Breakdown

How many times, in one day, does vulnerability have to vent itself in a flood of tears, sometimes falling upon onlookers, caught like unsuspecting tourists in a sudden tropical storm?

Well, about 7 times in one day actually. Let’s take Friday for example.

1. T1 was out on all-nighter on Thursday night. I was far too wired to make Tropical Escape muffins at 2am. After two months of 2am Mango Muffin making, there weren’t many tins of mangos left in the local supermarket. I thought about other forms of escape, but had any of the escape routes been unsuccessful, I would then have had to face the consequences of being locked in a padded cell for an indefinite period of time. Dark, dark thoughts in the middle of the night. Welling, consuming, moments of anxiety-induced emotion thankfully abated at the break of day. How much less bleak things seem in the daylight as in the night.

2. Morning. Resolutely, calmly, without comment, I get T2 and T3 off to school, a kiss and a cheery-bye at the school gates. I drive 100m and dissolve into more floods of tears. I am SO tired. And it is so damn cold in this part of the world – does winter here go on as long as it did in Narnia before Lucy went in through the wardrobe?

3. I call the Youth Aid officer (when the car is stationary!) who suggests I come in to meet him and one of the female Youth Aid Officers. I drive to the Police Station, park, apply my lipstick and check my makeup (armour), and I’m set. I find their office. I immediately dissolve into floods of tears. Hiccups. Snot. Runny eye make up. (Beautiful.) The female officer was amazing, calming, caring, compassionate, realistic, empathetic, clear, and supportive. Her son also goes to the same school as mine, I discover. Small, small community. We, or they, hatch a plan. Namely to go to the most obvious place - the Fockers’ Residence - find T1 and bring him home. (Interestingly, they advise me to hold back from making a formal notification of a Missing Person. They want to tackle this issue more as an intervention to help resolve the situation, than take formal, concrete action. I appreciate this.) They send me home. Except I drive to work.

4. I call a colleague, who meets me at my car. I dissolve into floods of tears. We talk. I breathe. She is Calm personified. We walk to my office and I pull on my Ms Professional Armour. I get 47.25 minutes of work done.

5. My boss comes in. More tears at his first query of gentle concern. (I must add here that my colleagues are the most positive, family oriented, supportive, professional, focused, respected, fun, intelligent and motivated people that anyone could ever want to work alongside. We are family in a sense. Thank goodness). The police call. They have collected T1. No prizes to blog followers for guessing where he was – yep, at the Fockers’ place… The police will take him to school and I am to meet him there with his uniform.

6. I walk to my car. Turn on the ignition. One fully dead engine as a result of #4 above: not fully turning off the car when sitting with my colleague. I feel like crying. What follows is almost a “Mr Bean on Holiday” scene. My Boss gets jumper leads from a friendly office maintenance man. He then gets his car, zooms along the pavement to park in front of my car which is perpendicular to the curb. The jumper leads kazam their electrical charge, and I am ready to go. My colleagues send me on my way.

7. This is the worst. Never, never cry in front of the School Principal. I go into the school, into the room where the Principal, Deputy, Dean and the female Youth Aid Officer are waiting for me. I try really really really hard. So hard. But one breath in, and on the breath out, I just cannot stop the emotion from welling up. I have been so damn resolute, determined, clear, focused, engaged … up to this point. But at that very moment, with all those people looking at me, and the utter exhaustion I was feeling – I can’t hold it in.

To my credit (relief!), #7 only lasted a minute or so. Interestingly, when one of the other police officers brought T1 into the room, I felt an incredible sense of calm. He looked shocking. I love him so much. And I am so mad that his stupid little brain is fully fried and Focker befuddled.

Tomorrow his brain will be one day older. Unfortunately, I will be looking ten years older.

Wishing parents a deep, peaceful sleep to restore their wrinkly worry lines.