We’re almost at the school and Damien looks at me and says: “We didn’t have a fight this morning.” I say: “Mm-hhmm.” We arrive at the school and kiss each other good bye and I drive away. Then I start crying over the fact that something like that has to be significant to my nearly fifteen year old “creation”. He doesn’t know that I didn’t even mention the fact that I couldn’t have my muesli for breakfast because he finished the milk in his cereal today and in the MILO he wasn’t supposed to drink last night. I didn’t mention that I was up until after midnight mopping my kitchen floor because he blocked the sink with cat pellets while I was doing a load of washing last night- thereby flooding the place. Any questions as to why I’m tired?
There Is Never An Excuse
One in three is not a statistic - one in three is a crying shame.