I called the Toad ‘that idiot man’ this morning. Which is fine in itself but not fine when you do it in front of your son. Which is what I did. The usual excuses applied – I was irritated at the fact the Toad doesn’t return clothes or lunchboxes, we were in a rush for school and I was trying to get lunchboxes into an overly full bag and urging my son to bring them back from ‘that idiot man’. My son’s face crumpled and he said, ‘That’s my daddy’. I felt terrible. I feel as if I have been led into the war of bad-mouthing having abstained steadfastly from joining in for years. But my fuse is short and I feel under attack. I let myself down and I let my boy down. It won’t happen again. I don’t give two hoots about the Toad but I will never forget my son’s face when I called his father an idiot. I apologised and explained that I didn’t mean it and we made up.
On another note, I saw my son re-emerge last night from the Toad induced coma of silliness and rudeness. It was lovely – until I spoilt it with the ‘idiot’ comment. But, while it lasted, it was wonderful. I am finding this constant backwards and forwards so hard. The efforts to bring my boy back to normality is taking its toll even with my new approach. The past two weeks have brought me to a new low. I have felt drained and lacking in motivation. It’s been tough. Every fortnight the climax of my boy leaving and then a brief hiatus in mothering before it’s back to square one again. After ten days his true self emerges like a shy mole sticking its snout out of its burrow. We get so far and then it’s broken once again. I get snatches of beauty before it’s gone. Over and over….
