Myrtle and Eunice described them as 'scratchy' days. The ones where from the minute you wake up, life is difficult. Everything is noisy. Nothing goes to plan. You bump and claw and drag yourself though the entire day.
The children don't help.
On scratchy days the children are diabolical. The whinging alone is like fingers down a blackboard and then you can add the squabbling. They're like cats in a barn fighting for territory. You spend most of the morning sorting out a rumble over a doll that is tossed to the side within minutes. Everyone is crying because so and so touched them on the leg or walked near their room or used the purple texta. No one can sit still for more than five minutes so the house wriggles like a bag of maggots.
The walls close in.
You throw them outside to play. They stand on the back deck smearing at the glass doors begging to be taken away from this sunshiney, fresh-air prison. "We just want to draaaaaaaaw," they whinge. You open a window and toss out a box of crayons.
A quick lie down on the couch does nothing. You can hear them bleating outside through the glass and, let's face it, it's been a car crash of a morning and you're all scratchy too. A small tear escapes.
You drag yourself off the couch. It's an effort to stand.
You know what you have to do.
You throw a bottle of water and some apples into a bag. "Get your shoes on," you screech. Everyone gets bundled into the car and off you go. They fight like Tysons the entire way there and your head almost explodes from the effort of concentrating on the road. Fuck, you think, fucking fuckety fuck.
Once there, you all spill out of the car like curdled milk. There is a silent pause as you survey the grumpiness of each other. It's the first time they've stopped talking since sunrise. "Well, go on," you urge. "Let's go and have some fun".
You explore the fire trails, ride the flying fox, push the swing 127 times, slide down a slippery dip and play noughts and crosses. They climb a tree and laugh and play and delight in each others' company once more. There is only one scuffle over whose turn it is on the slippery dip (the bruises will heal). A slight breeze carries the scent of Spring and the sound of your laughter. Life is suddenly do-able.
Scratchiness. Only fresh air can cure it.
What do you do with scratchy days?
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