Help Me Help You

I really try to stay positive, but there are many occassions that the phrase “No good deed goes unpunished” goes through my head.  Like whenever I do a good deed and am subsequently punished.  Like agreeing to help pass out school supplies only to be drenched in the monsoon that hits that day.  Or I watch my dad’s cat and it decides that’s the week not to use the litter box.   And I’m sure people have done good deeds for me and then felt like they were being punished.  Like when Cindi agreed to feed my dogs for a week on her lunch hour and ended up having to clean my muddy floor when they trampled through after a snow storm.   So, I tend to vacillate (big word of the blog) between wanting to help and thinking it’s all a big hassle.

me, me, pick me.

I’m going to tell you about my neighbor.  I live in a cul-de-sac.  I’ve been there for four years and love it.  Like LOVE love it.  There’s not a lot of traffic and it’s very quiet.  One side is a rental that has a lot of people come and go, but they’ve all pretty much kept to themselves (knock wood).   On the other side of me, a really nice couple lived there but then moved when she had a baby and rented the house to her sister who is a single mom with a 5 year-old and she stays home with her daughter and also watches her nephew during the week.  Got it?  Keep going, I promise there’s no math.

The sister, let’s call her Funny Face, she likes to go on walks with her daughter and then somehow ends up carrying the daughter home.  Every.Time.  Now, I’m a firm believer that if you have a child that CAN walk, he or she SHOULD walk and have on more than one occasion told someone to put down my child because she could walk.  And that was at 2 or 3, I certainly wasn’t carrying them at 5.  Good heavens, the kid has functional legs.  I can completely understand Funny Face having to carry her daughter home  a couple of times, but at some point shouldn’t she just take the stroller.  We live at the top of a hill, people. 

Hold on tight, I’m getting ready to tie it all together for you.  Today, on my way home from getting Shelby (Cranky Pants), we saw Funny Face walking her daughter home from school.  But what we actually saw was her carrying her daughter AND the baby in a baby carrier AND some kind of bag, probably her kid’s backpack.  She didn’t have the baby’s stroller and he’s like 9 months but is still in one of those car seat carriers that you know is freakin’ heavy.  Now, I live three houses in, she lives four houses in and she was just turning onto our street.  I stopped the car and let Shelby out and told her to go help Funny Face carry her stuff home.  We said sympathetic things like “oh my gosh” and “poor thing” and “doesn’t that kid have legs?”.  She really looked like she was struggling.  Shelby walked up to her and asked, can I help you carry something home? and the woman looked at her and said, “No, thank you”, and kept struggling up the street.  Huh?  Seriously?  I had continued driving home so Shelby just walked home in front of her and we went in the house. 

You had to actually see Funny Face to understand why we were so baffled at the fact that she wouldn’t let Shelby help.  She was really struggling.  She’s not a big gal and she’s carrying a 5-year-old, a baby in a carrier, and a big bag.  Did she think Shelby was some kind of baby stealer?  When I got home from getting Kasey, it was after that incident, I told Shelby there was a woman outside yelling that there was a baby stealer on the block and Shelby said, “Yeah, and she sent her daughter to take the baby!”.  Awww, touché.  Dang, I love that Cranky Pants.

Final Thoughts from Christy:  If you’re wondering if Funny Face didn’t let us help because she had no idea who we were, you’d be wrong, but thanks for having a theory.  We do keep to ourselves, but we’ve met her several times and my girls went over when she moved in and welcomed her to the neighborhood.  It was just so odd to me that she wouldn’t want help with the rest of her walk bogged down like that. 

On another blog I’ll tell you about the little girl who lives three houses over that was told by her grandmother she couldn’t play with my girls.   Now this bit–person could have a built in playmate for her granddaughter, but for some reason she doesn’t like us.  Maybe that’s why we keep to ourselves.    And I guess I didn’t need another blog because that’s really the whole story.

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    1. Just a Girl Who Can’t Say No « Dealing with Life

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