…Stubborn is her middle name.
So Sonja and her little friend climbed this little bush tree that they’ve been climbing regularly. Only this time they’re both in bare legs wearing dresses. Neither kid has ever had an issue with climbing up, or down. Both girls are incessantly talking while climbing. You know, standard status quo with these two.
The rest of us (the friend’s grandmother, Benjamin and I) are standing by not too thrilled experiencing the first heat wave of the season. We are slowly dripping into puddles. But the girls, being 3 and female, refuse to listen to reason and continue with the climb.
Eventually Sonja’s friend manages to come back down. But my chickie decides to climb higher. She does this while complaining at the top of her voice that she can’t get down and needs help. So I go in the only spot an adult will fit and reach out to her and tell her in simple instructions where she has to put her feet and her bum and her hands to facilitate her getting closer to me so I can reach her.
In hindsight I should have applied reverse psychology.
After much complaining and NOT listening to me she manages to climb backwards in exactly the opposite direction of my instructions resulting in a minor scrape on her leg. This of course results in a screaming fit of gigantic proportions and any passerby might have in panic dialed 911 to bring on an ambulance. She acted like her leg was partially chopped off.
But while she was busy freaking out over her little bruise I managed to reach her and bring her down.
Situations like this occur in variety on such a regular basis, I’m afraid that one day when something more serious happens, I will brush it off as one of her antics. Because with her, everything is a crisis.
Today is definitely not a Wineless Wednesday.