I came home from work the other day in a terrible mood. One of those that start off light blue and then spiral downwards into tarry blackness. With heavy heart and thudding head I plod through supper and evening chores on autopilot.
Eventually my daughter comes to sit by me on our ‘talking chairs’ in the kitchen. Mommy sticks on the bright brittle brave face. That’s what we do, us moms. We Do Not Burden Our Children With Adult Problems. It’s like, Rule 3, or something. Right up there with immunisation and adequate green veg.
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