Every so often I will be driving along in the car and go into a sudden panic. In these first seconds, honestly, I don’t know how I don’t crash.
I think, “Holy fuck, where are the kids? Where have I left them?”
A whole sequence of possibilities run through my head: I left them in the house, the garage, at school, at playgroup. My head hurts with the worry. I imagine being taken to task by some sort of governing body because of my lack of parenting skills. I enivsage the A Current Affair segment being aired, with me holding my hand up over my eyes in shame throughout the footage and me throwing a shoe at the television whenever Tracey Grimshaw comes on (oh, wait, that happens anyway…)
Then, I’ll look in the rear view mirror: at my children and their perky little faces staring back. All is normal. Nothing to worry about.
“What’s wrong, mum?”
Nothing.
They were just being quiet.
For once.
In those times, I almost wish they’d been fighting.
{Almost}
