The Only Child

We all know the reputation that "the only child" gets in our society. They are the spoiled child who never learns to share and can be selfish their entire life. They are often the ones who don't learn compromise because they never had to compromise with siblings. They always got what they wanted, when they wanted. Many "only child" adults take pride in telling you they were the only child and how privileged they grew up because of this status.

I have an "only child." She'll be six this Sunday. Can you believe I have a six year old? I can't. Is she spoiled? In many ways. . . yes. She gets my undivided love and attention. The majority of her clothes are new and not hand-me-downs, as she has no older siblings to hand things down to her. She doesn't have to fight over who gets a window seat in the car every time we venture out. She rarely has to share her toys and belongings. Truly, very little stands between her and what she wants most of the time. So, by most people's standards, she'd be considered spoiled to some degree. I'd like to think she's only spoiled because of the privileges of being an "only child" and not because of any effort on my part to do so. Anyone who's seen me in the role of mom would probably attest to the fact that I am a "tough love" sort of mother. I don't protect her from everything that may harm her, but instead live by the motto . . . "she'll only do it once." I have high expectations for her and I don't (nor have I ever) treated her like a baby. More typically than not, when there's a conflict between her and another child, I'll side with the other child.

Anyhow, I got off on a tangent there. The purpose of my post today was not to brag on me, but to brag on Madison. She is a very strong willed child. I can hear all of you snickering and making comments of how you know who she gets that trait from. Anyhow, that's a good trait, though it can be seen as a negative one. Balancing that trait in Madison is her compassion. She can be so endearing at times, it amazes me and blesses me. One of the things she does that makes me most proud of her is the way she gives her things away. If another child compliments her on something she has, Madison's response is usually "you can have it if you want." I've always allowed this to happen regardless of what the item is she's giving away. She has made the choice to give it away and understands when she does so that it is not going to be replaced. Every time she has done this, she has NEVER come to regret doing so. This is a REGULAR occurrence.

Yesterday afternoon she asked for change to throw into a fountain. I told her I had no change as I gave all the change I had to her for children's church earlier that morning. I asked if she remembered to put it in their offering, and she said "I only put two pennies in. I gave the rest to the other Madison because I saw that she didn't have any to put in. She didn't ask for it, I just wanted her to have some money to put in so she wouldn't feel left out." Rather than give the "other Madison" the two pennies or a single coin from her pocket, she gave her all of the silver change and kept the coins with the least monetary value for herself to place in the offering. This didn't really come as a surprise to me, because this is what Madison does all the time, but it still blows me away every time I stumble across such conversations with my daughter. She will be six years old next Sunday and yet can exhibit more maturity, understanding, compassion, and selflessness than many adults I know. Did I mention that she's a spoiled, "only child?"

Everyone's O.K.

Thirteen years and one day following Hurricane Andrew's destruction of my hometown, Hurricane Katrina rears her ugly head and decides to not play by the rules. Instead of hitting Ft. Lauderdale and continuing accross the state as predicted, she made a surprise turn Southwest and hit directly over Cutler Ridge (FYI - that's where the fam lives). I tried calling my folks last night to no avail and again this morning. Finally got a hold of a friend in the keys and my aunt in the keys and they were fine. Finally heard from my mom this morning at 7:30 CST. Her street and yard are flooded . . . deep enough to cover a car above it's headlights. She is raising my young niece and nephew (6yrs & 8 yrs respectively) and took on my aunt's three kids as a favor yesterday since they weren't expecting to be impacted by the storm. So with a house of five children ages 2 yrs - 11 yrs they bunkered down for what turned out to be a direct hit. All the large trees came down, one ripping the electrical wire, knocking their electricity out. They've fried a television, maybe two. The computer may be fried too, but they won't know until they have electricity again. Everyone is very hot from the typical August Florida temperatures and no electricity for air conditioning. Everyone is a little stressed, but aside from that, it seems they've all fared well.

As for other family members spread throughout Dade and Monroe Counties (Miami to the Keys), it seems that my Great Uncle's boat davit broke and dropped his boat into the canal, my aunt's large avocado and mango trees are down in her yard, my great grandmother (96 years old) is without electricity and seems to be a little nervous. That's all I've got so far.

It tears me apart to be 1000 miles away at times like these. I know they will all handle the clean up and repair without any problem, but I can't stand that I'm here with my electricity, my clean yard (that's relative), my normalcy (that's relative too!), and they have the hurricane damage to deal with. I feel guilty almost. I need to be there to help and to be part of what's going on right now, and instead I'm here. I feel selfish somehow. Instead of being in the office typing this blog entry, I should be in the front yard with a chain saw trying to remove the large Rainbow Eucalyptus tree that has fallen into the street from mom's yard. I should be deligating orders to the kids to get them productive in the clean up process so my mom doesn't have to feel like she has five little ones under her feet. For those of you who know me personally, you have probably come to realize that I'm a problem solver. If I know of a need or a problem, it is natural for me to find a solution. Now there's a need and I can't put a solution in place. As if that's not bad enough, it's my family that needs the solution. It kills me!

That's all for now :(

Check this out.

For my Miami friends who tell me I now sound like a southerner, and for my Nashville friends who still say I sound like a Yankee, I present the following evidence that I am neither. I speak proper general English (which is more than I can say for a lot of people I encounter) with minor southern (dixie) and yankee influences creeping in to my speech which I attribute to my last eight years in Nashville (y'all), and all my previous years in Miami (ya know).

Your Linguistic Profile:

60% General American English

20% Dixie

20% Yankee

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Take the test yourself and see where you rate.

Have to give credit where credit is due. I stole this link from Brother Terry's blog http://brotherterry.blogspot.com/ who I found as a link on Girl Gone Great's blog http://girlgonegreat.blogspot.com/. I've grown fond of reading Girl's blog daily as a lot of her entries and her sarcasm reminds me of myself. Check it out. I reccomend Day in the Life (there's two of them, both great and FUNNY), Oh My God I'm Hungry, and OOOoooOOooo Cookies.

Breaking the Rules with Traditions

Do you have a tradition with your kids that "breaks the rules?" Did your parents have a tradition with you that "broke the rules?"

We all develop traditions with our families. I'm not talking about Movie Night Once A Month or Camping Every October or The Christmas Prayer Shared Each Year.

Remember those things you couldn't do as a kid. They were AGAINST THE RULES. Your parents wouldn't dream of letting you do them . . . drinking milk from the carton, going out to play barefoot, eating more than one piece of cake for dessert, etc.

I find myself at the grocery store at least twice a week. Where I used to make one large shopping trip every week or even sometimes bi-weekly, now, more often, I find myself in the store much more frequently buying smaller quantities. Anyhow, we don't do it every time we go to the store (since I go so frequently), but about every other week or so, during our trip to the grocery store, we purchase a small can of whipped cream. Before we even get home, we break out the can of whipped cream and spray it in our mouths for a tasty forbidden treat. Madison's mouth is so small it doesn't take much to fill it to capacity. When her little mouth is full to the point that she can't close it without white fluffy filling oozing out of her lips we both laugh at the silliness. This has become our rule breaking tradition. Am I teaching my daughter bad manners and poor habits? I don't think so. That's as silly as the theory that spanking your children teaches them to hit others. Poor behavior, bad habits, poor manners are not taught in any single lesson or example. They are taught through the culmination of our actions and interactions with our children and those collected examples of what they see in us throughout the day, everyday.

I encourage you, if you haven't already, develop a tradition with your kids, your friends, your parents, or whoever, that "breaks the rules." Whose rules? Yours, your parents', society's. It doesn't matter. Just do it. Rules and limitations are a good thing. I'm not rebelling here. I just think that too often we place too many rules and limitation on ourselves. Live a little. Break out the tub of ice cream and instead of using bowls, place it in the center of the table and give everyone a spoon!

Ex-Husband Funnies. . .

I can laugh now, because the pain is gone for me. The burden of the hurt, shame, "why", disappointment, etc. is no longer there for me and hasn't been for sometime. So now, exchanges between Paul and I no longer infuse me with anger, but instead, more often, infuse me with hilarity. Truly, I find it comical at times.

I noticed the other day that there is a condo for rent across the street from Paul. I have a girlfriend who is going through a divorce and needs a place to rent as her husband is keeping their marital home. She's a mom in Madison's school and her daughter is friends with Madison. Being the problem solver that I am naturally I've been keeping my eyes peeled for a rental in the Donelson/Hermitage area for her. I noticed the one by Paul and forgot to get the phone number for it. When I mentioned it to my friend she was very interested to find out more about it, so I told her I'd get the number for her. Both of us thought that it would be nice for the girls to be right across the street from one another (when Madison's at her dad's house), plus it's a nice neighborhood and not too far from school. Everything you want for your children. I did think of the comedy of having a friend living across from my ex-husband, but there was no ulterior motive to suggesting the place to her.

Here's where it starts to get funny. I called Paul and left him a message on his voicemail to ask him if he'd go outside to get the number for me so I wouldn't have to drive over there to do it myself. Here goes a paraphrase of the conversation that followed once he called me back:

Paul: "Your message was fuzzy. What do you need me to do?"
Amber: "I noticed the place across from you is for rent. Can you go outside and get the phone number for me please?"
Paul: "Who wants it?"
Amber: "That doesn't matter. Can you please get me the number, so I don't have to drive over there to get it myself?"
Paul: "I have a friend who might be interested in it."
Amber: "Well that's good. Can you please get the number for me or do I need to drive over there and get it myself?"
Paul: "What? Are you trying to spy on me or something. You are not going to put one of your friends across the street from me so they can spy on me and my every action."
Amber: "Paul, you have no control over who rents the place. It's not yours to rent. I have no desire to spy on you or anything of the kind. I know someone who needs a place and there's one available by you. I'll get the number myself."
Paul: "Amber, you're sick. You can't have one of your friends move across the street from your ex-husband. Who does that? You are psycho. It's not only an invasion of my privacy, it's damaging for your daughter."
Amber: "Thanks for nothing. Nevermind. I'll take care of it myself."

A little paranoid I think, but his paranoia makes for good comic relief for me.

You know that mental filter that we each develop through the years of our maturation into adulthood? We all have one, some of them work more efficiently than others. Some seem to not work at all. I have an imperfect mental filter. I catch some thoughts before they come out verbally and others just make their way out for the world to hear and upon my ears hearing the exit of such content my filter kicks in and tells me that such content would have been better off staying in my head. Ever had such an occassion?

Here's one such tale of the filter that kicked in too late.

Picture this: Me, in front of 150 colleagues and their families, including all of our firm's partners and top executives. I have a microphone and my voice is amplified throughout the audience. I am to announce the results of our golf tournament, pass out prizes, draw for door prizes, etc. An assignment I enjoy and am comfortable with. In the fun of the tournament we offer prizes to the two "high-score" teams. For those non-golfers, those are the losing teams. Our high-score teams were receiving a dozen Nike golf balls per player. So, after announcing the names of the players on the high-score teams, mind you they are all men and one such man is the founder of our firm, I proceed with the following statement:
"Gentlemen, please come up and collect your balls."

Immediately after this statement crossed my lips, my filter (which failed to filter such content before its exit) told me how horribly wrong this statement sounded. The room erupts in laughter and I am every shade of red. As the founder of our firm approaches, another one of the partners hands him "his balls" and makes the comment "Bet you feel like a real man now."

Ever had a faulty filter?

What is our fascination with food on a stick?

Corndogs, kabobs, suckers, popsicles. . . admit it, you even enjoy eating the drumstick when it comes to chicken or turkey, or the mystery meat they serve at Disney World (I've been told from an insider that it's emu) and most people think they're eating turkey. If those are turkey legs, they are turkies on steroids, and it's the strangest colored turkey meat I've ever seen. Truly, next time you go to Disney, realize that what they are selling and advertising is "Drumsticks" not "Turkey Legs." There's a reason they don't call them "Turkey Legs" . . . because they're not!

Anyhow, back to my point. Today, I found a pan that allows us to continue with our fascination of this trend. Cake on a stick! I actually think it's kind of cool. Of course I do. I'm American. Therefore, any food on a stick is kind of cool. You bake your cake mix in the "Cake Lollie" pan and after your cake lollies are baked, you insert said stick and dip in melted frosting and then roll in whatever topping you like.

Now that I've peaked your curiosity, it would be cruel of me to not tell you where to purchase such an innovative product. So strictly for your benefit, here is the link. http://www.thehomemarketplace.com/product_detail.aspx?affid=1&item_no=1015342&AID=10274087&PID=1768162

I wish I could say I made money from each person who purchased one from this little blog advertisement, but sadly, I have no connection to this product, other than my personal fascination and interest in it.

I was going to end this blog by saying "Put a stick in me. I'm done." But my filter kicked in (which it rarely does!) and told me how bad that would sound and how many of my friends would misconstrue that statement. Then the entire thought process made me laugh and I couldn't omit it entirely, so you get the saying and the explanation.

Four Day Weekend!!! That's what I have starting today. Not four days off from work, but four days off from my parental responsibilities. It doesn't come often, but when it does it's like a relief for my brain. I don't have to think about anyone else but me. How selfish does that sound! Really, how often do I get to be selfish? With a small child in the house, there's no privacy and no selfishness (for the parent, that is). When it's a one parent household (I try to avoid the phrase "single parent" - too much of a negative connotation) there isn't the sharing of responsibilities. I'm sure there are mothers in a two parent household who would argue that there isn't a sharing of responsibilities in their house either. But think about this thought. In the middle of the night, you want ice cream, need a gallon of milk, want to withdraw cash for the next day, decide to rent a movie. With two parents, you just go and do it. There's another parent at home to make sure the boogie man doesn't come for your child. With one parent, you either don't go (because your angel is fast asleep) or in the case you decide you need to run this errand before your child has gone to bed, you have to load the child up in the car and take them with you. Makes that "quick errand" take twice as long and not nearly as convenient.

For the next four evenings, I can do what I want, go where I want and have no parental obligations, no child to arrange babysitting for, no child to get dressed or find shoes for when I want to run out for a quick errand. I almost feel guilty putting this down in writing, but denying it would be a lie. I love my daughter and I love being her mother, but I enjoy the small breaks I get from that role from time to time, and the occasional exteded break is especially nice. Her paternal grandmother is in town, so I know she'll have a great time and will be spoiled rotten for the next several days. She won't even miss me. Between the shopping, and the buying, and the shopping, and (did I already say shopping?). That's what Mima does best. Madison has come to expect that from her every time.

School has started, summer is over, life is on its way back to normalcy . . . or normalcy as we know and accept it. During the summer months I work until 4:00 on most days. I do this in order to make up a few extra dollars to help supplement the fact that I have to pay for full time child care during those weeks. During the school year, I work until 2:30 in order to be able to pick Madison up from school each day. Now that school is back in, I am already beginning to feel some sense of relief. I don't comprehend how a single parent can work full time, raise a child (or children) and manage to get all their responsibilities done. When working until 4:00, I hit afternoon traffic on my commute home, which has me picking up Madison by about 4:35-4:40, and puts us home close to 5:00. At that time, we make dinner and change our clothes. A few of those days, I managed to squeeze in a workout, but unfortunately, most of those days I didn't. From 5:00, until 7:00 - 8:00 (Madison's bed time) we had 2-3 hours to spend together, to run errands, to take care of responsibilities, etc. That's just not much time. Each night, I typically elected (after errands or must-do responsibilities) to spend the evening with Madison in snuggle/movie mode, or coloring/book-making mode. In making that election, I elected to let my house work go undone, my laundry un-folded, my yard work untended, my mail unsorted. When the weekend came and we had a larger block of time, we'd knock out some of those chores, but made sure we didn't do it to the expense of missing out on pool time. It made for a chaotic summer, but in 20 years she'll never remember that the yard was overgrown, or that the house wasn't as neat as it could have been. With any luck she'll remember how great it felt to snuggle on the couch and fall asleep in the comfort of my chest. She'll remember watching the same movie (My Girl) several times that summer and crying every time. She'll remember ripping the pages out of her coloring book to reorganize them into a book the way she would have designed it and assigning me specific pages to color. She'll remember going to the pool and learning to swim in the deep end without any help. She'll remember playing frisbee in the front yard. She'll remember making new friends and cherishing old ones. So when you come over and you see my junk mail scattered on my living room couch, the floor unswept, clothes piled in front of the dryer, or any other project that I allowed to go undone for the moment, remember the time constraints I have and that those items remain undone by choice. I would hope that each of you would make the same choice.

"I would be on the candy aisle, so I could eat all the candy I wanted." That was the literal reply from my five year old to the question posed in WalMart yesterday. . . "Madison, if you were fabric dye, where would you be?" Children are so literal. When asked the same question, an adult would understand it to mean that I was looking for fabric dye, but to a five year old it is understood as though they had the choice of where to be if they were that item. Quite literally, if Madison were fabric dye, she would choose to be on the candy aisle. Can you blame her? I think if I were fabric dye I wouldn't want to be on the aisle with laundry detergent, stuck on the top shelf, passed by many times before I was discovered by those looking for me. I would want to be at the check out lines. Those products get to see EVERYBODY and they get lots of attention. Let's face it . . . that's why they are placed there. They have a captive audience. If I were fabric dye, that is where I'd be. Where would you be?

I'm a blogger. It's official. My random thoughts, interesting experiences, and silly stories will now, forever, have a place to be recorded and stored for posterity's sake, not to mention for the sake of friend's and family to read for the purpose of being inspired, bored, provoked, humored, motivated, humiliated, challenged, informed, entertained, or just connected in some small way to my world.

My good friend Mary Jo gave me a sweet gift while I was pregnant. It was a Mom's Journal which offered stories from the author of motherhood moments as well as pages for me to journal to my expectant daughter. I suppose now, journals are viewed as a primitive method of blogging. Anyhow, I cherished that journal and have written many a letter in there addressed to Madison. I hope when she is grown she can enjoy, appreciate, and cherish the effort I made to capture those "motherhood moments" in writing for her. I pick it up every now and again to read those letters from years ago to remember and re-live those moments. The journal pages have not been filled. There are still several empty pages remaining. My last letter was written just before Paul and I separated and I didn't want any of my letters to my daughter to revolve around that part of our lives, so I stopped writing. I figured I'd pick it up again and start to write "once the dust cleared." When she's grown and able to read the letters, she'd recognize the gap in time and understand the purpose for it without having to read the details of what we were experiencing. Now that I'm a blogger she'll not only have those intimate letters written to her, for her, but she'll have a greater gift. . . the ramblings of all my experiences, many of which will involve her directly, and many of which will not. Not to mention, she'll have the comments of those who've read (and hopefully enjoyed) my entries. What an awesome gift we have to give our children. I wish my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents would have captured the same in their time. I hope that Madison will appreciate and cherish these writings when she is grown.

One last thought on this idea of great gifts for posterity . . . www.mypublisher.com
Check it out. I think it's a really innovative idea, but don't take my word for it. . . decide for yourself.