Saturday, 17 February 2007

Horrible day

Dig's home. He arrived back early thanks to giving me the arrival time of the flight in the wrong time zone, followed by a super-fast Virgin train going in the right direction. After ten minutes of being in the house we have an argument. I can't remember what it's about. I think I might resent Dig wandering about Central Asia having an interesting time while I fight with Shark, and while Shark fights with Tiger, and Squirrel hides.

I point out that while he's gone to interesting places, we've had a rubbish time. First of all, there's been a lot of arguments today. Shark came into the kitchen at breakfast time, snatched Tiger's letter jigsaw and followed it up with a few choice insults like 'Tiger is a Poopy Bum.' Cue howls, tears, a lot of teeth gnashing and some growling. Two arguments and one fingernail fight later I sent Shark to her room to calm down where she proceded to scream and throw the xylophone around. It sounded like modern music. Another two arguments later, one over a cuddly lizard, and the other over a plastic bowl, and I'd got everyone to the front room to watch Monsters Inc. I thought that would be a non-confrontational, calming non-activity for everyone to do together, and good therapy after the nightmares: a story about monsters whio are rubbish at their jobs and have to go to monster training school. Tiger spent the entire film hiding under the kitchen table, and Shark hid behind the sofa, so that plan backfired. Then there was another big argument over who had more pasta for lunch and that was that. Dig called brightly and asked if we could pick him up from the station at tea time.

All in all, today has been rubbish and miserable. I don't tell Dig that we went off yesterday and did craft activities with other home educated kids, because that might sound interesting, and then he might accuse me of having an interesting time. I would have to come back with the fact that no matter how many times you make a paper dragon, it's not quite as interesting as being stopped by customs officers in Central Asia because you'd answered 'Yes' to the question 'Are you carrying drugs?' when you'd got six headache tablets in your pocket. The whole argument would descend into petty point scoring about who had had the most interesting time, and I'm sure I'm not the person to do that.

So Dig's back, and the children are happy. But the xylophone's smashed, Monsters Inc has been consigned to the unwatchable pile, I've vowed never ever ever to cook pasta again, I've thrown the plastic bowl away in a temper tantrum, the lizard's in the Chokey, and I've argued with Dig as a welcome home present.

What a horrible day. Tomorrow can only get better.

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