Barry Special is...a stress a holic

My name is Barry Special & I’m a ‘Stress a holic’!!

Whilst getting the hoards ready for school this morning I realised something about Barry.  Given his penchant for highly stressful situations, I have discovered that when he finds himself in the midst of a ‘well oiled machine’, that being our kitchen on any given weekday morning (minus the screaming & toast throwing!!), he cannot cope.  So, like many an addict before him, he feels compelled to inject a comment or allude to a scenario that, without doubt, projects said ‘well oiled machine’ into the stratosphere of chaos. 

Now, if it were just myself & our third born spawn, this would not present as a problem….because, he would most likely be told to “bugger off”, but, he always makes sure he projects these little nuggets of stress, chaos & mayhem around our first born spawn, who has inherited her father’s love of  panicking & catastrophizing & like him (& many who have come before her), begins the ‘dance of distress’ over not only completely normal stress free situations, but imaginary events that haven’t even happened yet, & most likely never will, because it’s all in their head.  When I point this out, it never goes down well, so I just go back to my friends, ham, cheese & vegemite & make a mental note to add an extra splash of vodka to my orange juice the following morning!!

Lucky for me I have been given the role of ‘police negotiator’ in our family & so, on any given day, have the job of talking these crack pots (love you!!) down from the ledge, or at least the ledge that they have created which is probably full of cracks & liable to crumble & fall at any given moment.  But not to worry, as I’ll be down below holding out the large cushiony thing you see in movies, to catch them when they fall.  I’m quite the multi tasker!! J

But what to do? 

Barry is easy to deal with…one steaming cup of sarcasm served alongside a warm slice of antagonism & he’s off & out the door!  First-born spawn however, is a different matter.  So I initially adopted the tried & true remedy of grossly exaggerating the possible outcomes of a scenario that only existed in her head.  For example when she was panicking about the possibility of there being a storm & heading for shelter (under the bed), I would chime in with, “yes, the cows will probably be blown away & our roof may well blow off (this worked until our neighbours roof actually did blow off, which really only made matters worse!).

The new tack I have taken does seem to be working & it goes a little like this, “if you keep panicking like this you’ll end up with wrinkles like me & look like an old softball mitt by the time you’re thirty”, (I say this whilst pointing to my face), & so far, so good, it seems to be working…& I’m off to get Botox injections!!

Barry, however, sad to say, has gone beyond the point of no return, & so I find myself regularly serving up those steaming mugs of sarcasm, with the occasional spoonful of cement & lament a time ‘BB’ (Before Barry), when breakfast was relaxing, I didn’t speak to kitchen appliances & no one threw toast, (although mum did throw a chicken once, but that’s for another time).