Love Letters

Growing flowers in the desert

Quitters… 15 March, 2007

Filed under: Cheap Therapy — Brighid Fraser @ 12:00 pm

I suck.

I haven’t posted anything in almost two weeks. But I have a really good reason for this. I’ve been busy. I have had the time, really, but I guess I was just too busy with other things – like avoidance and procrastination. I think my biggest problem is that I’ll begin a new project (like this blog) and then be all gang-busters about it for a while and then… my enthusiasm peters out. It’s sad really. I could probably be a published author who’s world famous by now if I could just knuckle down and finish one of the four books I’ve started in the past six years. I start out really strong and write a hundred or so pages and then … stop. I just can’t seem to finish what I begin. I’m like those socks my husband is always complaining about. You know the ones – they’re tube socks with ratty elastic around the calf-part and they just slide down to pool around one’s ankles like … well, like a quitter.

On the upside of things, I have finally figured out my podcast software and have a ‘cast for y’all to listen to. Here’s the link. It’s something I wrote (and actually finished) for an essay contest on NPR. I’m assuming I didn’t win because I sent it in 6 months ago and haven’t heard anything. But at least I actually accomplished something that I set out to finish. Huzzah!

I promise – a new Friday Foodie tomorrow and the other half of my regular Friday stuff, music! See y’all tomorrow!

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The Favourite Child 26 February, 2007

Filed under: Cheap Therapy,Motherhood — Brighid Fraser @ 3:58 pm

Whenever a mother says to me that she doesn’t have a favourite child, I always wince and am flooded with feelings of guilt. I have two children – a daughter and a son – and my son is far and away my favourite. I suppose it’s because he’s my baby, the youngest and he wasn’t an “accident”. My daughter, on the other hand, was an “accident” – the child that almost wasn’t mine.

When I first found out I was pregnant with her, in the early months of 1999, I wasn’t in a place in my life where I could care for a child. I was single – not even in a relationship. I was in school and not employed. I smoked. I drank like a fish. I loved partying. So, I began the adoption process. I met with the family who would raise my daughter and began the mental and emotional process of giving up my baby.

But then she was born and I bonded with her. I held her and fed her and looked into her little face and I fell in love with her. I decided that I wanted to raise her myself. No, more than wanted – had to. I finished school, got a full-time job and went about the mental and emotional process of being a single, working mother.

When my daughter was almost a year old, I met the man who would soon become my husband. We got married when she was two, and her brother was born when she was almost four. Suddenly, my daughter was last on my list of priorities…and I feel like she’s stayed there ever since.

I think my son is my favourite because I’ve had time to bond with him properly. There was never a point when I had to gear up for losing him. Because of my husband’s job, we could afford for me to stay home with him for his first year of life and even now that he’s four, during the day, it’s me and him doing errands together, going to the zoo and museums together.

It could also be because my son is such an easy kid. He’s sweet, funny, helpful, and loving – basically my husband in Underoos and Garanimals. My daughter is antagonistic, argumentative, controlling and smart as a whip. In short, she’s my doppelganger. And that may be the most telling reason why my son is my favourite.

My New Year’s Resolution this year is to spend more time alone with my daughter. I try to spend an entire day with her once a week doing things she likes. We’ve been to the zoo, to a few local museums and to the movies together. I’m getting reacquainted with her and seeing that she, too, can be a sweet, loving, funny kid. But (and there’s always a but) she can be so horrendously mean to her little brother and it just sets me off again. I know I’m harder on her than I am on her brother and I try to justify it by saying she’s older and should know better. When it all boils down to the smallest parts, I know there’s no excuse for how I treat her. I’m hoping that by acknowledging this problem, I can fix it before it’s too late.