Porridge

I don’t like porridge. I’ve never liked porridge. I especially don’t like a cranium filled with porridge.

Just the same old reason for a quiet blog again, folks. I knew that this would happen after the stress metre soared for a few days. Emotional stress brings on a relapse even faster than overdoing it physically. We three never stress each other out; it’s always outside influences. Most especially my mom. I thought I had that brick wall fortified to the point where she couldn’t break through, but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. You know, it’s one thing when she picks on me, as per usual, but it’s a whole other matter when she starts picking on my daughter. Majorly and cruelly picking on her. I’ve usually managed to run interference there and prevent her from getting at Stephanie, but I wasn’t quick enough on the uptake this time. She seemed genuine and I let the guard slip a bit. Never again.

As a psychiatrist once told me, while making hospital rounds with him back in the day, it’s the mad who drive the sane to madness. And were it not for mad parents, psychiatrists would go out of business. Amen, brother.

But my lovely husband more than makes up for my mad parent. Not that he needs to make up for her behaviour, but beautiful treats from the florist for both of his girls yesterday made us feel a whole lot better. Now that our ruffled feathers are somewhat smoothed, I have to find a way to bring him down off the ceiling. I shrug things off far faster than he does, likely from all of the practice I’ve had, and I hate to see him so upset by something that isn’t his fault.

And thus I’ve broken my vow to keep my difficulties with my mother off my blog. Oh well, it was bound to come out at some point. It has been such a huge part of my life from day one that it couldn’t stay secret forever.

But otherwise everything is fine and I’ll be back in a few days, after I get some energy back. You can’t keep the Shrew down, you know! Have a great weekend, all, and I’ll see you on the other side of it.

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