Drip, drip, drip…

It’s a dripping tap that plays with your brain like some kind of water torture. It’s not a tsunami that suddenly overwhelms you, it’s not a flood that has you drowning, resurfacing and spluttering. No, a normal day is definitely like a dripping tap that leaves you wondering why you suddenly explode. 

Yesterday the drip went something like this:

“She’s got my tights. Give me back my tights!”


“There’s never anything for breakfast.”


“Don’t forget it’s open evening tonight.” (Shit, I’d forgotten)


Train strike


Text: ‘Don’t wear your dobok to open evening mum’


Buy more new school shoes for youngest


Text: ‘Don’t bring youngest to open evening will you mum?’


Phone call: “you haven’t brought her have you mum?” (I foolishly joke that I am wearing my dobok and break the news that her sister is indeed with me)


“Go home and change and drop her off.”


At open evening, I touch her arm: “Don’t touch me, it’s embarrassing!”


“This is the long way home.” (Trust me, I know the fucking way home and believe me, I’m taking the shortest route to that glass of wine)


“What are you listening to Mum? It’s rubbish.”


“What’s for dinner? Rice? You said it wasn’t rice.”

“You know what? Make your own bloody dinner and while you’re at it, make your own bloody sandwiches for tomorrow because no doubt I’ll get that wrong too!”

“Jeez mum. I only asked whether it was rice!”

Guilt. Why did I explode like that? She only asked if it was rice for dinner….

Partner arrives home. I recount my day: the tights and the breakfast and the train strike and the open evening and the dobok and the youngest and the touch and the radio and the rice…

…and I suddenly realise why I had exploded. 

Chinese water torture is a process in which water is slowly dripped onto a person’s forehead, allegedly driving the restrained victim insane. (Wikipedia)

I was a victim of a teenager. I was restrained. I am being driven insane. 

It is not my fault. Less guilt. A glass of wine. Prepare for tomorrow’s dripping tap.

Image result for a dripping tap

10 thoughts on “Drip, drip, drip…”

  1. I get kinda scared when I read posts like this about teenagers! But then it’s pretty on point for toddlers too! Drip…Drip…Drip…
    We’ve all blown our lid then hated ourself for it, it’s an occupational hazard – tomorrow is a new day!
    Thanks for linking up to #coolmumclub

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