I was angry. More angry than I've been in a long, long time.
Last night two of my children, while playing, poked a series of small holes in the wall of their bedroom. A bedroom in a historic, 150 year-old home that we don't own.
No, it wasn't a wall that had original 1864 this or that.
Yes, I can repair the damage.
But it was the straw that broke this camel's back. I was pissed off.
....
First, let me frame this incident by saying that, since we moved in here six months ago I have laid down a set of rules in this house that have, to date, gone by the wayside. So much so, that I gave up trying to enforce my silly little rules some time ago.
....
Fast-forward to last night. When the children poked holes in a wall, thinking nothing of it, I lost my temper, and lost it good. I behaved like a lunatic until I decided it was time to remove myself from the situation.
I put on a jacket and walked out the door. I turned left and walked through the park and kept walking and walking and walking. I walked for almost a full hour, until I thought about my wife, and how she was back at the house, dealing with the uncontrollable little monsters we call kids.
Then I started to feel a little guilty. I didn't tell anyone where I was going - I just left. "My wife must be wondering where I am! She must be very worried."
I decided it was time to go home. I made my way through the streets, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and ashamed. I arrived at the door and opened it. The house was quiet. I removed my coat and hung it in the usual place (over my chair). I walked into the next room where my wife was busy typing on her laptop.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Are you OK?" she asked.
"Yeah. I guess I just needed to go for a long walk to cool off."
"You went for a walk??? We thought you were in the bathroom!"
... Yeah.
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