Charlie Bear here.
Mom Peep was peeling a hard-boiled egg the other day.
“Drat. I’m just no good at this,” she said. She gently pushed at the shell with her thumb and the shell tore away a huge hunk of the egg, leaving a gaping hole showing the orangey yolk. “I am not good at peeling eggs. No way.”
I sat on the cool tile floor in the kitchen and watched her at the counter. Her body language said it all. Frustrated. Angry.
“Man, why does this have to be so hard?” she said and washed the egg under a trickle of water at the sink.
She’s really not that good at peeling eggs at all. She’s also not a gourmet cook or a fashion model or an accountant or attorney or a doctor or a nurse. Though she does have qualities of all those things, even the part about peeling eggs.
Here’s the deal: I’m not good at certain things either. I like to think I’m perfect, but really, I’m not. I bark in the house, which makes Mom and Dad Peep super mad cause it jolts their world when my shrill bark bounces off the walls and ceiling. If they were ready for it, they wouldn’t be so startled, but I have no idea when it’s coming. I just hear something, or see something, and I bark at it. I’m only trying to protect them. Geesh.
But I am good at lots of things. Like I go to bed like a really good boy. Rex the big dog taught me how to do that. I chase away anything that dares to come near our backyard, like squirrels, raccoons, and possums. It took a while, but Mom and Dad Peep taught me to lay real nice and quiet by the dinner table without barking or huffing or posturing in any way. After they finish, I sometimes get a few tidbits of meat cut up and put into my food bowl. I love that part.
What I like to remember is what I’m good at, not what I’m not good at. So I tell Mom Peep to think of her good qualities, like she’s a great Mom to me, a great wife to Dad Peep, she knows how to make a mean salad that looks incredibly yummy even to me, and tons of other good stuff. And those things she’s not good at? She dresses nice, she can balance a checkbook, get a sliver out of Dad’s finger, and she can even negotiate at the street fair with the best of em.
Oh, and those hard-boiled eggs?
I say eat ’em fried. lol But seriously, she has to remember that it’s not always her fault and she shouldn’t dwell on it.
Ever do that? Focus too much on the negative parts and not enough on the positives?
How about concentrating on the things you do well? Heck, life’s too short to not feel good about yourself each and every day.
Wiggles and Woofs,