The Inquisitions

As many of our men are not engaged fully in the dynamics and workings of family life, they also rely on us as fountains of information which they will endeavour to suck from us whenever the feeling suddenly takes them.

They also seem to think that by asking us streams of questions, they are showing to be "taking an interest" and then, when we complain about the onslaught of questions, we're told defeatedly "I can't win."

This morning, I was running late, having been awake with a poorly child for much of the night and we overslept. He arrived to walk the dog (we still live separately thankfully) and he decided to help me pack the children's school bags. I was rushing around and trying to think all at the same time, which is tough as I seem to be the only adult who appears to really know what's going on. 

Perhaps, out of his own guilt, I was met by:

"How did you sleep?"

"How did she sleep?"

"What was her temperature during the night?"

"Are you sending her to school?"

"What is her temperature now?"

"What time are you working until today?" 

All of these things, he would know if he was engaged with family life in the first place. Maybe if he hadn't have had to move out of the family home because his loyalties and priorities remained with his family of origin rather than with us. Although, recollections tell me that he was never really very mentally and emotionally engaged before he left and even less so now. I'm already mentally exhausted as a result and so having to explain all of this to him on top of doing all the things is yet another chore.

I remember as a child, my mother becoming frustrated at my Dad's onslaught of mundane questions. One after the other in a monotone voice, him cornering her with his eyes as he demanded immediate responses. I remember her anxiety, her looking away from him trying not to catch his eyes as he worked to pin her down. It was his way of taking charge: his tone, his defiance, the grilling he was giving her all a rouse to cover up that actually, he didn't have a clue what was going on. She was managing everything whilst he ironically tried to assert his authority over her with his endless interrogations. 

Peter's questioning makes me whince. 

He's not aggressive like my father was, but he's there, extracting all of this information from me because he can't engage in the first place. And by the time I've finished answering his verbal questionnaire, I just know that I'll be met with an opinion or judgement, a demeaning sentence to demonstrate that he would have responded to or dealt with something differently- better. And I'll tense up because he doesn't have the right to judge, complain or criticise when he's so far removed from family life in the first place. And when I'm tired, I might snap at him and he'll wonder why I'm so horrible to him.

I find myself wishing that he is either involved or he isn't and thinking about how much I'd prefer him not to expect me to educate him on the ins and outs of our lives, because there's always a hope that he'll be interested, that he'll suddenly engage and care, but he doesn't. He takes his information, gives an opinion and makes his mental exit again, taking a bit of my hope with him every time.