Two worlds collided last night. While my spiritual mentor Marion was whispering meditative phrases and my colleagues on the year-long course shared profound insights, all I could hear was banging, crashing and teenage skirmishes.
My iPad was propped up on a pillow and there were five of us taking part in a group conference call. Half way through my mother called from New Zealand and as she’s coming up to 80 and has dementia, I had to ask my son to check and see if it was an emergency. It wasn’t. Then, just to put the icing on the cake, my son crashed into the room and barked ‘Have you paid your tax yet?’
Spiritual it wasn’t, although Marion argued that everything is spiritual. She reassured me that this is ‘life’ but I felt incredibly tense and developed a headache. I had half a mind to take the iPad into the kitchen and lay it on the table so that the callers could hear the chaos that is our house. ‘See. This is what I have to live with,’ I wanted to cry.
When the call was over, my son had the temerity to say ‘I heard Marion on the phone. She sounds really annoying and it’s all a big con.’
I should have known there would be teething problems. My children are used to a tumultuous household and all of a sudden, I am asking for quiet, lighting candles and sitting around with my eyes closed taking deep breaths. No wonder they think I have lost the plot.
I am at my Mother-In-Law’s house at the moment. It’s my Father-In-Law’s funeral today and I have just been warned that there is a 10-minute segment of Wagner. “I am sure it will pass quite quickly,” said the MIL.
My son is with us and wearing long trousers for the first time in months – he lives in running shorts. He is also wearing proper shoes and a tie. He looks very grown-up. My husband on the other hand, picked up a coat in the 7am gloom and I’ve just noticed that it’s covered in stains. He looks homeless. Never mind, what does it matter?