Categories: uncategorized
Date: 21 January 2005 23:53:31
Funny how things build up inside, isn't it? For me and for the kids.
Tiddles had a tantrum tonight. I reckon it was the after-effects of his weekend away when sleep was not at a premium, followed by Scouts on Monday night (my mistake - and one I keep making too!) and my parents' evening on Tuesday night meaning yet another late night for the boys. Smudgelet's tiredness manifested itself in tears last night as his sorrow for his birth family came to a head. (How precisely do you tell a seven-year-old boy that some of his siblings just don't want to have contact with him, when he's so desperate to cling to anyone who has special meaning in his life? Last night demanded the wisdom of Solomon) and tonight Tiddles' came to a head with a spectacular tantrum - the worst yet and quite scary.
The reason? I wouldn't let him stay up late to watch his Harry Potter video (the one Smudgelet isn't allowed to watch yet because it's too scary). He took his anger out on his little brother, then on me and his room and it escalated to the point where I took the little one next door to Dad's empty bungalow to sleep and had to leave Tiddles trashing his bedroom and screaming blue murder... at least until the emtiness of our own home got to him and reduced him to tears and wanting his mummy to hold him tight and keep him safe from all the accumulated anger and misery. I wish I could handle his anger better, without getting angry myself - but it's so difficult when it's my little one who's having to witness his outbursts. A bit of a scary night for all three of us.
A strange parallel, though, as we sat in my Dad's bungalow. Smudgelet was fast asleep in bed, Tiddles was lying on the sofa by my side, trying to go to sleep through the tears (lovely moment when Charlie crept in and curled up by his side and let him stroke him) and I was sitting in a chair with the lights dimmed and the radio on. The same emptiness filled me. I know where it had come from, mind. My elderly neighbour is in hospital and his wife is unwell (through the stress of caring for him - please remember them both in your prayers) and she'd been talking about how unpleasant it is sitting alone and feeling so vulnerable. And today I face the task of writing to my friend in Scotland after the death of her husband - a vibrant man full of life, my brother's best friend, a man who just simply cannot not be. And as I sat there in the semi-darkness in the unlived-in bungalow, it suddenly felt as though my Dad had died and I was sitting in an empty home to which he wouldn't return. It was no good, I had to wake the children and return home to my own bed as I couldn't bring myself to sleep in his. I am so so glad he is coming home tomorrow.