Sunday, October 02, 2016

Ghastly, just ghastly

I had a ghastly cook off. theboy and I were playing a backyard game and we argued about rules. We hit an impasse, downed (play)tools for a bit, then returned to re-start. 

Then, because of various factors, I started critiquing how he plays games and uses rules against me.

He's less than 10.

He could see I was getting stressed so he decided to play it short. We stopped when he got to five instead of 10. Then he shook my hand; "good game".

He had to manage me from the field because of my upset and stress. I sat in the shed on the little red chair—a chair my parents got from a kindy sale in the '70s—and cried because my son keeps having to manage me when I am distressed.

I found him behind the climbing tree, formerly "the hiding tree", and said sorry for his having to do that. I tried not to cry as I apologised then returned to the shed to weep until emotion cooled and logic came back.

Just ghastly.

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