A question for moms

What is it about Cheerios?  Why do all mothers of really young children never leave the house without a small plastic baggie filled cheerioswith them?  And what is it about them that keeps every wee one I’ve ever seen quiet, happy and occupied, even for hours?

Have you ever paid attention when little kids are around?  Doesn’t matter where you are.  It could be grandma’s kitchen, a restaurant, a doctor’s waiting room, a store, a Continue reading

Moments in time …

It’s interesting, the things we remember from long ago. Really long, like our childhood. And what triggers those memories. Last week I called my aunt. The flashbackslast of my mother’s sisters who’s still alive. She’s far from young now and not so well and I guess, when I got off the phone, I was a bit melancholy. Ours had been such a large, and close knit family and there’s not many left.

I didn’t think much about it right after the call, but I guess it must have been weighing on my mind. Because days later, while reading, I suddenly had a flashback. I was really young, maybe three or four, five at the most. I was in a car. My grandfather was driving. My father was in the passenger seat. My aunt, this same aunt, her fiancé (very recent) and I were all sharing the back seat.

Like most little kids I was jabbering away. It was clear this was not my aunt’s idea of heaven. I could tell because she sighed a lot,

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Day 138. Maternal Instincts

I’ve never had children.  My choice.  It’s not that I don’t like them.  I do.  I love them.  I just never wanted any of my own.  I like nothing more than spending time withmaternal my friends’, colleagues’ and family’s kids and grand kids.  I’m a great ‘aunt’.

And then I’m happy to go home to the relative peace and quiet of my life.  And my house.  And in case you’re wondering, I’ve never regretted it.  Not for a minute.  Not even when I am holding the most beautiful, wonderful, warm, cuddly, sweet-smelling baby in my arms.  Which I love doing, incidentally.

Hey there, hang on a minute.  Don’t go rushing off, analyzing me.  I had two of the greatest parents anyone could have.  They loved me.  Took care of me.  Nurtured me.  Spent time with me.  Taught me.  Guided me.  Advised me.  Helped me.  Protected me.  Talked openly to me, about anything and everything.  Set great examples for me.  And, when it was time, they set me free, as difficult as it was for them.  Free to become my own person.  Free to create my own life.  Free to make my own mistakes.  Free to make my own choices.  Free to become ‘me’.  Not their idea of me.

So “no”, there was NOTHING in my childhood that would account for my not wanting babies of my own.  I had an idyllic upbringing.  My mom and dad made it look so simple, if anything, I should have wanted dozens.

Sometimes, because I have to know what makes people tick, myself included, I’ve self-analyzed:  Is it because I’m an only Continue reading