Whiplash

Ring, ring, the telephone rings...Dad, a sadness in the voice on the other end.  I just need to talk for a couple of minutes.  Are you coming into the store this morning?  Yes, I will be there momentarily.  Put my aching heart back into the protective case and open the corner zipper so that I can feel something.  I am scared; I am angry; I am frustrated; how can I help?  Just listen and help me think of a plan to deal with this.  One of my friends suggested we put the rules into writing.  What a great idea, I say!

Back home from the dog park and the phone rings.  Your child is having a crisis and I need your help right away.  Be right over.  Please get up and out of bed so that you can get to school on time.  I am not going this child says.  School doesn't matter and I am not learning anything there anyway.  Please tell us what is bothering you.  Silence...more silence and then an angry gush of emotion and hurt coming cascading from this child's mouth.  We were not successful in getting him to school on time.

I rush to DT office to drop off  PROJECTOR for work.  I get there and realize I left it in the storage closet in the training room.  No one has specifically asked for this projector though and since I am feeling barraged and overwhelmed with just the morning's events, I simply turn and go home.

Ring, ring, ring...what's wrong with your child?  This child scared the dog and is screaming something about how he "...hate the bitch"!  I will be back shortly and this child's mother is en route to deliver this child to school.

Peace while I write.  I pen a quick text to one and try to avoid looking at the possibility of a response.  I should not anticipate any response any how.

Breathe...breathe...breathe!