A premonition. The sense that something is about to happen, most often it’s bad, scary or negative. Sometimes it manifests as a dream, a hallucination, other times an intangible, indescribable feeling.
Occasionally, I get a premonition at 3.15PM, right before I pick up my children from school. Are they going to walk out of the grounds tired and, therefore, grumpy and whining? If so, how long can I keep chipper? How long before their complaints and whines tear at my outer garment of positivity to reveal the bare wires of my short fuse? Wouldn’t it be nice if a flag popped up to warn us if something bad might happen. I could have benefitted from such yesterday. Maybe I would not have slid into a downwards spiral, looping endlessly into a ferocious verbal stoush with one of my boys.
He’s a tough nut, this son of mine, which is great. Of course I love him unequivocally, I am proud of him (as well as my other two), I am glad that he can stand his ground, defend himself. But most often, at home, this comes out as aggressive, disrespectful and downright rude.
Is now a good time to point out that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?
He’s a mirror, for sure. For a long time, I’ve recognised in him those traits of mine that I dislike, resist, and try to hide from. But he innocently holds them up, right in my face, to remind me that none of us are perfect. Especially me.
I’ve got one chance to raise him. One attempt to guide him into being a decent, wonderful, kind and generous adult. I failed at this yesterday. But I can try again today.