The Indigo Girls wrote a song in which there is a line that says, "...the best thing you've ever done for me/is to help me take my life less seriously." For my own reasons I always remember it as, "to help me take myself less seriously," and honestly I think of this line, and the way they sing it in sort of a raspy yet melodic way, about once or twice a week. Nonetheless, I take myself pretty seriously.
One thing I take very seriously are life's consequences. I think often of what long-term effect my mothering will have, whether my not allowing my one-year-old to paint watercolors along with his brother will engender a deep seated belief in his adult heart that he cannot be creative, or what if allowing my four-year-old to chant la-la-la-la in a whiny tone over his breakfast cereal will create in him an inability speak like a mature adult. These are the mental rabbit trails I live with, and while in the moment I think I am being more than sane, but also rather wise and endowed with great foresight, the reality is it's maddening. It doesn't end with my kids, I sometimes see dog hair clumping like dried grass in the Western desert on my floor and imagine that one day ten years from now my friends will visit and wonder why I never decorate, clean, or take care of my home in general.
Today our golden retriever, Madi, jumped up on the deck furniture to bite at a leftover tortilla shell from lunch. She noticed no one was out there, took her opportunity, and, well, acted like a dog for Pete's sake. I immediately snarled at her, firmly stated, "Crate!" as if it were the period at the end of her happy sentence, and watched her with brow furrowed disapproval as she obeyed, tail between her legs and cowering. As logical as my methods seemed, I didn't actually enjoy shutting the crate door.
I have tried to teach our adopted sweet ball of golden fur that eating from the table is wrong. The thing is, it is entirely ineffective. No matter how often I provide her with a consistent and firm reprisal, she continues to be a dog who loves food more than freedom.
Unfortunately for me, I actually have a compassionate heart sandwiched in between an insatiable need for justice and the desire to teach my own life's bitter consequences. I also love to read, and I really don't like to read quite as much without Madi curled up, her collar occasionally jingling as she grumbles and switches positions, at my feet. As I stalked back to my chair to read my book on this lovely Sunday afternoon, I felt like a fool. Madi lay down in her crate, her large dark brown eyes looking at me as I walked away, and I sat back in the chair, huffing, to enjoy my book less than I had three minutes before.
When I let her out of her crate an hour later, (it takes me a long time to learn these let-go-of-control lessons), I thought of the Indigo Girls song. I sing it in my head regularly, but Madi's dark brown eyes really tugged at me more than their raspily melodic voices do. As she scurried happily out of her crate and took her place on the floor near my feet while I started to read again I realized that maybe I should stop just singing it in my head and maybe start singing it out loud. Maybe it is true that dogs will be dogs, kids will be kids, mothers will not want their houses painted with watercolors, and it is all going to. be. okay.
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