Don't Pee on the Gift
and other things Buddha didn't say.
Our family has a saying: don’t pee on the gift. This essentially means that if you are going to do something nice for someone, just do it. No resentment, no strings attached, no quid-pro-quo, just kindness.
I’m sure Buddha had a more elegant way of putting it. And I will be the first to admit that on any given day, I am a long way from the Buddha. I am grumpy and peevish, taking care of a dog and a teenager all day, every day. “You need to haul-ass to chem today,” I yell up the stairs to my daughter after getting the robocall that she has been tardy again. “Emma! What are you doing? Get back in here!” I holler at the dog, who made an executive decision to go to the park by herself.
My husband doesn’t yell, but his voice carries well from upstairs: “Are you telling me that you forgot to wear your retainer for a week, were too scared to tell us, and so waited another three weeks and now your teeth have moved?” There is a quiet mumble from our daughter. I sip my coffee and wait. “We’ve spent six years and quite a lot of money to give you straight teeth!” Indignant mumble.
My husband stalks downstairs to call the orthodontist and I practice some deep breathing exercises. Then it is time to pack the kid’s lunch and get her out the door and then pack the dog’s water and hiking snacks and get her out the door.
By 9 pm, it’s quitting time. The dog sleeps on her back in her big chair, her paws twitching, growling at dream squirrels. I gave her the best day I could: tug of war with her stinky duck and a creek hike. I picked ticks off her eyebrows, twigs out of her butt fur, and scratched that itchy spot on the top of her head that she can’t reach. I reviewed Spanish homework with my daughter and made her a cup of tea. I washed her clothes and listened as she tried to decode complicated high school social hierarchies. My phone pinged, alerting me that she was late to chem, again. I let it go. Just one more day of trying to avoid pissing on the gift.