Some days there doesn’t seem room for everyone’s feelings in this house and I hear myself tell the children that I feel worse than they do and I am not proud of that.
I ran The Hog's Back on Sunday morning, an 8.2 mile race, seriously uphill and I was pleased with my time but I am struggling to recover. The last twice I ran a proper race, I took my recovery very seriously, researching helpful tips and taking at least a day out of my diary. This time I have not bothered and I am suffering the consequences. I feel fine until I try to walk quickly or up a gradient or have to listen to an eight-year-old singing in the car.
My little girl was upset after her swimming lesson: her teacher had let her down by promising to take her to the diving pool, as her big brothers have done many times this term, and then he forgot. I was wrapped up in myself and what I was doing and, instead of helping her get dry and listening to her feelings, I snapped at her.
It can feel as if we are four balloons, inflated with our emotions, squashed into a small space. As long as no-one is too 'full' we are ok, but there is only so much space and sometimes someone gets squeezed.
I've said sorry. I've let her know that it's rotten to be let down both by a teacher that doesn't deliver and a mother who doesn't listen. I'll take some more painkillers and hit the duvet shortly after my children tonight. And I will seriously consider declaring the Christmas holidays starting tomorrow!
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