Fred is cross. In fact she is incandescent.
She has retreated to her cross patch space, which is under the table and is now hidden by the table cloth.
All morning she has been snatching biffing and roaring at children in the home corner.
I evict her for a bit. The last straw being when she hurls a saucepan.
She screams and screams and then screams some more. I know from experience trying to reason will produce even louder screams.
Several little bears approach cautiously ducking down and peering under. Whereupon from somewhere she has the wherewithal to turn up the volume!
She is allowed to be cross I say. Best come away until she is ready.
When the penny drops that we are all enjoying ourselves elsewhere she picks up a handy maraca and starts to beat seven bells out of the table.
I wait until she comes up for air and call "come out when you ready and I will help put your shoes on".
She is perfectly capable of putting on shoes but not capable of loosing face.
A few minutes later she sing songs.
"I am ready now". She has been at this for at least twenty minutes.
Eyeing her I calculate the chances of further eruptions if I do the "right thing" chat.
Some things are better left. And anyway sometimes you can't do the right thing.
Especially when your Three.
There are times when I am so frustrated by the lack of energy constant pain and the impact it has on life but refrain from screaming my head off under a table only because men in white coats will screech to a holt with the white van.
She bounces off to join in water play. Not a care in the world.
Where does she get the energy? I am drained.
While of course I plod on in quiet desperation.
Not a bounce in sight.
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