Please don’t call me Selfish

I discovered a great essay by Susan Newman over at Babble that made me think a lot — again — about being the mother of An Only Child. The title was “Is it Selfish to Have One Child?”

Selfish? Que-Que?

The idea of being labeled selfish stopped me, made me read, made me share with friends via Facebook. (Lots of feedback there on that one…)

I’ve never thought of myself, other moms of Onlys, or the childless by choice selfish. If anything, those of us in this category by design (because not everyone picks this box by choice) have made a conscious choice to have an Only child.

I imagine some have thought of me as selfish, or pitiful, or sad, or something.

But, here’s the story. I feel like sharing it. Maybe just to add to the record and chant that the families we’ve created, small in size, are big and wondrous and wonderful in their own way.

I didn’t really ever know how many children I wanted. But, I remember being very young and in love and planning a marriage and dreaming up the names of two future girls.

And then I married someone else and I went into it knowing it was possible there would be no girls with ringlets and solid English names. The man I married wasn’t sure he ever wanted children, but eight years in, he agreed to having one child.

I took the bargain.

And then, to my great shock, I had to poke my belly with drugs and suffer indignities under florescent light just to conceive.

I prayed to la virgencita that the drugs and ovaries swollen with multiple ripe follicles would send me twins.

God sent me one perfect daughter, instead.

After Maria was born — in the 10th year of my marriage — my spirit grew calmer, settled, complete. The person I had been missing had arrived and I was going to enjoy every minute. Mostly, I have. (Just being honest here…)

I have been asked many times when we were going to have a second child. I don’t think my husband got asked as much. I have been asked if I feel badly about not having more children. I always say I do, a little. But, I offer up my age (now 44) and explain that infertility treatment isn’t something I plan to go back to. Plus, we’ve aged out of adoption options, as my husband is much older.

End of story.

No Pity, Please

It shocks me to think  a stranger who doesn’t know my story, or friend who does, would think me selfish, or pity me, for having an Only. Not to mention pity my happy, healthy, delightful daughter. Those of us with Onlys don’t merit pity, I promise you.

And listen, if someone says they were too selfish to have children, or have more than one, freaking applaud them. Applaud their ass for being honest and self-aware.

Deciding to get pregnant requires commitment, plus even more commitment after the kid gets here. We all know these kids are not a daily, happy, fabulous, miraculous stroll in the park. If you start out the relationship iffy, well then, who knows if you’ll ever be in with both feet? Pity the child then.

And, we could say that having four or six or seven or 20 is selfish, right? Tables always can be turned.

Embracing the Choice

Let me tell you how any uncertainly about having an Only went away.

When a friend was struggling to have a second child, I asked her why she kept trying despite the hardship.

“Our family does not feel complete,” she said.

I looked at my trio and realized it was complete.

I missed no one.

I longed for no one.

My peace over having Just One really settled in.

And, my friend had her second…hurrah.

It all works out.

The moral of this story: Don’t judge.

“I know The F-Word!”

“Really? What’s the F-Word?”

“You know the F-Word, Mama.”

“Fun, fudge, flip?”

“Mamaaaaahhhh.”

“OK, why don’t you tell me what you think the F-Word is?”

“It’s a bad word.”

“It’s OK. You’re not in trouble, I just want to make sure we’re talking about the same F-Word.”

And then she said it, with the right frustrated emphasis on the “CK!” Grown up yuck from my little innocent’s mouth.

“Yup, that’s an F-Word, alright.”

Apparently, a classmate who does not enjoy doing a certain type of work told her that she likes to say The F-Word when she does this particular task.

Maria also told me she learned Ass and Damn, but I am not sure those gems came from the same classmate.

I am just feeling a little bit grateful she didn’t learn the F-Word from me. I have been known to say it a little bit and the Cubans I come from have bocas sucias. So, getting to nearly 8 and just learning the F-Word is a good example of our self-restraint. (I’m claiming that as parental victory, OK?)

So, her father and I had a talk with her about the use of her new words. We asked her not to say them because they’re not polite, and please, don’t teach them to any other kids. We especially emphasized we don’t want to get a call from school should she get caught dropping F-Bombs.

Words can hurt, she said.

Yes, they can, we said.

We also told her her friends will tell her a lot of things, things they will encourage her not to tell us. We told her some of the stuff will be wrong, that she can come to us for fact checking with no worries.

I had flashbacks to the neighbor girl who, when I was 8, told me where a man puts his penis to make a baby with a woman. I thought she was talking about the urethra. The fear that image struck in me…ay, I can’t even tell you. I never asked my mom about it. I shudder to think my kid is going to get that kind of wrong information.

The F-Word episode was funny and surprising. And sad, too. More examples of the beginning of innocence lost. I have an image of myself pushing away all the hard stuff, the ugly stuff, the mean stuff, away from her. A futile, and perhaps misguided, attempt.

But maybe this is what life is about. We lose our innocence in little bits — and maybe some of us in huge chunks – and our work is to regain it, to get back to seeing and living as a child does.

I don’t know.

But, it is fascinating to watch it all unfold.

I only pray to survive her growing up without dropping a few F-Bombs of my own.

…meet your future mandolin player.

She can kind of play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
And tune the thing.
Get ready.

So yes, city folk, we’re taking mandolin lessons around here. Even I grab the lovely piece and hit it some.

La Nena also is taking two other classes after school.

That’s three extra-curricular activities…There are a couple others she used to do regularly that we have not returned to because, well, five just seems like much doesn’t it? (We added two and got rid of two, basically.)

I had a rule that we’d only focus on one extra-curricular a semester.

Ha.

That lasted until last year.

There is a parental push to give, to expose, to share the world so she can take bites of it and decide what she likes.

I get it now.

I didn’t then.

Taste the whole wide world,  my girl.

It is yours to discover.

And Alison Krauss, see you at the Opry.

I am in the kitchen, putting dirty dishes in the sink.

My husband and daughter are in the dining room cracking up and repeating “The Giants Win the Pennant! The Giants Win the Pennant!” over and over and over again.

I have no idea why this cracks them up so much.

He tells her sports stories, press box stories (he has spent a lot of time in press boxes) and she cracks up. Often.

He also plays War with her, sets up tennis in the garage and submits to her WWF-style wrestling.

I’m the one who tells her to hurry up, to brush her teeth, to eat her beans.

I’m also the one who often tells her to “Hang on, Mama has a few more things to do on the computer.’’

I’m just not fun. (OK, sometimes he’s the hammer, but you know my hammer strikes more often…)

It is time to let some things go so that I can have the time to do nothing but crack up with my kid a little more often.

The list I created is not that long, but the public part of it is that I am shutting down the Boonie Blog for a while.

The goal is to let it simmer until the New Year, which feels like enough time to get done the things I need, and want, to get done.

Chief among the tasks is re-doing the Los Pollitos Dicen website, selling out existing inventory and adding new stuff. So, if you’re looking for some bargains, sign up for the newsletter. An update and sale is forth-coming.

I’m still going to be hanging out at the Tiki Tiki Blog and my Twitter streams — @carriefweir | @tikitikiblog | @lospollitos — will be active. Those, I can do from my phone, whether in line at school or at the grocery store checkout. Amen.

If you’re new here, there are plenty of archives.
If you’re an old friend, thanks for understanding.

Hasta 2011.

Besitos…and I leave you with two musical Cubanitos, Raul Malo (also of Nashville!), singing  Me Voy Pa’l Puebo, about a peasant whose heading to the country (like me)  and Pitbull with Shut it Down… “Sube, sube hasta las nubes…Pa’lante, ‘lante!” (Thank you, Latina-ish for the title!)

I am reposting this video, which got all kinds of love this week on the Tiki Tiki, so that anybody who pops over here from the Spanglishbaby Blogging Carnival sees an update on the abuelito. The post I contributed to the carnival is from 2007…and not much has changed. My father continues to delight and offer unique lessons.

Witness here Papi and Maria playing pick-up sticks. He’s not acting. He’s being himself. 100% It is why my house is very quiet when he is gone. Also notice my kid cheating her 72-year-old Abuelito in the game.

But, in truth, I had another agenda as my prime focus.

To ask women who are focusing on making money online Just How in The Ever Living Hell they balance the constant pull the of computer with kids, husbands and toilet cleanings.

I am here admitting I am woefully lacking in setting strong limits on computer time.  My kid has told me I don’t play with her enough. She has told me I am on the computer ALL.THE.TIME.

And, I am.

Now, I have taken steps to remove myself from the computer more, and my obvious lack of regular of posts here is evidence that I am making strides. However, I still work over at the Tiki Tiki and I have private PR and copy writing clients and all that requires I sit on my culo a lot. And, of course, I am the production, office, shipping and customer service departments of Los Pollitos Dicen.

There’s always one more e-mail to write, one more post to edit, one more Tweet to send. But, if  I died tomorrow, you, dear reader, may leave a comment here,  or if you know me for reals post a link on your Facebook status. My demise may end up as a Tweet, even. But, my husband and only child would not be giving too much of a crap about whether I posted enough.

So, I have been struggling to make it all work.

How to I continue to build something for myself, something I love and adore, without sucking as a mother and a wife?

Turns out few of us who are blogging full-time have got it all together. At least that is the feedback I got from the women I hung with at Blissdom. They wanted more on the topic, they wanted the speakers with successful, money-making blogs to tell them exactly how in the hell they manage to produce content, make a living, nourish their families and themselves. One panelist said she realized there were days she didn’t look into her small child’s eyes because she was online and Tweeting. WTF? Sadly, too many of us would have to nod in agreement.

For the record, I know if I was working for someone else, I also would be complaining and whining about lack of time…but, in my fantasy land, the fact I work for myself should translate into clean closets and time for mani-pedis.

OK, OK, blah blah blah on my part.

Are you online too much? Not sure? Read the wonderful Angelica Perez’s post Is Your Time on the Internet Impacting Your Children? Powerful Ways to Find Out and What to Do.

Now, I’m going to go play with my puppy.

Screw the tweeting.

xo

I am truly wondering why some parents would choose not to diapers their babies, and instead “intuit” when their tiny infants need to eliminate.

I have been chasing the new puppy, Buddy, around for five days now, making sure he makes it to the wee wee pads. A whole lot of intuiting going on here, and oh dear goodness, I am exhausted.

It hasn’t helped that we have been snowed in here since Friday. Yes, I said Friday. One.Two.Three.Four.Five days. Maria has had three snow days. Three. Including today. I am breaking out of here, no matter what.  Aire! Aire!

I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder in The Long Winter. This is Nashville, and seriously, this is not supposed to happen like this for so long. But, the ice on our country road has been slick and scary, and so we have stayed in. You can check out some local pictures here.

While I am grateful for the time to just hang out, it is taking a toll. I slept in my clothes, people, and that is just not right.  Much longer and I turn into good old Jack from The Shining.

So yes, we have a puppy. I wrote about him over at the Tiki Tiki. There’s video too for your cuteness quota of the day. He is pure deliciousness.

And, if you haven’t already looked at the Smart Latina vs. Sexy Latina video we posted over there, do it. It is fabulous. Then, for grins click over to the artist Maya Escobar’s YouTube page and look at the difference in the comments, between the men and the women.

Anyway, happy Tuesday and think of me in this frozen tundra.

She asked me  not to go into her room until she said it was OK.

I waited.

She said: “You may enter now.”

She was sitting on her pink chair, a pink-jeweled crown atop her head. Long, brown hair flowing at her shoulders.

“Hulll-ooh, I am the Queen,” she said, smiling.

“And, I am your humble servant,” I said, bowing.

She is 6.

And this is the throne of her own making.

Plug and suggestion for Nashvillians looking for an easy, festive, sweet, fun birthday party…

Maria celebrated her 6th Birthday at the Nashville Farmer’s Market, a truly wonderful place that reflects the diversity and spirit of this city.

A good friend owns Fleur de Lis Flavors, a New Orleans-style snowball and treat shop in the market, and another friend owns a catering company, peace love tea, with the most awesome of cupcakes. We put it all together and we got sweets and sugar-highs in a great space.

As part of the Fleur de Lis party package, the kids got unlimited snowballs in great flavors like Tiger’s Blood and Wedding Cake and Lime. They had to hit their parents up for the dinero for the gummie worms, though.  They got to run and play outside in the leaves after they were all sugared up and one-two-three, we were done.

Instead of presents, we asked for donations of dog and cat food, plus treats, for the shelter in our county, which struggles mightily with abandoned animals. We collected 203-pounds of dog food, 61 pounds of cat food, almost $100 in cash, and lots of treats and toys for the animals. Our friends are generous.

Of course, it was my idea — a way to reduce the amount of stuff that comes into the house. My mother, Abuelita, thought it was criminal to deny Maria of a gigantic pink haul. But, Maria was fully on board with it. She is proud of the mountain of animal food that is in the back of my Pilot and she’s enjoying the horse-riding and vet Barbies she got to pick out herself.

We are dropping the food off this weekend, and I expect my Birthday Girl (Oh, goodness, she is almost 6!) will even further see the good she and her friends did while they slurped up snowballs on a warm, November afternoon.

(If you’re in Nashville, and go get a snowball, I recommend the Stuffed Snowball. An orange flavor with soft serve ice cream in the middle? Oh goodness me! And, by the way, Fleur de Lis will bring the party to you in their awesome green party truck. And, if you have an adults-only Snowball party, what do you think goes great with Lime and Margarita and many other flavors? Hmmm? And furthermore, yes,  full disclaimer, I do PR consulting for Fleur de Lis.)