Mary had a little lamb,
Whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went.
The lamb was sure to go.
I had a couple of revelations last weekend.
The first one I’m not proud of, but I think it’s important to know yourself, and I’ve become uncomfortably acquainted with my lack of tolerance for anything that whines, cries, looks to me to entertain it, or needs my constant attention and approval. In other words, it was validated once again, that I would have made a terrible mother.
I just lack that gene I guess.
The second I’ll tell you about later.
My husband was off racing high performance sports cars.
I know.
I want to come back as him in my next life, as MANY others do, so….take a number and get in line.
This left me alone with the boxer-shark puppy and the old girl, and when they are left with only one parent, they become dogs in sheep’s clothing.
They follow me EVERYWHERE and it’s been driving me INSANE.
And the whining. Hello? It’s torture.
Yet, there they are, every day. One with the face of an angel and the body of a super model and the other with a snaggle tooth, a limp and the face of an old Hungarian bubby.
Even in the bathroom. Which reminds me of the stories my sister used to tell about her two toddlers crying and knocking on the bathroom door, while she tried to have a moment. I thought those stories were a riot. Shame on me. I should have had more compassion.
Note to self: My compassion gene seems to be missing as well.
My two little lambs cry outside my bathroom door, and the puppy has taken to body slamming it in hopes of getting inside to drink from the bidet. Who taught them THAT filthy habit?
They have taken it upon themselves to become my two tiny tyrant time keepers.
They make sure I wake up at six sharp, by licking my face and play/fighting either right on top of me, or positioned close enough to where I get sprayed by flying drool, covered in hair and can feel the heat of their sweet and sour dog breath on the back of my neck. They want to make sure that I’m aware that it’s six AM and they’re STARVING.
They can’t understand how I can find happiness outside of chasing a ball, chewing on an orange plastic pretzel, or licking my own ass.
They whine if I’m in the kitchen past their boredom tolerance time allotment, which is approximately three minutes.
Same with writing, watching a movie, and any other task that seems mundane….to them.
Yesterday I was in the shower, the one place I can find some peace (although the puppy is just on the verge of joining me in there as well) and I was contemplating throwing down some kibble and water and leaving for the weekend (to pick up my Mother of The Year Award). Shit, the puppy would totally be fine, she is my renegade.
The older dog is the do-gooder, people pleaser. If I gave them each spare change and sent them out to buy me a cow, Dita, the old girl, would return home with a prize, grass-fed Heifer. Ruby would saunter in pregnant, with magic beans and a hell of a story to tell.
The two of them will get up from a sound sleep next to me on the couch, to follow me in circles (I do lead them in circles to see if I can shake um) following me outside – to the kitchen – around the bedroom – into the den and back – whining the whole time.
They double team me, telling me their big doe eyed doggie lies to convince me I’m a hack and a terrible person.
Which brings me to the second revelation:
We all have doubts, fears, worries and obligations that follow us around like whining little bitches, demanding our attention, just like these two canine creatures. Except…my thoughts are more like wolves in sheep’s clothing – merciless predators.
The stuff that follows you everywhere, stealing YOUR time, and convincing you that you’re no good.
They don’t have to wake you up at 6 a.m. because they don’t let you sleep –– at all.
Yeah, those guys.
Husband (he now only has one name, like Cher and Elvis) isn’t bothered by any of it.
He never hears the whining, he doesn’t mind the wake up calls and he doesn’t trip over them like I do all. day. long.
They are just dogs. And THAT is the reason in a nutshell why he maintains his level-headed, good-natured sanity, while I take the slow slide down the rabbit hole. (Slight exaggeration) He has the innate ability to let things roll off his back. They don’t stick. And THAT’s his trick to life. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
I’m working on it.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Got it.
I don’t have to trip over my doubts and worries, or watch them follow me around in circles. How about if I just tune out their chatter, like husband tunes out the whining?
Okay, good idea.
Now, what about the old girl and the puppy?
Those two furry obligations? They are the trouble I’m willing to keep in my life.
The others….not so much
What annoyances can you ignore and which just HAVE to go? Tell moi.
Big, big love,
Xox
*Those cushions were white five minutes ago.
