Thursday chats and childish impulses

There is a fine line that separates those who resist authority (because, just as an example, an authoritative figure is breaking the laws/norms/core values of a society) from those who are merely churlish and obstinate and uncivilized for no good reason, except that they get some satisfaction and even pleasure from being churlish, obstinate and uncivilized. I suppose we all think that we are on the side of the good. But aren't there bits of the contrarian in all of us as well? Rebels sometimes without a cause? Pushing boundaries and even crossing the boundaries of what is permissible, for no good reason? (I dont mean by mistake. I mean on purpose.)

I had a morning of messaging -- on My Chart, with my team that cut up my cheek last week. I got scolded for not wearing the bandage long enough. For not thinking about protecting the wound from sun exposure going forward. For wanting to go swimming soon. I suppose "scolded" is the wrong word, but since I'm being childish about my recovery, it doesn't seem that far off to view this as a battle between the child and the authority figure. 

I've been asked by my granddaughter if I was disobedient when I was a kid. And I answered honestly: at home, I was mostly very compliant. My parents had no disciplinary issues with me. But I had a lot of freedom and occasionally I would get away with stuff I knew was wrong. Not finishing homework before watching TV, eating junk candy, sampling my father's booze supply when they were out. And in school, I was a note passer. A doodler. An occasional chalk thrower. In retrospect, I wonder at the stuff I chose to disrespect. It seems now so pointless. I never wanted to do it because others were doing it. It was a personal rebellion, a testing of rules I suppose.

This was my morning then. Messaging and sending photos of my healing face and pushing back on suggestions on what should happen next.

 

It is cold outside. And by Monday, a polar blast will put us up there with the Inuit communities of the Arctic Circle. We will be that cold! 

My pup was a good pup on our walk. No person appeared out of nowhere. He was quiet.

And so he remained, before and after breakfast.

But let me not think for one minute that Henry is over his fear of the new. When I took him to doggie daycare, the staff asked me to put him in the office for a minute as they were taking a dog out and maybe due to the dog's illness, or maybe behavior issues, they did not want Henry to cross paths with him. 

Well good luck on that one! Asking Henry to break from his enthusiastic routine of bounding right into the room full of dogs proved to be an to big of an ask. He trembled with fear and dug in his heels. A real no-go. And after my battle with the scale at the vet's a few days back, I wasn't going to be a part of this drama. I handed the staff person the leash and said -- here, you do it. Bye!

 

In the afternoon I had both kids: first Sparrow...

... then Snowdrop, who had another teacher intervention today and so yet another serious discussion to be had in the car while Sparrow listened attentively. Is it that we are right in the thick of January, plunged into the coldest, darkest days of the year? The teachers seem more tense, the kids more lost in the confusion of demands, rules, boredom -- you name it. What can I say. This winter too shall pass. And besides, this is the year of the Winter Olympics and I, for one, am looking forward to tuning out the irritants of this world and doing some binge watching of sportif people coming down snow covered mountains in various ways at dizzying speeds. 

(Because it's been a mixed school week, I take them out to Hubbard Avenue Diner for a treat of their choice. She chooses french fries, he goes with a chocolate cream pie slice)

 

 

 

 

 

Later, we pick up Henry. It just so happens that the parents are there as well, picking up Goose. They ask if the two big ones want to switch cars, but they say no, they want that last ride with Henry. They'll have plenty of time with Goose at home, but there is something special about these few minutes with my dog, who leans as much forward as his seat belt will permit, taking in all that we pass and issuing an occasional lick, or bark, or tail wag. 

Home. Henry is in his evening mode: at first hungry, then simply content. Affectionate. My pup. Who will someday let go of his fears. I know he will. Once he understands that I am there to protect him. And I will never let anyone harm my pooch. He is safe. He is loved.

with so much love...