I’ve been trying not to mention this. But it’s already Tuesday and I’ve cracked.
Both boys have been acting up these last few weeks. Really bad behaviour. It’s shocking. And I don’t know why. Terrible 3½’s? 1½’s? Teeth? Surging hormones? The weather? Developmental phase? Who knows. Who cares.
My days have been a constant, relentless and draining battle of policing the screaming, shouting, crying, whinging, punching, hitting, biting and time outs of TWO head strong boys. Sending me into a deep dark place. Where I realise I’m not the kind of parent I want to be. And I have to leave the room for a cry.
By the end of the day, I’m in a dazed trance. The house is a mess. The clothes need taking in. The backyard is littered with bikes and trucks. Dinner has to be cooked. Phone calls need to be made.
But. My husband insists I got out for some alone time to chill. I think it’s the dumbest idea in the world. And after a LONG negotiation and discussion, I leave the house reluctantly.
So there I sat. In the darkest corner of a cafe. With my back turned against the world. Relishing a plate of ice cream, whipped cream and waffles. Licking my fingers one at a time, turning the pages of some magazine. Cover to cover. My mind floating some place else. Hours flying by.
I feel my insides washed by a deep tranquil water. My husband is a genius.