When I knocked over the cup of un-drunk milk it was the last straw.
I had been calm. I had held it together. I had stuck to my guns in the face of tantrums and meltdowns.
But that cup of milk made me want to cry.
I wanted to run to my room, throw myself on my bed and cry for my mummy.
But I didn't.
I said just one bad word. Then I grabbed the handi-towels and mopped up the puddle.
Minutes later when Scrag knocked another drink over on the very same spot... well I did let out a yelp, but I still didn't run for my room.
It's been that kind of week. One where I have needed to be strong. To stick to my guns. To make tough choices, to face the worst. To get up every day and do the necessary things even when life as we know it felt like it was tumbling about my ears.
I am still here.
I am still standing.
I have not run for the hills.
I met a dear friend at the kindy gate this morning and she remarked on how far I've come.
She reckons she can see how much stronger I am these days. I was hugely encouraged by her words.
I know she's right, I feel it. I know I am stronger on the inside.
Of course when the pressure builds and I am pushed and pushed, I feel The Swing wanting to start.
I feel the old me wanting to crumble and cave.
I am still standing, in spite of this week.
Some things I simply cannot and will not share here on this blog. Maybe one day when we are through on the other side, but not now.
Suffice it to say that life really is like a rollercoaster, and sometimes it's more of the screaming and shutting your eyes to escape the fear than the laughing and having fun.
So here I am stealing a few moments while the urchins rampage and I take a few breaths before plunging into the bedtime routine.
Holding out for 7.30 here, people
Then just maybe, this endless exhausting day will finally end.
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