But you don’t see it
The sunlight lights up the wall across from my bed. I look over the lumpy doona and into the bathroom window where the silhouette of the tree is waving hello in the morning light.
It鈥檚 quiet.
Each morning the silence is a reminder that I don鈥檛 live with the mini men. It doesn鈥檛 require thought, it just is.
Lately, however, I鈥檓 reminded by Dawn that I don鈥檛 live with them. A fact I can do without regular prompting.
Over dinner last night, the boys stretched our patience thin by refusing to eat and flicking food off their plates.
I got frustrated with the ordeal to get Beau and Chick to eat, so I negotiated with them that they could avoid no dessert in exchange for eating.
I rolled my eyes in frustration in hopeful concert with Dawn and said, 鈥淭his is ridiculous鈥�. She sharply replied, 鈥淵es, and you only see one night of this.鈥�
Last night I arrived home, not been feeling great. I noticed Beau鈥檚 school hat in my car. I knew he needed it, so I called Dawn to explain the missing uniform piece. I wasn鈥檛 driving another 90-minute round trip in the middle of the night.
This morning, however, we find he can鈥檛 play sport at school because he is missing his hat. Then he gets upset because he can鈥檛 and doesn鈥檛 know how to play handball with the other kids.
When Dawn tells me she told him we will teach him how to play at the weekend, I tell her that鈥檚 not particularly helpful as we can鈥檛 teach him everything. He needs to learn to ask other kids. Her response is, 鈥淲ell, you don鈥檛 see him upset鈥�.
My forced smile and response through gritted teeth is, 鈥淵es, I know that. He just needs to learn some things by himself. Anyway, have a great day鈥�.
I understand the comments, particularly when the family is in a state of flux with moving and new school schedules, but it鈥檚 like telling Eskimos they are surrounded by snow and ice.
