I think it might have been raining. I remember that OH went in first. Or maybe I did. I can't actually remember very well because within a short space of time I had well and truly flipped my lid and this seems to have left me with some memory white-out. Shame on me. And I mean that.
I do remember that the boys were really hungry and that we'd bought them some fast food near where we live, that they were being vocally desperate to get their hands on. We must have come in a bit like a hurricane, rushing to get bags out of the car in the rain and the boys yelling at the tops of their voices.
DBrother was on the sofa watching telly. All the lights were on, doors open, heating on full blast etc. To be fair, the heating can only be on or off and is set to a timer so I can't really complain about that. I'm just trying to convey what I saw and felt - rightly or wrongly - as I came in. I rushed a bursting Babe2 to the downstairs toilet and found it not fixed. I was less than delighted to notice changes in my kitchen that I had not authorised (!) - things moved, a new kettle, lots of packets of rice and pasta lined up on the worktop to keep their supplies separate from mine. I was annoyed to find bags of plaster and cement at various locations around the house, courtesy of some building work they'd been doing. I was downright angry, when I went upstairs, to discover that the Brothers had clearly been sleeping over while I was away. Toiletries they'd used around the bath and on the sink. And I felt angrier still that my house didn't smell even a tiny bit like my house any more.
All the stress and anger and anxt and upset and irritation and godknowswhatelse but it lurksinsideme and sometimes fights to get out, erupted. I can't even remember what I said. I know my eruption included the phrases 'I want my bicycle back!' and 'And my pump!' and 'I want my house keys back' and 'This doesn't even smell like my house any more!' and 'How is it that you put several loads of washing through but ignored the broken toilet next to the washing machine and you're a plumber?' and 'I want you to go' and 'This isn't fair.' I remember asking DBrother where he'd been sleeping and him replying 'back at my place', so I asked who had been sleeping in my bed and he ignored me. So then I asked where OBrother had been sleeping and Dbrother put his hands in the air and said that he didn't know, which pushed me even further. I tried to say something in Greek about brothers closing ranks but I think I said something about brothers hugging one another. I then tried to say something about how when the cat is away the mice will play - which I'm not sure even translates into Greek - but I think I actually said something about a mouse going away and the cats going away too.
In fact, who really knows how much sense I made at all? If not on a literal, linguistic level, then on an emotional level, either. I know OBrother asked 'What have we ever done to you?' and that I cried 'Nothing! But we have different ways of thinking and I just don't want to share my house with you. I've been away for nearly a week, you've had the run of the place and now I want some peace.'
At this point, OH came downstairs from the roof with two shovels - it turns out the brothers' work had ended (which means they had in fact had several days to have fixed the toilet but hey, as I've said, I don't really want to feel beholden to them anyway) and OH had managed to line them up with something for the next day but needed to explain where it was - and started shouting at me and threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn't stop. At this, Babe started crying and I did stop, in my tracks. Clearly nothing that I was feeling could be allowed to let a situation escalate that would result in his distress. OH started telling him how horrible mummy was being, and worse, and some more things started snapping into place in my head. I told OH that he must stop, and that if he said anything to our kids that would play with their minds then I would take them to my mum's. End of. We looked at each other and the argument ended, as quickly as it had started. We both knew we'd gone too far. OH finished giving DBrother his directions and the number of a taxi company to get them to work and he left, calling 'Goodnight, Sofia!' over his shoulder. I restrained myself from calling, 'My keys!?' after him and went and put Tom and Jerry on, with shaking hands, and the kids and their dad watched it together and laughed. When I put them to bed half an hour later I heard myself reassuring them that everything was going to be ok, and that things are a bit difficult right now. I think I patched things over ok.
What a mess. I felt really bad that I had behaved the way I had. But continue to feel really bloody annoyed with OH for having created this situation that has me backed into a corner and on the defensive. And surely to God OBrother might just have given us some space that evening, and not been around, after everything that has been said? I think I probably have a post brewing on the subject of anger - as in, 'what really is it that is making me angry?' - but I don't feel up to it right now. On a superficial level, I could conclude that my anger that night stemmed from the fact that my home is my castle. It is a space in which I can be me, that has my stuff in it. OH can't understand why an old wooden desk I was given when I was tiny takes pride of place in the sitting room. He can't understand why I keep ornaments that he considers to be childish or ugly. (Don't get me wrong, neither does he complain, but given the chance he would probably put posters of motorbikes around the place.) He doesn't get my sentimental attachment to stuff. And to be fair, he was born in a country with what - an emerging economy?? - where you trash new stuff on purpose just so that you can buy more new stuff. Valuing something because it's old is considered irrational behaviour.
I know from time I have spent living in other European countries that the English are particularly house-proud. We value our space in a way that is often viewed as protective or unfriendly and arrange our possessions in a way that is perceived as OTT or odd. Personally, I can't imagine a life where my prized possession would be a leather belt and the only ornament in the house taking the form of a religious icon on top of a lace doily on the telly, but there you go. Each to their own. And therein lies the clash...
I wish I could end this post saying that something had been resolved. OH and I did, in fact, temporarily sheath our swords and reach out to one another. We have been trying to restore some kind of domestic harmony. He has been making an effort to show that he wants things to work, and to stay with me. But it doesn't shake off this bloody great spectre that is lurking around the literal corner and impacting at many levels most of the frigging time. I keep thinking I hear a key in the lock and jump when the phone rings. I've been trying to get my head around Christmas and New Year and how we'll get over the festive period as a family if they're around. I don't want to keep feeling so darn guilty about not being a better, nicer person. I want a change, a break, an escape, something to look forward to. A shed load of sand I could just bury my head in and wake up a step further along my karmic incarnations. Or a step lower, if that shit happens, so that I could just get on with being a worm and enjoy it.
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