Fear ye not, this is not a post designed to give you the steps to therapeutic parenting Nirvana. It's about a little journey I make, five steps in fact.
After I've been called this and that, roughed up a bit in heart, soul and body my inner 7 year old can surface. My internal monologue is peppered with thoughts unrepeatable I find myself busying myself around the house chuntering like Muttley from the Wacky Races.
Flossy calms and an uneasy and delicate peace is restored, usually assisted by Mrs C.
Bedtime comes and I tuck Lotty up in bed and Mrs C tucks Flossy up and we normally cross over the landing and say our goodnights. But more frequently Flossy's door is shut and the light is off. Be this shame or residual anger and resentment the message is clear 'Dad, you are not welcome'.
It's five steps to the top of the stairs, then down to a few hours calm.
Five step that take me past Flossy's door. The temptation is to keep going, to put another storm behind me.
Five steps where I make choices and decisions, where I banish the 7 year old me and shake the grown up back to life.
I'm not always welcome but I know that it matters that I'm constant and there is always a way back.
I don't always feel the love, given or taken.
But I knock, go in and say 'I love you, we'll have a better day tommorow'