Little J is of an age where she wants me to play Monopoly with her, and to try my best, and to damn well lose. Nothing else will do. Not playing wholeheartedly is, of course, an insult, and winning is obnoxious. I find myself in the role of mother because her own mother was too unconscious to play Monopoly, and through this strategic sleeping she has excused herself from this type of conflict. This is what they mean when they say you can't win for losing.
C phoned tonight in a panic, as though perhaps it suddenly came clear in her head that she has lost her child, at least for now, and that she doesn't know how to get her life back to a level of safety and sanity whereby it would be acceptable to return her child to that life. This is frightening for her. It's frightening for me too but I haven't got anyone I can yell at, or at least not anyone I would.
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