Anger got the better of me again this morning. I came home from a dog agility class to find my 16-year-old daughter traipsing around the garden in my sheepskin slippers. They were soaking wet and covered in mud – and they do not have rubber soles.
I shouted at my daughter and as I was doing so, my 18-year-old son, who was delving into my purse at the time, said ‘The meditation is not working, you’ve obviously wasted your money on this Marion woman’ at which point I screamed ‘Why don’t you shut up, put my purse down and get a fucking job.’
Okay, as parenting goes, this is way down the scale. Fail. I would have gone off to my quiet place as Marion instructed, but I’d just offered to give my daughter a lift to dance, so therefore didn’t have any spare time.
So yes, the emerging themes are – don’t mess with my stuff, don’t put me under time pressure and why the fuck are you rooting through my purse?
It’s like this most days in our house. Yesterday, I told my husband that I need one clean, uncluttered room in which to meditate and he replied ‘Well, you’ll either have to sit outside or get into your Marie Kondo’d cupboard.’
You see what I am up against!
The good news is, my neighbour is running a breathing and tapping workshop this afternoon. I think I’d better attend, because if I stay at home, I may strangle someone.
I’ll let you know how I get on tomorrow, although honestly, right now, I think I’d rather have a gin & tonic…