The tin of tomato paste – surviving the daily march

Porra and I rarely fight, but today we are not on speaking terms. Well. That is not entirely correct. I am on speaking terms with him, but he is not on speaking terms with me. The joy of BBM and what’s app and whatnot is that you can see when someone has seen your message, but chosen not to respond.

I was in a single parents group therapy session after work yesterday from 5pm – 6:30pm. Being anally prepared, I had beforehand already gone to the shops and got the evenings supplies of bread, milk and chocolate. So they were ready in the boot so I could get a cold Teenie home straight after the meeting. It ends rather late and she is already stroppy enough about sitting in the waiting room for me for an hour and fifteen minutes without another half hour shopping expedition thereafter. Supper was ready in the fridge. Just needed a burst in the microwave to warm it up.

A favourite day because Beauty the Domestic Goddess had visited in the day and cleaned beautifully and probably made the house smell as good and clean and fresh as it can ever get.

Just before the meeting I get a message that Porra is going to grace my home with his presence.

Now. I don’t like sudden changes or people throwing curve balls into my schedule. Porra’s schedule is not to come to my house on a Tuesday, but a Wednesday.

Bottom line. I am in a bad mood and – after I have done my mothering for the day – I just want to be left alone on the couch watching crap British soapies, sucking on my Twisp and my chocolate alternatively.

I am not in the mood for Porra making a mess in the newly clean kitchen and moaning about my choice of TV.

Sitting in the meeting – my phone is on vibrate – I can hear my handbag shaking like a jelly on a trampoline. Sigh !

My head starts to get angry. I know Porra has forgotten where I am. I know Porra is phoning to find out where I am.

The irritated part of me (not the lovng and tolerant persona I am trying to aspire to) thinks “for fecks sake. Just let me have a session in peace !!!”.

After the meeting – on checking my phone. Sure as dammit, there are missed calls and various messages with a final plea to please bring tomato paste home.

My knee jerk reaction (and the one I wihtout a thought followed) was to reply “No. I have already been to the shops before the meeting. Teenie and I have supper in the fridge”

I arrived home to WW III with Porra shouting loudly that getting a tin of tomato paste was on my way (it wasn’t) and Porra does this for me and that for me, I am a bitch, I am selfish and yadda yadda blah blah fishpaste.

I do realise I was a tad selfish and could have gone and got him a tin for his supper, but – you know what – at the time – I did not take kindly to this curve ball in my schedule and him just pitching up at the last moment when his schedule allowed and demanding I go back to the shop for the third time of the day. It was not a demand at the time, but by not following the instruction it has turned into a command that I did not follow (gettit ?!)

I said sorry about 20 times and agreed yes I was selfish. I’ve left it at that. We had a few fake conversations during the evening (i.e. I spoke, he grunted) and we slept in the same bed together (not touching of course!)

I sent him a kissing smiley this morning and a question mark. Which was read, but not responded to (thank you what’s app for your technology!)

I would usually get all disturbed about it, but I have learnt that I’ve done my best to make amends and make things right and the rest just needs time. I cannot hurry up the peace making alone.

Giving me the silent treatment is passive aggression and immature.

Let’s see how this pans out.