It was a normal Saturday morning. I was collecting the washing to bring to the kitchen. John was barely talking to me but I wasn’t bothered.
We got on with the usual stuff – my eldest went to her dance class, Little Miss II moaned about doing her homework.
When Little Miss arrived back home, I told her not to take her coat off as she was going to help me at the supermarket. Little Miss II was just coming out of the shower so I told her to hurry up so she could get to her class on time.
I told John that I was going shopping with our eldest so he would need to take our middle child to class. He huffed. I also asked him to make her lunch so she could take it with her. He stood up in an even bigger huff and stomped over to the kitchen.
As I headed back to the bedroom, LM II was coming out of her room.
“Mummy, I can’t find my ballet tights.”
(For context: She was just in her pants as she wears a leotard so obviously the tights need to go on first)
I told her there was a basket of clothes in the kitchen that I hadn’t put away yet – her tights were in there. She said thanks and went to search through the basket whilst I went into the bedroom.
I heard John raising his voice:
“Will you get ready?!”
“I’m just…”
(Getting louder) “You’re not even dressed!!”
“But…”
(Crescendo) “JUST GET READY!!!”
Cue LM II running out of the room in floods of tears to her bedroom – without her tights.
As I walked to the kitchen I could already hear my eldest telling John that her sister was just looking for her tights. I came in and said the same – that she was just doing what I’d told her to do. John then slammed the knife he was using to cut the sandwich on to the counter saying “You do it.” He then stormed past me to his desk.
“What?” I said – not really understanding what was going on.
“YOU F@*£ING DO IT!!!” He yelled at me at the top of his voice before turning around and sitting in his chair.
I paused. Aware that our eldest was stood behind me watching all of this, our son out in the corridor hearing it all and my youngest girl still crying her eyes out in her room. In a quiet but firm voice I told him “that was the last time” – as in, that was the last time he would swear at me – the last time he would talk to me like I was nothing – the last time I would allow this behaviour.
“GOOD!!!” was the reply.
I turned and saw my eldest with tears in her eyes – she was terrified. I rubbed her arm and bent down to get the tights out of the basket. John got up – he pushed me out of his way and threw his mug in the sink – breaking a bowl that was already in there. He then stormed into the corridor, pushing past our son – our two year old son – before disappearing into the bathroom.
It was at that moment that my eldest couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into tears. I held her tight. My son was also crying and came to us. I held him too. My youngest daughter came in, still crying – she joined the circle.
I stood there with my arms around my three small people who I love so much it hurts – trying my damnedest not to let one single tear fall.
“Come on” I said. “Let’s get ready and get out of here.”
This Can't Be Love 