Whew, my head is all over the place and full of emotional spaghetti at the moment. I don’t know what to write or why I want to write it or what I want to achieve by writing a blog post right now but I can’t think of anything else to do, so here goes. Watch out for random low flying confused thoughts, read on at your own risk.
Lets start in the middle somewhere. This morning. That was fairly straight forward. Here are my tips for a Monday morning. It is ok to stop your son from footling about with a hat instead of putting his shoes and coat on, especially when you’re running late for school. (For context, I’m not talking about a knitted hat or a sun hat but rather a felt hat with a brim that belonged to his great grandmother that he went through a phase of wearing to school every day but hasn’t done so in a while. It’s not exactly required, necessary or even practical to wear to school on a wet Monday morning). I also stand by my decision to veto any hat wearing after having to remove it from him twice as he was messing about with it in front of a mirror despite being asked not to, instead of putting coat and footwear on. This will make him cross with you. However, do not, under any circumstances, be goaded into justifying your actions. This will lead to an argument for the entire journey to school which nobody will win and will result in an upset shouty boy on the verge of tears stamping his way into the classroom. You will not feel great either. Finding out that the class has SATS that morning won’t improve your mood. (For the record, I don’t give a fig about how he does in his SATS, they are tests for the school not him, but I do quite like his teacher and having someone in that mood enter the classroom when you have to get the class to do tests isn’t going to make things easier for her).
Fast forward through a long meeting that you managed to turn up slightly late and flustered to (indirect result of earlier) having only sent an agenda out last night, which kicks you back out onto the street after midday feeling hungry. This is not the ideal time to decide to go into town and source appropriate birthday food for tomorrow. (For the record, it’s my birthday tomorrow, my other half is not up to organising food during the week at the moment, I don’t really care but the kids expect it, however I can’t be bothered to cook my own cake etc so I decided to go and buy some). For one thing, your friend who’s walked into town with you might ask you what you want for your birthday, prompting you to mutter something about more hours in the day and someone to clear the house up for you.
Now it probably didn’t help that hubby and I had done some talking last night. The kind that you’re glad happened because it needed to but ends up with you in tears and not having had enough sleep. (He wasn’t being horrible to me or anything, sometimes the things you have to talk about just induce tears).
So, hungry and tired I went into my favourite cafe to try and score one of my favourite cakes as I know they bake to sell wholesale and I’ve seen them sell a whole cake to customers. I realised that they might not have enough and and was prepared for rejection. Indeed, they didn’t have enough and I was offered a prefuse apology and explanation why the answer was no. Fair enough. I tried to order some food and a coffee as my blood sugar was low, but they must have thought I only wanted a whole cake as both the people I’d been talking to simultaneously started taking orders from other customers as I tried to order, talking right over the top of me. It’s unlikely they were trying to be rude, they’re not normally. But at the time I walked out shaking and angry. Then I went somewhere else and ordered a smoothie to try and get some calories into me (I couldn’t face food). Whilst waiting my anger turned to tears and before I knew it I was walking along through town desperately trying to hold back some big blubby tears until I reached a quiet corner of the park.
Somewhere in amongst all of the blubbering I realised that I knew what I wanted for my birthday. I wanted a friend I could talk to. Or maybe I wanted someone to help me sort out my life. To help me learn to be me, because I was really feeling that I’m not very good at being me, I could quite do with some help. My son attends a program called Thrive a couple of times a week. Two kids, one adult, off to a side room, extra attention, bit of craft, bit of chat, help with skills to cope with school better. I quite fancy a bit of that.
The most annoying thing of all is that I’d been doing some of the stuff I’ve been avoiding. This weekend I listened to all (8-10) messages on my mobile and 17 on the landline. (The landline messages were about 2 months worth. Mostly harmless. Including one from my mum telling me to look out the window as she can see an amazing rainbow from her flat) And wrote and sent that damn agenda. I shake my fist at the world for sending rubbish my way when I’ve been doing the right thing.
Anyway, my day has got better, lots. I got home, ate bits and bobs on the way (mainly rubbish but hey it was a start). Had a think, started writing this, had a brief nap. And this afternoon I was an excellent adaptive parent, handled kids well, took us to cafe and went breakfast cereal shopping (the exciting life we lead), managed to chat calmly to son about this morning (including apolgoising for arguing), communicated with husband, cooked tea, everyone has been pretty much well behaved this evening.
And I’ve been rewarded because hubby went out tonight and came home grinning, chatting, slightly tipsy, apologising. It was great. No hunched shoulders, no uncertainty, no harrowed look. I hope it’s done him some good.