Data's been sick. Been off Montessori for a few days. I didn't want to go on about it as this is not about me and I would have been incapable of writing anything relating to her illness without making it so, so very much about me.
She could have gone back yesterday, I reckon, but she woke up and tetched so hard that the decision was made that she was, if no longer under the weather, then still so tired that she was over the weather, stomping through the clouds, unleashing lightning bolts on all who fell beneath her baleful gaze. Interestingly, as soon as Common Law and Riker had quit the house, she switched right over to sweetness and light, spending a happy morning running about and performing self-choreographed gymnastics. I put this sudden mood swing down to her having gotten her own, no school way.
But despite my spending a good deal of yesterday driving home the 'Montessori in the morning, won't it be great to see your mates, you are so going to school tomorrow' point to an accepting air, we got exactly the same shit this morning.
She refused to get dressed. I dressed her anyway through screams of crystal shattering rage. There was hitting on her part, bold step threats on the part of her parents and amused Hannah Montana type stoicism from her sister. Sweet niblets, indeed. Conclusively clothed, Data was released from my not entirely composed grip. She went straight to her bedroom, slammed her door as best she could, and was heard to holler 'I hate everyone!' I know the fucking feeling, Data. She was given a few minutes to calm down and then her mother ventured upstairs, to find the second born naked, and back under the duvet.
And so it unfolded.
But here's the thing. Once again, as soon the two other ladies left the homestead, the change happened. She became polite and pliable and went happily off to school, glad as usual to be getting away from her comical dad.
It's Common Law, you see. For the next two weeks she runs rehearsals from nine to six, then pilots another play from six to ten-thirty. And so this morning half hour is the only time she sees the Bridge Crew. This is hard, I'm sure, for the children, but if Data persists with the rage response it's going to get a whole lot harder for the already maxed-out yet amazingly calm and collected Common Law.
As for me, I believe I will now take off all my clothes and climb under the duvet.
The Poses of Prose: On Writing, Yoga, and Embodiment
16 hours ago