A choice: child, child-like, childish

Written by Shelley Plett Tuesday, 13 March 2012 15:15

“I am often accused of being childish. I prefer to interpret that as child-like.” —Leo F. Buscaglia

We have a new picture book at home called “Princess Pretty and the Deep Dark Forest,” written by my friend and coworker Bruce Behymer. We were able to go to his first book signing and see all the little faces light up as they held tight to their shiny new book.

We read it again at bedtime that night, my daughter giving color commentary on most pages, asking me to repeat certain phrases and offering technical feedback about the page layout as she instructed me to flip back and forth between pages, soaking up every word and picture.

When we did (eventually) get to the end, she turned the book over to study the front once again.

“So,” she said thoughtfully. “Are there more of these Princess Pretty books?”

“Just this one, why?” I asked.

“Well, it says Princess Pretty and The Deep Dark Forest. So there could be more “ands.”

I hope Bruce is working on part two of the potential series.

Child-logic. You gotta love that.

My oldest daughter and I spent several hours this weekend scrubbing her room and rearranging furniture. It was a big job and she was putting in the time right by me, because, as I assured her, when you do it yourself you appreciate the result much more than if it’s magically done for you.

Once she settled in to her clean digs, she allowed her little sister to hang out with her for awhile. And “awhile” was all it took to get a few things out of place.

When I told them to clean it up the first time, about half was done. When I told them the second time, another quarter. By the third time, my oldest daughter was getting tired of being hassled and told me the rest was her sister’s fault and she could pick it up.

“It’s your room,” I said.

“That’s her part of the mess,” she replied.

“You just spent three hours cleaning, but you’re OK with leaving it messy to prove a point?”

Blank stare.

Child-like logic, I call that one.

Then there’s me, the leader of the pack. The one who knows how to look at both sides, think things through, play fair.

It all started with a movie I hadn’t seen in a long time, “Hope Floats.” I love that movie. I love it so much that I sprawled out on my couch piled with blankets, pillows and all, with no intention of moving.

I saw no reason for my dog to insist on going to the bathroom right in the middle of it. So what if she’s almost 12 and has the bladder control of…well, a 12-year-old dog. She asked me nicely once, with a sniff by my face and a small tail wag.

“Later…lay down,” I told her.

And she did. For a minute. Then she added a whine to her sniffing and tale wagging.

“You’ll go out later,” I told her again. “Lay down.”

Again, she did. This happened one more time but her intensity was growing. She glared at me as I spaced at the screen, moving my head to look around her body blocking my way. I had almost tuned out the clip-clopping of her nails on the floor until I saw her pick her spot and do what she had to do.

Right there in front of me, Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick Jr.

I felt bad, so did she. Childish logic, I call that one. It was a close race, but I get the prize for the childish act of the day in my house. And I got to clean one more floor. (Even though it wasn’t my mess?)