Scraped Knees and Porcupines

One of my kids is 13 and he’s going through his porcupine phase…Loving him means feeling like I’ve been hugging a porcupine over and over and over.  As much as I adore my kids, this is a tough time to navigate.  The brooding silences, the heavy air, more silence… My 21 year old keeps telling me she remembers herself in this phase, but *I* don’t remember it being like this.  The trenches of parenting are good for wiping memories.  Otherwise, maybe we’d never do this over and over.

Meanwhile, my four year old had her first really, really scraped knee.  With blood, and everything.  She’s pretty sure this is the most important thing that has ever happened to anyone, anywhere, any time in the history of ever.  So we are doing the round-robin of kisses and whines and hugs and more tears and snot and forgetting about it until she bends it and it stings again. Another lesson in the memory-wipe that is parenting…the deep, serious, all-encompassing NEED that can come from something as simple as a scraped knee.

I’m feeling like I need to fill this empty screen…and that’s not what I started to write about.

Tonight I have a one-on-one meeting with my counselor/therapist, and then an atheist/agnostic AA meeting.  The counseling session is part of the IOP I’m finishing, and the AA is a good support network, even though I’m not thrilled with the whole powerlessness ideology.  But that’s a LONG post for another day.

Every time I walk into my counselor’s office, I think the hour is going to be spent watching the second hand on the clock, or counting the number of water bottles under her desk…and every time I find myself talking exhaustively about one thing or another that’s impacting my sobriety or that has been impacted by either my drinking or my recovery.  It’s fascinating,  watching myself pour forth this stream of thoughts and worries, not knowing at the beginning where they’re heading, and looking in the end at where I’ve found myself.

 

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