Too Much

My name is Madeline.

I am a princess.

I am tender.

I am dainty.

And my mommy asks too much of me.

She likes to stuff my legs into snow pants and my delicate fingers into gloves. She puts an ugly hat on my head and yucky boots on my feet.

Then she likes to make me walk three blocks to my siblings' school.

She thought it would be fun to go for a walk. In the first snow. In the cold.

Well. I showed her.

First I took my gloves off and threw them in the snow, where she couldn't find them.

Then I cried and clung to her legs and cried some more and demanded her to carry me. After all, she left my four-wheeled chariot in the garage. What did she expect?

Then my fingers turned purple and started to hurt. So I demanded her scarf, to wrap around my delicate fingers.

And I whimpered.

Mommy carried me for a time, but then she had the nerve to put me down.

She said she was tired.

Well. I showed her.

I laid myself down, right there on the sidewalk.

And I waited.

My brothers watched in admiration as I waited to be recognized. Carried. Soothed. Comforted.

After all, my name is Madeline.

I am dainty.

I am tender.

I am a princess.

And my mommy asks too much of me.

(Pictures from November 2010.)