Sometimes, just sometimes there is a point where my blood just boils and I am closer than ever to really losing my temper. I can feel it, it is so close the surface I have to physically shake it off.
Me – ‘Eldest, can you pick up that towel please?’
Eldest – Blank stare
Me ‘Can you pick up that towel. Please’
Eldest – Chews lip a bit, stares at me.
Me ‘Can you pick up that towel. Please’ I point.
Eldest – ‘I, errrr, wa, ummm’
Me – ‘It is right next to you, you just put it down. Pick up the towel. Please.’
Eldest – Spins round, starts to look confused, treads on towel. (This is the point where I start to feel all my zen, calm, happy place shit leaving me.)
Me – ‘You’ve trod on it twice. Pick it up.’
Here is where it would have been easier to pick it up myself, but there is more than that at stake now, it’s the principle of listening to a simple direction, carrying it out and reaping the rewards of not being dim. I need to know that my kid isn’t a farking twit. Ya know? I need evidence.
Eldest – Blanks stare, lip quivers ‘What tools are you talking about?’
Me – ‘What? What? I said towel. Towel. Weren’t you listening? Never mind, pick up the towel please, thanks’
Eldest – Blank stare
I walk over, pick up the towel.
Me – ‘This towel, the one you were basically standing on, it was right next to you, right there (points at ground), don’t worry I’ve got it.’
Eldest – ‘Ohhhhhhh, you meant that one? I thought you meant a different one.’
I walk off into the kitchen, bite my lip, think of happy things I can literally feel myself stiff and tense from head to toe.
She isn’t stupid (probably), she just doesn’t listen.
