We all overslept this morning. The children and I. The Wife was off at work in the wee hours, and so wasn’t around to kick me out of bed as she usually does. In our careless rush to get in the car, the Son poured his late breakfast container of cereal and milk all over the passenger seat of the new car. Just as his sister did all over the passenger seat of my one and only truck when she was his age. The interior of the vehicle reeked of rotten milk until we sold it several years later.
I, in a very predictable fashion, lose it. I mean full on rage. Red in the face. Boiling anger. Ready to lash out at the world. Another thing has gone wrong, just as it always does when we get in a hurry.
With dad yelling and screaming, we both dash back in the house, grab towels and sponges, and proceed to spend 30 minutes we already didn’t have mopping up the car before the the milk and sugar has a chance to destroy the upholstery.
Crises averted, I face myself in the mirror and take stock of the situation. My shoulder hurts, I have the distinct sensation of being yanked around by the arm. Where does that come from? My ears are thundering. Echos, more than the standard ringing that the tinnitus imposes. Shortness of breath; that’s probably adrenaline. Who’s voice do I hear ringing in my ears? It’s not mine. Mother, father, some other relative? What event, in my past, motivates me to loose my mind when careless accidents like this happen. It’s not voluntary. A Pavlovian response, trained into the mind when…?! I wish I knew.
Still short of breath. Definitely adrenalin. Is this the feeling that the adrenalin junkies I hear about all the time crave? Bungee jumpers, sky divers, etc. Is this the fight or flight response? Why in the world would you want this? Do things on purpose in order to bring this feeling on?
Why am I so angry about spilled milk?
When I got him to school, he’s whining about his wet butt. Consequences of his careless actions, I tell him. Much more appropriate than the hide tanning I would have received. Maybe he’ll react better than I do when he’s standing in my shoes. One can hope, anyway.