Skip to main content

This is My Blog.

Mine. Ownership and possession are both powerful concepts in childhood development. I can't actually remember when Caroline started declaring objects to be of her possession but lately she spends much of her time informing me about which items in our house are hers. It's not just naming her surroundings: dolly, kitty, blankie. It's announcing personal possession over them. My dolly. My kitty. My blankie. This idea of ownership is already deeply rooted in her personality. She says "mine" with a sense of pride and with passion. Caroline clearly associates people, places and things with herself as well as her ability to care for, play with, don affection upon or just hoard them all in her stroller.

With this deep rooted sense of possession comes jealousy and paranoia. The cats are not to be trusted. When we cuddle in the morning and one of the cats jumps on the bed to greet us, Caroline quickly grabs her lovey and holds it close to her face. "MINE! MINE BEAN," she firmly warns. Friends are also not to be trusted. When we drop Caroline off at daycare, several children run over to get a hug from the newest adult in the room. "No, Eli. My mommy," again, Caroline warns, as she pushes the toddler off of my knee to make room just for her.

She'll go to great lengths to gain ownership of an object of desire, even if it was never hers to begin with. She's bitten and been bit. She's pushed down and been knocked over. She's pulled hair and had hers pulled in return. Mine! Mine! Mine! Only to play with the toy for a few minutes before the burning immediacy of ownership fades as she spies a child with another object to posses.

I'd like to say as an adult this powerful feeling goes away as we learn to master the art of sharing. I honestly believe it only gets worse. Some consider hoarding a mental illness. And we've all heard about people being killed over a pair of sneakers. If only I could go up to the woman flirting with my spouse at a party, knock her down, bite her arm and declare, "My HUSBAND!"

Or what about at work, when your boss mistakes your idea to be that of the annoying guy in the cubicle next to yours (who never seems to speak up and correct your boss)? Wouldn't it be great to stand on the meeting table, give the guy's hair a good tug and remind them all that the amazing idea was "MINE!"

We can only dream of acting out our possessive fantasies, for in reality, if we had stood on the table like a crazed ape, we would later be sitting in our boss' office, holding our packed box of personal belongings, being told we were being let go because we are not a team player, the adult phrase for the childhood term we've heard so many times before: that we can not share.


Popular posts from this blog

Me V. Parental Judgement

When you are pregnant, there’s so much to think about when considering the future: what color to paint the nursery, what decorating scheme to select from Pottery Barn, whether to go with disposable or reusable diapers, what to name your little nugget, and even deciding to use a cake or a box of balloons for the gender reveal party. You quickly learn that, if you share any of these decisions with anyone, you are bound to get opinions- lots of them. And, while this isn’t the first time we get solicited or unsolicited advice (where to go to college, what to choose as a major, what profession to pursue, who to date, who to marry, what dress to wear to the wedding, who to invite to the wedding, what type of alcohol to serve at the wedding..) the birth of a child seems like the first time that SO MANY opinions are given. It’s already a time of anxiety and unknowns that the opinions of others can easily feel overwhelming.What, I should have gotten the rocker that swings from side to side ins…

It's Complicated. It Doesn't Have To Be.

I was preparing dinner the other night. I still had my coat on and I was balancing a cat dish in one hand and a frozen pot pie in the other when Charlotte came into the kitchen. She had been in her room changing into her pj's. She pranced into the kitchen wearing only her favoritest undies- with the words SUNDAY emblazoned on the rump. She called out my name and I distractedly and tiredly looked in her direction, making eye contact. "Mom," she asked me, grabbing the soft, doughy skin above her waistband, "am I fat?" I dropped to my mental knees. I barely knew what night it was, I actually couldn't have told you in that moment what town Andy was working in on that particular evening, and all I wanted to do was take my bra off and her question stopped me in my tracks. I looked at her again, really taking in her body. Her beautiful, perfect body. I have loved her body during every stage of growth- from a chubby baby legs and round bottom to the freckle on her…

The Bubble Thought

Earlier this week, my sister-in-law posted one of her drawings on Facebook. The drawing depicted an image of a mother hugging her child before the child gets on the bus for the first day of the school year. As the mother hugs her child, there’s a thought bubble above her with an image of a gun. To accompany the drawing, my sister-in-law shared that this was her thought, which popped into her mind as her own child departed for school to begin a new academic year. I have no doubt that her post will be shared time again by parents around this country as we all send our children off to school to be educated. In addition to the normal fear that a parent has for their school-age school, like their academic achievement, development of meaningful friendships, and overall happiness and health, now parents have to worry about their safety while in school. We presently live in a climate where schools are hiring guardians who are retired police officers and members of the military whose sole purp…