Karma

When I was a teenager, I dyed some white pants blue in our backroom sink. Hanging above the sink were some white clothes. My mom came in, saw what I was doing and beat the living crap out of me.

I was so angry - I hadn't even got dye on her stupid clothes. There was no way I deserved that and I couldn't understand her rage.

Until now.

The boys were painting in the kitchen. I turned around and they had created an unholy mess of water and huge quantities of paint. It wasn't a big deal, but why do they think they can do this at home when they wouldn't even consider doing it at daycare? Whatever.

I'm giving them breakfast when I notice my new bag (yes, the one I finished last night) has muck-coloured paint splattered all down one side. Nice streaks where the volume was adequate. I scrubbed and scrubbed with all my pent up fury I'm not allowed by law to nleash on my children. I couldn't get it all out.

Suddenly I understand my mother's rage a lot better.