trouble at school with their teacher. He looked at his mother and said that he was sorry and he knew it was “out of his character” and that he got “caught up”. The mother sighed and said she was glad that he told her and she spoke to him about being responsible on social media and not bowing to peer pressure. She imagined that it would be the first of many like conversations but boy was she proud that he found it enough on his conscience to recognize his missteps and to come clean. She trained her son to be sensible enough (not perfect but sensible!) to identify a basic right from a wrong approach and wondered why other parents couldn’t do the same.

Bless up

TMIDM

Have merSEA!

Well my Son-son is 11, in standard five in primary school and about to write the big Secondary Entrance Assessment (SEA) exam this Thursday. According to Trini culture and lore, this is the most important exam of a student’s life, destined to make you or break you depending on which secondary school you are headed when the results come in. Parents cry, teachers lose hair and the children drill mathematical formulae, grammatical exercises and seemingly endless compositions up until the dreaded day that they aim to get their first choice out of four. Cue ominous voice:

may_the_fourth_be_with_you_by_themooken-da1apux

http://themooken.deviantart.com/art/May-the-fourth-be-with-you-606841449

Knowing that he is prone to anxiety, I laid all the pressure on Son-son on standard four and eased off the valve considerably. As the date draws near, I think I am more anxious than he is. However my anxiety stems from the fact that I am completely FED UP! of the preparation for the exam. I’m so thankful that his teacher is so meticulous, another parent told me some time ago that he has a ‘system’ to churn out boys to perform at the SEA exam. But at this point if I see YET ANOTHER quasi difficult poem, I will scream. I think a couple of nights ago was the last straw.  He came and said he read the poem and didn’t understand it. So I took a look. This is a poem called Children’s Song by R.S. Thomas which he had to read and answer about ten questions:

We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.
 
Ronald Stuart Thomas
Dafuq is subterfuge??? ‘Remoter heaven’??? My poor child!
I mean honestly, I get the gist of the poem, but I think it’s a bit much for an 11 year old to find extra deep metaphorical meaning in a high stakes exam. I understand that the poem is usually the difficult part of the exam but have mercy, this or any poem like it reads like stress! The questions that followed were even worse.
So these last few days I haven’t been harping on him at all partly because I think he’s reached his zenith and partly because again…me…fed up…. He had practice tests for the past two Saturdays and beyond that I gave him a free pass to the TV and the games on his tab. Of course everything was done in moderation so he also had to clean inside my car and do his regular chores as well. I don’t want this SEA pressure to fold him in even before the exam.
Thursday morning I plan to wake him up, act as normally as possible and not make a big deal about it. On our way there, he may get a Bruno Mars karaoke session, lame jokes in the car and I’ll kick him out with a hug and a ‘good luck dude’! If I get the butterflies, they’re going to remain in stasis at the very least until he’s out of my sight. I hope I don’t wig out. This SEA can’t drown us both.
Bless up
TMIDM

Life of a Hustler (part 1)

I am always hustling. Counting minutes in my head, always watching my timepiece. I am a veritable slave to time. It is the only way that I know to exist.

Image result for busy mom on the go

(Nobody is usually smiling  like that though. There’s usually urging, yelling, snapping fingers, pleading and total forgetting of the usual family pleasantries, I’m late dammit.)it’s bad, I know.

During the week I wake up at 4 am. I strive to pray but it usually ends up with me telling God, “thanks for waking me up, we’ll talk more in the car.” I actually get off my bed around 4:30 or 5am depending on whether young Boyo is lying next to me under my armpit or how much prep I have to do to send people off with food. Then I have to make sure to leave home before 6:45 or else I’ll have to resort to driving like a maniac so I can screech in to work on time. So my morning routine is like a checklist going of in my head, of course subject to delays: car trouble, burnt breakfast, last-minute bathroom trips. Then I offload the gremlinz at my mother’s in the opposite direction. Sometimes she wants to do small talk which I don’t usually mind but other times: tick tock. Sometimes the gremlinz forget stuff at home which allows me to reconnect with God as I royally get pissed off. “This is a well-oiled machine that isn’t supposed to have any kinks! Get it together!!!” It is bad, again, I know.

I work one and a quarter hours away and the roads are really bad but punctuality cares nothing for distance. I make sure to get gas for my car the evening before because any delay could cause me to get stuck in traffic that I wouldn’t have been stuck in, had I left earlier. I have every single traffic light timed in my head and memorized. I have shortcuts mastered. I even try to anticipate how fast a driver looks like he will go so I will know not to get stuck behind him.  I know all the potholes in the aforementioned bad roads. I know the distance from A to B is 12 minutes, B to C is 3 minutes, C to D is 11 minutes, D to F is 7 minutes with complete exactness. Sad? Yup….

Don’t ever be a teacher who is late. You might as well be carving your own to cross to properly well plant into the ground in a place called Calvary. Not to mention, you are exposed for principal, colleagues, students, everybody to judge no matter your lame/valid excuse. I have 45 minutes late against my record for the year. I CANNOT afford to add to it to be supplied with letters and to suffer through warnings so I try my best. But then there are others who operate  like time in a non-muthaluvin factor. My husband is like that. No concept of time whatsoever and he cares nothing for it, whenever he reach, he reach which I think is a little selfish.

Image result for late, don't care

Sigh….Get there on time! The world does not revolve around you and your tardiness!

I could try to slow down but then the joke’s on me as everything then piles up like dishes in your sink. No one feels as obligated to get tasks done in my camp which would assist everyone. I tend to run out of constant reminders for the fam so I might as well get up do it myself. It will work until I drop down. One of these days I will activate the FUCKIT button though.  Bad? Definitely. Next up….weekends….

Bless up

TMIDM

Listen dis….

microphone-icon_1871173

I’ve been known to have my own version of  Carpool Karaoke with the gremz in the short distance between school and home depending on what I’m listening to. Admittedly they are very exposed to all different kinds of music but they had never heard a particular song from one of my favourite artistes. This song by Chronixx was playing so I sang the chorus of the song very clearly for them and then I waited for the 21st century commentary which I knew for sure was to follow…..

  • Mam’zelle: This song makes no sense
  • Son-son:    How you mean? Of course it makes sense!
  • Mam’zelle: “If I were you I woulda sell my gun”……..but who I selling my gun to?
  • Son-son:    Somebody else so you could buy food and drive a taxi and make an honest living…
  • Mam’zelle: But theeeen that person would probably go and rob and shoot somebody with myyyyy gun duhhhhh
  • Son-son:    Well then sell it to the police?
  • Mam’zelle: For dem to lock me up for having a gun? No thanks…
  • Son-son:    Oh I know! We could melt it down and make something from it…
  • Mam’zelle: Yeah we could make a sword…..
  • Son-son:    We don’t have enough metal….
  • Mam’zelle: Steups, look  I throwing away this gun yes…
  • Son-son:   That’s the point! Is not a real gun yunno…

I am not upset that my gremz are talking about guns, like I said 21st century commentary. I tend to listen in on how they craft their logic and I’m usually pleased on how the trains of thought chug along. Critical thinking is a must in my household. Chronixx is as conscious an artiste as they get but I never actually thought about who Chronixx would sell the gun to. I just found it noble the message “yuh cyah be bad and hungry”, not the mention the kick ass beat and of course his lyricism. But simple lesson learnt: Even if you hear something with a message, you’d do well to analyze it and the message as well.

Bless up

TMIDM

Winning!

She looked at me and deadpanned, “Ah cyah handle allyuh sometimes yuh know”. And then let go a long watery steups. I started to laugh.

Some time ago I was pregnant. It wasn’t a totally glorious time with sunshine, rainbows and idyllic photoshoots in the woods. It was painful, I was heavy, my bones ached and I was so ready for it to end post week 28. However, I must say beyond my beyond beyoooootiful baby boy (hereafter referred to as Boyo), the best part of being pregnant is all the courtesy I got as I ventured all over the place. The malls, the church, on the road Carnival Monday and Tuesday (yes, I went through bravely and that was awesome)…People were like ‘watch out’, ‘be careful’, ‘take my seat’, ‘ok I will spare you this time but don’t let me catch you on the bus route again’…..that sorta thing. I was so appreciative and sometimes just a kind word helped me along the way while I was doing business on the outside when I just wanted to be home in meh bed.

Flash forward to post-pregnancy……After I recovered, life continued so I still had to move to suit my other two gremlinz. In addition, I had other personal business to see about, so I had to load up baby in car seat and hit the road. Well if I was surprised at the kindness of people while I was pregnant, I was blown away by the courtesy I received when toting 2-week old Boyo around. In a financial institution I got a cheque cashed when the official policy is to deposit it directly into your bank account. At three banks, I was immediately ushered to the counter. In a government office I got skipped to the front of a loooooong snaking line and got through in 20 minutes. The same thing happened when I went to pay a utility bill. I begged a park in a car park in the heart of POS and got through. In the grocery a lady took the items out my cart for me, even though it was a few things I ducked in to get. I felt really special, so special that my husband said I was milking it. I started bragging to no end :D, hence the reason for my sister’s response at the top of the post here. She told me I need to shut up when I kept talking about how easy and quick I kept getting through at places when I have Boyo with me 😀

picard-winning1

As a busy mother especially in Trinidad where customer service is close to nil and services move like molasses at particular times of the month, I was eternally grateful and ok maybe a tad over-zealous with it. I kept daring the system and felt like I was winning.  My mother volunteered to babysit but I was like “Nah! I’m good! Both of us going!” I felt like as a mother you gotta do what you gotta do. So if I hadda be smart and use meh popo as leverage, I doing it and if I continue annoying people like my sister who hadda stand in line, so be it. The nine months have to count for something :’D

Bless up

TMIDM

Leave de people zaboca!

My neighbour has a huge avocado tree.

 

Zaboca
“Avocado = Zaboca”

From the beginning of the zaboca season I have been peering out my louvres watching with anticipation as like the years before this, many a fruit lean over on my side of the fence. In this age of Facebook Tasty videos and Pinterest recipes, I eagerly began to concoct many uses for said zaboca when they land on my kitchen counter.

And so it came to pass that the fruit on my side became full. My mother came to visit, reminded me that when the skin looks dull you pick it,  then proceeded to make her way off with one. My husband was repeatedly harassed to pick the high ones. My older sister appeared, did her thing and promised to return. Meanwhile I had zaboca wrapped in newspaper and with gremlinz disliking and husband eating when he felt like it, I eventually enjoyed with bake, pelau, toast, tuna and even by itself. I considered it a luxury. A zaboca is at least $20 anywhere you go yuh know!

Anyway enter my 7-year old Mam’zelle…..

One random afternoon: “Mummy, you know that pear thing?…….I think you should stop stealing it…:”. Me: “‘scuse???”.

What followed was a confirmation that it was indeed the zaboca she was talking about, that I shouldn’t steal it because it’s not mine and that the tree isn’t growing on my side so I mustn’t take it. You can well imagine the mix of emotions, from ‘ay ay, just so?’ (*confusion), to ‘papa!’ (*pride), to ‘daiz not true’ (*denial) to ‘oh gorm ariite nah’ (*shame/resignation). To be honest I wasn’t feeling too shame nah! 😀 but obviously I knew what she was saying. I keep talking to her and Son-son about these things and it is refreshing to know that the repetitiveness and the preaching about morals and values stick. I just didn’t expect it to backfire on me! Ha ha! Lesson learnt.

So what did I say? Well I tried to worm my way out of it and told her that the neighbours didn’t mind, we have an understanding over the years. I wouldn’t feel any which way if I saw my neighbours picking mangoes from my ginormous tree, it’s not like I can get them across there anyway. She said I must still go across with my bag and ask. I compared it to the plum tree that drops plums all over. She defended and said the zaboca didn’t ‘drop’ and that I was picking it. “But it on my siiiiiide!!” I protested. She said that it didn’t make it right and when I picked them I was supposed to put it back over the fence…..(fat chance of that happening…..$20 for one eh!!). I did relent and say that I would stop picking them (but I’m taking them when they fall!).

I guess I never stepped back to visualise how it would look to her but I’m super glad that she’s so observant and capable of making independent conclusions. I must be doing something right even though in her eyes I wasn’t perfect at that moment. I’m glad she was able to call me out on it too but she was always fearless and defiant in her own way which can be admittedly frustrating at times.

In the mean time anyone fancy some guacamole for dinner with me tonight?

Bless up

TMIDM

As The World Turns

 

*dusts off cobwebs again…….

So much has changed that I had to actually go back to the About Me section of my blog and switch up a few things…most notably that I’m no longer dreadlocked, no longer a student and now a Trini Mom in the Middle of THREE children! My world is still spinning on its axis though.earth-spinning-rotating-animation-25

I cut my locks simply because they were getting too long and I felt like I needed something new with my hair. It’s so strange how people react when you cut your hair, I cut it Christmas last year and people STILL ask me “why I cut it” and “if I’m growing it back”. I get that locks is an “investment”, to some it’s a spiritual thing, to others a statement. To me it was just my hairstyle, not a measure of my blackness or a way to fall into a trend. I cut it, if I feel like it, I’ll grow it back, meanwhile the Earth still turns.

 

hair
I am not my hairrr…

I finished my Postgraduate Diploma in Education (yayyyyyy!!!!) which took up ALL of my spare time. I couldn’t even spare time to blog, the guilt was too much! It  was such an INTENSE programme crammed into less than a year that there were times I felt as though I was losing my mind. Sleepless nights, split personalities, loss of brain function…the works…And in the middle of essays, research, teaching in other schools and sitting through three-hour long evening sessions, I still had to pretend to adult: routine to uphold, two gremlinz to see about, household to maintain and of course my job to do. I’m done my life is back to normal, the world is still turning and I’m so glad I got out in one piece…..well maybe not ONE piece…….

bb
New gremlin!

So there is some talk that the DipEd would impact your personal life in various ways. I’ve heard of marriages, mental breakdowns, divorces and pregnancies. I found out I was pregnant in the middle of the programme which initially was very difficult for me to deal with as I had ZERO intentions of having another baby. I eventually got over the shock and simply went with the flow. To be a little more honest I didn’t really “feel” pregnant until my programme was done. I guess I dealt with it by putting it on the back burner, let my brain compartmentalise in order to function…..

This Trini Mom in D Middle of it all has had it to deal with over the past year or so. Hopefully within it all I can continue doing a better job in documenting it here. In the meantime, life spins on.

Bless up

TMIDM

Well Happy Divali yes!

In Trinidad and Tobago tonight is the eve of Divali, the Hindu festival of lights, the triumph of light over darkness, good over evil. Tomorrow Hindus pray to the goddess Mother Lakshmi for wealth and prosperity, for her to fill their homes which will be beautifully lit with deyas and celebrations will be had.

Today some schools (I say ‘some’ because I suspect not all) give children the option to dress in East Indian wear to celebrate and give significance to the East Indian community because the festival is largely cultural as it is a deeply religious observance. My gremz both attend Roman Catholic primary schools and the request is the same every year which is no big deal to me because like I said Divali is also very much a cultural thing and Trinidad and Tobago is chock full of different races and cultures mixed into one. So even though children are of African, Chinese, Syrian, European descent, East Indian wear is welcomed. 

Now Mam’zelle wore East Indian clothing and Son-son didn’t. He said he didn’t want to be noticed too much which is fine with me while she was down for the fanciness. This afternoon I picked them up from school and in the car we had the usual banter of what happened during the day. She told me “Mummy ‘soandso’ and I wore the same thing, could you believe that?”. I replied “wow! twinsies!”, glad that she wasn’t mortified. She’s very particular about what she wears, but then she said “…and thennnn ‘soanso’ tell me ‘why you have on that? you looking ugly!'”…….I understood the underlying meaning and looked at her trying to gauge her emotional state at the recollection. Then I tested her by saying very matter-of-factly “And?”. She replied “I know right? I was still feeling sad though”. It was her first time wearing East Indian wear, last year she was sick and didn’t make it to school so she missed out. I told her that she looked beyond beautiful and anybody who couldn’t see that is probably blind.

I’ve arrived at my point. There is a blindness that pervades this Trinidad and Tobago society which is beyond irritating. I get that there are residual historical, societal and cultural issues and biases that affect and are passed down from generation after generation. But….have mercy……when will it stop? A next ten/twenty years and the same nonsense? When do we begin to teach our children or to reflect to them the appreciation of the beauty and culture of all races especially in this country? The Indian/African/Syrian/’Chinee’ thing is so played out. One doesn’t have to subscribe to a religion or be a certain race to show tolerance, understanding and appreciation. This doesn’t stand for Hinduism alone, I’m ‘African’ and Catholic, not Orisha which I guess makes me less of an ‘African.’ I’m blasted for what I believe and practice which by the way is a freedom I enjoy without having to prove the rightness and wrongness of Catholicism. Don’t even get me started on Islam.

So back to Mam’zelle. I posted her dress pic early on Facebook this morning and 38 people clicked like on the photo. It may sound trivial but those 38 people, though not children,  reaffirmed what it means to be Trini for me. They helped me to make my point to her that it does not matter what some may think, in this country there are others who will disagree, do away with the blindness and still strive to make this country the rainbow that it should be.

Shine light in your hearts man, sounds good to me. What do we say about every creed and race in the National Anthem? We sing it twice for crying out loud! Sigh.

Bless up

TMIDM

Sadness

276

On Sunday night I got some devastating news about a friend of mine who passed away.  Of course I refused to believe it at first but when I got confirmation I felt as though someone knifed me in the heart. I plunged into sadness because to me grief comes not when you know someone is going to die by illness or suffering, but when it happens unexpectedly. That is the worst kind. On top of that is where your mind tosses about the couldas and the shouldas and the wouldas and that this death that was totally unexpected happened under questionable circumstances, makes it even worse. Now I have all these how and why questions that no one can answer for me now and I think that is what hurts the most. I have no immediate and absolute facts to deal with other than the one that is most poignant, that he is dead.

Of course all of the memories came flooding back, all the occasions, the serious conversations, the laughs, the singing and dancing…I knew that it would be a lot to bear. Yesterday at work I armed myself with various distractions, couple of DVDs, games, so I managed to block out my thoughts for bits at a time but he came back in a few random moments. I managed to smile today as I remembered a few and sighed rather than cried. I don’t feel as devastated as I did on Sunday into Monday but the sadness is still there as I suspect it will be until he is laid to rest.

It doesn’t happen often but I embrace my sadness. I wallow in it  because it comforts me and at a time like this, it is the only emotion, the only feeling that I am sure of.  I give it the attention it needs and then it goes away eventually. It might sound strange but it works for me much like anger, anxiety and fear.

So my friend is gone. It pains me to believe and it’s difficult to accept but I will get there and I have my sadness to help me along.

Bless up

TMIDM