The "Daisy Spoon" Syndrome

The desire or need to be different, elite or special must be hard wired into us. I can't remember an instance in my experience when the following scenario *wouldn't* turn into a disagreeable incident.

You're handing out Popsicles to a group of children. You have 3 yellow ones, 3 orange ones and 1 red one. Tell me, if you know, (and you DO know instinctively) which color will be fought over, hmmmm....? I'm not saying that everyone will clamor for it openly, but deep down each child will want the ONE RED one.

Why? Is it because everyone has a secret desire for cherry/raspberry/red flavor? No. We know it's not the flavor, nor is it the color of the lone Popsicle that makes it desirable. It is the 'lone-ness' of the Popsicle. Its singularity makes it desirable. The one child who ends up with this unique Popsicle will now BE special. All will look to him/her as extraordinary because they now own something that no one else has. Some will try to befriend this now special child so that they too may partake of this Specialness that comes with being near the Red Popsicle. Some will Ignore the Red Popsicle Person in the hopes that the RPP will feel hurt or snubbed and feel sorry for them and share, or that the adult mediator out there will solve the problem by coming up with another Red Popsicle which will then nullify the specialness of  The One. Then there are some who will be quite vocal and/or physical about the unfairness of That Person getting the Red Popsicle and the war will start. Thankfully, the Red Popsicle will either be eaten, or land on the ground in the tussle and then no one will want it. The specialness literally melts away and is eventually forgotten. 

Thank Heaven. *sigh*

Is this  situation unique to children? (Excuse me while I take a hilarity break... *wiping tears from eyes*)

It is because of this quirk in human nature that I make this post public so that I may insure the future happiness and solidarity of my family now and for generations to come. For my family does not call this syndrome the "Red Popsicle Syndrome", it is "The Daisy Spoon Syndrome".

When I was a teen my mother showed me a catalog with samples of flatware and asked me to choose my favorite pattern. I chose a fairly ornate pattern called 'Brahms' because I like the holes in the design. (See them in the handle?) My mother then began to save her Betty Crocker coupons so that she could purchase place settings for 8 by the time I was 18. I got them for my 18th birthday. Very Pretty.

The flowers in the pattern are "Roses", with a rose prominently displayed between the two openings at the top. See? Well, later, after I was married and had some children my mother decided to send me some extras because pieces get lost in sandboxes and such when you have children. I received a box in the mail with some extra spoons and I think some serving pieces. Thank you Mom. ♥

I made a very serious mistake one evening when eating dinner. I noticed that the spoon I was using had a Daisy on it instead of a Rose and made a comment OUT LOUD IN FRONT OF MY CHILDREN on this difference. *hanging head in shame* I know, I know. I asked for it. I truly did.

Everyone had to see. All the children crowded around to look at this Special Spoon. My husband gave me A Knowing Look. I received it with a sense of dismay. "What have I done?...Oh, what have I done." For we were well acquainted with the growing list of Valid Reasons To Fight With Siblings.

The war began. Every meal where spoons were required (That means first thing in the morning EVERY DAY) was a quick check to see who was going to be Special that day. A smug look, a knowing smile was the preface to the inevitable sing-song announcement of "I have the Daisy Spoon...I have the Daisy Spoon." Loud complaints ensued, "He/she ALWAYS gets the Daisy Spoon! It's MY turn for the Daisy Spoon!!" Outraged huffing and occasional wrestling and spilled cereal and sometimes a child would leave the table with threats of not eating...EVER AGAIN. I have to admit that I took some morbid amusement from the situation. It was just so silly! Steve and I would purse our lips and try not to laugh, while also gritting our teeth in futile frustration.

The battle for possession of  the coveted Daisy Spoon escalated. It would go missing and I would find it hidden away in someone's sock drawer, or the same person would get it over and over and I would realize that it was being brought to the table in someone's pocket or sleeve and swapped surreptitiously with the spoon laid at their place. Cheating...tsk, tsk, tsk.

You may ask why I kept it in play and I can only answer that it just wasn't a high priority, so many other things took precedence. Most mother's can agree that it's about putting out little fires all day long and that was just one tiny fire of many.

The Daisy Spoon has become part of our family history though and for this reason I will say that when I lay this mortal down that I would like The Daisy Spoon to be securely mounted on the lid of my casket with the inscription: "May The Daisy Spoon also rest in peace". Unless, of course, my progeny can come up with a reasonable visitation schedule for The Daisy Spoon in each home. Everyone needs to feel special now and then.