Posts Tagged With: drama queen

 
 

Throwing Down the Gauntlet of “I’m Not”

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I can’t find that picture I took of her riding around when she first got this contraption. So this will have to do.

My favorite three-year old brought her scooter over during her last visit. So of course, we headed outside for a nice walk through the neighborhood. I pushed her sister in the stroller while she zoomed ahead on her scooter. Every once in a while she’d stop, sit down on the scooter and wait for me to catch up to her. As I got closer she’d pop up, put her speedy foot to the ground and rocket away on the sidewalk. Luckily she’d been taught to stop at corners so I don’t have to yell or run ahead.

If I had on skates or was on my own scooter, I’d still have a tough time keeping up with her. I think she’d go a couple of miles before she felt even a little tired. Oh, to have such energy!

When we decide to head down the grassy hill to the playground, she attempts to ride the scooter through the grass, but meets too much resistance in the thick green lawn. So she steps off and drags the scooter behind her.

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We’re talking thick over-watered winter grass of Phoenix.

Yup! She drags it sideways, with the center of the wheels catching on the long grass and the body of the scooter adding more drag. If I didn’t need to manage the one-year old and the stroller I’d show her how simply pushing it in an upright position, rolling along on the tires requires less effort and more efficiency. I suggested it, with verbal directions. Her reply? “I’m not.”

That’s how she answers most things she’s not interested in doing, eating, working at, giving in on or sharing. “I’m not.”

Just two words and she’s said all she’ll say on the matter.

There’s no reasoning, bribing, cajoling, begging, threatening or consequence that changes her mind once she’s decided “I’m not.” (Her parents have better luck with this, but I’m not the parent. I’m the pushover.)

So when we leave the park with me awkwardly pushing a fully loaded stroller up the grassy hill, she once again, drags the scooter sideways until we reach the sidewalk. I offered to carry the scooter on the stroller and she replied in her two-word manner. “I’m not.”

Independent little thing! Ya gotta admire that!

I wonder sometimes if I’m like her with lifes… stuff. 

I buzz along at a nice clip, enjoying the ride and then I encounter resistance. (I think I deal with the long thick grass or rocky terrain much more often than the smooth sidewalk, but that’s probably a skewed and incorrect viewpoint.)

I could patiently step off and simply push in a slightly different way, with my wheels still rolling forward. But, more than likely, I throw my “scooter” on its side and drag it along, making things harder than necessary.

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Feeling drenched by my bad attitude.

Maybe I’m a bit dramatic about a situation and blow it out of proportion. Or maybe I assume the worst possible outcome. Perhaps I fail to deploy my optimism umbrella and instead get drenched by pessimism.

When life gets hard and stays that way for too long, what do I do? I throw down my own well-worn gauntlet of “I’m not.”

More than likely I’ve forgotten to notice the happy stuff going on around me and I only notice the one or two big negatives. I even get argumentative with people I like, or complain out loud about “how hard my life is.” What a downer. Then I feel worse because I’ve hurt people, relationships and myself.

Funny how a three-year old can teach a lesson without even trying.

I think I need two photographs of Miss Smarty-pants and her scooter; one of her zipping along and one of her dragging the thing behind her. I could use the reminder that I have a choice in how I ride and how I manage the roughs.

It’s time to set my scooter upright and push it through the grass.

I’m sure that before I know it I’ll feel the wind whipping through my hair as I push-off once again on one of life’s smoother paths.

 

 

 

Categories: Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Scratch and Sniff Post; Thoughts from the Dogless Side of Life

You know that famous painting of the dogs playing poker?  I know a dog that could do that.  He is a player, a faker, a bluffer.  He uses every situation to his advantage.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, he’s not a mean dog. Farthest thing from it.  He’s the sweetest thing on four legs I’ve ever met.

You see, he’s actually a drama queen kind of dog.  Yes, it’s true.  A dog drama queen.

Let me introduce you to Murphy.  First of all, he is not my dog.  I do not own dogs, I don’t have any desire to own dogs.  I have children, and a husband. Just enough of each.  A dog is just another human being in disguise.  I have no need for another household member to care for, worry about, feed, cajole, mollify, or cater to.  (Now I sound like a bad guy, whatever.)

Drama Queen Extraordinaire, Murphy

Murphy is the proud owner of a family that I am friends with.  I’m at their home almost every day.  And every time I show up at the door, there is Murphy behaving as if I abandoned him and he thought he’d never see me again.  He gets this whiny, shaking, I’m so traumatized I could cry thing going on that makes you want to pick him up and snuggle him like a baby.  Just like he wants you to do.  I used to buy into this act. He’s not really all that traumatized.  But it gets him some stellar attention. I’ve seen him act that way with other visitors to the house, and frankly I get a little jealous.  Which of course plays into Murphy’s scheming.

Once a rescue puppy, he has scraggly black fur, a lopsided ear and a nub of a tail. Murphy can look for all the world like a newborn puppy when his fur grows too long.  He becomes a roly-poly looking furball with no eyes.  When he’s been to the groomers and gotten a nice cut, he’s the skinniest ratlike creature I’ve ever seen. Clean shaven or fluffy he uses his good looks to his own personal benefit. He’s going to cute his way into your heart, no matter how determined you may be to keep him at a distance.

I’ve spent a little too much time at Murphy’s house.  I know this because I’ve learned all the nuances of his barking.  There’s the typical territorial barking at the window if the mailman dares drive by or the neighborhood’s little old man shuffles past.  His pitch, speed and excitement increase a notch if someone approaches the door.

If someone he doesn’t like comes to the door, Murphy becomes a Doberman.  Attack dog on the loose, watch out.  It’s really something to see a tiny fuzzball transform into the mental equivalent of a guard dog.  Fierce in a hilarious sort of way. He’s got your back and he lets you know it. Being so tiny he might not being able to do much to save your back, but he’s there, nonetheless.

Some visitors to the house are welcomed with a song by Murphy.  Literally, he starts a high-pitched singing thing, as if he can’t control the excitement and joy in his voice.  It’s a doggy version of angelic choirs breaking forth. Drama. Queen.

I must be delicious because my legs get a regular going over with his tongue. He especially likes the taste of knees.  If your hands are idle he will commandeer them for his personal pleasure.  Human hands were created for nothing more than caressing Murphy behind the ears or feeding him.  A lap is useless if Murphy can’t utilize it.

Suggest to Murphy that he might go out for a walk and he spins in circles at the thought.  He grabs his leash once it’s attached as if he’s going to walk himself.  Ask him if he wants a car ride and he becomes a bouncing ball, leaping four feet into the air in answer, working himself into a frenzy of anticipation.

Murphy spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping, and he does so anywhere he wants to; in one of the kids beds, in the middle of the hallway, at your feet, on the arm of the couch. His favorite place for repose is molded around the curves of someone’s body, tummy exposed, all four legs splayed out, completely trusting.

When no one is looking, Murphy likes to clear the kitchen table of any leftovers, but don’t tell his family that.  He’s a great vacuum, too, as most dogs are. And, he likes to eat carrots, which I think is kind of quirky. He pretends he’s starving if you have food.  He gets his whine on in the most overplayed, melodramatic, sad puppy dog eyed way I have ever witnessed.

All Murphy needs is a little crown and his life would be complete.  He is royalty and silliness, take and give, all rolled into one bundle. And what a package!

Categories: Humor, Relationships | Tags: , , | 3 Comments

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