Hymn

Repair

The maddening carelessness of the other day that had left a scratch on a stranger’s car had been replaced by the uncertainty of what happens next.  I’d scribbled a note on the back of a business card, apologizing profusely and accepting full responsibility.  The Right Thing To Do.  Of course now it could go one of two ways: either a bill for the damage or a larger bill for any damage he wanted to accuse me of causing that I’d just accepted responsibility for.  I missed the call.  “Thanks for leaving your card.  Really appreciate you telling me about the scratch.  Please don’t worry - I’m sure it’ll polish out. Thanks again.  Bye.”  I’m ashamed at my lack of faith.

Bump & Grind

Haven’t really coped very well with a method of parenting that is almost entirely the opposite from the one I hope to use.  A child given everything she wants, screamed at and threatened when she bawls because she hasn’t got it.  Then given it.  And the there-in-body but otherwise absent father who leaves the mother “to it.”  I was frayed by our complete inability to offer them any sort of satisfying experience and was thankful to return them home.  A mile from the end, in a car park picking up some groceries, the combination of shoddy parking, an unbeknown open door and a little careless reversing and another driver also has a reminder of the weekend now.  Spread a little happiness.

Temper temper

Little girl, I thought.  Animals, I thought.  I thought wrong.  She doesn’t like goats or sheep or cows.  Or horses or donkeys or pigs.  Or guinea pigs, ducks or alpacas.  Or cats or dogs or flies.  But she does like having her own way.  When it was time to go from this terrible place she threw a proper lie-on-the-floor-and-kick tantrum.