In The Midst Of My Anger.
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In The Midst Of My Anger.

My son stood beside the window of my bedroom. He drew some imaginary animals with his fingers before climbing the bed beside me. I immediately knew he had something to say. He has a way of speaking without uttering a word.

“Mummy, you were a little grumpy this morning, yesterday and the day after and some days before then”. He said avoiding a direct gaze.

I thought for a few seconds before replying ” Really?”, pretending I wasn’t aware of that fact. I wasn’t just grumpy, I had been raving mad. Angry about everything. I knew it, but listening to this young man actually called my attention to me.

The Reason Behind My Madness.

As you know, parenting could be hard to fathom out sometimes, but for me, I have been struggling to come to terms with this truth. My children are not toddlers any longer. I expected some level of maturity. I have a teenager, a pre-teen and an eight-year-old. However, the challenges are as tasking as ever.

I stormed to the living room earlier demanding why the cushions were everywhere except where they should be. I was fuming with anger.

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When Life Happens

I walked casually to the door after hearing the rattling of the postman trying to push in the letters through the pigeonhole. My 3 years old would soon run to pick up all the letters for me as she normally does, but for some reasons that morning I wanted to do this myself.

I was expecting the result of my postgraduate assessment. I had toiled effortlessly in class, I was one of the intelligent few in the class, my views on the subject were highly valued. All my assignments attracted the highest grade. The last and final part of this course was the assessment which took place at work and I was looking forward to the outcome.

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The Stories I heard

I don’t recall reading bedtimes stories when growing up, but, I recall interesting stories that were told.

I remember the conversations I heard as a little girl to the folktales shared by families, neighbours and friends. Part of me contains songs, poetries and the vivid images of scary monsters painted to scare.

Imaginary plays, make-believes and visits to relatives occupied most of the summer holidays. With foods and songs, long lost friends who came around to visit each having a story to tell.

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