and some days, they are perfectly horrid!

4.45am - "BITCH GET IN MY CAR" i jerk upright and flail around blindly. damn, there's somebody in my room, and from the sound of it the foulmouthed idiot is trying to kidnap me or something!!

chellam says sleepily, 'ma, can you shut that alarm off, i want 5 minutes more please!' 

what the hot place downstairs??? that is her morning alarm? and what's it doing going off at 4.45 am anyway?

5.45am - jerk upright and flail around blindly. please god don't tell me i overslept. first born had to be at the golf course at 6.00. damn, i overslept. dash madly into his room, apologising profusely, only to find him under the covers. 'don't worry ma, coach smssed saying it was ok if i was there at 7.00' 

oh, and you never thought to let me know?

walk back to room with mood meter inching toward 'annoyed' 

discover chellam is still sprawled across the bed asleep. so much for that 4.45 alarm. wake her up, get under the covers and try to grab some sleep. nope, not happening. too much adrenalin rushing around for that. remain under the covers, eyes closed, forcing myself to breathe slow and deep. not working.

7.00am - back from the golf course, pick up breakfast for chellam from the kitchen, and take it up to her. 

chellam 'maaa, whydyu get TWO idlis!!' 

whiney tone actually triggers a sharp shooting pain that goes all the way from the back of my teeth through my eyeballs, and right into my brain! i mutter something about ungrateful children and a mother's stupidity, slam the plate down on the bed, and lock myself in the bathroom.

mood meter is firmly lodged at 'pissed off' and the day hasn't even got to it's feet yet.

8.15am - driver calls. he's not coming in to work, his wife's sick.

8.45am - maid calls. she's not coming in to work, her father's sick.

mood meter points to 'ohh myyy gorrdddd' hopelessness

wash down my morning's handful of antibiotics, steroids, tummy protectors and decongestants with a glass of hot water, and throw in some paracetamol for good luck. that flushed feeling could be the onset of insanity or the fever coming back.

the day passes in a daze of phone calls, instructions to the other maid who at best functions like she checked her brain in at the gate before walking in through my door, a meeting with a dear friend. we spend more time gossiping and less working. thank god for small mercies.

mood meter tentatively hovers around 'happy'

5.15pm - turn into my lane and find chellam running out onto the road bare footed, in her school uniform shirt and the thin knit shorts she wears under her uniform skirt - she might as well have run out on the road in her panties! yell and scream that she might have the body of a lumbering 16 year old but her brain is still stuck at 10.

the handful of leering drivers and watchmen looking on have their entertainment quota for the day filled. barely manage to stop myself from turning around and screaming 'and whatreyou looking at? yeah, you, and you, and you!'

8.30pm - get my ass kicked in scrabble, but the company is worth every point i lose, and then some, so it's ok.

9.30pm - come home to find that brat female offspring of mine has been on the computer, on facebook and some stupid thing called 'restaurant city,' knowing perfectly well that the computer is out of bounds on weekdays, and especially so now because exams are going on. sms records show message activity. do i even need to say that we have a 'phone turned in before dinner' rule?

lose it. completely. mood meter zooms to 'insane woman yelling madly, loud enough to be heard down three streets, arms flailing about, spraying spittle all over the room, and eyeballs in serious danger of falling out of her head'  

'ok, if all you do is break every rule i set,' i yell, 'fine, no rules. but don't expect me to do anything for you either. you can't have EVERY BLESSED THING your way!'

she throws a tantrum back, and stalks off, fat tears streaming down her face, saying she needed some peace and quiet to study in. 

right, and i was the one getting in the way of her mugging up her math equations!

mood meter quietly gives up trying. there's nothing in it's experience to describe this.

9.45pm - mom calls, and makes the mistake of asking about the children. she gets an earful. and then she actually says 'don't be too harsh with her, poor thing, it's that age! children are so sensitive these days.' and goes on to tell me about an 8 year old who was accused by her teacher, in front of the class, of stealing a classmate's pencils, and the child, feeling humiliated, went home, poured kerosene over herself, and set herself on fire!

thank you ma, that makes me feel so reassured, and hello, where was all this understanding about 'that age' when i was growing up? i mean, i remember dad actually taking a belt to me, and you watched without saying a word. didn't i go through 'that age' too?

but what's the point. i can't say all of that, and she's only trying to help. i don't even bother to check the mood meter.

10.30pm. talk with mom done, i turn the radio on to 'quiet storm' put my head down on the dining table, and wish i could cry. my eyes burn. i don't know if it's from the fever coming back, or the emotions roiling inside. the voices of barry white, and sade, and seal flow over me in songs of love, and slowly lead my reluctant emotions to a place where it's still dark, but not an acid in the gut dark. this is a more bearable curtains drawn in a cool room dark.

11.15pm - first born calls, asking to be picked up from work. 'i'm hungry ma,' he says, 'can i have some dinner as soon as i get home?' i heat up some quiche, fill a bottle with vegetable juice, and leave. the car's sun roof is open, the warm night air flows through the windows rolled halfway down, soft rock plays on the radio. the road's blessedly empty.

12.30am- dinner's done with. everything's put away for the night. the children are both in bed. 

i look at my handful of medication, the steroids, the antibiotics, and everything else, and feel like throwing all of it away. the prickling behind my eyelids comes back again.

i want my darling husband here. i want a sane, sympathetic adult to talk to. a warm body to hold. somebody to stroke my back, and smooth my hair and ask if i need something. i need to put my head on his shoulder, and have him drape his leg over my hip; to hug him close and fall asleep not knowing where he begins and i end. 

but he's hundreds of miles away, and i won't see him for 3 weeks, wishing we were a 'normal family' with mother and father and two children sitting down to breakfast every morning, and discussing the day's events every evening before children are tucked in under the covers in their rooms, and mom and dad curl up in each others arms to sleep, is not going to help. heck those kind of families probably don't even exist!

like that old eagles song says, i need to 'get over it' if not now, by tomorrow morning at least, when the alarm will go off again at some unearthly hour, to some awful noise that passes off as music, by some ass whose mother should have washed his mouth out with industrial strength floor cleaner years ago.

dear god, tomorrow's a new day. please, let it be a better one.