regrets of a baited bear

It is a very grey day. As in it’s raining, the last day of the holidays and we are all tired and grumpy. I have losing-my-temper-like-a-fishwife remorse and I suspect Steve may have marrying-her niggles.

You see despite the fact that Ida was so bone tired she actually fell asleep at a reasonable hour in her own bed we didn’t have a great night after all. Due to the party in the church hall next to us which extended into the night and then into a loud, emotion and alcohol fueled dispute outside our bedroom window at about eleven thirty.

Something similar happened last Saturday so I had pent-up rage. Also a plastic bag of empty bottles and can’s that had been tossed over our fence. One of the cans hit Ida on the head.  I didn’t march straight round there with a lighted torch. I did spend half an hour composing an outraged letter for the priests.

So when Ida woke up for the second time and I had to cuddle her to calmness since she was frightened by all the shouting I went and indulged in a little shouting of my own.

Not helpful, not grownup, and not cool. Very satisfying though. Nothing  breaks up a gang of looming, leather clad, eastern european young men like a sleep deprived mother on the edge. I can’t even remember what I said – I know there was foul language, finger wagging and some ‘young man’ s.  All at the top of my voice.

I was almost instantly remorseful. This is not not sweating the small stuff. They were just stupid drunk men who were thoughtless. It’s hardly the end of the world. I feel ashamed.

I definitely have a temper. Mostly I keep a lid on it. I don’t really bear grudges either, it’s over quickly. Often I’m already feeling better and saying sorry as the other person reaches their peak. As I was dressing down those men last night I could see they were all abashed especially as they could see Ida upset on Steve’s shoulder. They weren’t mean – in fact it was hard to get them to stop baring their hearts and beating their foreheads in remorse and just leave. Blowing up like a pocket rocket Hulk does NOT mesh with my assuming-the-best-of-people, seeing-the-good life plan.

Must try harder.

I just asked Steve if he felt ashamed of me and he laughed and gave me a fizzy cola bottle. Maybe we can rename it as quirky. At least I’m not a sulker.

The sun has finally broken through the clouds, and is lighting up my smeary windows. Just in time for bed. It makes the lights that have been on for most of the dark day seem orange and odd. Toys are strewn all over the floor, Zeph and Ida spent the afternoon arranging the enormous cuddly animal collection into a  zoo and charging us for the privilege of being led around it. Money- sharping tom sawyers the both of them. They also took a lot of pleasure in burying Steve at one point;

 Ida is asleep in her bed. We have adopted a short-term plan of one of us lying on the bed til she drops off in her cot. It only takes half an hour and we can read. There’s already been a certain amount of, “no, no – let me..” On the way past Z’s room I looked in to say it’s lights off time as he’s got school in the morning but he was so pleading about being at a good bit in his book that I relented. I can’t resist a bit of bookish stuff and he totally plays me with it.

I love that.

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