I felt like my soul had road rash.
Between the mean thing one of my kids said and the unappreciative drama another one was handing out was me, trying to keep my cool and completely failing. It was the financial pain of paying more than $500 in school fees today and still staring down paying yearbooks and school lunch and a trip to Target for school supplies and oh yeah: one kid still needs a new backpack and another needs a rucksack and a third really wants a new bag but doesn’t really need one and I haven’t even bought new socks and underwear for anyone yet. It didn’t help that my knee was feeling twingy and weird this morning so I skipped my run. Plus the never-abating fact that when you have three teenagers there is always someone mad at you and I didn’t handle anything well at all; I let anxiety crowd out my ability to stay cheerful or relaxed and I snapped far too often which really feels worse than the mean thing that one kid said.
Maybe not so much road rash as burned to a crisp.
So I asked my husband to help me feel better, but you know how that goes, right? He tried. He tried to make me laugh. He gave me a hug and patted my shoulder and listened to me complain awhile but what I really wanted was for him to say "go take a long bath and I’ll deal with reality" but do husbands really do that?
So I was still stinging.
But then Fate or the Universe or Someone intervened by bringing me to a calm, quite hour of talking to a friend. The kind of friend who you can talk to without having to tell all the back stories first because she already knows them and who will forgive you for telling the same story twice and who isn’t stingy with her own stories, so I felt like I was both listening and being listened to, and somewhere in the dark in my van while we talked and laughed and maybe I got a little teary the burns received a balm; my soul was bandaged and I could come home free of my previous ache.
Isn’t friendship a blessing?