Sometimes it would be lovely if you could snip a bit out of a day and darn the remaining parts together.
Within the space of a three minute phonecall the day went from bright and cheery to overcast, with a hint of thunder to come.
Tiddles has been stealing his dinner money again.
I know tonight’s scenario. He’ll adamantly insist that he is telling the truth, that I didn’t give him the money, that the envelope was empty when he got to school. There’s part of me that could almost believe him – that I maybe didn’t give him a full envelope this morning – except that I know that I did. And even the slight doubt I do have is offset by the fact that this is about the sixth week running that he’s turned up at school and claimed I didn’t give him enough money for the week. And that I know is a lie.
He won’t admit it. He’ll look me straight in the eye and lie and become indignant that I won’t believe him, that I never believe him, that there’s no point even trying to tell the truth because I’ll assume he’s lying. And when he realises he won’t be going to Scouts tonight, all hell will break loose. There’ll be shouts and tears, hitting and swearing, throwing of toys and shoes and slamming of doors and kicking of anything within range. To avoid tackling the issue would be so easy – sometimes it’s immensely tiring taking the right option and knowing that the consequences will not be pretty but will be entirely unavoidable. Oh for the wisdom to know how to tackle this without it ending up this way.
At least this time I’ve planned for the tantrum. M is coming to sit with him while I take Smudgelet to Beavers. Usually when the tantrums are on Scout nights, poor Smudgelet is stranded here at home with it because I can’t leave Tiddles alone.
And I had such nice plans for this afternoon, too.