Bit of big sister drama. Why not? Nothing else going on.

Tom performs at his Kindergarten Christmas Concert

Tom at his kindergarten (pre-school) end-of-year concert

Was doing O.K. yesterday after I took Isabelle to the airport.  Mainly because our friends Kim and Graham came around with their three boys, who played beautifully with our boys.  It was a bright sort of visit in which they tried, valiantly, to cheer us up, but all four of us were in a strange shock.  The fact that everyone tried to be cheerful actually did cheer us up a bit.  Cliff was able to walk to the playground.  The first ‘activity’ he’d done since his first round of chemo on Friday.  Kim and Graham helped me move all the warehouse boxes out of the front bedroom into the rumpus room, so Grant could have his own room instead of sharing with Tom.  It was such a relief to set Grant up in his own space.  He’s really excited about it.

Then.  Fell off some invisible cliff this morning.

I don’t know why.

I suppose it might be just waking up.  Again.  Into some strange, terrible world that wasn’t here last week.  And the realization of it hitting me.  And it feels like this …

Girl falling off edge

… but even darker, scarier, more sinister.

7.10 a.m.  Managed to go to the bread shop and come home, eat breakfast, make the kids’ lunches and get them off to school without too much drama, just gloom in my heart.

Then, when I arrived at Tom’s kindergarten this morning, his teacher wanted to have some big heart-to-heart with me about his disgusting behaviour on Friday night at the concert.  What?  Seriously?

I tried to tell her, twice, that his behaviour was the least of my concerns and then she proceeded to remind me about my sister and how terrible Isabelle felt about having taken my keys off the chair next to me, putting them in her purse and not telling me, so I had to race around like a mad chicken with my head chopped off after the concert asking everyone if they’d seen my keys.  When they were in her purse the whole time.

I even asked her if she took them.  Twice.  And also asked her, twice, to look in her purse but she denied she had them. Instead, she bombarded me with six thousands questions. ‘Could you have locked them in the car?  Did you have them when you came?  Have you asked the teacher if she’s seen them?  Do you want me to get the microphone and make an announcement before everyone leaves?’  So fast and furiously, I couldn’t think straight and had to ask her to let me think for a minute.

After no luck in the search, we made alternative arrangements and were driving home with Tom in a friend’s car to get my spare keys, when she reached in her bag and pulled out my keys, dangled them high up in the air and blurted out loudly, ‘I’m the bad guy again.’

Not, ‘Sorry.’  Not, ‘Oh, poor, hungry Tom.’ Not, ‘Oh, this must be so awful for you and Cliff who have to be apart during this time.’  Nope.  Only this … running into the kindergarten when we get back to tell everyone that she had the keys in her bag and how ‘awful’ she feels about it … so they’d pity her.

So Tom’s kinder teacher wanted to tell me this morning how bad my poor big sister felt and how I must be so sad for her.  Perfect.

Love, Esser


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