Carrcakes inspired my post today. She has a beautiful post about her relationship with her siblings, and how it has changed and stayed the same over the years. Go check it out. I’ll wait. Ready? OK.

I am an only child.

Raised by a divorced mom who worked full time, I spent many days of my youth alone. I had a babysitter when I was very young, but I soon fought for the right to become a latchkey kid, and my mom granted the privilege when I was in third grade. By middle school I was staying home by myself even when she worked 3-11pm shifts.

Some people say only children are misfits. They are selfish and spoiled, and often are loners lacking in social skills yet terribly lonely. I think this is a gross oversimplification of only children, and I’m sure many grew up with none of those issues. From my experience, only some of the stereotypes are true. I was certainly not spoiled, because my mom didn’t have a lot with which to spoil me. I did lack in social skills, but only amongst my peers. I was quite capable of carrying on a conversation with adults, but found my peers to be immature and boring. I was lonely at times, but I also found comfort in being alone, and enjoyed the peace of the silence in our house many nights as I sat on the couch and read a book.

Still, I could never shake the desire of wanting a sibling. My childhood best friend had two older siblings, and they fought like caged wild animals at times. But at least she had someone to fight with. Me, well, I could try picking a fight with the cat I guess. I dreamed I would get help with my homework from an older sibling, or I would teach a younger sibling to play my favorite games. I imagined it would be lovely to have someone around to talk to who didn’t have to go home for dinner.

And now I find myself thinking about my daughter. She is currently an only child, and Aaron and I have been discussing when to plan the next child. Part of me is scared about the thought of raising two children. I have no experience dealing with siblings – how will I handle their fights? Will Cordelia resent another child coming along and taking some of the attention away from her? Will we not be able to provide as much for Cordy with another child?

As an only child, my mom was able to devote her limited resources to just me. Had I had a brother or sister, I might not have been able to go to college as easily, or been given the help my mom has provided with Cordy. Am I limiting her by having another child?

The other part of me yearns for another baby. I love being a mother, and I know there is plenty of room in my heart for another child. I remember the lonely times of being an only child, the awkwardness around my peers, and I don’t want Cordy to experience those dark moments of an only child experience.

I also think that Cordy could benefit from a sibling. Look at how many people out there have siblings they are close with. Aaron and his brother get along very well, although he tells me that they didn’t get along nearly as well when they were younger. There are lots of useful learning experiences a sibling could help provide: sharing, resource management, taking turns, helping, parental manipulation, etc.

The plan to have another child is likely to move forward. We both want another baby. The grandparents want more grandkids. Everyone is in agreement. I only hope Cordelia will love any younger sibling that comes along, and that she won’t one day wish that she had been an only child.

What about you? Were you an only child or did you have siblings? Do you wish things had turned out differently for you? (more siblings, less siblings, none?)

A few weeks ago, I arrived home and noticed a light blue car driving slowly down the street. It was a large Olds or Caddy or some other old-lady-mobile. As I got out of the car, I noticed the other car inching closer to the house. I opened the back door and started to get Cordy out of her car seat, when the car suddenly picked up speed and quickly turned into my driveway. No big deal, I thought. We’re at the end of the street, and lots of people turn into our driveway to turn around.

But then an older lady jumped out of the car and walked up to me. She introduced herself as the Avon rep. for the neighborhood and asked if she could leave a catalog with me. I, of course, am trying to get a tired toddler out of the car, and really don’t have time to talk, so I quickly accept just to get her to leave. Plus, my family purchases lotion and other items from Avon every now and then, so I thought maybe I’d find something sometime.

Wrong decision. Upon accepting that first catalog, she whipped out her little notebook and asked for my name, phone number, address, and blood type. (Just kidding about the last one. Or am I?) So, while holding a semi-awake, unhappy toddler, I blurted out all of the information just to get inside. She mentioned she’d give me a call in a week or so to see if I had an order.

Well, this Thursday, I was taking Cordy out to the car to go to the park. It was a beautiful morning, and the street was quiet. I strapped Cordy into her car seat, and then as I shut the door I was surprised to find the light-blue old-lady-mobile in the driveway blocking us in. What the…where the hell did she COME from?? I swear she appeared out of nowhere.

“Hi, I was just wondering if you had an order to place?”

“Um, uh, no, not yet. I have looked through the catalog, but I haven’t decided on anything.”

“No? Well, when do you think you will have an order ready?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. I’ve been very busy lately, so I haven’t had time to really sit down and think about it. I mean, I do have a toddler and I work as well.”

“Oh, honey, that’s nothing. I’m watching my two grandkids today.”(no kids in the car)”So you think you’ll have your decision in a few days?”

“I don’t know. I’m busy. Listen, I’ll give you a call when I’m ready, OK?”

She agreed and finally let us leave the driveway. Even though she was a little pushy, I find it hard to be mean to older people. It’s something I need to work on, I guess, because Saturday morning, as I was loading Cordy into the car, I felt the presence of the light-blue car. Sure enough, there was the white-haired lady, standing next to her car that was blocking me in again. How does she DO that? Is she waiting around the corner, watching for me with spy binoculars or something? Do Avon ladies sell their souls to the devil for that power?

“Hi, honey, I was wondering if you’ve had time to ready an order?”

“No, not yet. I told you, I’m busy, and I just haven’t had the time.”

(You’d have thought I killed her grandkids by the look on her face.) “Oh, well, I’m leaving for Pigeon Forge on Monday, and I was hoping you’d have your order ready.”

“I promise I’ll call if I have an order for you, OK? I’ll just leave you a message while you’re gone if I think of anything.”

“Well, if the power goes out, our messages get erased and I’d miss it.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

I tell her I must leave, and she grudgingly lets me pass. I am being stalked by the Avon Lady. Anytime I leave the house, I glance around, looking for her car, wondering if she’s going to magically appear in my driveway. She’s worse than a car salesman after you test drive a car. (Do they EVER stop calling?) At least the car salesman doesn’t come to your house.

I was thinking of ordering some sunscreen, but I wonder if that will only encourage her? I feel trapped in the Avon Lady’s grasp. I had no idea accepting a catalog would lead to this.

In the past, I had considered trying a direct-sales work-from-home plan instead of working outside the home. But I now know: I would never make it in the direct-sales field. Not if I have to compete against the likes of women like the Avon Lady with demonic powers of appearing out of nowhere and a personality comparable to sandpaper.

You know, when I’ve thought about the danger of being stalked, I never imagined it quite like this. What does this say about my life, when I’m stalked by the Avon Lady and not by a young psycho guy?

The new addition to our family arrived yesterday. It’s so cute, it doesn’t take up much space, and it works so hard to please us. Yes, dear readers, we’ve succumbed to Tivo. After lots of thought, we decided to cut out some other luxuries to afford this one. We got the DVR for free, so we only have to pay the monthly service fee. Rock on.

After the hellish set-up (including driving all over town to find a damn USB-Ethernet cable), we can now sit back in awe and enjoy the control we now have over live TV. It’s not quite all I hoped it would be: it doesn’t record two programs at once, and you can’t watch another live TV program if it’s recording a different one. But other than that, it’s lovely.

So, Tivo users, I ask you: what should I know to maximize my Tivo enjoyment? Please share your tips!

************

Aside from worshipping the Tivo, we did have an active day. We went to the park, we went out to lunch, and I studied and took an exam for my Developmental Psychology class. (I aced the test.) Oh, and I found out one exciting bit of news today:

Thanks and praise to Queen of Spain for sponsoring me! Now go visit her and join in the campaign against Fred Meyer grocery.

Ladies –

The time has come for action. This issue has divided us for far too long, and no one on either side is happy with the results. Now is the time to unite and settle this issue once and for all.

Which issue? The “squat or sit to pee” issue, that’s what. (Did you think I was following the others on the feminism topic? Sorry, my brain is too fried to think that deep at the moment.)

First there are the squatters. You worry about germs. I get it. And so many of you choose to put those toned quadriceps to use instead of letting your prized, germ-free buns-of-steel touch the public porcelain ring.

Here’s the problem, though: women don’t have the built-in targeting device that men do. (Not that they are accurate all that often.) In fact, the female anatomy actually inhibits the ability to target, aim, and keep one continuous stream. The result is a spray of pee, some of which makes it to the target, but some of it also ends up sprinkled on the toilet seat. You remember being at the doctor’s office and having to pee in a cup, right? It never is as easy as it should be.

So, in trying to keep your ass germ-free, you’ve assisted in fowling up the seat that others must use. Are you implying that your urine is sanitary, but everyone else’s is not? A little presumptuous, don’tcha’ think?

Then there are those who sit to pee. It could be because you aren’t as worried about picking up the latest urban legend disease from the seat. Or it could be that you don’t have the upper thigh fortitude than those who squat. Or maybe you just realize that you can’t pee a straight stream, and don’t want to urinate all over the seat.

Whatever the reason, those who sit must endure the toilet roulette: will they find a wet or dry seat? Some take their chances and just sit. Others examine the seat in detail before sitting, wiping off anything they might find. A few use seat protectors, if they’re available. However, if the public bathroom is poorly lit, a wet seat can look suspiciously like a dry seat.

There is perhaps no worse feeling in the world than sitting your butt down on a toilet seat, only to feel that cool wet sensation, which is confirmed when you stand up and feel the air on your now-wet behind.

So let’s all come together on this issue. If you are a squatter with the accuracy of Dick Cheney, sit your ass down. Sitting down in someone else’s urine is about as fun as cleaning a blowout diaper. Not. fun. at. all. Worried about germs? Then Purell your booty afterwards, and don’t share your bodily fluids with the rest of us.

And for goodness sake, if you drip on the seat, take the time to wipe it off. It’s like brushing your teeth – if you’re an adult you shouldn’t need to be told to do this. It’s not an outrageous request, honest. I promise it won’t kill you.

We women need to help each other out on this issue. Have some compassion for your fellow woman, because if you don’t, the next time you leave hints of your presence sprinkled on the seat for the next woman, she may just call you out on it. Or if it’s me in a really bad mood, I might just have to grab you by your hair and drag you back into the stall to clean up your mess.

Thank you.

(God, I can’t believe I just wrote that title. Someone smack me.)

Having a breast ultrasound is not as exciting as other ultrasounds I’ve had in the past. There’s no small person to peek in on, no thumb sucking to view, and you don’t get a picture to take home and show your friends.

What you do get, however, is peace of mind. And I got lots of that today. The verdict is that my breasts are composed of perfectly healthy breast tissue, although it is lumpy. The hardened area the doctor found is a large mass of fibrocystic tissue, which, while a little larger than normal, is harmless.

The advice I was given was to cut back on caffeine, get more exercise, eat right, and lower my stress levels. I laughed, and then asked the doctor if he realized that I had a toddler, making most of that impossible to do. He replied, “Well, for your own health, make it work.”

He also advised that if I have another child (which we plan to soon) to breastfeed for the first year. Apparently it helps with the cysts, and it cuts your risk of breast cancer tremendously. I told him I would do my best, but I couldn’t promise that child #2 would go for it.

I’m so relieved to know nothing is wrong. It was only a slim chance of being a problem, and my logical side kept reminding me that I’m not at high risk, but I still found myself dwelling on it yesterday. I wondered what steps I should be taking to lessen my risks of diseases like cancer. Should I start eating organic? Vegetarian? More exercise? Non-toxic cleaners? Nothing like a minor health scare to make you wake up and make changes to your life, eh?

My last minor health scare was 6 years ago, when I had an abnormal pap test. I was put through a colposcopy and a cervical biopsy to determine if I had cervical cancer. But the results from that took over a week, giving me plenty of time to review the choices I had made in my life and to scare the bejeebus out of my 23 year old self. Luckily, the results came back as benign, and after a year of follow up tests every three months, I was given the all-clear.

I am so, so grateful for my health. Now that I’m a parent, nothing scares me more than the thought of leaving Cordelia without a mommy. I want to be there for her as she grows up, and be the one she looks to for advice if she becomes a mother someday. Yes, I know I could slip on the shower floor and break my neck tomorrow, and I can’t predict when my time will come, but I’m willing to do all I can to ensure it’s not for a long, long time.

PS – Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. It meant a lot to me. You’re all awesome, and I wish I could have everyone over to my place for drinks. Hopefully I’ll see some of you at BlogHer!

************

OK, now that I’ve openly discussed my breasts and my cervix with all of you, shall we turn our thoughts to something a bit more lighthearted? (Yes, this is a ploy to get my girl parts out of your thoughts. You’re welcome.) Check out these cute videos: Kenya, Badger, and the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny. Work safe – as long as work doesn’t mind annoyingly catchy tunes.