The Big Spat.

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(Courtesy of Meg Lawton)

I had a spat. It wasn’t pleasant; we may never be the same again.

The kitchen was a pile of dirty plates, dishes, cutlery, mixing bowls, wet tea towels, chocolate splodges, squished cherry tomatoes, a light and aromatic cinnamon dusting, sticky lemonade footprints, a glob of peanut butter cooked onto the stove top, and I may have even spotted a line of soy sauce from the pantry to the back deck……but I couldn’t be sure. (I didn’t want to look too closely-I find it best not to dwell on details in such circumstances.)

Where was I when this all happened? Shopping for the very food which would surely be used against me, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.

So, I did what any mother I know would do – I kinda lost it. (Substitute “it” for “patience” if you will, but “mind” may be a little closer to the truth) And after martyring myself for what I considered long enough, (yet never really seems to cover it all) I went ahead and cleaned it up while mumbling random crazy sounds. (But to the trained ear, the words “pigs”, “slave”, and “Do-I-have-to-do-every-damn-thing-in-this-bloody-house????”,  may have been detected)

The cleaning morphed into cooking dinner which resulted in more mess……and around and around we go. Cue creepy carousel music in head.

But the carousel stopped with a halt over dinner. I was thrown right off my eerie horse with those gnashing teeth and weird pleading eyes. Two excited kids pulled out a contract, written and signed in their very best handwriting. Handing it to me with a smile reaching from their hearts to mine, I read the following…. “Tomorrow we will do all mamma’s jobs.”

So, you can’t tell me a good old fashioned spat doesn’t work once in a while. I mean I’m not saying pull it out over a mere blanket fort, or a sink smeared with toothpaste. No, leave it for the big stuff, the stuff you just can’t seem to overcome without help. The stuff that might just bury you. It’s OK parents; I say get off your carousel horse and stand your ground! And don’t be surprised when every now and then, your kids are strong enough to give you a leg-up to get back on that horse.

5

The Big Spat.

September 6th, 2011

I had a spat. It wasn’t pleasant; we may never be the same again.

The kitchen was a pile of dirty plates, dishes, cutlery, mixing bowls, wet tea towels, chocolate splodges, squished cherry tomatoes, a light and aromatic cinnamon dusting, sticky lemonade footprints, a glob of peanut butter cooked onto the stove top, and I may have even spotted a line of soy sauce from the pantry to the back deck……but I couldn’t be sure. (I didn’t want to look too closely-I find it best not to dwell on details in such circumstances.)

Where was I when this all happened? Shopping for the very food which would surely be used against me, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.

So, I did what any mother I know would do – I kinda lost it. (Substitute “it” for “patience” if you will, but “mind” may be a little closer to the truth) And after martyring myself for what I considered long enough, (yet never really seems to cover it all) I went ahead and cleaned it up while mumbling random crazy sounds. (But to the trained ear, the words “pigs”, “slave”, and “Do-I-have-to-do-every-damn-thing-in-this-bloody-house????”,  may have been detected)

The cleaning morphed into cooking dinner which resulted in more mess……and around and around we go. Cue creepy carousel music in head.

But the carousel stopped with a halt over dinner. I was thrown right off my eerie horse with those gnashing teeth and weird pleading eyes. Two excited kids pulled out a contract, written and signed in their very best handwriting. Handing it to me with a smile reaching from their hearts to mine, I read the following…. “Tomorrow we will do all mamma’s jobs.”

So, you can’t tell me a good old fashioned spat doesn’t work once in a while. I mean I’m not saying pull it out over a mere blanket fort, or a sink smeared with toothpaste. No, leave it for the big stuff, the stuff you just can’t seem to overcome without help. The stuff that might just bury you. It’s OK parents; I say get off your carousel horse and stand your ground! And don’t be surprised when every now and then, your kids are strong enough to give you a leg-up to get back on that horse.

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