Everyone has a way of expressing (or eliminating) negative emotions. You know what you yourself are prone to doing: maybe you get angry. Maybe you get hysterically mad. Maybe you fume, complain, say nasty things you don't mean. Perhaps you vent your fury to anyone who will listen.
None of these are my goto coping mechanisms. I don't really get angry, I am not prone to hysterics and I don't lash out at others. But like everyone, I do get frustrated, bewildered, hurt, discouraged. When I feel harmed, I either turn inward and sulk, or I give in to tears. It's all pretty benign, except I do admit -- I carry these to the highest levels. The tears may be short lived, but they are wet! Real tears! And the sulk is so obvious. My kids would say -- mom has that look! Or, in today's case -- "gorgeous" has that air of the sulk.
There are very few times when Ed and I can't find a good middle ground for our profound differences in style. We are so much alike in essence, that the style can usually be laughed off and pushed aside as irrelevant. Usually. But when Ed is not feeling in top form, well then our styles clash. It's a silent clash, but a clash it is. He needs to be left alone to do whatever he feels is necessary to feel well. Typically that means sleeping. Hours, days of sleeping. I'm okay with that, except when the bug has been bugging him for weeks and reverses course again and again. Then the worry sets in and the frustration builds. And Gorgeous starts walking briskly, head high, going about her business but exuding that air of The Sulk.
Since this pretty much describes our morning, you could say that it was just one of those Fridays that you'd like to forget. But this would not be true.
Snowdrop said something today that perhaps tells a better story for her, for me, for us all. I was picking her up from school and it was one of those tough pick ups because she had played hard outside and thus at nap time, she had fallen into a deep sleep. Typically when this happens, I stay with her for a few minutes and coax her back to reality. But today, a sub was filling in and not knowing the routines, when she saw me at the door, she shook Snowdrop to get her going. Getting nowhere, she began to pull the mat from under Snowdrop to get her to wake up. Brutal stuff for the wee one and sure enough, by the time I got to her she was in a flood of tears.
In a few minutes I had her in the car, with promises of a snack and a book at the farmhouse. As we drove the ten minutes to the farmette, I asked her as I always do -- did you have a good day today?
And she answered without hesitation -- It was the most perfect day in my whole life! She had clearly put aside the petty stuff, the tiredness, the rough transition and was, instead, remembering her romp in the playground and some apparently stellar moments in class.
And I feel the same way: forget the adjustments needed to the new normal (solo breakfast once again while Ed sleeps...)
It is a fine day! I feed the animals...
(... I note that another cat is lurking. Stop Sign notices it too. I'm not sure if she feels threatened or if it's a buddy. When I make my presence known, the "other cat," faintly visible from the kitchen window below, runs away.)
.. I shop for groceries, tidy the place a bit. Ed sleeps.
In the afternoon, Snowdrop has a lovely bunch of hours at the farmhouse...
... finishing off the day with a bead project which she proudly does all by herself. Her aunt had gotten her started on beadwork and now Snowdrop considers herself a pro.
Hey, look who comes to pick her up today!
So many smiles! How can you sulk when you have so much love all crammed into the little yellow farmhouse?
Ed is still in his restful mode, but we're in sync again. It never takes long. Eventually he looks up, asks about the cheepers, I tell him I nearly broke my leg putting them away and we feel cozy good once more.
None of these are my goto coping mechanisms. I don't really get angry, I am not prone to hysterics and I don't lash out at others. But like everyone, I do get frustrated, bewildered, hurt, discouraged. When I feel harmed, I either turn inward and sulk, or I give in to tears. It's all pretty benign, except I do admit -- I carry these to the highest levels. The tears may be short lived, but they are wet! Real tears! And the sulk is so obvious. My kids would say -- mom has that look! Or, in today's case -- "gorgeous" has that air of the sulk.
There are very few times when Ed and I can't find a good middle ground for our profound differences in style. We are so much alike in essence, that the style can usually be laughed off and pushed aside as irrelevant. Usually. But when Ed is not feeling in top form, well then our styles clash. It's a silent clash, but a clash it is. He needs to be left alone to do whatever he feels is necessary to feel well. Typically that means sleeping. Hours, days of sleeping. I'm okay with that, except when the bug has been bugging him for weeks and reverses course again and again. Then the worry sets in and the frustration builds. And Gorgeous starts walking briskly, head high, going about her business but exuding that air of The Sulk.
Since this pretty much describes our morning, you could say that it was just one of those Fridays that you'd like to forget. But this would not be true.
Snowdrop said something today that perhaps tells a better story for her, for me, for us all. I was picking her up from school and it was one of those tough pick ups because she had played hard outside and thus at nap time, she had fallen into a deep sleep. Typically when this happens, I stay with her for a few minutes and coax her back to reality. But today, a sub was filling in and not knowing the routines, when she saw me at the door, she shook Snowdrop to get her going. Getting nowhere, she began to pull the mat from under Snowdrop to get her to wake up. Brutal stuff for the wee one and sure enough, by the time I got to her she was in a flood of tears.
In a few minutes I had her in the car, with promises of a snack and a book at the farmhouse. As we drove the ten minutes to the farmette, I asked her as I always do -- did you have a good day today?
And she answered without hesitation -- It was the most perfect day in my whole life! She had clearly put aside the petty stuff, the tiredness, the rough transition and was, instead, remembering her romp in the playground and some apparently stellar moments in class.
And I feel the same way: forget the adjustments needed to the new normal (solo breakfast once again while Ed sleeps...)
It is a fine day! I feed the animals...
(... I note that another cat is lurking. Stop Sign notices it too. I'm not sure if she feels threatened or if it's a buddy. When I make my presence known, the "other cat," faintly visible from the kitchen window below, runs away.)
.. I shop for groceries, tidy the place a bit. Ed sleeps.
In the afternoon, Snowdrop has a lovely bunch of hours at the farmhouse...
... finishing off the day with a bead project which she proudly does all by herself. Her aunt had gotten her started on beadwork and now Snowdrop considers herself a pro.
Hey, look who comes to pick her up today!
So many smiles! How can you sulk when you have so much love all crammed into the little yellow farmhouse?
Ed is still in his restful mode, but we're in sync again. It never takes long. Eventually he looks up, asks about the cheepers, I tell him I nearly broke my leg putting them away and we feel cozy good once more.
