I hate that place I was in. All evening I was trying to fake being a good mother. I talked calmly, I faked interest in what they were saying. I had to fake because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying, couldn't follow the thread of conversation so I became more and more irritated with each passing minute but I knew at 9:00 they would be in bed and I could stop trying. Then 9:00 comes and he starts his little routine of whining about how he is scared and how the story he overheard at school is freaking him out. So I take him up to bed and lie down with him and talk to him about how stories are just stories yada yada yada. I turn on the bubbler with the fish in it, I listen to his stories, I sing him a song. Finally I get to come down stairs and connect with the emotions that are vexing me, I get to open the box a little bit so that I can relieve the anxiety and he comes down telling me he has a stomach ache. It is so hard to go from the hurting woman to the good mom in a few seconds. Last night I just could'nt make the transition back to mom. I couldn't get the box closed. I wanted to scream at him, fortunately I didn't. Luckily hubby got home. Then I was ok. As soon as he walked through the door I could feel calm wash over me. I could be the good mom again. I could tuck Alex (mary I think it is funny you have and Alex too) into bed on the couch. I could massage his tummy and do all the mothering stuff.
Carrie

<font color=green>But the implicit and usually unconscious bargain we make with ourselves is that, yes, we want to be healed, we want to be made whole, we're willing to go some distance, but we're not willing to question the fundamental assumptions upon which our way of life has been built, both personally and societally.--Bill Plotkin, Soulcraft