My first best friend …

I must be pretty desperate for content if I’m willing to share this photo with you. It’s me, at about two years old sporting the worst haircut ever! How could my mother do that to me? I particularly love that curl that seems to have a mind of its own. Reminds me of the poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

The day the picture was taken, I was being Continue reading

Day 259. Appalling Behaviour

I escaped to Starbucks Saturday morning, in an effort to get out of my cleaning lady’s way.  Well, in an effort to avoid the chores she’d have given me, if I’d stayed home.  I noisykidhad some writing to do, so staying home wasn’t an option anyway.  I’d never have been able to concentrate with all the tumult and the noise from the vacuum.

When I first arrived it was very quiet.  There were only about five or six other people.  Shocking, really.  It’s always packed in there.  Not that I was complaining, mind you.

Got a yoghurt and a coffee and snagged a seat at the harvest table, which is my preference.  More room to spread out.  Didn’t take long before I was totally engrossed in what I was doing.  Oblivious to anything going on around me.  Unaware of anyone coming or going.  Didn’t even have a clue what time it was.

Suddenly there was a blood curdling scream directly behind me.  And I do mean blood curdling.  High pitched Continue reading

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