I ran away from home last weekend.
Yep, I threw a massive tanty and walked out. It’s not the first time I’ve run away. I fled a couple of years ago and spent half an hour listening to the radio in my car. This time I was determined to stay away longer. Teach HER (that would be my 13-year-old daughter) a lesson.
“What are you, four?” my stunned colleague asked as I described the scenario.
Yes, perhaps my actions were a little childish, but as a single mum of one child with an ex living overseas, there’s no other adult, nor sibling on hand to help diffuse and escalating situation for either of us. And when confronted with one of those ridiculous arguments whith no end, the best thing for me at the time was to leave. So I did.
On a bitterly cold, torrential rain-filled evening I stopmed out the door, only to stomp back inside again when i realised I had no car keys. Then, back in the car inspecting my “not for public viewing outfit”, I realied I couldn’t reallly go anywhere. A book. Yes, I’ll read a book. So, I stomped back inside, completely aware of the eyes of the teen, the dog and the cat, boring into my back as I stomped upstairs.
OK, so my third dramatic exit was a bit lame, but as I drove down the hill I felt empowered. I’ll show HER that mum shan’t be taken for granted. Not wanting to to go far from home, after all it was dark, wet and cold, I drove a few streets away to park, turned on the inner light and happily read while the rain battered the windscreen outside.
After 15 minutes and aware of my dodgy battery I turned over the engine before returning to my book. Another 15 minutes passed, it was getting cold and my temper had also cooled, time to go home. I turned the ignition ready to return and enact the ”all is forgiven” scenario, but the car wouldn’t start. The battery was dead.
Yep, I was stuck, half a kilometre from home in the pouring rain on a Sunday night of a long weekend. Instinct told me the NRMA wouldn’t be waiting around the corner and I was warned of a 90 minute wait, so I bunkered down. Then the phone rang. It was grandpa. The worried teen had rung him. I told him of my dilemma. He thought it was hilarious, as did the NRMA man who arrived just 20 minutes later.
“Why didn’t you go to the pub?” he asked. Well, DER! I wasn’t dressed for a social occasion. One can’t stop and change into something decent when one is running away from one’s teenage daughter” Chuckling away, he asked what the argument was about. So, as he replaced my over-worn battery, I stood in the rain and offloaded. And that was all I needed, just someone to listen. He laughed at my ridiciculous situation which made me laugh too. And that’s how I was when I walked back in the door and hugged my daughter, laughing. Sometimes mums do act like four-year-olds. But hey, looking back on it, it was a pretty impressive effort. I’d run away, got a flat battery, scored a visit form the NRMA and spent $193. Oh, and the kitchen was cleaned up when I returned home.
All in just over an hour. Not bad for a great escape