Occasionally, under my breath, they travel, cursed, under the names Goneril, Regan and Lady Macbeth. Those names will one day make horrible, cruel sense, and then my daughters will sob and say Why, mother, why?
I will answer that by saying that in these growing years, before you chuck your family up altogether and stomp off to live in a squat with a born again Christian and then get pregnant at age 17 (these things happen, trust me), then any quiet resistance I can manage now is merely growing my inner shield in preparation for worse to come. In fact I am growing it for the teenage years, which on some days, I think we may glimpse, just a little, of what life is to be.
By that time, this shield should take literally anything that is thrown at me. And yes, even a shield that outwardly is composed of curses and in the future may seem cruel, disloyal and uncaring is actually a way of emotional resistance and a positive act of therapy. And having that hard shield which stops me from being fatally wounded is far better than stabbing myself in the head or grabbing someone and throwing them out of the top floor window.
Anyway, I will tell Shark, Tiger and Squirrel, you know that I love you more than all the green tea in China and beyond, and possibly more than life itself, so you should be able to withstand your new names, Goneril, Regan, and Lady Macbeth.
However I also know that there are more socially acceptable forms of therapy I can admit to than muttering curses to my own children under my breath, even if they are Shakespearean.
Thanks to the wonderful Ellie and Mr W, therapy can also take the shape of a good chat over supper while Goneril, Regan, and Lady Macbeth are drugged upstairs by Anastasia. As if my id were not calmed down enough, then Ellie produces another form of therapy and it is this:
When I finally extract this recipe from Ellie, possibly under threat of torture and blackmail, I shall blast it out to planet Internet and anyone who is suffering from the pre-teen years can join me in this therapeutic melting moment.
8 comments:
Green & Blacks. That's all I'm saying.
You are spot on Potty Mummy, thank goodness for the domestic goddess!
I've not tried Green & Blacks. My favorite is Lindor Lindt Truffles.
You mean they aren't brownies?
There should be an organisation providing 'non-adventure, enjoy peace and quiet, lounge around reading, eat chocolate and drink alcohol' holidays for Mummies who have dire need of a BREAK!!! As there isn't you could set one up when the girls have finally 'gone to the bad' (one of my Nan's sayings) or at least left home, and you have stacks of free time. You'll be a millionaire within a year I reckon.
Aha! I recognise that pile of chocolate brownies with candles in them thanks to my recent hellish cake making efforts! In Nigella's Domestic Goddess thingy.
Bless you grit. And Shakespearean names (even the evil ones) are far better (and classier) than some other choices I can think of.
Breathe
Stretch, have a hot bath (with the door firmly wedged shut), having stuck a large notice on it saying I'm not coming out until someone else clean the kitchen.
Oh, and make sure you're armed with a Flake, some wine and a funny book.
Take your phone too so you can ring them and check on their progress inthe cleaning.
thank you for your comments, people. as usual i am humbled that anyone calls here at all to read about chaos and despair. we are pretty busy right now, and i am late, as usual, but would love to indulge in some serious blog reading in a few days time.
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