Thursday, 2 September 2010

Mum, you're embarrassing me!

I think I'm turning into my mother. Actually I know I am. I embarrass my child, just like my mum used to embarrass me. I love my mother; she is a warm, generous, funny lady but when I was a teenager her loudness and daftness used to sometimes make me want to hide away. At family parties she would dress up in my brother's school blazer, squeeze into his grey trousers, roll them up to her knees and pretend to be Jimmy Krankie. Everyone loved her 'Fandabbydozy' impressions, they would squeal with delight, but my brother and I would be mortified.

Now I have my own teenager who finds me annoying, especially when I sing, hum or move to music in a certain way - in the car or in the kitchen, even though there is no-one else around to see me. He rolls his eyes, whines 'M-u-u-u-m-m, p-l-e-a-s-e' and I have to stop. I mustn't act silly in front of his mates, ask them too many questions or in any way entertain them although this summer they have all been very grateful that I have been around to feed them bacon butties on a regular basis.

However my mum's Jimmy Krankie impersonation pales into insignificance compared to the damage I may have caused my son by subjecting him to my performance in 'The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas' earlier this year. I feel he may need therapy.

Yet today I saw a chink of acceptance, a little sliver of hope that he may be growing up a little and is realising that I'm not so bad after all. Getting out of the car he walked beside me as we made our way into town and said,

"Actually it's okay if I walk alongside you now. Just don't sing, ok?"

Trish from Mum's Gone to...


  1. Very good.

    I think you've stolen my blog thunder or vice versa.

    I'm a Captain Scott of Blogartica

  2. Brilliant. Reminds me of when I knew Aidan (14) was growing up. He fell down and when I asked him if he'd hurt his knee he said, "Yes but don't kiss it". Boo hoo. (This was when he was 7 or 8 BTW.)

  3. NEVER NEVER NEVER dance at a party if your children are there.

  4. I know this feeling well. Apparently, I mortify my son by very existence alone!

  5. Even as babies mine used to put their podgy little hands over my mouth when I sang.

    It just fuels the fire however. Makes me more operatic.

    It's our duty goddammit to embarrass them in public. It's character-building. And fun.

    Gotta have SOME perks.

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  7. Dear Bass Pryce (aka Captain Scott)

    Just been to read your blog - excellent stuff.

    Sorry to have got there first on this topic.

    Best Wishes

    Mrs Amundsen

  8. Expat Mum - Kids know how to wound don't they.

    Geraldgee - Indeed! That is a crime. Dancing and singing at the same time even worse.

    Libby - Having him by my side again was a little triumph for me.

    Gigi - Glad to know I'm not alone.

    Madame Smoking Gun - now that's what we need, some fighting spirit:

  9. Oh they can be cruel can't they? I get specific instructions about how I am to behave at parents' evenings and am taken to task regularly as to the suitability of my clothes if I'm going anywhere with my girls - or anywhere I might be seen by someone they know come to that. I try to take it calmly on the grounds that they may have a point (mutton and lamb is a scary thought). Dancing is definitely best performed only in their absence: I can't take the derision!

  10. But don't kids realize part of the joy of having children is embarrassing them in front of their mates and their girlfriends / boyfriends?

  11. I have been embarrassing my teens for ages. Have just come back from a shopping trip where all 3 of us walked one behind the other. I find it all hysterical. When I casually mentioned that I was going to sew the button back onto my sons shorts he shouted at me " Well done Mum for totally embarrassing me"

  12. Hausfrau - thankfully, having a boy, he doesn't seem to care what I wear: I can imagine teenage girls are merciless.

    Steve - you and Madame Smoking Gun are on the same wavelength: your poor kids!!

    Mrs Worthington - I have a lovely picture in my head of the Mummy duck and her ducklings all in a row (except the ducklings are sulking)

  13. My two girls, 13 and 9, are merciless! They like to walk behind me commenting loudly and sniggering at my wobbly bottom and I've been instructed that on NO account am I ever to sqeeze myself into a pair of skinny jeans. Blunt doesn't even come near it.It doesn't help that eldest daughter has the legs of a gazelle (inherited from her lanky dad, obviously not me!)