Mad Manic Mamas

The Mysteries of Adulthood...

2011-11-22T15:21:00.004Z

Our teenagers are the in-betweeners; Neither a child, nor fully an adult...

You might still find yourself reaching for their hand as you cross the road. Sure to be met with the certified 'Drop dead, Mum!' look.

You may still attempt to buy them gifts that are jokey, quirky and designed to appeal to the kid in them. With Christmas creeping round the corner, such things are still on the menu, non?! Cue the steely stare when they open the chocolate reindeer droppings.

You want them to be careful out there in the world; To avoid the pitfalls of everyday living; To be wary of the many pick-pockets in the city; To stay safe from harm. Watch out for those rolling eyes, you might trip over them!

Now, instead of making their baby steps before your very watchful eyes, your outstretched arms ready to catch them when they tumble, they're taking them in front of members of their most important peer group, most of whom mightn't give a rat's ass if they fall...

They're taking risks in the Big Wide World; They're walking tightropes high above tall buildings; They're juggling multi-coloured leather balls and spinning bright shiny white plates and you have to just watch and wait...

You don't want to live in their pockets; You want them to have their independence. You don't want to be the kind of Mother that falls apart when they're gone. You are braver than that.

So, I knock before I enter his student flat. We text before we are due to arrive there by car so that he has time to have a clean-around and remove any evidence, contraband...

Whatever it is, this is the time when he should be able to make his own choices in life.

I can only hope they are the right ones. We have done all we can to be 'good-enough parents', have we not?

I breathe fresh air in deeply and exhale further, puffing my cheeks out like Dizzy Gillespie.

I remind myself - He's not a baby any longer; I don't have to stand over him to make sure he brushes his teeth thoroughly. I'm not able to ensure he has the right amount of sleep each night, that he's eating properly, or that he's tucked up with a favourite teddy or blankie - In his case, a knitted kitty named 'Miaow'.

Life goes on. Of course it is a little emptier. Until the long holidays, vacations, when he's back again, taking up more space on the sofa than my husband, myself and three rats (his girlfriend's - we're care-taking them - Don't ask!) combined!

On my own blog, I tend to find myself writing a lot about loss. Love and Loss. Love and life.

We bring them up in life the best way we know how. We fight the battles we feel are the most important. And then our children are partially lost to us. Off to life itself. Their lives.

My life.

Oh yeah, it's Fhina by the way...

a strange day

2011-10-13T23:16:00.003+01:00

29 September 2011
When we plan, plot, support and hope for our children, whilst still at school intending to go on to university, it is a moment long into the future.

A rite of passage for them. For parents too.

Buying things together for their room in halls, Stationary. New duvet and cover. posters, prints. Books, More books.

Anticipation. Nerves. Tears.

Loading up the car. Will it all fit. Two trips perhaps?

Excitement. trepidation.

Today my daughter and first born, woke with mixed emotions. Today was the day.

I loaded the car. Packed to the rafters. My tummy flipped. Told myself to get a grip. Lit a fag. Rolled down the window. Choked back a tear. Turned of the radio. Silence. Just my exhaling.

I arrived at my destination. Unpacked the car. Parked up. Walked into the hall and began to set up my stall.

Every moment that passed, every second, whilst I busied myself with my procrastinations; I was aware my daughter would shortly be arriving at University of Leeds Trinity and would be unpacking the car with her father, 89 miles away. I had planned and plotted for her, but I was not a party to her plans this past year.

Never take these moments for granted. They aren't a given. We have had many shared moments together. I should be grateful. I wanted to be there.

I spoke to her this evening and she seems happy enough. Homesick already, as the reality sinks in she won't be home (hers not mine) again until December. Reality bites.

For me it bites hard. People ask me why I stayed so long. I say because I didn't want to miss a thing.

What next the graduation? Will I be asked? It's not a given. Time will tell.

This time next year it will be my son's turn to leave for Uni.

Take nothing for granted.

Sara

One Down, Two to Go

2011-08-31T16:02:00.000+01:00

I'm saying that tongue in cheek. We sent the Queenager off to college last week and it's still a bit raw. The Ball & Chain drove her from Chicago to DC on the Thursday, - 12 hours almost straight. She was not a happy bunny. The plan was for me and the boys to fly there on Saturday to help settle her in and say a final goodbye, but hurricane Irene did a bit of a number on our plans.

To say we were disappointed is an understatement.

Anyway, I tried to be stoic about it; after all the flight was cancelled and if I'd even wanted to drive, we wouldn't have arrived in time. It was totally out of my control. I went with the flow.

She was with her dad and the college locked all the students into their dorms on the Saturday night till the worst of it was over. DC fared very well given what other places have suffered, but the college Starbucks is now sporting a large tree in the doorway, and the Queenager had to relearn her walking directions from dorm to classroom and back. (The fact that it's all within a few blocks didn't help her - she needs to know exactly where she's going otherwise she tends to end up in the next state.)

Her head is still in the Expat household as she's texting and calling quite a lot, but I know that will all change probably in the next week or so. I'm grateful that I'm not one of those mothers who's currently now panicking because it's been almost a week and no texts. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

However, it would have been more meaningful if the first ever text hadn't been -

"Beyonce's PREGNANT!"

Sigh.

TEENAGERS ON TOUR

2011-08-08T19:50:00.000+01:00

As the proud owner of an 18 year old on the brink of leaving home (assuming he gets the results required to get into the university of his choice) I am beginning to learn how to let go and stop worrying about him when he's out of my sight. Given that finishing A Levels appears to be the excuse to pack in about eight different post exam holidays where they don't appear to get any sleep for days on end, to worry about them daily would simply result in a heart attack I suspect.

He is about to embark on an 3 week tour of "cheap beers" around Europe with five of his friends. The thought of it fills me with horror. In my day, when we all went inter-railing around Europe our parents simply had to wave us off with our rucksacks and hope for the best. Now we have a means of spying on them, of tracking their route. Sort of like giving them a bar code or a little mini camera to put on to their heads. We can check in and even sometimes expect a reply. Now that he's 18 he has finally added me as a "friend" on Facebook so that I can see what they're all up to. Initially I was delighted - how wonderful to be able to share in his experience, but I have to say it's not for the weak hearted and I'm wondering if perhaps it was better for my parents who were blissfully ignorant about what we all got up to. Mostly it's all rather horrifying and you wish you hadn't looked...

My friend called me this morning. "OMIGOD, I've just had a look at Jack's photos and I'm quite sure, although his head is turned to the side that it's not a spot he's got on his lower lip, IT"S A NEW PIERCING! I'm going to kill him." I too discovered that my son had allowed himself to be branded with yet another tattoo whilst on holiday recently in Cyprus. Then you have to look at photos of them behaving badly in nightclubs and dancing on tables - "who ARE all those people he's with?" I constantly think to myself.

Still, it's a brave new world out there and we might as well get on it with them and I guess it's reassuring to know they're still alive.

What do you think?

Would that I could take her place

2011-08-08T16:12:00.000+01:00

The Queenager had her bottom wisdom teeth removed this morning. (She only has two, but the two she has are the hardest to remove.)

The oral surgeon had explained what he would do, and she wasn't happy. Unfortunately, they were already growing off to the side and would create havoc if allowed to remain. Obviously I went with her, but I warned her that I wouldn't be able to stay during the procedure. (Had they given me the option, I'm not sure I could have stayed, but the option wasn't even there.)

They gave her a twilight drug and the procedure only took half an hour. I told her that she wouldn't be aware of most of it. That was the only thing I could do to bring her pulse down and take away the fear. When I went in afterwards, tears were trickling down her face. My heart broke.

I'm not sure what I'll be like if she ever had to undergo anything more serious, or if she ever gives birth. I remember when I went into labour with her. I phoned my own mum in England and told her I was going to the hospital. As we said goodbye I detected a crack in her voice and wondered why on earth she was crying. Obviously, she had an inkling of the agony that was to come, but I know now, that as a mother, she would willingly have taken my place if she could.

I think mothering is the hardest when we are powerless to take away the pain and discomfort.

Anyway, as I write, she's drugged up to her eyeballs, watching the Kardashians, so everything's OK now.

I am not their friend - I am their mother

2011-07-30T23:25:00.000+01:00

The death of Amy Winehouse has left me thinking. As the mother of two teens and an 8 year old, I realise that my job is far from over. (Far from over - how old will I be when the last one leaves the nest?) Even though the Queenager is just about to leave for college, the parenting job goes on, and willingly so. I remember asking my mother-in-law when you finally stop worrying about your children and her prompt response was "Never". In fact, as most of us know, the older you get, the trickier and bigger the problems seem to get, in our own lives and in our children's.

It's all very well to sit in judgement of Amy's parents and upbringing, or the parents of her ex-husband who is deemed by many to be the cause of her decline. What the hell kind of parents were they? Couldn't they have done more? Amy's parents are accused of interfering too much, but wouldn't you do the same if your daughter was clearly under such a negative influence? And what if your's was the recalcitrant Blake Fielder-Civil? Excuse the French, but what an effing nightmare. While recognising that such a child had a severe problem, could you bear to throw him under the bus and admit that he might be the cause of someone else's continuing decline. Doesn't every mother see the best in their child?

I'm resisting the urge to use Amy's death as a "teachable moment" for my teens, one of whom is on the rock 'n roll track and needs no encouragement to live on the dark side. I do hope however that it gives us teen parents a warning to be both caring and vigilant. If I think my kids are at risk I will face their wrath as I confront them with it, curtailing their activities and their ability to purchase drugs. I will point them in other directions if I can, and I will use sticks and/or carrots to keep them on the up and up.

I am not their friend - I am their mother.

The Student Life...

2011-07-08T20:11:00.003+01:00

You may not know that my nineteen year old son, Grizz, has come back home from Uni for the summer?

He's been back home for about a month.

There have been a couple of tantrums.

It's worse when I wake him up too early by trying to wash HIS dishes from the night before in MY kitchen sink.

By too early I mean anything before 1 in the afternoon!

...Now he kind of brings his girlfriend back on a night or so a week too.

My living room is not mine own.

Ditto the telly.

I can't remember when I last watched something I wanted to watch...

I love having him here, but it's also a bit bizarre, as he's returned to form and acts like a Baby Bird with his beak open waiting to be fed, even though he's more than capable of cooking for himself, as he does the rest of the year at Uni.

Mind, he's moving out to his privately-rented, bijou two-bedroomed flat with a student friend in August, (they know one another from school and he's from a fabulous family, I've met his mother so I am comforted it's going to be fine...).

The downstairs Victorian garden flat is situated in a posh part of the city but very near to a green space.

Beloved of students and its residents alike. I'd describe it as a lovely, 'chi chi' area of town - with greenery and trees, cosmopolitan coffee bars, conventional drinking holes, restaurants and pretty little 'lifestyle' shops that sell haute fashion, fripperies, and Cath Kidston to yummy mummies.

I looked in a second hand jewellery boutique there only the other day and the prices almost made my eyes melt.

I'm wondering when I can move in??!

Oh, it's Fhina by the way...

The Heart Ache of High School Graduation

2011-06-07T05:24:00.001+01:00

I'm reading a lot of soulful blogs right now about little kiddies moving on from nursery school to "big" school. Yes, it's a new day, yada yada, - but for feck's sake parents - get a grip. It's not like they're vacating their bedrooms; it's not like there'll be a yawning gap at the dinner table every night; it's not like you're being left in a household of - (gasp) males wth no girl in the house to talk girl stuff with!

Ok, I'm better now.

No. I'm not! I didn't think it would be this painful.

She's not ready. OK, scratch that! I'm not ready.

We finish high school FOR EVER on June 9th. Then we'll mess around for the summer, with a week of orientation in June, and then we'll come back from our travels and she'll go off to college in August.

And LEAVE.

She's told me that to mess with her bedroom will screw with her head for ever more, (poetic license) so despite the fact that it really needs a new paint job, I'll just go in there about ~~five times a day~~ once a week, blow off the cobwebs and make sure the dog hasn't pooped on the carpet as a token of love.

And I'll get a web cam so we can Skype.

My heart really hurts, people.

Teen Daughter? Some novel advice -

2011-05-25T14:25:00.000+01:00

Pop over to my piece at In the Powder Room for a new and novel idea on how to keep our teen daughters chaste.

Born Yesterday

2011-05-19T07:00:00.006+01:00

Despite this being the title of one of my favourite Phillip Larkin poems*, I won't be waxing poetic in this post. It's more in the vein of "I wasn't born yesterday".

The Man-Child (otherwise known as Mr. Minimal) is one of those kids who puts 110% into anything that interests him, and 20% into anything classed as boring, pointless or tedious. (That would be most things academic.)

With a May 19th deadline looming, I finally got him and the Queenager to a chamber orchestra performance they are required to attend as part of being in the High School orchestra. They also have to write a brief critique of it. Once a term. Hardly a killer really. I had already warned them both that a "collaborative" paper wouldn't pass muster as their teacher had already expressed interest in reading their different viewpoints.

Of course, the Man-Child couldn't find the guidelines (required elements) so I suggested he take last term's paper and copy the format. What I didn't say was cut and paste the opening sentence, which the teacher had highlighted in red because it didn't make sense the first time round. He had also simply replaced words with other words for the sake of expedience. Except that the new words rendered the paper utter rubbish, and I told him so. I mean, "I was impressed with the way the symphony looked"?? Come on. First of all it was a chamber orchestra and not a symphony orchestra; second, only one of the four pieces was from a symphony; and third, a symphony is a piece of music, not a bloody shop window!

Some of the sentences didn't seem to have verbs, or if they did, they were to be found right at the end of the sentence, Latin style. And, he kept referring to "the songs". I'm sorry, did I fall asleep in the middle? I don't remember a single voice being raised in song.

At least he had the grace to laugh when I handed the paper back to him while calling it "Bloody rubbish".

Nice try son.

Expat Mum

*Born Yesterday
Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love -
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.

But if it shouldn’t, then
May you be ordinary;
Have, like other women,
An average of talents:
Not ugly, not good-looking,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance,
That, unworkable itself,
Stops all the rest from working.
In fact, may you be dull -
If that is what a skilled,
Vigilant, flexible,
Unemphasised, enthralled
Catching of happiness is called.

(This was written as a christening ode to Sally Amis, daughter of Kinglsey Amis)

Conversations I wish I'd Never Started

2011-05-17T08:34:00.001+01:00

I've posted two conversations with my 15 year old son on my own blog, Mum's Gone to, but felt the Mad Manic Mamas might appreciate them and sympathise with me. The inability of my addled, middle-aged brain to connect with the sharp, intolerance of youth.

Conversation One

Me: I see there's that famous bloke coming to town to talk to the Science Society at your school.
Son: What famous bloke?
Me: The one who used to do funny science things
Son: Who?
Me: He's the father of erm, that woman
Son: What woman?
Me: The one who's on the radio
Son: Who?
Me: She's married to a DJ
Son: Vernon Kay?
Me: No, no, a proper DJ, does the spinning things with records
Son: Calvin Harris?
Me: No, an older one
Son: Fat Boy Slim?
Me: YES, that's the one!
Son: What's her name then?
Me: .......Zoe!
Son: Zoe who?
Me: Ball! Zoe Ball.
Son: So it's her father who's coming to Spalding
Me: Yes, his name's something Ball.
Son: Michael?
Me: No, he's the singer
Son: Okay, Mr Ball, let's just call him John.
Me: That's it! Johnny Ball! He's coming. Do you want to go and see him?
Son: Nah!

Conversation Two

Me: I just heard a good song this morning from Radio One's Big Weekend
Son: What was it?
Me: I can't remember.
Son: Who was it by?
Me: The Foo Fighters.
Son: Was it Everlong?
Me: No idea.
Son: Well, how did the song go?
Me: I can't remember now.
Son: What, nothing at all?
Me: No. Say a few more of theirs.
Son: Pretender? Best of You?
Me: Doesn't ring a bell. Actually it might have been Chasing Status?
Son: Chase AND Status
Me: That's what I said! What do they sing?
Son: Let You Go? Blind Faith?
Me: Oh I don't know.
Son: Mum, you're really annoying. Try and think.
Me: I've got it! It went "I've got a feeling...oooh....oooh.....that tonight's gonna be a good night"
Son: That's the Black Eyed Peas.

Trish x

"You with your Mother's Pride and Poetry...!

2011-05-08T18:15:00.006+01:00

My word, it's been a little quiet around here lately... Where is everyone?!

I've been less than chatty here as I haven't had a lot to write about. As you know, my son, Grizzler, is away at University. It's only about 20 miles from home so I still manage (if he doesn't outrun me first) to get my paws on him for a cuddle, or to steal a begrudging kiss of his cheek, about every couple of weeks. For the rest of the time, he's living relatively independently, he hasn't starved, and he's managing to get by and to get himself out of bed to lectures on time for the most part. Hip, hip, hooray!

I know when I first started writing here at Mad, Manic, Mamas, when Sara and I decided to launch a blog to help parents of struggling teens, (or should that be struggling parents of teens?), I wanted mainly to vent at how tough I felt it had all become.

...I wanted to feel less isolated in coping with issues presented by living with teenagers; Like how difficult it was coping with the Teen Tantrums, which had turned out to be far worse than Toddler Tantrums.

Those years when you worried endlessly about what was ailing them, because they had no voice, only to find yourself years later, roundly berated and shouted out, sometimes on a daily basis because a sock couldn't be found or a hoodie wasn't dry enough to wear...

And people kept on saying that things would improve. That, in time, the relationship between Mother and Son would be restored.

And that day - those days - finally came.

Distance has given us absence, and indeed fondness. He tells me that he loves me once again. He texts me with the treasured words that I'll never delete them from my 'phone.

I never stopped telling him I loved him, even when I wondered where my sweet boy had gone.

I won't say that it's all sweetness and light.

When he comes home from Uni to stay for a while, sometimes he slips back into familiar territory, crying to be fed every half hour like a helpless baby bird, when I know he is more than capable of fending for himself. He's six-feet-five, for god's sake!

And sometimes I find myself back in the old Drama Triangle: Victim, Rescuer, sometimes Persecutor...

I feel guilt that I am not a good mother, when I know I should be patting myself on the back for being a 'good-enough' mother.

We all should, if we have succeeded in raising adaptable, confident, communicative kids who can thrive all by themselves in the outside worlds.

I wrote these words a few months ago on my own blog (when I was writing about tattoos, when he'd come back from a school trip with an ear-ring like Captain Jack Sparrow!), and they brought me here today:

"I want to say something deep and meaningful about having children, and knowing that they are only on loan to us, their parents, for a short time - and, that, like my peaceful dove, they will spread their wings and fly in an altogether different direction to that which we might ever have dreamed up for them in life, while we looked away in fact, just when we were exhausted from the day's activities, and were thankfully tucking them in for the night, together with lop-eared teddies and favoured scented blankies...

I know that their random acts of boldness, burgeoning maturity, and sometimes even licentiousness, should only serve to remind us that we do not own our children, nor their bodies - That they are theirs to do with as they wish, in actuality...

And then I go and wibble on about tattoos, changing the subject until I am able to cope with the temporal nature of love, life and art again..."

And B R E A T H E!

The title of this post comes from one of my favourite songs by the Eurythmics...

It's Fhina, by the way!

Knowing Where You're Going

2011-03-17T20:55:00.002Z

It's tough being a 6th former or high school senior, but there's one thing that the American system does better than the English system. Read about it at my latest Expat Focus column.

Expat Mum

How to Embarrass Your Teen

2011-03-01T19:23:00.002Z

Pop over to Not Supermum and have a read of the fabulous tips on how to embarrass your teen. And add a tip if you have one.
Tee hee.

Expat Mum

Thanks for the memory...

2011-02-24T00:07:00.004Z

I've started to work, as a volunteer, in a Youth Work charity.

Am I stark, staring mad, you ask?

Probably!

I'm seeking a way through, it seems, and by chance I've found my feet working in the back of house, (so not with the young 'uns) in a concern that's there to keep young people this side of sane; to save them from harm, abuse, drink and drugs, self-harm, relationship problems, to keep them from despair.

I love it!

And of late I've been answering the 'phone, taking referrals, mainly to our small team of fab young counsellors. I love working beside them. Their energy just bounces off the walls.

I'm training as a counsellor myself. I'd like to work with young people. Eventually...

Call me mad. I am after all a proud Mad, Manic Mama!

I feel like I'm giving something back. Something good!

More laters.

OK, Someone Tell Me...

2011-02-10T18:07:00.001Z

I have an almost 18 year old and a 15 year old amongst others, but it seems I still have a lot to learn. I need advice.

The 15 year old Man-Child is rocking a Mohawk at the moment and it's driving me mad. Not for the reasons you'd think. They have no uniform or dress code at school (within reason, but that's mainly directed at the wannabee-slut girls) so the Mohawk is fine.

I just think it's boring and predictable. He wants to be a punk/goth musician; he's heavily into his guitar (as well as viola); wears black all the time and has started adding a few bits of dangling chains to his jeans. Being 6'3' and rather cute, I think he looks good, if a bit menacing. But the haircut? Please. It's just so obvious isn't it? I mean, teenager trying to rebel = spiked hair.

He likes The Clash, so I keep popping up picures of the late Joe Strummer and saying "Why don't you ask the barber to do that with your hair?", and pointing out cooler hair cuts in magazines. He either rolls his eyes and says nothing, while clicking back to his homework, or bats me away with his gigantic hand.

He's going for a trim tonight after school and I have half a mind to pay off the barber to accidentally give him a different haircut.

After my latest attempt at brain-washing (some dude on American Idol with a great 'do') the Queenager imparted these words of wisdom: "You do realise that the more you say this, the less chance there is of him ever letting the Mohawk go?".

Um. Yes. I knew that.

Expat Mum

Get a grip woman!

2011-01-30T01:50:00.000Z

It's a double edged sword, parenting, motherhood, you want to keep them close and safe, yet know that the whole point of it all is to let them gently, step by step find their own way out there in th ebig old bad worl. To nurture, feed and clothe them, give them boundaries (I'm crap at that now they are older). Give them space and time, and I do honestly I try very hard not to smother. It's time to take few more steps back.

This last year since my son and I have lived alone, apart from my husband and my daughter, I have accepted much and discarded what I can do absolutely nothing about, to hold onto it is toxic. I am no longer lost in a mist of an unhealthy relationship and a mist of unhappiness. The kids are seemingly accepting, each facing their own patches of darkness and coming out stronger, hopefully with lessons learned, and new expectations.

I like living as a single woman I find, exploring possibilities, no longer in fear of what lies ahead.

Next Friday at 4am, yes you read that right, no typo, 4 bloody am, I shall walk my son around to his school,to meet the coach that will take him on his latest school trip. Patrick is going away for a 6 day trip to Paris & Brussels with his school friends and the excitement has been growing here steadily since Christmas.

This overlaps coincidentally with my 5 days off on the work rota. So l will either be furiously washing and cleaning the house, or mopping about like a lost soul. Hopefully I will be somewhere in the middle of all that, by studying and perhaps even a bit of time spent drawing or painting.

Lots of wandering around the flat semi nude, cos l am mostly a few degrees hotter than is comfortable, and just cos I can and it feels good.

I can play my kinda music as loud as I want, (without overhead groans), listen to my 70's LP's all grainy and non digital on the old record player.

I don't have to cook cos l need to, just cos I want to, all stuff my son doesn't like, asparagus and blue cheese risotto, creamed spinach, eat brussel sprouts raw yum, smoked haddock, Massaman curry, my own anchovies and olive pizza and spicy chicken casserole...

I'm not sure l'll have the time to miss him or worry.

He'll be fine and l'll be fine.

Am so very jealous though, I mean belle Paris! I can never tire of that city. To walk and walk and walk, by day and night through the early morning, buying a fresh baguette or croissants at 4am and relishing each hot mouthful! I think I might treat myself finances allowing, post divorce (please soon) to take my self off for a long weekend there, perhaps with a pal.

Now this sounds like a plan. I shall pick up some brochures tomorrow!

I could even use my french passeport for the first time, enfin!

Saz x

E-mail - Not Cool!

2011-01-13T02:56:00.000Z

How often have we been told that humo(u)r and sarcasm don't always translate in e-mail. Do we, I mean I, ever learn? I mean, do we?

(True story - on my mother's life.)

Last night I received an e-mail from one of the 15 year old's teachers, inviting parents to some sort of exhibition of their work. (I forget the details. Don't they all merge into one?) What caught my eye was the enormous font of the body of the e-mail, compared to the surrounding text in my e-mail folders. I kept making the font smaller, but it was still enormous. And then it dawned on me.

The hilarious e-mail I could send as a reply. Here it is ver batim:

Thanks for the information Mr M.
By the way - we 9th grade parents may generally be in our late 40s and early 50s but we don't need the HUGE font quite yet.!!!!
Thanks,
Toni H (not yet 50 and almost 20/20).

Hilarious, don't you think?

The Man-Child (whose teacher it was) stood by me, loudly denouncing me as a loser and that he would be SO embarrassed he couldn't possibly show up for class, but I knew he didn't really mind otherwise he'd have either pulled the computer plug out of the wall or picked me up and deposited me at the far end of the room.

So I sent it.

The reply? I give up. I realise teachers have to tread warily with parents, but please. Could I really have been serious.

"Sorry about that...I attempted to copy the text from an email I had written on our grading server and there must have been an issue with the formatting. My apologies on that one... "

Argh! No! You're supposed to think I'm one hilarious, hip-cool mama, not a Type A, politically correct a** hole.

In my own defence, I couldn't resist sending off this one last e-mail in the desperate hope that the teacher would realise I had been hilariously joking all along:

"No problem - it was worth the absolute humiliation that I seem to have put the Queenager and the Man-Child through! ;-)"

Unfortunately, I cannot disagree with the teens that this is just one more teacher who now harbours the suspicison that their mother is indeed, insane.

MMM Public Service announcement

2011-01-05T17:09:00.000Z

I came across this article today and wanted to share it with everyone. It's common sense but we all lose sight of it sometimes.

Not that I have any experience of this.

At all.

Sigh.

Expat Mum

First Christmas

2011-01-02T21:04:00.003Z

After years of Bah humbug Christmases, I found myself this year, separated after 29 years of marriage from my husband (permanently) and from my daughter by her choice of home.

My son and l just cracked on in the usual way, waiting to hear what Christmas choices my daughter would make for herself. I assured her it was her choice, I made sure she knew she was welcome and wanted. But I told her that life moves on and we wouldn't die if she made other choices.

Christmas eve and I found myself in bed with antibiotics, coughing up my lungs, off work.

My daughter arrived in the evening, having told me early in the week that she was staying with us, and her Dad had 'plans'. Nuff said. (It actually transpired that he spent all Christmas and new year alone with man-flu. He is consistent each year, without fail.)

We watched tv, laughed and drank some....they went to bed before midnight, to keep it magical, so the teens of 19 and 16 yrs, still love the magic.

At 9am, my daughter landed on my bed with stockings and smiles and much excitement, my son followed minutes later. We all put on soft pjs and drank to each others health, opening gifts in a slightly calmer manner, taking turns, rather than the usual 'let's watch the kids' mode. We've all grown up a little more this past year.

I wept, she wept, at sweet generosity, thoughtfulness and kind words from friends and family. I made the dinner, in a less than an hour, as we are a smaller family now. I cut corners of course, not sure if my heart would be in it this year, no one noticed. Don't know why l hadn't saved my self a ton of angst years ago.

At 5pm I drove the kids to their father's and my daughters house. Our family home. My eyes leaked a little on my drive out of the street, but l sucked it up.

I popped into wish a friend happy Christmas and an hour later I was home.

And I was not alone for long.
For now that is all l can say about that.

Happy New Year!

Sara x

Changing Christmases

2010-12-22T09:02:00.003Z

When my beautiful children were small, Christmas was always a magical time for me. Although I was madly busy, the late nights of wrapping and assembling eleventy squillion fiddly bits of pink plastic (oh I remember well, the Barbie motor home of 1997) and the very early starts (the 5am Toys r us queues to buy Teletubbies, where I had to queue 3 times as they'd only sell me 1 at a time) I still loved it. Every single thing seemed worth it when we got to Christmas Day

I embraced the concept of Christmas whole heartedly, we had Christmas on steroids. What can I say? I was young and had a lot more energy.

Now, in my middle years, with my children growing up and aged 18, 15 and 14 you'd think I could ease up a bit. Maybe now they know Santa doesn't do it all they'd accept a low key Christmas.

Not on your life.

I am still buying chocolate Advent calendars, they still expect a stocking filled with wrapped presents (they have to be in different wrapping paper to the one I've used that year as they come from Santa) they still have a present from Santa and again wrapped in different paper and not my handwriting on the gift tag, we still leave Santa a drink and a mince pie, Rudoph still gets a carrot. I still have to have the Santa footprint stencil filled with glitter and the reindeer food mixed with glitter, we're big on glitter chez auntiegwen. We buy the same food, we have the same tree and decorations (19 years old now), for years I have filled the house with the smell of Crabtree and Evelyn Noel, as soon as any of us smell it, we know it's Christmas.

I still do all I've ever done, we just seem to get through more alcohol and have more people as boyfriends and girlfriends join us.

The more things in their life change the more they want some things to stay the same. May it always be so. May I always be blessed to spend it with the people I love the most.

Have a very happy Christmas with love from your

auntiegwen xxx

I Really Should Be More Careful

2010-12-16T20:42:00.000Z

When you have kids, especially older kids, and your house has an open door policy, I think you need to think twice about what you venture out of your room wearing.

Gone are the good old days, when I could walk around the house without proper "female" support. (Yes, my prudishness is now going to shine through.)

I really am very glad that my son's twenty year old friends feel so very at home that they don't think twice about walking into our house without knocking. But how I wish I had been dressed a bit more properly when that happened the other day.

I guess form now on I am either have to get dressed properly, or I am going to have to buy an old ladies robe to walk around the house in.

Or maybe I will just stay in bed.

Make me feel better and tell me I am not the only one who has been caught by surprise while dressed less than flatteringly (is that a word?) in their own home.

Susie @ NewDayNewLesson

Image:
GETTING SLEEPY
© Dreamstime.com Agency | Dreamstime.com

For the love of...

2010-12-09T00:35:00.003Z

When Saz and I began with Mad, Manic Mamas, for me it was a chance to share the trials and the tribulations (and the triumphs) of bringing up Teen Terrorists.

For a long time, I wondered where had my baby gone? The one that gave me hugs full of warmth I could live on, like pure air. ...The one I loved more than life itself.

In its place, there was this snarling, swearing, brattish devil-child, who could bring me to tears of frustration and mad grief.

So, that part fulfilled the 'Mad' part of the blog title which was all of Saz's making.

And I was 'Manic' all right. I tore my hair and rent my clothes with grief. I didn't go so far as to cover mirrors, but I feared all was lost. My love would not return to me.

But I had sweet snapshots, from time to time, of the child that had gone before. Loving, caring and kind. Funny and clever. Bright and warm.

That, and the succour here from writers and readers at 'Mad, Manic Mamas' kept me this side of Sane. Thankfully. Thank you.

And now he is at University. He calls me for slight assistance with his essays. He asks me for advice. He sends me kisses and love by text. And the occasional growl. He gives me hugs with the strength and the passion of a bear. He seems to have grown to appreciate his parents, 'Rents, he calls us, and all the love we have given him, unquestioningly, over the years.

I am glad, full-heart of it.

Big Bird...

2010-12-06T00:48:00.005Z

Oh dear, it's been almost three months since last I was here 'in post'.

I have been finding my way through this time when my Baby Bird, Grizz, left the nest, full-fledged, you see.

And how is he doing?

Well. Good. I'm very proud of him in fact.

He didn't choose to go to a University far away.

For which considerate thought I am very grateful. My nephew is in Bournemouth. It makes for a long, difficult, expensive journey for him to get home. I think he feels that.

My son, on the other hand, is less than twenty miles from home. He lives in student digs two miles from my workplace. He sees me once a week-ish at lunch-time. We hang together, my big boy and I.

I chide him for wearing light clothes against the bitter weather. We peer into shop windows, in search of likely Christmas pressies for him.

We laugh at odd things, people, we see in the street. We chuckle together at the possibly deluded man who is singing loudly, perhaps attempting to be spotted by a Talent Scout, or X-Factor.

When I have to go back to work, and him to lectures, we hug. Warmly.

I return to the office, a great big lump within my throat.

Oh, it's Fhina by the way.

How Unhip Can One Mother Be?

2010-12-02T15:19:00.000Z

I used the word "Dissed" on a recent Expat Mum post; the word means to be slagged off, disrespected, put down - that sort of thing. So then I assume because it was stuck in my head, I inadvertently used it in the kitchen. Picture the scene:

Queenager (screeching to a halt and acting all freeze-frame like): "Did you just say dissed?"

Me: Err, yes. Why? What? ...... What?

Q: "Dissed? Ugh. Do you know what it means?

Me (nervously): "Of course I know what it means."

Q: "Well, it's a really bad word now". (I'm assuming she meant bad as in un-hip, as opposed to rude. I mean, it can't be a swear word. Can it?)

Apparently the IN words (with Americans teens) are -

"Sketch" - Always prefaces vague plans which you're very likely going to shoot down. eg. "I know this sounds a bit sketch mom, but..... . (Sketchy).

"Besties" - Apparently BFF (Best friends forever) is a bit old hat, and it's now Besties.

"Bad" - As in "good". I know Michael Jackson did a song about it years ago, but these kids were barely out of the womb then, so they've revived it. Some of them even think they invented it.

"Sick" - means really good, rather than weird or somewhat sinister, which I'm sure it used to mean.

"Dope" - no, it no longer means pot. Well, it does in older circles, but with teens it is yet another word for really good.

"Boss" - easily confused with "THE boss", this also means really good. Usage - "He's so boss".

"Douche" - apparently the "bag" part of the insult is no longer required. You just call someone a "douche", (pronounced "doosh").

"Hella" - specific to teens in Northern California (everyone else only uses it in jest), probably translates as "hellish". Usage - (11.30am) "It's hella early isn't it?"

And "Rad" - (radical). , which I swear was IN last week, is no longer cool to use, so I suppose I"d better drop that one from my lexicon right now.

I just can't keep up.

Have I missed any?

.

Expat Mum
xx

Keeping Tracks - How far is too far?

2010-11-08T16:57:00.000Z

Chrysler have just announced a new phone device to help with vehicle theft protection. If your Chrysler, Dodge or Jeep is moved when you're not in it (ie. stolen) you'll get a text message. Not quite sure what the text message will say, nor what you are supposed to do about it, but this device is also being touted as a means of keeping track of your wannabee Evil Knieval teen.

See, the system allows you to choose the speed at which your car is travelling when it decides to text you. So if your crazy teen decides to race the friend in the next lane, or just loses concentration because of excessive head-banging and general high jinks in the drivers' seat, you'll get a text. Again, not quite sure what you're supposed to do at this point since the last thing you'll want is to distract errant teen further by texting back or phoning. Perhaps they should put one of those disablers in the car too, so that you can just flash them a quick warning that the engine is being cut and advise them to pull over to the hard shoulder to cool off?

Personally, I think it's not a bad idea that teens know that we know when they're driving recklessly. If it potentially saves their lives, I'd do it in the blink of an eye.

What say you?

PS - Here's a few links to help keep your teen driver safe.
.

One Of My Worst Nightmares Come True

2010-11-02T20:07:00.007Z

Before anyone has a heart attack, I say worst nightmare in a tongue in cheek way.

But seriously, is it not a nightmare when your twenty year old son (home for a night from the army) comes down to you and says "This house is a pigsty!" ?

After I double checked to make sure it was not his father standing there next to me (because the conversation was word for word the same as my husband would have had with me) and after I was convinced my son wasn't channeling his father from overseas, I almost burst into tears.

Then my son in my husband like fashion said "you're not going to cry now are you?". And what was his reply when I went into my "yes, I do want to cry, I have so many things going on and I am not managing half of them" mode? Well you have two younger kids who are home why are you not making them help you clean up?

I think I am going to hire him as my house manager. I think that would be the best revenge. Would it not?
I think I will also pay him what I get paid for the job.

Arrghhhhh.

Susie @NewDayNewLesson

It's the little things

2010-10-23T01:51:00.000+01:00

Why oh why do kids not clear up after themselves? It's every generations headache and an old, old chestnut l know.

It's usually me who gives in and just takes dishes through to the kitchen. Today l cleared 5 glasses, 3 plates and 6 mugs from my son's den.

In the living room a plate with the remnants of a kebab lurked pungently, but l left it there until he popped home from school for lunch.

He ate a plate of noodles and l asked him to clear both plates when he was done. He didn't. Soy sauce swallowed the room.

Later as l collected the evidence together and began to walk to the kitchen, l turned and went into his bedroom and placed them upon his bed. I closed the door behind me for maximum effect.

When he returned from school he paused in his room, looking, figuring it all out. I lurked in the hall, he said loudly,

'Do you think l don't get this is a ploy on your part?'

Me, 'That may well be the case,'

Son, 'Well for that l will leave them, not playing these games.'

Me- appearing disappointed, but secretly knowing, with a touch of blag for good measure,
' Ok, fair enough, thought it would be a funny thing to do, don't get het up.'

I walked down the hall to the kitchen, smiling to myself.

Two hours later, he appeared in the kitchen, plates in hand, trying so hard not to smile, ' Don't gloat,' he said, dimples threatening.

Job done. I'll wait and see if this light-hearted episode will stay with him. There will be bigger and more important battles. I know.

I don't get it...

2010-10-17T14:41:00.001+01:00

In the early 1970's when I was 16 and 'behaving badly' , the misdemeanour's I was guilty of included; going very occasionally to the pub drinking Babysham; smoking ciggies; sex with my boyfriend; and coming in a half hour later than my Saturday and only night 10.30 curfew. I was actually the latest developer in my convent school year and even secretly became engaged to my boyfriend. None of this secret world was brought back home, as my Dad was a very vocal strict Latin parent. This was my 'rebellion'.

I was then sent to the USA for a second chance at school, but alas, I found I was a novelty in the small town and I ~~revelled~~ rebelled in all the attention. It didn't last long as I was caught out after 8 months there and sent home for my sins. Not my best days. Only later did I realise that 17 in the USA was under age unlike the UK. Again my misdemeanour's seemed to be the usual teenage antics of the time, but mine were now away from home and on another mothers watch. I know I wasn't bad un. I know I was an unhappy teen and craved affection and attention. Little has changed actually methinks.

Now as mother to a 16 yr old son who lives with me and a 19 yr old daughter who lives with her Dad, I seem to be in the positon that when l see her, which isn't very often, she bares it all. A good thing perhaps. Am I her confidante or is this shock value. I allow for exaggeration. It makes me shudder with how seemingly casual she is about her life as a 2010 late teen, who is on a gap year and gainfully employed. Considered in our culture to be an adult. Making her won choices. She has left home, well my home. Stories of sex, drugs and rock 'n roll abound.

Talking with my younger friends I do realise that the culture is very different form my decade. 'Recreational drugs', (how I abhor the oxymoron) appear the norm. They are cheaper than alcohol and the effects longer lasting.

Yet I keep thinking of my Monday night badminton pal who now spends her days by her son's hospital bed, after finding him not breathing on her sofa. Resuscitated he has not come out of his heroin induced coma, they fear the worst. The teenagers l know are causal about their antics and fearless.

There are no stereotypes here. This is classless and cultureless. What did we do wrong? Do we sit and wait and fear the phone call? Did this happen to spite us or inspite of us? Is it about her or us? Did we push too hard? Why even tell me? For me to intervene and how? Am I being unrealistic these days?

In the middle of divorce and with little contact with Larry she admits he is trying to reign her. Having lived with an addict for most of my adult life I find this almost unfathomable and l feel helpless.

One never stops being a parent.

Saz x

Expat Mum - Boring the Pants off Everyone

2010-10-08T19:10:00.000+01:00

I'm turning into one of those boring mothers. You know, the ones with brand sparkly new babies who tell/blog about every little burp, smile and poop? (There I've said it.)

Except in my case it's about the Queenager who is a senior (upper sixth) at high school. Every event is "the last one" so I'm running around with a camera trying to capture every moment. I'm boring the pants off everyone but other senior-parents, talking about which colleges she's interested in and what she might study. I can't help it. It's all so exciting, and a little bit sad of course. (Talk to me again next summer.) You'd think she was moving to Pluto the way I'm going on and if most kids these days are anything to go by, she'll be home as soon as she graduates college anyway.

I"m even thinking of redecorating her room so that when guests use it (as they inevitably will, whether she likes it or not) it won't look as girlie. I'm going to refrain however, as I remember when my own mother messed around with my room and it was a very strange feeling coming back to a room I barely recognised. Actually, the fact that she'd given my room to my brother and put me in the box room probably had more to do with that particular trauma, but never mind. I'm over it now.

I know what's causing it though. Apart from the fact that my eldest is fleeing the coop that is.

It's the thought of being the only female in a house of wet-towel-dropping, burping, smelly males.

Arrghh.

Expat Mum

.

Pick Your Battles.....Sigh.

2010-09-29T20:23:00.000+01:00

That has been my mantra in the almost-18 years I have been mothering. Or learning how to mother. Or crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

To be fair, the Queenager never argued about clothes, and will still wear whatever she puts her hand on first thing in the morning. (Rather funny - placing certain shirts at the very front to see if she'll come downstairs wearing them. She does.) The Man-Child wouldn't argue; he'd just put back whatever I'd put out and come down wearing a completely different outfit. Fortunately, because he didn't like wearing "smart clothes" (that is, spiffy clothes, to any US readers) most of his stuff could stand up to a school day. The Little Guy (a very verbal 7 year old) will argue the pros and cons of whatever I suggest but since it all looks the same anyway, I let him get on with it.

We've been pretty adamant about not allowing the teens to get strange piercings I'll admit. So would you if you could guarantee your kids would be the ones to get horribly infected AND you had to pay the health bills that we face over here. Our mantra for those situations is "When you're off the payroll". It also comes in handy for motor bike arguments, threats to go hang-gliding and other death-defying pursuits.

And up until now, we haven't had too many hair arguments. Not if you discard the faux-hawk that we had going a few years ago. Oh yes. Man-child, in a desperate bid to rebel against something, anything, got himself a faux-hawk. That's the one with the spike but the sides aren't all completely shaved off. It made him look very aggressive in my opinion, and it seemed that one female agreed as it was abruptly removed a few months later.

Two weeks ago he started banging on about wanting either a proper mohawk or blue hair. Blue Hair? Interestingly, I had more of a problem with the mohawk and the Ball & Chain vetoed the blue hair. Man-child dictated that it was one or the other, but I persuaded him to go and see the trendy Eurpean hair stylist round the corner who could give him something really rockin' with perhaps a touch of blue in it. (He eventually conceded that if his entire head was dyed blue he'd look like a Lego character.)

This past weekend he duly took himself off to the trendy hair stylist - who wasn't in. So he then took himself up to the punky barber shop. And got a mohawk.

It's not as bad as I thought it would look as you can see his huge eyes and he still has hair on the sides. A bit. And it'll grow.

What really upsets me however, is that for our 20th wedding anniversary, we decided to get a proper family photo portrait done. And it's booked for next week!

The photographer tells me she's a whizz with Photoshop! Sigh!

Expat Mum

Straight from the horse's mouth...

2010-09-20T00:20:00.007+01:00

One of the (slight) concerns I have for my man-child moving away from home for the first time today, as he is, is that he will not eat well enough.

I am anxious that he try to procure at least the Five-A-Day fruit and veg portions required for a healthy diet, to maximise the benefits...

One of the options we considered was him staying in Student Accommodation where two meals per day are provided. I was in the self-same type of Hall of Residence in my own first year in College. ...My mind fills with a vintage gauzy veil if you ask me how many years ago that was.

But it occurred to us that this could well be an utter waste of money, given his childhood reaction to school meals, which were purported to be decent and nutritious.

From the tender age of six, at his insistence, he ate only packed (sandwich) lunches that we prepared for him daily... Later he acquired fresh sandwiches from the supermarket near his High School, eschewing school meals, in spite of the fact that it would have been far more convenient for two working parents for him to have scoffed them instead!

One morning last year, we were in a right pickle, both of us parents so busy with work and running late so, rushing to get us all out of the house, I asked that he take the money I was then holding out to him and buy a sandwich from the school cafeteria, to save us journey time...

You know the kind of stress I mean, I know you do!

And he paused for a moment, and looked at me with outrage and horror, shrieking,

"Mum, do you know just how awful they are?!

I think they would rather boil horses' hooves, than cook us anything decent to eat!"

We left the house that morning in gales of laughter...

I'm going to miss that.

The Baby Bird Flees the Nest...

2010-09-13T00:16:00.003+01:00

Little by little, I have been gathering bits and pieces together in preparation for my son leaving to go to College later this month...

I have been super-super-organised and have already filled a big, lidded cardboard box with booty: Crockery and cutlery, toiletries and stationery requisites, and earlier this year, I bought the aforementioned vintage trunk, currently residing in the garage...

I am washing and drying laundry ready for the filling of a wardrobe, or three, and we still need to get him a couple of items so that he can take this new step in his life. We were supposed to do this on Friday, when I took a day's leave from work to spend time with my son, whom I've seen very little of lately, as it happens.

He felt ill after a stay-over at his girlfriend's new student house, and was tired after a night of coughing, unfortunately, (I think he's caught a bug from my husband), so we're planning to do things over the weekend instead.

And on Friday night, I found myself enjoying the veritable tippy-tappy, and talking to my friend over Facebook, which is very handy for that, if for very little else!

Talking.

And crying. mainly crying, as things worked out...

I'm not sure where that came from, because I'm all right about Grizz leaving, I am. We've seen him so rarely recently that it's almost like he's already moved out, except I keep finding dirty dishes and half-filled glasses on, around and under the sofa, and rogue, smelly socks roam the floors of my house like pilgrims in search of the Holy Grail!

But I'm obviously moping a tad, in spite of my sanguine, and organised, exterior. And a few words from a dear friend who's plotting her daughter's departure to College in Leeds, to read journalism, were all it took to turn on the taps... For a short time. Wine may also have been involved. Possibly.

Grizz is off to read Geography. Did I tell you already that I'm very proud of him? He's only off to Newcastle, so not very far. Still in slapping distance, actually! (Only kidding, honestly!)

I expect I shall be meeting him from time to time for lunch while I'm still working in the city. I shall be dispensing sound advice and ten pound notes, I should imagine.

This is the role of a mother, is it not?

To love them and to let them go.

To cry tears that are a mixture of joy and regret...

For what has been, and for what shall probably never be the same again.

Bon Voyage, my treasure!

One Less Teen, Way too Many Leftovers

2010-09-07T11:02:00.007+01:00

My second teen has left the house. (Oldest is in the army, second is now in a pre-army school.)

I now have a problem. I need to relearn how to cook.

My second son has consistently been my biggest eater. I always cook a lot for the Sabbath and then end up having leftovers for the next few days. (I figure if I work so hard cooking, I should get the benefit of leftovers and a few days off.) For the most part, the leftovers usually got eaten. More often then not by my ravenous second son.

Now that he is not home during the week, I am suddenly finding myself with way too many uneaten leftovers. Leftovers that sadly go to waste.

The problem is that I stink at portions. For any given Sabbath meal, a whole family can usually drop by unannounced and I will have enough to feed them. This was never a problem because I always had my eating machine son home.

At least over the holidays now he is home. I get two weeks reprieve before I try to relearn cooking amounts.

Who said having kids leave was easy??

Mum, you're embarrassing me!

2010-09-02T18:16:00.005+01:00

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...

Same old, same old

2010-08-31T21:19:00.000+01:00

We're all back under one roof again. The Queenager spent a glorious 5 weeks at Northwestern University (half an hour away but she had to stay on campus the whole time). The Man-Child has had an incredible summer with golf camps and rock school, and of course two weeks on his own in the house while me and the other two came to England. The Ball & Chain stayed in Chicago to supervise, and M-C played high school golf almost every day, but the freedom was heaven to him.

For a lot of the time it was just me and the Little Guy (now 7) in the house. Yesterday he looked around, looked at me and, totally deadpan, said:

"Well, there's no doubt they're back".

Oh yes. The evidence is all there:

- 3 pairs of giagantic size 14 shoes in the hallway. They don't even fit under the hallstand like everyone else's - not that their owner has even tried.

- Wet towels all over the place. (I have decided not even to touch the ones lying on their beds - sleeping on a damp mattress might do the trick.)

- a fridge that's devoid of food no matter how many times I replenish supplies.

- computers and Internet left on all night. (Big consequences there.)

- all the mugs in the kitchen have vanished.

- TVs tuned to Top Gear or America's Top Model. (The fact they've seen every single episode seems to be beside the point.)

- pungent odours coming from one room and overpowering scents from the other.

School starts next week so I'll stay off their backs for the moment!

Expat Mum

Is It Any Better Now That He Is Not A Teen?

2010-08-26T06:00:00.004+01:00

My eldest has turned twenty today. The first of my five children to have crossed over from the teen years into ?????? adulthood.

All I want to know is where the heck have these last twenty years flown?

I was only six months older than him when I gave birth to him. Those good old years when I was still naive enough to think I knew everything.

Not much has changed since yesterday. My son is still an amazing person with a great heart. A person who can also at times behave a bit like a spoiled child. (Can you tell that I am still annoyed about him not giving me a kiss hello the other night because he was too tired and needed to go to bed. Uh huh, that extra two seconds of sleep is going to make a real big difference. On the other hand, he is probably nicer than I was at his age....)

To answer my own question, no it's not any better that my eldest is not a teen anymore. Aside from it meaning that I am getting older, as any parent will attest to, as much as you love and trust your kids, you always have that little special part in your heart to think and worry about and for them.

So Happy 20th Birthday kiddo.

Your smile lights up any room. (No matter what you are wearing.)

Your sense of style is all your own.

(Since I am not taking credit for the less than successful, I won't take credit for the successful either.)

You might see the world from your own unique vantage point.

But you know how much you are loved and you know how proud we are of you.

May you find your way in life. A path that brings you joy, serenity, peace, love, health, wealth and of course the dream car you have been pining for since you were three. (No, sorry, we didn't buy you a car for your birthday.)
And for now, enjoy thinking that you know everything.

I will now head off to drown my sorrows at growing old.

Susie @ NewDayNewLesson

Starting Out...

2010-08-23T00:47:00.004+01:00

Auntie Gwen said it first - Last week was immensely stressful, and not just for our wee (nowadays often ridiculously tall!) bairns...

I'm blogging over at MINE this week about how Grizz did on Results Day, and also what happens next.

Bring on the empty nest! (Wipes away tear...)

This is just the start for us again, is it not? Not unlike the first day at school, when we snapped them for posterity fresh in their school uniforms, new collars chafing on tender necks, shiny shoes polished to within an inch of their lives...

Now we get to start worrying about them all over again, as they embark upon even more independent living; Finding a place of their own; Cleaning house and doing laundry for themselves (Heaven forbid, or we'll be paying even more for fumigation than we do now!); Going out hunting for food all by themselves in the world; Making even tougher decisions - To go to lectures, or stay in bed!

And this time it's costing us an arm and a leg to keep them there. I don't begrudge one penny of it. For me, this time is about growing up even more than they have to date; It's about finding out who they are, making new friends, stretching their minds, learning about what makes other tick... Yes, I know it's also about drinking and partying, but as long as he devotes just as much energy to studying, I can be very tolerant.

Of course, I did chuckle to myself after I'd hacked into Grizz's e-mail account to check that he had his place at Uni to study Geography, and I noted that his first ever compulsory Field Trip in the new term involves a stay at a draughty and exposed, northerly coastal caravan park only around forty miles from our home!

Oh, the adventure!

Great luck to all of you whose children are starting out in the autumn and those taking gap years too, or who are lucky enough to be starting apprenticeships and jobs...

Blessings all. Wherever they are going in life.

Result

2010-08-19T23:12:00.001+01:00

This morning after a very sleepless night, the Eldest Beautiful Daughter and I went to school to collect her A2 results. We timed it just to arrive at 8am as they opened the doors.

It's quite startling to a middle aged Mummy to see so many of these teenager creatures at such a time. Who knew they were capable of morning? As the tension level wasn't quite high enough, a box of the school's results had been mistakenly delivered to a local 6th form College, this meant we had to wait for the box to come back. After 11 minutes we're allowed in, it did feel like a fortnight but my watch told me differently and who am I to disagree?

The actual exam results are quite difficult to read and I'm not talking about my middle aged at arms length squinting type hard to read, just hard to decipher and I'm a teacher for feck's sake, could they not just put in bold across the top - Your A2 result is level...
Much less stressful, all round, I feel. Yes, I do agree, if I was in charge everything would be much better, so glad you're with me on that.

Eventually we worked out the she had indeed achieved the magic B C C required to secure her place, so in a few weeks time the Eldest Beautiful Daughter will be off to the place where they take all my money and she gets to perfect her drinking technique. And if we're really lucky she'll get a degree too.

I hope if you were collecting results today, you got what you needed. Much love from your

auntiegwen xxx

On love...

2010-08-06T00:06:00.003+01:00

Do you find yourself forgetting how adorable young children can be?

When you're wrangling teens, it's a lot like herding cats, except occasionally cats are more obedient, more vocal, eat a lot less, and don't demand that you fill their cars up with petrol...

Grizz has returned from his hols in Zante, having a) with his gang of 18 mates, been pulled over by the Police on wrongful suspicion of assault b) being accused as a group of hitting girls, by a gang of 'Scousers' c) being robbed of $100 (circa 60 Euros, but I can't find the Euro button), by the owner of their hotel for dirt allegedly left by his mates on three pillowcases. He refused to give them back their passports unless Grizz paid up for all of them... d) having carried one of his stone-cold unconscious mates back to the hotel after a frightful night out e) having more new friends on his Facebook account than Paris Hilton f) having almost run out of money in the first week g) having, for the first time ever in his life, decked someone h) having survived...

I can breathe now, I find. Now he's back in Blighty.

And my colleague brought her sort-of grand-daughter, (her partner's GD), in to the office this week, and we oohed and aahed like only mothers can, at the antics of two year old Freya, who is oh so pretty, darling compliant, friendly, smiling, chatty and loving...

And we go right back into caring parent mode, do we not - I removed a dangerous stapler from Freya's hands as she roamed across the desk anchored by her reins, giving her a fluffy spotty material covered box instead, (our Suggestion Box, don't ask, it's never been used!) to play with and some assorted desk-top teddies...

When I left for lunch, Freya was tutored to say, in the most sweet voice, "Bye, bye Fhina!", between mouthfuls of chicken and ham from her lunch-box...

There was quite the lump in my throat.

It never really goes away, does it?

Our fears for their welfare.

Our caring about them and how they fare in life.

Our love...

I love you...

2010-08-02T00:58:00.002+01:00

I know this isn't original, it's a piece I found in a link I clicked on that took me to Stanford Edu...

At the time, I was reading a thread on a forum about a 17 year old girl, who was crying that she was just desperate to have children.

More experienced (and probably world-weary) parents pointed this article out to her.

My apologies if you have already read it some place else.

I loved it! The thoughts that particularly chimed with me involved never being able to read a newspaper in, oh, thirteen years, and learning to dress an octopus... Except my octopus could also arch his back making it almost impossible to put an article of clothing upon him!

ENJOY!

" ..Preparation for parenthood...

It's not just a matter of reading books and decorating the nursery. Here are 12 simple tests for expectant parents to take to prepare themselves for the real-life experience of being a mother or father.

1. Women: To prepare for maternity, put on a dressing gown and stick a pillowcase filled with beans down the front. Leave it there for 9 months. After 9 months, take out 10% of the beans.
Men: To prepare for paternity, go to the local drug store, tip the contents of your wallet on the counter, and tell the pharmacist to help himself. Then go to the supermarket. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office. Go home. Pick up the paper. Read it for the last time.

2. Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who are already parents and berate them about their methods of discipline, lack of patience, appallingly low tolerance levels, and how they have allowed their children to run wild. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's sleeping habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior. Enjoy it -- it'll be the last time in your life that you will have all the answers.

3. To discover how the nights will feel, walk around the living room from 5 pm to 10 pm carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious noise) playing loudly. At 10 pm, put the bag down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1 am. Put the alarm on for 3 am. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2 am and make a drink. Go to bed at 2:45 am. Get up again at 3 am when the alarm goes off. Sing songs in the dark until 4 am. Put the alarm on for 5 am. Get up. Make breakfast. Keep this up for 5 years. Look cheerful.

4. Can you stand the mess children make? To find out, first smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer. Stick your fingers in the flower beds, then rub them on the clean walls. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

5. Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems: first buy an octopus and a bag made out of loose mesh. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out. Time allowed for this: all morning.

6. Take an egg carton, using a pair of scissors and a pot of paint, turn it into an alligator. Now take the tube from a roll of toilet paper. Using only Scotch tape and a piece of foil, turn it into an attractive Christmas candle. Last, take a milk carton, a ping pong ball, and an empty packet of Cocoa Pops and make an exact replica of the Eiffel Tower. Congratulations! You have just qualified for a place on the play group committee.

7. Forget the BMW and buy a station wagon. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there. Get a dime. Stick it in the cassette player. Take a family-size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seats. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car. There. Perfect.

8. Get ready to go out. Wait outside the bathroom for half an hour. Go out the front door. Come in again. Go out. Come back in. Go out again. Walk down the front path. Walk back up it. Walk down it again. Walk very slowly down the road for 5 minutes. Stop to inspect minutely every cigarette butt, piece of used chewing gum, dirty tissue, and dead insect along the way. Retrace your steps. Scream that you've had as much as you can stand until the neighbors come out and stare at you. Give up and go back into the house. You are now just about ready to try taking a small child for a walk.

9. Always repeat everything you say at least five times.

10. Go to your local supermarket. Take with you the nearest thing you can find to a preschool child -- a fully-grown goat is excellent. If you intend to have more than one child, take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goats eat or destroy. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

11. Hollow out a melon. Make a small hole in the side. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone. Tip the rest into your lap, making sure a lot of it falls on the floor. You are now ready to feed a 12-month-old baby.

12. Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street, Barney, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

When you find yourself singing "I Love You" at work, you finally qualify as a parent".

How Crap a Parent Are You?

2010-07-26T02:08:00.000+01:00

Not wanting to re-invent the wheel, I'm blogging about the unlikely odds that my kids ever reached their teenage years over at Expat Mum.

How bad were you?
.

Always look on the bright side of life, te tum te tum te tum te tum

2010-07-17T00:06:00.001+01:00

As you get on a bit and the teenagers head towards legal adulthood, life can occasionally be tricky but you know me, your auntie is the eternal middle aged Pollyanna.

My best bits of having children aged 18, 15 and nearly 14 by auntiegwen aged nearly 44.

You get to have breakfast at the weekend with your daughter. She is returning home after a night out and you're just getting up at 6 like you always do.

Weekend mornings become very peaceful, there is no rush to swimming/ballet/drama/rugby/horse riding. You are the only person awake till at least mid day.

There is so much less driving and waiting about for you and less money paid out on hobbies and extra curricular activities if your children just want to drink, entice members of the opposite sex or play Call of Duty most of the weekend.

Everyone smiles at you as you walk down the street, well at your very beautiful daughters and hot boy of a son beside you. You are now invisible but you can pretend they're looking at you.

On holiday with your beautiful children you get served very quickly in every restaurant or bar, the service is impeccable and there is always something compliments of the house. There will always be a waiter/ess who will fancy your offspring and want to impress.

Now, hasn't your auntie cheered you up and given you something to look forward? You're very welcome.

Going So Fast, It's Passing Me By

2010-07-15T02:33:00.004+01:00

Individual days with tumultuous teens can seem so very long at times...

But then the whole era seems to be rushing by me.

My number 4 child, after an eye-awakening senior year , is on his way to college in the fall. Another milestone...

Two daughters are one their way to high school and we have only one son left in middle school...they are all truly teenagers.

So while Fhina considers how to re-appropriate the well-loved, and much used dining room table in her home, I am noticing that within 5 short years our house will be similarly empty.

That's the thing about teenagers, just when we think we can't stand to be around them at all any more -- we're not. They move on. After all, this is what they are supposed to do.

Moving on. A metaphorical event occurred today:

EJ and I ran a 5k road race "together". It was fun to plan, to train, to sign up, and to wear matching shirts. We looked forward to the time alone and the common interest. As we lined up at the starting line the excitement of the all female crowd of 1100 runners around us gave us both chills. So cool that we were doing this together. Together --- ha, she ran the 5K, passed me by so quickly that she actually mussed my hair, and I managed to finish a mere 22 minutes behind her! (Yeah, I'm really slow and she finished 27th out of over 1100 runners!)

This same wonderful child who came to us at 9 years old with virtually no body awareness, ran like Phoebe on "Friends", and was literally afraid to be in a room by herself, is flying past me. Flying past me right into the future.

The future is almost here, and I am the only one who is not ready.

Teenage Turbulence...

2010-07-12T00:29:00.005+01:00

I was at work in the office just the other day, and my mobile 'phone rang...

I hate my mobile going off at work. We have a very open plan environment and everyone gets to hear your business, whether you like it or not.

I always get that deadly slump in my stomach, like when you contemplate that it might be bad news.

I scurried to an empty conference room to take the call, realising that it was Grizz, hopefully giving me news of how his last exam had gone.

"Mum, Mum! I'm ringing to remind you that last night you promised me, remember, that you'd be able to go and buy my tickets for Turbulence tonight?

(Turbulence being some kind of music club venue popular with The Young Ones).

My son knows me very well. I had, of course, completely forgotten, my promises made in wine, and I'd already taken my woefully short lunch break.

Clearing it with my boss, I scuttled out of the office into the city streets and the day's sunshiny warmth. I walked, in new, crippling sandals, the half a mile or so to where I thought the little indie record store was where I could pur-chase said tickets.

The record store was closed, boarded up windows festooned with makeshift signs declaring that it was closed, to re-open soon in a new location. I slip-slopped off, following the map to the new site. I read the sign saying they would be open 1st September...

Damn and Blast. Thwarted. Those were the names of the other reindeers that got away from Santa's sleigh, did you know? Mrs Claus must have had teenagers to torment the living daylights out of the elves...

By now I was sweating - Never a good look for the over-forty, Rubenesque, (Ahem!) female.

I propositioned a nice young man, who looked like he might be one of those world-weary older Teens that haunt Turbulence after dark...

With a mouth full of coronation chicken wrap he pointed blithely up the road that I'd just walked from. I re-traced my steps gingerly, my feet sticking to the glossy new leather... I found two young men emptying the boarded up shop of leftover stock, arguing about how to get their car backed in to the tiny space available, so they could fill the hatchback with their booty.

I asked them if I could still buy tickets... The more authoritative one, directing the driver, looked aghast. "We'll never find them in there!", he said, pointing at disorganised chaos within.

"Where else can I get them then?" I wondered... I must have looked desperate as the Teen driving the car slowly wound down the window. "Breakdown Records", he opined, pointing at the neighbouring street, at a tiny window, three solid Georgian storeys up in the air, next to the Sandwich Shop...

I trotted off, passing the young man who had turned his attention to his sandwich again. He regarded me curiously... I mounted the calf-breakingly steep and narrow stairs at Breakdown Records, wondering if that was my destination too - A breakdown?!

After being observed like some alien life form by the Beautiful Youthful Things within, I was handed two Turbulence tickets by one of that night's DJs, moonlighting by day as a mild-mannered record store assistant...

With that look on his face, I think he was wondering exactly how he'd managed to attract such an older crowd with his dazzling new Drum 'n' Bass set. I was chuckling to myself as I waddled back to work with my prize.

My boss said that I should have let slip that the tickets were for my mother!

The things we do for the love of Teens, and the avoidance of Teen Turbulence!

Dining out on their dreams...

2010-07-06T00:07:00.004+01:00

As well as taking stock, I've been looking at the rooms of my house lately. As I contemplate the makeover that I'll finally have the time to do, with Grizz on hand to help (Ha ha! I kid even myself!), while he languishes, possibly job-less, certainly school homework-less, over the summer holidays, waiting for his future to begin...

To College, or Beyond!

And the one thing that I shall be pleased about - as I meander through my troubled mind, fretting about how we're going to afford to pay back his Student Loans in time, pondering whether he'll enjoy Uni life, worrying that he'll not stick at it, and wibbling and wittering endlessly about how he's going to fare on his own - is that finally, I'll be getting my oak Dining Table back to its rightful purpose and place in our lives...

We'll be able to sit at it for evening meals, and it will no longer suffer having homework done upon it, with heavy, ink-stained hand; It shall no longer lie, overburdened with piles of never-read books and endless crap; It will be free of watery cup marks on its surface; It is about to be liberated from over-filled folders, bright reading lamps, and ancient files, and Other Teenage Detritus.

It's mine, all mine!

I'll be able to sit in the soft chocolate brown leather chair, gazing out over my over-grown cottage garden, watching the busy, buzzy bees, perhaps with a glass of chilled Chenin Blanc in my right hand, maybe thumbing through the pages of a favourite novel in the lovely evening light...

That's one thing at least that I can be thankful for, as I look out at the prospect of a semi-Empty Nest!

Greece Is The Word...

2010-07-01T00:56:00.004+01:00

I've been taking stock. I'm preparing for the future.

Already.

I didn't think it would come around this soon...

The Empty Nest Syndrome.

My baby bird getting ready to take his first, no it's actually his second, flight on his own.

To Xante.

Zakynthos. Greece.

18 Eighteen Year Olds (all male, Goddess help me! Lock up your daughters...) are getting ready to strike out of their own volition on holiday, before the exam results come in in August.

And I shall be taking some time for myself... I'll be the one, rocking quietly, back and forth, with maybe a damp tea-towel on my head in the understairs cupboard for the full fortnight they're away.

What else can I do?

Growing up...

2010-06-28T00:11:00.000+01:00

It's been a tough old year this one, in terms of child-rearing, I mean.

What with the 'C' words: Cannabis, Cussing, Cigarettes, 'Can I have some more money for petrol?', 'Can't be arsed to revise!'...

And we've made it through to this, the last exam of my son's school career was on Friday, and he's been out Clubbing all weekend since to Celebrate.

And I feel utterly relieved. A bit flat even after all the drama, the Crises, the Complaints and the Crapilola... Now, we have to wait until August for his results to come through.

I shall have my fingers and toes crossed until then. I'll not bother crossing my eyes for luck, as it makes crossing the roads a little too dicey...

And he has so much high emotion riding on what he wants to do, with two University places waiting for him... (Forgive me for posting so little here, as things have been very fraught... Chaotic, to say the least.)

We had a very low moment a couple of weeks back, and I launched into Good Samaritan Mother Mode, to reel off my personal mantra...

I wanted Grizzles to understand, you see, that it isn't 'the end of it all' if he doesn't quite get the grades he wanted... There are always other options in life, aren't there? And, as much as I'd love him to go to Uni, as I had the luck to do, (and let's face it, the Chance of him getting a decent job in today's Cramped Climate are pretty slender), but his lovely life won't end if he doesn't enter the hallowed Ivory Towers of Academia.

We will Cope. We will Continue to support his Choices. Help him into his future. Whatever that bright future will be...

And so, we averted that Crisis within him. We left with him feeling a little more hopeful, more optimistic, about things... At least temporarily...

I've been growing leeks, did you know?

Show-leeks. Prize leeks. For our local pub's Leek Club Competition... You would not believe how Competitive people can be. I'm only doing it for a laugh - The Craic, as it were - so it's great fun for me...

It's been particularly engrossing, as I plant and replant little baby leeks - They're called sets, I believe... The wonderfully wise and ancient old leek grower who sold me the leeks, laughed indulgently when I called them 'my Baby Leeks'...

So, on Thursday evening I was on duty again, standing with my bare feet planted on the warm ground of my little patio, making sure that my 16 thriving babies were getting enough water, deluging the marshy creatures generously with the garden hose. Water running silver in the clear shafts of evening light.

And I glimpsed my Grizz through the window, sitting at his full 6ft 5" length over most of the wide sofa, dwarfing the living room, squinting at the telly... The Simpsons must have been on.

And I glanced at the growing leeks, and I looked back at him. And I blushed, full of Mother's Pride and Poetry at how golden, how beautiful, how big, he has turned out. This man-child of mine, on the threshold of another new beginning in his life.

Take a page from my book...

2010-06-24T19:33:00.002+01:00

I'm writing this post with a mixture of melancholy and excitement.
I say melancholy because as some of you will know from my FFF blog and understand where l am at present. For those that do not, suffice it to say that I am now a single mum, with a 15 yr old son at home with me and my 18yr old daughter who is now living in the home l vacated in March after my husband ended our marriage and our daughter 'chose' Dad. A double whammy. Whack!

This melancholy has peered out at me, as the last day of school approaches and reminds me of how fast it all passes. Tomorrow is the last day of exams for both my daughter and my son. So for my big girl this will also be the last day of school EVER! She is taking a gap year with the hope and expectation that she gets the grades to take up her offered places at one of her top choices; Northumbria or Dundee. She wants to be a Barrister. She will always aim high. Reach out for the moon l've told her, even though she may have to settle for the stars! I am excited for both of them and realise that they have the rest of their lives yet to live. As do I!
This would be so much more less of a big deal for me if she were still living with me, so all the preamble and fretting were a ridiculous waste of time, given that she has gone from me 18 months before Uni starts!

My son has his last exam tomorrow AND his year 11 Prom in the evening (Form V to you and I). It will also be his last day of school. He plans to enter the 6th form college in September.

I remember last year l started fretting a little about the impending empty nest syndrome, though realistically it was 2 years or more away. I write this post in the hope that one reader will listen and enjoy the time shared with their beloveds, before uni beckons. That he/she will breathe deeply of the well of a their family and count your chickens or indeed chicks! They have hatched and we have set them on their paths. In my case my daughter was wrought from my tentative grasp when she decided it was in her best interests to stay with her Dad. I berate myself for wasting energy and tears on thoughts of her spreading her wings, far before l needed to. There is no point in crying over spilt milk, l am trying to find my way and move on and up. I'm sorry if this post is too miserable, but l do want to share in the hope that others may gain from my sadness.

I really mean it!

Lettuce Prey

2010-06-21T16:12:00.000+01:00

By Vegemitevix

There’s no asking. None of it. No ‘please may I’.

There is only pilfering on unsuspecting prey.
From my spot on the couch in the lounge I can hear footsteps in the kitchen.
Cupboards open. A tap is turned.
I wait expectantly. Any moment now.
I could recognise those movements anywhere. It’s 14 yr old Dark Princess. Isn’t strange how you get to know which of your children it is by their movements, and their habits.
I sip my coffee slowly. Am I smiling?
A little.
The door to the fridge has opened. Yet within minutes it’s shut.
I try to remain quiet in the lounge. I struggle against inhaling my coffee through giggling.
The fridge door opens again. AND SHUTS.
”That can’t be right,’ she’s thinking. I can almost see the perplexed look on her face.
But she is her mother’s daughter. Determined. Focussed. Hungry.
Nonchalently I walk into the kitchen. Dark Princess is at the fridge door.

‘Go on. Open it. Dare ya’ I think to myself smiling.
‘You know you want to’.
And she does. She opens the fridge door, but within seconds she’s whimpering. Her hands clasped firmly across her ears.
‘Can you hear it? What is it?’ She wails.
I can’t hear anything. I’m too old to hear it.
‘Nup. Don’t know what you’re going on about’.

She throws a sulky pout, slams the fridge door shut and storms out. Making sure she has left the area I sneak over to the fridge and open the door. I can’t hear anything high-pitched and annoying. ‘Where did he put it?’ I look through the top shelf behind the milk, up behind the eggs, and then finally I open the vegetable drawer containing an old shrivelled red pepper and a bag of lettuce leaves.

I’m guessing my Englishman has put it where the kids would never look. In the vege drawer. Sure enough I reach into the bag of lettuce leaves and pull out the little electronic device he’s made for me.
It’s a mosquito. It emits a high pitched sound that drives grazing teenagers nuts. Adults can’t hear it. Teenagers will eat their own elbows to get away from it.

Every Mum of teenagers should have one! I reccommend you hide it in the lettuce.
There’ll never look there!

First published on my blog: http://www.vegemitevix.com

Image Flickr CC: http://www.flickr.com/photos/trinity/

He Ain't Heavy...

2010-06-14T03:55:00.001+01:00

Conversation between Man-Child (14 and 6'3") and 7 year old brother (very tall, but a wee boy):

14 - Dude, Pull your pants (shorts) down.

7 - Why? What's wrong?

14 - You look like a dork. They're not supposed to be up around your armpits.

7 - And your's aren't supposed to be under your butt. Dude - Pull YOUR pants UP.

14 - But you're not supposed to see your knees.
(At which point I want to rush in and point out that every mother wants to see her little boy's knees in shorts for as long as she possibly can.)

7 - The world isn't supposed to see your boxers either.

14 - Mom- tell him he looks stupid. His shorts are pulled up way too high.

7 - Mom - tell him no one wants to see his boxers.

ME - OK, that's enough. Both of you, I want to see your shorts where they should be.

(Neither of them change the arrangement of their shorts, but the threat of mom interfering with their appearance is enough to stop the arguing.)

Oy, oy, oy.

Some Quiet Finally!

2010-06-08T13:48:00.007+01:00

Have you ever noticed that teenage girls just don't shut up?

My 13 year old daughter has been home from school for less than 2 hours and I have a big hole in my head. She's been singing and yapping at 90 miles an hour. She was showing no signs of stopping.

Normally that would be fine, but I have a headache and all I have been hearing is non stop yakkety yakkety yak yak.... (Felt like a pounding drill.)

Now, I finally have some quiet.

*Big deep breath and sigh of relief.*

*Don't worry, I am not that mean of a mother. I gave her 5 shekels for letting me take that picture.

Susie @ newdaynewlesson

Land of the Giants

2010-06-06T19:38:00.001+01:00

This is a tall household. My husband is 6'4" so I sort of knew what I was getting myself into. (I'm 5'7", so not particularly tall.)

My kids are huge. They were fairly big babies but by the time they were two, they were inches taller than their friends.

The 17 year old daughter is 5'8" and seems to have stopped growing, but has been that height for several years, putting her in the "tall" category for a while there. The just-turned 7 year old is often taken for a 10 year old, despite the fact that his front teeth are all missing, in true 6-7 year old fashion. He is the 2nd tallest in his class and one of the youngest.

But it's the 14 year old man-child who is the real shocker. He's 6'3", takes a size 14 shoe and has hands like dinner plates. He's been shaving for almost a year now and he sounds like his dad. Sometimes it's hard as people take him for an 18 year old, although when the older girls hit on him he's not complaining!

Yesterday we were watching him playing baseball. The other team's coach turned around and said loudly, but to no one in particular, "How old is that kid?'

"Oh, here we go again", I thought. "They're going to ask to see his birth certificate and surprisingly, I'm not carrying it." (He is challenged almost every year so I should know by now.)

To the amusement of everyone however, a random dad said "Not sure, but he has six tattoos and he drove himself here! He's taking me for a drink after the game!"

EXPAT MUM
XX

And My Daughter Makes It Three

2010-05-25T20:37:00.015+01:00

Three what you are asking?

Three teenagers under one roof. They were just babies and toddlers yesterday.

HELPPPPP MEEEE!

As of this morning I am now the ~~terrified~~ proud mother of three teenagers. Two boys and one girl. I think I am in for some trouble.

That is if this teenage girl is anything at all like her mother. Early signs have been showing that she can put her ~~grey haired~~ mother to shame. Can I feel sorry for myself yet? Is this the same little girl who had a horrible case of separation anxiety? One that lasted ummmm... about 13 years? Nursery teachers with 30 years experience had to call in a psychologist to figure out how to deal with her.

Is this the same little girl who was petrified of dogs? The same girl who finally after many years can be in the same room as them.

Is this the little girl who so didn't want to stick out that she dressed in a way that made sure she stuck out like a sore thumb? Is this the same little girl who was petrified of clowns? Oh my mistake, is still deathly afraid of clowns.

Is this the little girl who used to ham it up in front of the cameras? The same little girl who I now have more pictures of with her hand in front of her face or the back of the her head then I do of her smile?

Is this the little girl with beautiful long thick brownish blonde hair that her mother sees loose only about once a year (if I am lucky)? The hair she now wears all day and all night in a ponytail.

Is this the little girl who didn't want a training bra and then refused to take it off even at nighttime?

Is this the little girl who used to panic at a little spot of dirt or wetness on her clothing, a panic that promted umpteen clothing changes a day? The same girl who now I have to fight to get any of her clothing into the wash.

Is this the girl who was so tomboyish that she never had any female friends? The same girl who now at times blushes if you bring up the right boy's name.

Is this the same girl who was never interested in any girly talk? The girl who insisted she needed to start removing her leg hair a few months ago?

The girl who wanted an epilady desperately and who desperately wanted clean shaven legs. The same girl who then had to be held down by her father while her mother ~~tortured~~ helped her with the epilady. Gosh that scene sooo should have been videotaped. Don't know whether we would have won the best or the worst parent of the year award for that.

Little girls grow up way too fast. Where the heck have the past 13 years gone? It was only 27 a few years ago that I was thirteen and torturing my own mother. Time flies. Next thing I know she will be walking down the aisle or having kids of her own. But for today on her thirteenth birthday, she is just a teenager.

Happy 13th birthday angel. (That's the backwards way of saying devil child in our house, so angel has been her name since she was a tiny little one.)

How bad can it be to have another teenager in the house? After all in three more months, one of my teens won't be one anymore. (Oh gosh that made me cry. I am old!)

Tell me I will make it. (That is if my daughter doesn't find this post before she is a mother herself, because she may kill me. Oh well, mothers' prerogative to shame their young. No?)

Susie @ newdaynewlesson

DEATH DEFYING RIDE

2010-05-23T22:23:00.002+01:00

Give me the rollercoaster ride, bungy jump or icy ski slope any day. Never before have I experienced such extreme fear. I have just been on a ride more terrifying than other any death defying journey of my life. My heart was literally in my mouth, my palms were sweating, even my feet were sweating so much that when I finally got out I kept slipping off my flip flops..

Being a passenger in my newly qualified 17 year old boy racer's car is right up there with any other heart in the mouth rides I have ever done and I nearly had a heart attack. I tried SO hard to be cool and not be my mother who sits in the passenger seat with me even now, pinned to the back of the seat with a fear of god look on her face and her foot constantly pressing on an imaginary brake, emitting sharp intakes of breath every 10 seconds until I want to drive on the pavement just to annoy her.

It is not natural for me to relax when the product of my own loins has taken my life into his hands. It is a constant source of amazement to me that my children are capable of doing anything on their own, without me. Least of all when I briefly considered whether he should show me due respect by turning the thumping, vibrating, sweary lyric'd music down and by not jolting the car until I felt car sick and by not speeding up at inappropriate moments. I kept having to duck down in order to avoid the disapproving looks of other drivers and pedestrians because the music was so unbearably loud. At one point when we stopped next to some people having a civilized meal by the side of the road I had to apologise by telling them it was my son that was driving and that I had been kidnapped - but I don't think they could hear me.

Needless to say, I am officially turning into my mother. I tried to turn the music down twice, I audibly gasped twice and I commented on the fact that he hadn't looked or used his indicator several times until he told me to "shut up" and even worse was that my daughter kept pointing out that in her opinion he was a much better driver than me.

TEENAGE BOYS

2010-05-20T09:42:00.001+01:00

My gorgeous 17 year old is off on study leave as from today.....which means, that bar a few exams here and there he is about to embark on the longest summer holiday ever. It's not fair.

He's been revising quite hard. I think. Although quite honestly it is hard to tell. He completely bogged up his mocks. Something happens in between him waking up late, eating, sleeping on the sofa, being a little bit loud and hyper (mainly as a result of recuperating from a shoulder operation and not being able to do any sport), going out with friends - I think it might be some revision; he goes quiet anyway and stares at incomprehensible bits of paper. But I can't be sure. There is no point in asking him because he either mumbles something unintelligible or shouts "OF COURSE I'M WORKING STOP HASSLING ME. ANYWAY, WHAT'S THE POINT OF IT ALL - WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT?? WHY BOTHER?? I MEAN LOADS OF PEOPLE GET REALLY GOOD JOBS WHO GOT REALLY SHIT RESULTS LIKE, UM, ....YOU FOR EXAMPLE".

My job just seems to be to feed and water him and...well, thats it actually. Nothing else. Conversation doesn't really work. He came down wearing a new T-shirt the other day saying 'ALL MY EX'S ARE MARRIED" and although I tried to engage him in a discussion about what it meant, he claimed not to understand it himself. Frankly, I think it would look better on me.

He won "Manager's Player of The Year" at his football presentation night on Sunday evening. I was so proud. He's been playing in the same team for 10 years now and 7 out of the original 9 players are still together. One of the players has played over 250 games for the team. It's just lovely - they are such a close bunch of boys. They are all huge now. Secretly I was also proud of the fact that I got a special mention for helping them with their stretching and the manager awarded me "best backside award", although if he was comparing my arse to those teenage boys then I didn't have much competition - not quite so hairy at least, I imagine.

Yesterday though, I had one of those "AAAAGH" moments with him. My daughter suddenly shouted for me to come up to her room. "Look outside my window" she said. "There's a used condom on the roof" and sure enough she was right ("how does SHE know what a used condom looks like" I was thinking to myself). It's a flat roof that you can jump down on to and I therefore assumed that a couple had climbed out of her window during one of his infamous parties.

I had a friend in the garden wondering what we were doing peering out of the window. So I pointed to the offending article and mouthed the words "USED CONDOM" several times, but she couldn't understand what I was saying. After several attempts my daughter shouted at the top of her voice for all the neighbours to hear: "SHE SAYS WE'VE GOT A USED CONDOM ON OUR ROOF"

So I then instructed my son to climb out and get it amongst lots of "THAT IS COMPLETELY REVOLTING. WHO ON EARTH WAS THAT? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT BLA BLA BLA" and all he said was "mum, I have no idea who it was but it's a really good idea, I'm going to try it".

Of course my friend later pointed out that I was being ridiculous. Who in their right mind would creep into an uninhabited girly bedroom with a lovely squishy girly bed and climb out the window to have sex. Clearly they just chucked the incriminating evidence out of the window.

I can't tell my daughter that though as she would be horrified.

Sometimes I really don't like being a parent.

NO MORE PARTIES is the answer I think.

Exam Technique

2010-05-07T23:16:00.000+01:00

Son aged 16 is on the cusp of glory, or ignominy.

Either or!

His GCSE exams in a week or so have become the focal point for our entire household. Last weekend we spent the entire weekend ensuring that Son had a working torch. His Stepfather a Senior Design Electronics Engineer beavered away all weekend making sure that his chip was programmed, whilst Son sat in the school ITC lab doing the same.

I played taxi driver and chief worrier.

Finally Son came home on Sunday with a torch that works, or is close enough for government work! Hubby relaxed, secure in the knowledge that he too could pass GCSE Electronics, should he want to give it a go! I was just relieved that the household returned to an assemblance of normality.

As normal as it can be given the circumstances.

What with the studying, and swotting, and studiously avoiding revising!

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink - or devour textbooks! I've been applying moral support, sticks and carrots, and a little hard won knowledge on how to be an exam success. I've dished out helpful advice on diet, and getting enough sleep and how to be focussed.

Harder than training a horse, or a puppy I reckon! But he's a very smart kid and like smart kids around the world just takes for granted that he'll have the knowledge to hand when he needs it. He hasn't yet learnt that in the stressful environment of exams, that easy knowledge can play truant.

I'm toeing that fine line between being too pushy and not involved enough, I think. So, I was more than a little horrified to hear the following discussion between Son and his teacher, about exam technique!

'But you did well on the last test didn't you?' Teacher enquires whilst I look on.

'I haven't got the results back yet.. yeah... um' Son is an A student it should be ok.

'But that was a couple of weeks ago?'

Yeah, but Sir hasn't marked them yet. I did all the paper and everything, but..'

'But?' Teach and I ask together.

'I forgot to put my name on the paper, so it's in Sir's in-tray with the other un-named ones'.

Bam, so there goes success out the window!

Guess who's going to be going over and over exam technique for the next week, with my talented Son? Any other fellow Mum or Dad sufferers?

Vegemitevix writes about her adventures parenting two teens and a tweenie as an expat Kiwi Mum now living in her second marriage in a rural Hampshire hamlet.

Flickr: phi1317

My Son Is Like Me & It's a Reflection I Like

2010-05-05T16:58:00.005+01:00

We have been having a tough month in my household. Some of it medical concerns, some more minor things. The other day we had a tragedy, when my sister in law's parents were in a car accident and her mother was killed.

My 19 year old son who was in the army at the time was given a car and a driver by his commanding officer. He wanted my son to be able to be at the funeral and support his cousins who lost their grandmother and his aunt who lost her mother. He also didn't want my son to have to drive back after the funeral on his own.

Jewish funerals are generally on the same day and here in Israel they are even tougher to attend because there is no casket, just the body wrapped in a shroud.

At the funeral my eldest son took charge of his 18 year old cousin and stood by him with his arm wrapped around him for the whole funeral. He was comforting and strong and watching him bought tears to my eyes.

My mother in law also came to the funeral, even though her husband had just been released that day from the hospital. As an ER nurse I had helped with my father in law while he was hospitalized and when I heard about the accident I right away went to the hospital to help my sister in law and her family.

My mother in law made a comment to me after the funeral about how my eldest son was just like his mother, taking charge and helping out whenever is needed. It was only a day later as I was making dinner that the comment registered.

I was finally able to accept a compliment about myself because the behavior that my mother in law said my son had inherited from me, is one that had made me so proud of him. I had watched him watch over and support his cousin during the funeral and his strength made me strong. If I was allowing myself that pride about my son for a trait that is similar to one of mine, then I needed to learn to accept the compliment.

So I did. I thought about how proud I am that helping others and being there for them in their time of need is something that my son has ingrained into his behavior. In that way my son is like me and by default this time I accepted the compliment to me as well, because my son has made me so proud.

Sometimes it takes your teen's reflection to see the good things in yourself.

Have you ever only noticed the good things in yourself when you see it in your kids?

Susie @ NewDayNewLesson

Image:
Long Billed Curlew
© Mike Baird| Flickr Creative Commons

Musings on Life with Teenagers...

2010-05-03T00:42:00.003+01:00

I've been dealing with some stuff of late.

Waves that threaten to rock the boat of family life. I've been in the grip of the squid-like tentacles of anxious parenting...

This is my Grizz's last year in school. He's finding it difficult to stick to his plans. Note, his plans, not ours... We're not that kind of pushy parents.

We try to be supportive as best we can, but he is eighteen and no longer a child.

My man-child.

And we know that life is tough and that sometimes you feel that you can't go on.

But sometimes going on is all that we can do.

The equilibrium tips. The seas roughen and then calm once more.

How do we explain that this too will pass... When he won't listen to us... How do we explain that even if he fails, it isn't the end. That we'll be there for him, no matter what?

There are always options in life, don't you find?!

Grizz found on Friday that he could no longer play the drums. He's been quite the performer since he was eleven... And performance anxiety gripped him during an exam day...

It got hold of us too, my husband and I, for the day, the week, this month in fact.

And we waited, outside the church hall where his performance was being recorded. Performances were running late - We could hear a variety of instruments being struck, beaten and blown as we sat in the car on a warm spring day, to wait patiently for him, at the door to whence we had delivered him... Hoping that he would go in, and go on...

We even checked the back door once he had stepped inside... Just to make sure he wouldn't scarper.

Finally, we could take little more of the anxiety of waiting in the car, listening for false notes, and we took ourselves off for a run in the countryside...

We returned to town over half an hour later, to traffic delays and police running through the streets. In high-vis jackets, towards the church hall. The roof of my mouth went instantly dry.

My husband asked me to get out of the car, to walk in the direction of the two sirens we had heard... I wondered, of course, had he left the hall and thoughtlessly run into the path of a car?

He had been so desperate when we left him... He had joked about ending his life.

Nope, he was still inside the hall. I could hear him playing, faltering, far from his usual excellent, straining through the open stained glass windows.

But someone's son had been hit a glancing blow by a car. And there he sat, propped up, holding his leg, lying against the church wall opposite... Surrounded by coppers with notebooks and sticky pencils... Witnesses clamoured.

More police cars arrived. Traffic was diverted. We waited for Grizz, hovering in the flower garden beside the church, trying not to gawp at the unfolding drama. The young lad wasn't seriously injured, thankfully, but he was taken off in the ambulance for treatment...

And so, our lives moved on and we waited once more, spared, reprieved from that torment at least...

Free to fight Teen Terrorism another day...

ArT bY ANn-JuliE AubReY onCE AgAin... GlorIOuS...

Where have all the flowers gone?

2010-04-30T00:01:00.005+01:00

Bringing up teenagers is such torment.

They can be the Devil Incarnate.

The hormones raging. ...The voices rising in anger...

His and mine. Lawd help the neighbours!

What goes on when they are chattering to their friends on Facebook? Tapping across the keys like Tasmanian Devils! What are they up to? What are they hiding from us?

We, who know better? Their elders and betters, non?!

They are young, they don't know the dangers, the lies of strangers, the horror of Trolls Under The Bridge...

The pleasures and pitfalls of life.

And we tread softly. On brittle eggshells. Through the morass of their lives.

Our lives...

Through Lynx and Cereal, as one of our lovely writers put it lately!

How I identify with you -- Talking to a door. A staircase. A raised hand. A set of jangling car-keys. The back of their well-groomed heads.

...Their music tutor. Their girlfriend... What's going on?

Why isn't Grizz at school?

This is Grizz's last year in school...

He could be in the Army in Israel, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, s we have seen here. How brave you are, you mums of young soldiers. I cannot put myself in your shoes. I could not. I dare not.

Instead, I run the gamut of 'too little too late' handed in papers and assignments. Of work just not done well. Of 'could be doing betters', of examination pictures snapped too late for homework deadlines...

If onlys', and finally 'what ifs...'

I know he has a bright future. I can see it in my dreams. Those lucid dreams where I can stop endlessly worrying about him and get on with 'our' lives... I know I never will...

Day-dreams, where he is dandling his own bright chuckling baby on his lanky knees, and I can go back to feeding handfuls of dry crackers to ravenous, dagger-eyed goats, to taking the ducks some bread, to soaking up leisurely 'Baby Duckling' sessions at the local lido, and putting out his push-chair damp from warm rain to dry in the sun...

Innocence. Innocents.

Where did the time go to, my friends?

Can someone please tell me?

Teenage Greetings???@#$%??

2010-04-27T21:09:00.007+01:00

Teenage Greetings? Oh is that what it's called when they say words in your direction when they see you for the first time in a week?

My 19 year old had me pondering today whether or not the way teenagers respond can even be called a greeting.

Teen soldier was coming home for a night. I had just pulled into the driveway, but when I called him and heard he would be at the bus stop in a few minutes (10 minute ride away), like any ~~wonderful loving~~ modest mother would do, I backed right out again and went to pick him up. Honestly, I was not even muttering or mumbling to myself, just glad I was getting to see him and happy to make it a bit easier for him to get home.

He stepped off the bus, rifle in tow and put his extra large backpack (~~with gifts for his mother~~ dirty laundry) into the trunk. I was a bit surprised that he didn't try to evict me from the driver's seat, but he must have been exhausted.

I gave him a kiss and said hi, it's so nice to have you home. My once cuddly son (which he was up until about 6 months ago), who would have given me a smile and a hug, seems to have forgotten how to greet his mother.

He turns to me and says "Why is the car so dirty?" Ummmmm, HELLLOOOO! Say hello to your mother. She is a bit more important than a black piece of metal that really was not that dirty. (See Exhibit A below-which most of you will agree with me does not look dirty!)

I understand that the clean car gene is genetic. Passed from father to son. Or maybe it is not genetic but more of a nurture issue as in the nature vs. nurture debate. In this instance my boys being programmed since the time they could talk that any speck of dust on the car is a big no no and something that their father should never have to set his eyes upon. Once they started driving, it became even more ingrained because they knew the penalty for leaving their father a dirty car, was not to get the car next time.

So okay son. I get it. You have absorbed and ingrained the clean car thing from your dad.

Now absorb and ingrain this from your mother. If you ever want me to do your laundry again, you will learn to say hi to me before asking about the car.

A kiss, hug and hi for your mom come before washing the car. Which you really did not have to do 3 minutes after we got home when you were so pooped you couldn't keep you eyes open.

Honestly, showing your mom some love trumps a clean car. And some days I think your father even agrees with me on that point. *wink wink hun, I know you love me more than your car*

Susie @NewDayNewLesson

Communication breakdown

2010-04-25T19:31:00.000+01:00

So the Queenager, who rarely goes out (too much homework), decided to hit downtown Chicago last night. We live about 1.5 miles from where she would be, and she was with a group of nice kids, seeing a movie. (And she's 17, therefore old enough etc. etc.)

Sometimes however the communication goes a little awry. How many times a day do I find myself thanking heaven for cell phones. What did our parents do without them, etc.etc? Not worry quite so much I would think.

So she kept texting me, which irritates the Ball & Chain for some reason. "Why can't she just use the phone instead of making us text?:" So I called her phone, which of course bounced into voicemail even though she had just texted me. Actually it bouncced into a message saying that the voicemail hadn't been set up, which was even more annoying.

Atfer about fifteen minutes of me texting things like "U need to come home" and her telling me that they were looking for something to eat (at 11pm), she got the message. With no idea which bus to get, and where the stops were, I finally managed to get her to call me. I told her where to go (for about the 10th time) and said to call us when the bus was approaching the stop. On no account was she to walk home on her own.

She dutifully texted about 20 minutes later (WTF?) ' Almost at bus stop", so I sent the Ball & Chain out into the rain with new dog to wait for her.

Then I got another text - "J's mom is driving me home as the bus takes too long". What?

I quickly replied "Dad is already at the bus stop, where are you". I mean "U"?"

"In J's car".

So I rang the B&C (thank heavens for cell phones) and we aborted that plan. She knew she was in the bad books when she came in.

Turns out that when she texted about getting near the bus stop, she meant she was getting near the one down town. I.E. not actually on the bus at all.

Give me strength.

Subliminal control

2010-04-22T08:20:00.002+01:00

I'm playing a funny trick on my teenagers at the moment. Well, I think it's funny anyway, and they don't have a clue.

It all started when I was raking through the Queenager's closet. It looks like she has a lot of clothes but many of them are about three or four years old, and teenage girls grow quite a bit over that duration. So, after culling the teeny tiny stuff, I re-hung everything else, tops and shirts on the top hanging rod and jackets and jeans on the bottom. Next morning, she came down to breakfast wearing the shirt that I'd placed at the very front. Most of the time she wears jeans and whatever top is clean (jeans have to be skin tight and ragged, if at all possible -she's no slouch.) However, I didn't realise just how "unbothered" she really is.

I then turned my attention to the man-child, who also wears whatever he can find - whether it's clean or not. Sure enough, the t-shirt that I placed on the top in his drawer was the one he came down in the next morning. I've been having a nice little game this week and they are indeed wearing the first thing that comes to hand.

Question is - how can I turn this subliminal control to my advantage? I need ideas about how to

- get them to eat their vegetables
- pick their dirty clothes off the floor
- hang up their coats when they come in
- not borrow my stuff without asking
- put my stuff back when they've finished with it
- use their inside voices

...and so on.

Just think how different life would be......
.

Expat Mum

Cynicism of youth

2010-04-20T10:02:00.003+01:00

I have been following Family affairs and other matters as she is 'holed' up in sunny Dubai with her two youngest children following a super short easter break in Australia, as a result of the chaos created by the eruptions of Eyjafjallajokull. Get your tongue around that l dare you!

Inconvenient on many levels, as her son is home alone due for surgery tomorrow, her father readmitted to hospital unwell and an ill friend also admitted. Her ex boyfriend, Builder bloke has offered to drive out to rescue her in a 3,000 mile journey. I'm sure the offer now looks very attractive. Perhaps he is her knight in shining armour after all. Meantime her ex-husband is waist deep in fluffy clouds of remarriage plans, crazily to her Builder blokes ex. No kidding this is the stuff of a Hollywood blockbuster or at the very least a reality show!

But l have assured her to be calm in the face of health and safety, her health and your safety, never has the word been more purposefully used...

Of course my son and his teen mates, ponder that this is a conspiracy by MI5 to '...distract us from the election and other stuff that they are working on...'

so where is this innocence of youth ? sigh..

best wishes and positive thoughts to you Lu!!

My Son Is A Teenage Soldier

2010-04-12T22:12:00.024+01:00

My son is a teenage soldier.

I mean that.

Literally.

My 19 year old son is a soldier and he has been for almost 9 months. In the seconds after he was born, the first thought that entered my head was darn, in 18 years he is going to be drafted.

I had been so sure that he was going to be a girl. Back when I was pregnant, (you know in the middle ages), there were no routine pregnancy scans. I had one at 6 months when I was so fat that they thought it was twins, but my baby was shy and the sonographer told me she couldn't tell the baby's sex. I took that to be a sign that it was going to be a girl.

If I am honest, I was a bit crushed when I gave birth and they told me it was a boy. All that was going through my head was that I knew we were moving to Israel and Israel still has mandatory draft. My baby was going to be a soldier in 18 years.

It ended up being a little closer to 19 years. Now my first born is a soldier.

So how does your mind adjust to the fact that your teen is now a gun toting soldier, out there protecting you and your country during the night while you sleep soundly?

Well for one, you don't sleep quite as soundly.

Living in Israel, kids grow up faster. Maybe it is the suicide bombings, the threat of war, or maybe just the fact that at the age of 18 or 19 you get a rifle thrust into your hands. It makes you grow up fast.

But they are still teens. ~~Men~~ Boys trying to find themselves and adjust to something so different than what they are used to. Trying to learn the ropes and find out where they fit in. They are stretched to their physical and emotional limits. They have their high points and they have their breakdowns.

And they still need their parents. They need their mothers to teach them that their gun cleaning brush is not their boot cleaning brush.
(Yes that was what my son used the first time he polished his combat boots. He didn't know what it was for. Good thing his mother was around.)

They need their mother to iron their uniforms and do their smelly laundry. They need to hear their parents' voices at least a few times a week.

They need their mother to help them keep from getting arrested because they left their beret at the base and only realized the next morning on the way back to the base that it wasn't on them. Yup-that also happened to my son. I had to walk over to one of the outside guards, explain the situation and point out that there was military police at the gate and that my son would be arrested for coming back without his beret. Thankfully mother's charm worked and the guy radioed the guard at the exit gate to let my son in. Mother to the rescue.

So although my son is 19 and a soldier, he is still a teen and still needs and loves his mother and father. Maybe he even appreciates us just a little but more now.

I know how much we appreciate and miss him.

Susie from www.newdaynewlesson.com

The Door

2010-04-11T23:05:00.001+01:00

I have a lot of conversations with the Door. The Door in question is the gateway to He-mans' empire. The Door remains permanently shut. It is often slammed and is rarely open. It is like a gateway to another world. I have to knock at said door and ask for entry. Some times the Door replies " urg".

I also ask the Door some of these questions ( but clearly not all at the same time?)

" are you up yet? you are going to be late for school "

Door Reponse " Arg"

" Tea's ready"

" humpfh"

" Shall we do a revision timetable together ?"

" F*ck Sh*te"

" Your clothes are on the floor outside the Door"

"mmmm"

" We're going out -see you later "

" pfft"

" I'm going to the supermarket, do you need anything?"

" lynx and cereal"... "Please"

" I need to come in to change your bedding "

"Noooooooooooooo!"

It's a very nice door. It shields me from smells, teenage harumping, unsavoury acts, the fact that the only light on this room is the glow form the TV or PS3 and the general mess that is the domain of a teenage boy. I did toy with publishing photos of his many dirty undercrackers scattered where they fell but thought that might have been going to far.

I will miss this Door when we move later this month. I wonder if the Door will be as friendly(?) at the next place? Although given that He-man will be ensconced in the Loft room I think my relationship will now be with the staircase. Hello staircase.....

Kate

* many thanks to our newest MMM contributor Kate at Two teens, a dog and me

How will he cope without me?

2010-04-09T11:17:00.003+01:00

Tomorrow my lovely 14 year old son will leave me for a whole week. His first trip abroad without us, skiing with the school in Italy.

The conversations I have had lately with him are inevitably one-sided as I fret constantly about how he will manage without me there to cajole and nag.

This week I have mostly been saying:

"Remember to change your pants every day."
"Don't mix up the dirty and clean clothes."
"Eat up all your food, you'll need your energy."
"Brush your teeth...properly"
"Get plenty of sleep"
"Look after your money: keep your wallet hidden"
"Don't spend all your euros on rubbish."
"Make sure you use plenty of sun block"
"Is your iPod charged?"
"Have you got your camera?"
"Text me every day"
"Don't just text back 'ok' if I text you."
"Listen to the teachers"
"Listen to the ski instructor"
"Don't mess about on the slopes"
"Don't take your helmet off"
"Make sure you keep warm"

To all of this I have mostly been receiving the following replies:

"Yeah"
"Whatever"
"I'll be okay"
"Stop fussing"

This is going to be a very long week and I will miss him so much. I'm sure he will manage fine. It's me I'm worried about....

Trish @ Mum's Gone To...

Mean Moms

2010-03-27T00:05:00.004Z

(As the British Postal advert goes – I saw this and I thought of you!! It arrived in one of those circulated e-mails so I regret I don’t know its author.)

Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a parent, I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:

I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.

I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it. Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too. And someday when your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.

Was your Mom mean?

I know mine was.

We had the meanest mother in the whole world!

While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, toast, Yam and Plantain. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat Rice . And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison.

She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labour Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, and empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers; she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head.

Then, life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.

While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16 or Over .

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced.

Most of us were never kidnapped, or raped, or caught shoplifting, or vandalized other people's property or were arrested for any crime.....

And it was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are educated, honest, hard-working, conscientious adults. And we are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.

I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough mean moms!

PASS THIS ON TO ALL THE MEAN MOTHERS YOU KNOW.
(And Their Kids)

Baby Driver...

2010-03-25T00:47:00.004Z

"They call me Baby Driver
And once upon a pair of wheels
Hit the road and I`m gone ah
What`s my number
I wonder how your engine feels.
Ba ba ba ba
Scoot down the road
What`s my number
I wonder how your engine feels".

Lyrics and memories courtesy of Messrs Simon & Garfunkel

You may recall my latest mental health wobbles here concerning Grizzler passing his driving test and being road-ready, unlike his Neurotica Central Mother.

One of my friends at work advised me that I'd soon get over myself given the potential for adult nights out with an eager, home-based, designated chauffeur...

And Saturday of this week was the very first of those occasions. Grizz drove his parentals to the pub, only a mile and a half away from home, and deposited us, like landed gentry, at the very portal of The Gate.

Two hours later - on the dot, mind - he was back, this time girlfriend in tow, sitting quiescent in the back, to collect his ne'er do well mother and father from their cups in the Boozer.

And I honestly felt very proud of him and what he's achieved, (notwithstanding the fact that he needs to devote more time to his academic studies...). Sitting beside him in the passenger seat, my husband ensconced in the back with Madame, I saw how well and how calmly he was handling his new car, and I breathed out, and I chalked up yet another milestone in Motherhood, weighty with meaning.

Thoughts from the Ivory Towers...

2010-03-22T00:43:00.002Z

Phew, what a wonderful dialogue we got going there around edumacation, thanks guys!

We really put ourselves through the mill over this, don't we? We only want what's best for them in life, and we beat ourselves up over their perceived short-comings and any hurdles they might encounter...

As has been previously disclosed here, I played a major walk-on role in my son's UCAS personal statement, given his severe allergic reactions to anything that involves ink...

I don't want to be one of those ambitious, pushy parents, standing and cheering on from the theatre wings as my ginger mop-haired darling launches into another ear-piercing verse of "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you're only a day awaaaaaaay!"

But I'm conscious of having to strike that balance between allowing Grizz to be a grown-up (he's now 18), and needing to somehow direct his lack of direction somewhat...

Just this week, while I was mired in paperwork in the office, playing the Fierce Momma Paper-Tiger - I was halted in my tracks by a call from his passionate and professional music tutor. Turns out this is a moment of real crisis in his study. With only months to go to his final performance and theory exams, he's choosing to procrastinate, to shirk his studying responsibilities, and is stalling for time. Time he just doesn't have.

And I really can't do the work for him. I already have my A Levels. I have a degree. He has to choose to independently spend time studying himself. I can create the tranquil moments - between the hours spent on MSN and Youtube - in which the time is right to sit and work in peace. I can ensure he has the right books and equipment. I can draw his attention to a serious TV documentary about the earthquake in Haiti, because he's also having to 'gen up' on natural disasters for his Geography A Level. ...But I can't force him to do this. And yet he's still too young to understand why he ought to be doing this.

Of course, I want him to have the very best chances in life, much as we all do. ...However, my own experience being the first member of my family to make it to University, was of graduating in the Eighties, amid boom and bust, a dire period much like today, I fear.

I absotively, posilutely adored and devoured whole slices of my degree course (the English, French and Russian literature, and the first Film Studies course ever offered at my Uni), and almost suffered a nervous breakdown during my final German oral exam in my second year (my worst!), when I failed to understand the clunky, heavily-accented German of the Austrian Lehrerin...

Then I graduated and spent months trying to find a permanent job, working as a temp in a variety of mediocre offices near to London, until I found a permanent post. All of this, bien sur, is almost 30 years ago now. And Grizzler's own experiences thirty years on may be very different to mine. I hope.

So I care and cajole, I cuss and curse, I beg and occasionally I resort to bribes, I reason and, of course, I rant.

And, ignoring my pagan leanings, I pray.

Expat Teen Parenting

2010-03-15T14:58:00.000Z

Life as an expat is one big learning curve, but when your mistakes start to have a direct impact on your teen, it enters a new dimension. So far I've managed to commit only venial sins, like trying to make them eat beans on toast (why don't Americans get this?) and not bothering with corn dogs and sloppy joes. Last week however, I almost totally screwed things up for the Queenager.

I'm talking about the college application procedure, which is so totally different from my British experience I might as well be having to speak Urdu at the same time. In my day, you told the teaches which A levels you wanted to take and as long as they didn't laugh in your face, that seemed to be it. You studied like mad (-ish) for two years, turned up on the allotted day in June and took your exam. I don't remember having to book the dates myself or choose which exam board to take.

In the USA my daughter can take one of two exams to help get her into college - the ACTs or the SATs. The first "decision" was to figure out which one to take. Some kids take both but since she has a learning disability, we needed to make sure we got this decision right. Cue extra tuition fees and a little diagnostic work to settle on the ACTs. Now that we've made that decision, we had to apply for a few accommodations (ie. extra time) which she has been given at school since 2001. Despite copious reports from doctors etc. ACT decided that she didn't need them. Cue much wailing and nashing of teeth (done on this very blog too) and a huge appeal by school. I'm glad of their support, although the Queenager didn't appreciate being the "shoe-in" candidate.

Next we have to decide when she does the ACT. You can take it as many times as you want, and send in only your best score. Most kids take it about three times in our school, but the timing is very strategic and usually planned around the math(s) syllabus. Just when you think you're all done and dusted, you get a note from school reminding you that you only have 48 hours to register for the aforementioned test. What? What? Nobody told me that! What the hell are the schools doing if they don't register the kids?

Rush to ACT website, pick date, fill out registration fields, - and find credit card. I certainly don't remember my parents having to shell out for my school exams.

Next comes the college application process, which in my day was done through the UCAS system, on one sheet of paper. Here, although our school has an excellent college counseling department, the kids have to apply to each college seperately, and of course, pay an application fee. Many kids visit the colleges they're interested in before applying, which since the Q is interested in colleges thousands of miles apart, could turn out to be an expensive little exercise. (We are visiting a few in Indiana to start with - only a four hour drive.)

I need to go and lie down.
.
Expat Mum

BOY SUSPENDED

2010-03-12T13:22:00.002Z

One of the boys in my teenage son's class was suspended for two days today. My son just can't believe it.....

They were all messing around with one of the boys phones. It got passed around the class and finally ended up with the boy sitting next to my son. He decided to send a text to the boy's mother saying "I'm gay".

A little while later a text came back saying "OK, lets talk about it later".

The entire class were in hysterics, including the boy who's phone it was apparently. They just thought it was the funniest thing ever.

Today however, was a different matter. The boy who sent the text was called in to see the Headmaster and told that the mother had found the text deeply distressing and as a result not only had she had to leave work early, but she had a panic attack. The school consequently saw no alternative but to suspend him.

Not good, but a bit extreme don't you think?

My son and his friends are thinking about starting a petition to say just that they think that attitude is verging on the homophobic.

FAMILY AFFAIRS @ http://familyaffairsandothermatters.com

It's only words, and words are all I have, to give my heart away...

2010-03-12T00:03:00.005Z

Since Saz and I installed statcounter here at Mad Manic Mamas, some strange things have come to our notice...

Did you know, for example, that the majority of our readers and listeners are British?

Which is weird to me, for most of my own darling readers are from the Good Old US of A...

I think Sazzie's are likely to be British too... Blogging is amazing like that, we veer and vire all over the world, and I still don't understand how others find
us or are attracted to our blogs...

Except statcounter gives you some answers..

I tried to insert the table here, with no luck, so I'll just ad-lib, if that's okay with you?

Readers looking for us here at madmanicmamas.blogspot in the last week have keyed in the following key words:

"bedtime for teenagers" ...I live in hope.

You're kidding right?

'Bedtime for parents of teenagers' would be closer to the point, and probably more accurate... Formal bedtimes went out for Grizz a couple of years ago at least...

Since then, I'm likely to be in bed hours before him...

Hey, I'm making up for all those sleepless nights and long months of burping and colic-horror...

Similarly, "...calming mad pregnant woman".

Try getting them to chew on coal...

Seriously, when I was carrying my man-child, I recall being drawn to ice-cream and Maltesers... No kidding... I've never lost all that post-baby weight!

And what else do they type?

Try, "...pictures of bad dressing by teenagers."

That's true - Have you seen Lady Ga Ga?

And I see more of Grizz's underpants these days, peeking above his jeans waistband, than I do my husband's!

Then, "...reasons why teenagers laugh".

What, you're kidding, right? ...You don't know?

They laugh at their parents, that's who...

We're shadows of our former selves.

Wraiths and Demons all... Shattered, knackered, battered, bruised, beaten, brawled-with and beleaguered...

We're 'owned' by our children, are we not..? We don't stand a chance!

And finally, "I'm in love with my daughter's boyfriend"...

Oops, maybe you've got the wrong blog there!

I've been driving in my car.. It's not quite a Jaguar...

2010-03-10T00:07:00.005Z

Well, it's over.

The hassling, the haranguing, the heckling, the harrassing, the hooting of derision, the horrors...

We've given in and bought a car for him...

And how do I feel? As if a great dark wing has been lifted from around my shoulders.

I had wanted to put this moment off... And we have, at least until most of the bad weather has subsided... but he needs a car to be able to travel to local sports centres, if he's going to work his way through College, starting this summer as a lifeguard. And we have no public transport chez nous.

De nada. Zilch. Postman Pat's Postbus, in fact.

Grizz passed his driving licence last year with flying colours... You might remember.

And I feared, as only a dramatic mad, manic, mama can, that only disaster lay ahead...

I've seen the car written off, (like our neighbour's son's - James was a passenger that day, remember - A year ago?!)

I've seen twisted and mangled metal, steri-strips and bandages...

And I worried, and worrited, and wondered, and wibbled, and whined, and wittered, and I might even have 'wined.'

But no more. The deed is done and dusted. We pick the car up on Wednesday. A 'Y' Reg Ford Focus Zetec previously owned by a non-smoking, tee-total elderly widower-man from Sunderland -- A gentleman who only drove the car to Church to teach Sunday School and never, not ever, crashed the car...

No.

My man-child has wheels.

Gird your loins, and mind you lock up any loose animals.

Especially if you're a Postman called Pat, owner of a black and white cat, name of Jess!

auntiegwen's top 10 of things that make me feel old.

2010-03-08T07:26:00.003Z

I did actually write the whole top 10 but then I figured who wants to be that depressed first thing on a Monday morning? So, selfless to the core wee soul that your auntie is, cut it down to the top 5.

My youngest daughter is now taller than me. That makes me the smallest person in the house. It is hard to be authoratative and tell them off when I have to look up to do it.

Nothing like a fresh faced daughter or 2 to highlight the ageing process. In photographs I have to make sure there's someone in between us as the contrast in the skin tone is too shocking.

My eldest daughter has a boyfriend. This boyfriend has a car, a job and a mortgage.

My son has started shaving.

My eldest daughter will be 18 on Thursday. Legally an adult, officially no longer a child. My beautiful baby girl, my practice child, growing up, about to leave home and go off to university. The thought of not seeing you, joking with you, hugging you and just living with you makes me weep every time I think of it. I hope you feel you've had a happy childhood and a good start. It has been the greatest priviledge to be your Mummy and the pleasure has been all mine. I've given you life so go and live it to the full. May all your wildest dreams come true.

The Worst In Them Is Really The Worst In Us

2010-03-07T00:30:00.003Z

(Photo courtesy of Paola )

Teenagers, if we let ourselves see it, are the best mirrors into our own personalities. That is not a pleasant thought is it? Especially when your kids are acting like typical sometimes obnoxious teenagers.

Although I have been privy to this little tidbit for quite a while, yesterday it kind of struck me in the face at full force. My second child (out of 5) is 18. He is a great kid with a kind heart, a great work ethic and I love him dearly. His biggest problem, he has a temper. It is a problem that has been an issue for quite a few years. Too often when he is around there is a lot of yelling, ordering around of the younger kids and him just losing it.

It's even gotten to the point that his 11 and 12 year old siblings don't want to stay home alone with him because it is just unpleasant for them. He also sometimes (okay many times) has a less than pleasant manner of talking, asking and replying. The tone of his comments sometimes come out nasty even if they are not nasty comments.

I have been fighting a losing battle with him lately about the manner in which he talks to me. I refuse to be spoken to in a fresh tone of voice or with an attitude. I don't feel I should let him get away with it and I don't feel I deserve it. Again-we don't see eye to eye and not much progress has been made. Yesterday, we had a family day.

We went to visit friends and family. The biggest problem was during the drive. My son is impatient and he feels cramped. We all do, but sometimes you just have to suck it up. Not much you can do about it. By the time we got home things were just worse, and within 5 minutes of getting home he already had the 11 year old in tears. Just to qualify that, it is not really that hard of a thing to do because he does tend to cry quite a bit, but still it was not warranted.

My husband lost it. I don't think I have heard him yell at any of the kids like that in a very very long time. After having had numerous issues on the drive home, this incident was the straw that broke the camel's back. That ended up leading to a disagreement between my husband and myself. I get upset and a few minutes later I am over it. My husband on the other hand has the memory of an elephant and he doesn't let go easily. Even this morning he was still upset and it was clouding his mood.

Last night when I had sat down to talk about the issue with my husband, it just really hit me that the things we are having the most issues about with my son are the things we ourselves need to work on most. It was not a very flattering mirror to be looking into. Both my husband and I have been "blessed" with tempers, but I will make this more about myself than my husband. He will have to come to his own conclusions about himself, because from my experience trying to tell someone something is not as powerful as taking your own look at yourself.

(Photo courtesy of Jillallyn)

So what did I see about myself yesterday? Well maybe I don't treat and talk to my kids with enough respect. Yes, that might sound odd, but I do believe in treating people, any person, the way you yourself want to be treated.

Easier said than done of course. I often fail at it. I am after all only human and unlearning a behavior and replacing it with a new one takes a long time. It may be weeks or months until the new behavior actually turns into habit. I also realized that I am impatient and many times I tend to answer my kids impatiently, abruptly or sarcastically. I don't always do that of course, but it tends to slip out of me in that manner more often when I am stressed or tired. So, it happens a lot I guess.

Sadly, I have also at times found myself yelling at my children to stop yelling at each other. Funny eh? Nope, quite pathetic really. That is really not being a good role model! The other thing I realized is that kids know when their parents disagree about something. It seems too often lately that after I say something to one of the kids, my husband will tell me (in a low voice), that I should let it go, or I shouldn't say that or my favorite comment these days (not), that I am piling on.

Our kids have very good hearing. Low voice or not, and even if they didn't hear the words, they know that their father thinks their mother is wrong. Somehow, we are going to have to find a way to stop that. I have no issue being told, not in the presence of the kids that he disagrees with me and to discuss it.

I do have an issue with anything contradictory being said in front of the kids, whether it is done discreetly or not. What is the hardest thing about dealing with your children and especially teenagers? I think that it is the fact that if you are honest with yourself, the behaviors you like the least in them, are really just a reflection of the mistakes you yourself are making in your life.

Not a very flattering mirror to be looking into is it?

by Susie.

The Mother bear is angry

2010-03-05T07:54:00.001Z

We've been lucky so far; no real medical issues, although a few close shaves; no real behavio(u)r issues (although I do realise it's early days); so I don't have to become a roaring mother bear very often on behalf of my cubs. But this week I'm raging. Aploplectic even.

The Queenager has been diagnosed with a fairly significant learning disability since 2001. A bit like dyslexia only it affects math(s) and spelling, plus some spatial and processing issues thrown in. In short, she sometimes has a hard time of it and has to work really hard to stay on top of it. Like many kids with these challenges however, she scores very highly in some subjects and really low in others so the average numbers look, well, average.

Anyway, she's a junior in high school (Lower 6th) and is about to start taking the exams she'll need to get into most colleges. (American kids apply by the end of the calendar year and generally know where they're going before leaving school.) If she were to take the SAT test, she is allowed extra time, a quiet room, stop-the-clock breaks and a computer instead of writing by hand. She needs all of this to finish the test on time. Like many kids however, the ACT test (just another board of similar exams) is better for her. The questions are easier to understand and the math component is less advanced. Unbelievably, ACT have turned down all her requests for accommodations (ie. extra time etc.)

Despite the fact that we have professional diagnostic reports dating back to 2001, and a letter from her neurologist advising the breaks to prevent migraines, they are saying that she's average, and further more, they don't have to rely on advice and/or reports from a third party. It's as if they haven't read the reports at all. And BTW, given that we probably wouldn't be allowed to self-diagnose her problems, what's the point of asking for reports if you're going to turn round and say they don't mean anything?

There is a lot of tension in the house at the moment, and it's hard for me to "behave normally" because I'm so upset for her. It is inconceivable that some of her peers are getting extra time because of "text anxiety" that has just been diagnosed this past year, and yet we are being told there's not enough of a paper trail, and not enough proof of impairment for my daughter. It is hard enough for these children in school and in life without having to put up with this kind of idiocy. It's like giving a colo(u)r blind child a multi-toned bar chart to read.

Anyhoo, I am learning to breathe again, and we are appealing the decision. I dread to think what will happen if they turn down our appeal though.

Grrrrr.

Expat Mum
.

Motherhood Giveaway

2010-03-03T00:30:00.003Z

Mad Manic Mamas (and Dads!) is a far from commercial blog, so I swear that no money has changed hands for this giveaway...

If there are 10 of you who'd like to leave a comment by tomorrow, then we will ensure that you receive a copy of this DVD.

Motherhood was penned and directed by Katherine Dieckmann, based upon her own, obviously hectic and harried, experiences of motherhood in somewhat flakey Greenwich Village -- You might enjoy the film, and we've 10 copies to give away.

Good luck! Ciao!

Playing Nursey

2010-03-01T08:20:00.001Z

Last week my son Rory, 13, was poorly with a virus. A high temperature, bit of a cough and no energy at all. The "no energy at all" bit was difficult to distinguish from the usual bone idle apathy that we have to contend with, but as he couldn't be bothered to turn his mobile on I sensed this was genuine illness.

Two days off school and he barely moved from the sofa. He regressed, hour by hour, into the little boy I could fuss over without him grunting 'GERROFF" when I ruffle his hair. He lay there watching children's telly: Spongebob Squarepants rather than repeats of The Inbetweeners on his laptop.

I brought him his pillow and duvet, served him drinks on a tray, fetched books, adminstered paracetamol and even nipped out to the corner shop to buy rubbishy sweets like sour lollipops and sherbet dib-dabs.

We both loved every minute of it. He slept on and off during the day while I cooked, put washings in and got through a big pile of ironing. Later in the afternoon we watched Countdown together, gaining extra time for the numbers and conundrums by pausing with Sky+.

By Wednesday he was begrudgingly back at school, the transition being made a little easier with a lift there and back rather than taking the bus. He was still weary in the evenings so was easily persuaded to have a relaxing bath and an early night.

By Friday the brave little soldier was back to normal: grunting, criticising our television choices then retreating to his room to talk to his mates on MSN.

I tried to ruffle his hair this morning....

Trish @ Mum's Gone to...

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts...

2010-02-25T00:30:00.012Z

Today, Sunday, finds Saz lying in an interesting state on a red velvet chaise longue in 'another room', lined with black and cream flock wallpaper... She looks as lovely as she always does, if a little flushed.

Fhina meanwhile, has been breathing into a paperbag for about an hour, pale and sweating like a spring piglet...

No, our Teen Terrorists haven't finally got the better of us. Yes, we'll be fine!

It's just that - Thanks to all of you lovely bloggers and bloggeristas and your tales of torment to match those of the Brothers Grimm (and Enid Blyton - To be fair, your kids are wonderful reading between the beautifully wrought lines!)... this blog has been mentioned in the hallowed (whisper it!) pages of the Sunday Times...

Whooo-hoooo!

Can you Adam and Eve it?

The article, written by 'an undercover male journalist', but mentioning Justine Roberts of Mumsnet, no less is HERE and Mad Manic Mamas (dads too!) is cited as a top 'Mummy Blog'.

...'Our rock and compass', Saz, and I began this blog because we felt a little left out by the soi-disant Mommy Bloggers... Those who were still changing diapers and nappies, who were juggling tots and tinies... Ahhhhhhhh, bless their little cotton socks!

We had golden memoirs of those days, I can tell you, rocking cribs, burping up wind, and dispensing Calpol by the bucketful, while today we are more likely to be found wrestling like skinnier sumos with our Teen Terrorists - Tormentors and Tormentresses, all...

(We love them dearly, seriously!)

So thank you... From the bottom of our hearts. ...For allowing us to wibble and witter on here, and giving us a space to feel safe from ridicule in. For accepting us, witch's warts and all, Teen-style tantrums, rants and everything else that we happen to be going through.

And for those of you who write like demons to keep the pages alive and throbbing with delight and passion... More than incredible Expat Mum and Auntie Gwen, wise Scriptor Senex, aka John, and fabulous vegemitevix, Super Sink, Sallymandy and Suburbia, clever-clogs Family Affairs and Jo...

Oh, and our feisty fledglings - Brighton Mum Teenage Angst and Trisha...

Your love for your children speaks of all the volumes we should ever wish to read, and we get a lot of comfort from knowing that, Saz and I, well, we're not alone.

...And to our commenters and occasional (usually teen) Tormentors (!)

Merci mille and big hugs from both of us,

and

Understanding the Brain

2010-02-24T14:18:00.003Z

...of teenagers.

There are truly moments when I think that I am living with crazy people.

Well, surprise, surprise - I am.

I heard a report on recent research on a radio program something that I should have already known:

The frontal cortex of the brain is not completely developed until a person is in her mid-twenties.

Ahhh, what an affirmation!

It seems that some very smart scientists have determined through their form of research that teenagers have not fully developed the part of the brain which:

Manages executive functioning and cognitive processing. Keeping organized in thought and in stuff is just plain difficult for them. This explains the number of posts about messy rooms.

Interprets emotions in facial expression! Ah, ha! They can’t tell when I am really disappointed? I DO need to actually say these things out loud.

Manages impulse control! Scientists need a NIMH study to figure this out? And we put these kids behind the wheels of cars?

Now, you may know a couple of theories of mine that has not yet been tested by a scientific study – perhaps I should apply for a grant for research that is also called my everyday life. The following could be considered to be corollaries:

Any teenager is smarter when he is in the household kitchen. All 5 of my current teenagers understand me completely when I am talking to them in the kitchen. Black and White is clear and non-negotiable. Their mother actually makes some sense to them. But as they move further and further out of the kitchen, down the street, off at school, or at a gathering of friends, you know as well as I do, their decision making skills are not quite as sharp.

A single teenager is smarter than a group of them. Yes. There actually seems to be more functioning grey matter in one teenager than there is in a whole group of them getting together. They seem less able to use what they do have in the frontal cortex; reasoning and decision making is more impulsive, less rational. Yup. Can anyone else corroborate these findings?

Being a little crazy helps kids to negotiate the unreal time of life they are experiencing. Don't you think so? Would you want to be 15 years old again?

Teenagers craziness is contagious to mid-lifers in their presence. Have you wondered why certain things came out of your mouth? Why you are acting the way you are? Have you felt a need to see an exorcist to get your own mother out of the words that are coming out of your mouth? I don't think it is completely our fault when we act a little "crazy". It's part of the tense, tizzy time with teens.

It makes perfect sense that they seem a little whack-nuts – they are. There brain is not finished growing.

So I am not the insane one…. At least on a good day.

Sink

Just Keep Swimming, Swimming, Swimming

2010-02-23T14:30:00.007Z

It's been about four months since we found out that we had to dealing with a teenager using drugs. (Yes, yes, I know it was "only" pot. But we were non-negotiable about this - zero tolerance.)

I thought I'd let you all know how it is going....

Drain (my husband has decided that if I am Sink, he is Drain. His job - he says - is to make sure I don't get too full of myself. Nice.) and I stuck to our original plan. We followed through in every step.

You may remember that I cried when we cut off his curls. His curls started to grow back, and I was thrilled. But he asked me to take him to cut his hair again. He has decided that he likes it short. He has also started wearing his glasses all the time - has found he likes to be able to see after all.

He is still seeing the therapist, although the counselor, right from the start was not concerned about his drug use. The time with the therapist has been a Godsend as we negotiate that stressful last year at home before leaving the nest to go to college. I wish we had done this with the older three! #4 and I talk so much more about the difficulties of transitions in relationships as this year progresses.

We have let him attend some social events - moving very slowing. First we drove him to an event at school and picked him up immediately following, slowly transitioning to last week when we let him go to a friend's house, where I walked him inside and talked to the parents to be certain that they would be home the entire evening.

And, finally, yes, he continues to pass the random drug tests we give him. Sounds a little harsh, I suppose, to some -- infringing on personal rights and all such stuff -- but Drain, and I don't care about that. As liberal as we are politically, we feel pretty secure that this is worth it. He is keeping his nose clean. Former President Reagan's "Trust, but Verify" holds a whole new kind of place in our family.

And the college acceptances have started to come in, complete with considerable scholarship money, because he is a smart kid. He's waiting still, to hear from his first and second choices, but at any rate, he knows that 4 schools want him already.

So, we are still swimming. We are not complacent, can't quite breathe yet, but that's okay. We're beginning to see the sunlight and starting to feel hopeful again. And we give #4 a great deal of the credit. He has made a good choice, this time. We will continue to keep him attached, while letting out the elastic slowly, to keep him on a steady path...a path he chooses, and a steady path.

Just a few words....

2010-02-22T16:25:00.000Z

...as my blog seems to have died on me and l can't find a way to resurrect it for now, I hoped that you would indulge me to say a few words regarding my current 'absence' from FFF and MMM. Below is the post I wrote last week for my Fab, feisty and fifty blog and as so many people have asked after me, l felt I owed you guys an explanation, if only a brief one for now.

Last weekend my husband asked for a separation. Our 18 yr old daughter has decided to remain with him in the family home. I am not comfortable talking about it in detail right now. My blogs are not a secret, so I don't feel able to vent my heart out here. Suffice it to say Larry and I are separating and so are the children geographically, if less than a mile apart. This is excruciatingly painful. I am not happy with this outcome, but there it is. 35 years together is a long time.

I do not know how this will pan out, I will just roll with it. We now have to legally separate and I have to find a suitable home for my son and I. We hope the children will come and go freely between them both.

I am trying to be brave and formidable instead of the weak, weepy and needy mush that lay inside me. My hope is that the children come through this whole and that we can steer them through their forthcoming exams with our support and love.

I just have to remember to breathe.

Sunday Times mention

2010-02-22T00:50:00.000Z

Did anyone see we were mentioned, nay honoured as a top mum blog in the Sunday Times????

Here it is:

http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/families/article7030689.ece

Seventeen Years Ago

2010-02-20T16:37:00.001Z

About five in the morning I decided it was time. I phoned my mother (six hours ahead in England) and heard her gently crying as I told her the pains were getting stronger and we would phone her from the hospital when we "had news". I remember saying "It's not so bad", which made her cry a bit more, given that she knew what I was in for.

The baby was ten days overdue and an induction was booked for the next day. I was glad not to have to go through that as I'd heard not-so-good things about being induced. (Not true, as I learned next time round.) So off to the hospital we trotted, I was wired up to a fetal monitor and everything looked great. The baby's heartbeat was low and steady, making everyone tell me it was a boy (even though I knew better in my head). I took a long time to dilate and kept stopping in between. At about 4pm I was finally ready to push. Two hours later we were starting to think about Plan B. Apparently the baby was "sunny side up" meaning that she was facing out and her neck was craning backwards to try to get out. That, plus a pelvis that hadn't been given the manual on how to expand a bit, meant that the babe was well and truly stuck. I heard mention of a c-section and begged my doctor to let me keep trying, but I think I already knew that was hopeless.

The c-section was a fairly relaxed affair for the baby, (compared to the one I had ten years later) and a huge warrior-princess came out about 45 minutes later, a shock of jet black hair sticking straight up like a Mohican. Unfortunately, my uterus was bleeding profusely now so there was lots of "irrigation", general shifting around of organs, and a blood trnafusion was at the ready. My main memory of the whole thing was shaking uncontrollably, and my head banging on the table. (You should have seen the black eyes I had the next day.) I stayed in recovery for five hours and then they wheeled me back to my room for what became the worst night of my life. The only "drink" I was allowed was a sponge on a stick with mouth wash. Mouthwash!!! Eventually one of the nurses took pity on my dry mouth and allowed me to rinse with water as long as I spat it out.

I was on heavy duty pain-killers at the time and was supposed to ring when I could feel them wearing off. It was at this time that we learned I have the constitution of an elephant when it comes to pain relief. It was wearing off at about twice the rate of a normal human, and my body went into full convulsions just to prove to the nurses that I wasn't faking.

My insurance coverage allowed me an extra day because of the c-section, although even then none of my docs thought I was ready to be discharged. (A whopping three nights woo-hoo.)

Anyhoo, she's 17 today. Where did the time go? She was a high maintenance baby, but I am guessing that was because I was making up the rules as I went along. She's been a very low maintenance child and teen - have I just jinxed things? I am so proud to have a tall, willowy, happy girl, but more because of the way she's met her dyslexia head on, achieves A grades despite the odds and refuses to let it stand in her way.

You go girl! (But not just yet!)

Expat Mum

Tears Before Bedtime...

2010-02-15T00:25:00.004Z

My man-child turned 18 last week. I know I've already mentioned it here, there, and bloody well everywhere!

But I wasn't prepared for the really peculiar (albeit short-lived - Fhina finally got a grip of herself) feelings of loss. And grieving...

I know grief. I've been there, done that, got the T-shirt, and the (tear-) stains!

I think I was, for a few hours, mourning the loss of The Boy. The child within this man who towers gloweringly over me. ...The little imp, chortling away in his little baby walker on wheels, while wringing my chintzy curtains orange through his baked bean-y paws... (I cried when we left those curtains behind when we sold the house... Such memories.)

...And as much as he's riven me inside out with frustration as he can wind me up so easily, I shall probably continue to miss my little boy...

While loving the man he's becoming, for sure...

Son says, 'Jump!'

2010-02-11T09:26:00.002Z

8.15 this morning, I manage to shove my 13 year old out the door, wave at the window then breathe. I fasten my dressing gown belt a bit tighter, pull up a chair and decide to treat myself to some blog reading.

Five minutes later my mobile rings. It’s the boy.

Him: “I’m on my way home. It’s non-uniform day for Haiti. Get some clothes ready for me”

Me: “Oh right. Will do”.

I run upstairs, pulling off dressing gown and kicking off slippers as I go, race into his room to find jeans, different socks, suitable T-shirt. Then it dawns on me there is no way he is going to get changed in time to go back out and walk to the bus stop again. So run into my room, yank pyjamas off, find knickers, pull them on, inside out, discover they’re from yesterday. Bugger. Find jeans, jumper, look in mirror, shriek, boy yells up the stairs, changes into clothes. I get car keys, find boots, coat, get car out of garage, yell at boy who is rearranging his hair and deciding which trainers look best. Swear. Order him to the car. Drive to bus-stop. Bus already gone. Swear again. Drive 20 minutes through heavy traffic into town, hoping I’m not recognised. Get to school, late and frazzled.

Me: “So was it really that important for you to change into non-uniform?”

Him: “Yeah….I joined a Facebook group yesterday called ‘Don’t you always laugh at the kid who turns up in uniform on non-uniform day’.

Thank you to our guest contributor Trisha at Mum's gone to... for this great post!

Hot and Cold Teens and a Nod to the Dog!

2010-02-09T09:18:00.000Z

Why oh why are Teenagers so bloody dramatic?!.....Sheesh!!

TD hates college, this evening she's loving it....huh? what did I miss?
Her Art tutor is "actually, sort of okay", last week she was "the bitch from hell who hates me and a devil woman" (TD's words)...
She hates her hair, last week after bleaching her fringe, it was "awesome!!"...
A month ago she had it cut shorter, now she wants extensions!
She loves her BFF, tonight she vented for an hour about what a pain in the arse one of them is "OMG!"
No worries, they'll be BFF again by Monday...

Of course, me, being the perfect Mum to Teens, that you know and love...*cough..splutter*
....did a truly impressive nodding dog impersonation, you'd have all been so proud of me.

"Uh huh....Oh....that's too bad....yes I know....really?...Oh no...Oh dear...Mmmm?...." and nodded my little head off, till it was in danger of dropping off & rolling out the back door...

If you value your relationship with your teen daughter, or even just life as you know it, a word of caution. DO NOT OFFER ADVICE....under ANY circumstances....I promise you, fromexperience, it will come back and bite you in a painful place....

Take the drama on the chin....and just NOD!

Karen

Our thanks to guest contributor Karen who blogs as Brighton Mum Teenage Angst - she may be back very soon!

Mother Earth, Mother's Ruin, Motherhood...

2010-02-08T00:45:00.004Z

This is the day when my son, my Teen Terrorist, my man-child, turns 18.

There were days when I thought we might never get to this point!

...Days when he drove me inside out with rage and grief...

Days when I was so mad with my Teenager that I might have done something I would really regret.

In fact, I have done some things I really regret... I still need to re-glaze that pane of glass in the door...

But through thick and thin, I've always told him, no matter what, that I love him.

And I do. Absolutely. Like a fierce Mother Tiger.

Motherhood is funny. It gets you like that...

We talk about it, don't we? And the words have entered our language, for that very reason...

Rampaging mother-tigers; mother-hen; Mother Goose (good for nursery stories and getting them off the floor at night, for goddess's sake!); mother's milk (and alcohol!); Mother Courage (that'll be the gin, that we call Mother's Ruin!); Mother Earth (that's all the mud I've ever washed out of his trainers and jeans and cleaned out of his ears!); Mother Hubbard (that'll be all the weight I put on with the pregnancy and post-partum, so help me Weight Watchers!); Mother Superior (I'm not giving up this position, I've fought long and hard for it...); Motherwort (for herbal remedies only - Fhina, your Neighbourhood Witch!); Mother's Help (that'll just be me, then!), not to mention motherfe****!

I said I wouldn't mention it.

Happy 18th Birthday Fruit of My Loins!

Reasons My Teens Laugh at Me

2010-02-05T20:05:00.000Z

Just in case you missed this at Expat Mum:

1. - my sneeze. Admittedly, when it's allergy induced (as opposed to a trifling cold) it can be a bit, erm, dramatic, but at my age, if you try to "control" your sneezes, you end up blowing a sinus and pee-ing a little. So, it will remain - Aye- ya-hoo, with the emphasis on the YA.

2. - my pronunciation of banana, tomato and half. Get over it. I'm English and always have been. This is no surprise, and you both sounded like me until you were about 5 years old. Next time, I am going to post the pre-school video clips on You Tube and then we'll see who sounds "funny". Mwa ha ha!

3. - my jeans. OK, they tend to only sell "stretch" jeans these days. Trouble is, on me at least, they get bigger and bigger all day so that when you come home from school the butt is somewhere around the back of my knees. It's either that or I'll loaf around in sweats all day and get fatter and fatter? Pick one.

4. - my keys. Or lack thereof. The teens actually stand in front of me and do an oh-so-funny impersonation of me with my keys in my hands frantically asking "Where are my keys? Where did I put my keys?" But listen, oh smart ones, when you walk in one of two doors, carrying back packs, violins, food and a million and one other things, and your three (comparatively unencumbered) kids hurtle past you, shedding clothes on their way, it's a bloody miracle you make it in one piece. Yes, there is a hanger for keys at both the front and back doors, but sometimes, just sometimes, I collapse before I get there. (And don't even compare me to the Ball & Chain, who enters in the back, ignores everyone until he has walked through the house, into our study, deposited keys and other accoutrements in their correct place, and then says hello. I don't have that luxury.)

5. - My baking. OK, so I bought those little ready to bake bread rolls the other day and, in front of everyone, followed the directions to a T, and they still came out like hockey pucks - but it's not funny. It's a manufacturing error, or a typo on the directions. You all saw how well I followed the rules, and yet was foiled again. Just be glad I don't try to make your birthday cakes!

6. - I can't understand their texts and end up texting "?????" back. I mean, it's not even short hand is it? A lot of the words have numbers in the middle like L8tr, which seems to mean "later", which in turn is short for "See you later". And of course, I seem to have been the last person on the entire planet who thought LOL was "Lots of Love". I couldn't understand why complete strangers were being quite so friendly.

But I'm having the last laugh. They used to make fun of me for sleeping in till about - gasp- 9am on Saturday mornings. Now? If they make an appearance before 10.30am it's only to complain how tired they are before they lie down on the sofa and nod back off. Tee hee.

Please - add your own versions...
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Ground Control to Major Tom

2010-02-03T11:30:00.002Z

What's wrong with this picture?

It's 2am. Darling husband is sitting upright with the laptop burning through the duvet. I'm attempting to ignore the light, the click-clack of the keyboard, and the humph noises he makes intermittently. Son is sleeping the sleep of the dead. There's an exam tomorrow, it's not my exam, nor my Englishman's, it's Son's mock GCSE electronics exam.

Hubby, the professional electronics' engineer is preparing son's notes for him, because he has no notes to study from.

Ever since Son's return from NZ three weeks ago, I've nagged every single day for him to study, to find the notes he's missing, to look it up on the internet, but my efforts have not been rewarded by Son's efforts. Thing is, he's not out chasing girls or drinking. He's been banned from the PS3 and he has dutifully sat on his bed looking at the books and the ~~dog's breakfast~~ notes that litter his bedroom floor. But the real problem is, Son's never here. He's in outer space. He's Major Tom and I'm Ground Control trying to make contact.

I never wanted to be that mum. The one that labours over the magnificent matchstick model castle (complete with drawbridge) for their child's year seven homework. I made my kids go home and fashion something out of bits of tinfoil and paper.

As I've said so many times before;
'It's not my homework. I've had years of homework. I'm done with it'

Yet, exams at this level are different. They matter. They could be the difference between getting into that academic path that leads to a productive career in aerodynamics or not. It's unfair that they matter and that there should be so much pressure on our 15 and 16 year olds, but that's just the way it is.

We've had the circumlocutory argument that goes like this:

Vegemitevix: You just need to focus for this short period of time.

Son: But then what? So I can get into a course and spend the rest of my life doing what other people tell me?

Vegemitevix: Well, no, so you can get the entrance ticket that leads you to where you can do your own research into things you want to do?

Son: When I'm 40 or so!

Why is the theme song of this generation; 'Am I bovered?'

It frustrates me when I think about how focused I was at his age. Yes I spent days lying on the swing chair on the deck watching the clouds, but when exam time came around I did study and I certainly didn't get any help from Mum and Dad. I did worry about how I'd do. I did concentrate, even when my parents' bitter divorce reached crisis point in the middle of my exams. I don't think I was a girlie swot, but I did put the effort in.

I'm tearing my hair out with his attitude. He's hurtling through space in the tin can of his own mind and I can't seem to bring him home, from my ineffective Ground Control.

How do you get teenagers to understand that they need to concentrate for this very short period in their life, to pass the exams and get the grades that will enable them to get into the course that will lead to the career they might one day actually want to do?

How do you bring Major Tom back down to earth?

Image by Blue Turban Photography

Teen emergency.... kinda.

2010-01-27T17:07:00.000Z

Yesterday morning, Queenager dashes out. "I have to be at school early". Door clashes.

"Byeeeee", we yell, without doing the usual equipment check at the door. "Take your phone" I call, as she's half way up the street. Right, well, never mind.

Five minutes later the phone rings and we can see that it's her. "Somebody get that" I yell, as I help Little Guy brush his teeth. Despite living in an American house, there's no phone in the downstairs loo. The Ball & Chain manages to dive for the kitchen phone before it bounces into e-mail.

"What? What do you need? You're breaking up? Call back on a school phone."

She calls back twice more on her cell phone, perhaps hoping for miraculous improvement by ATT&T. It hasn't happend in twenty years, so why it would suddently improve cell phone reception in under five minutes is beyond me.

Given that she's attenpted to call home twice now, it appears to be a national emergency so we stand guard at various phones. Then my brain wave:

"Text her", I say. "She can always send and receive texts". Isn't that the way teens communicate these days anyway?

"WHAT DO U ND?" texts the B&C.

Some huge emergency. Her response????

"Why R U still in the House?"

Aarrgghh.

ABC... (update)

2010-01-23T20:19:00.009Z

My daughter has been in a grotty mood since she started 6th form,

I get the teen angst,

I get that boys are pathetic,

I get the l'm not hungry and the l need chocolate NOW feelings,

I get the must have this, I MUST have that now demands,

I get the sleeping in until the evening news

and the latest design of wardrobe that was the carpet

I get that you have had enough, want a break and so want to take a gap year,

I get that you want to change your mind as it is very real now and you have the offers you want from several uni's,

I even get the swearing not to lightly under your breath.

I don't get the tantrums,

I don't get the crying,

I don't get the shrieking,

I don't get the quick weight loss, (even after swine flu)

I don't get that you need AAB at one uni' and BBB at another and ABC at another, in any subject but all for the same majors Law & politics WTF?

I don't get you have stay out until everything is closed at 4am (anything I had to do l could do by 11pm (but don't tell Moannie or JP)

I don't get the mixing of drinks, whisky, Guinness, light beer and that blue stuff!

I don't get how you can go out with £6 and come home sloshed with £1 left(was l stupid)

I don't get why you want out of here one moment and then you don't want out of here the next, is it the nature of things, l thought l got it.....

... is it something to do with the fact we feed, water, house, advance you money, clean your bathroom, sometimes even remove plates, drinks and mouldy food from your room, give you lifts, support you at school, advance you more money and care about you a hell of a lot!

(btw this is me taking a back seat and leaving you be!)

Ps.BEWARE- Teen girl was sent home from school today, nursey thinks she has chronic fatgue syndrome, post swine flu. Made appt for her next Monday as she will only see lady doc.Thinking about it, it all fits..weight loss, sleeping lots daytime too, eating odd things at odd times, overwhelmed by everything, hating everything. So NOT JUST being a teen then...will let you know how it pans out. I just feel l should be behind her and make sure she gets through these crucial 4 months unscathed and hopefully rewarded.

Don't worry - I'm out looking for the plot!

2010-01-21T00:37:00.002Z

I don't know what's happened to my parenting blogging Mojo, mes bloggy loves...

I seem to flit like a gaddy butterfly, from subject to subject, from write to wrong.

I keep thinking of things to scribble about. My grand-mother. My late father. Something funny someone's said. And my routine is all to pot basically...

My son is studying for his last exams in school. He leaves school at the end of summer. We will celebrate with a holiday. Rome. Paris. Scarborough. He will take one of his five offers of a place at University, Goddess Wiki willing! We will pack his stuff. By which I mean mine and our stuff! We will pack him off with books and love, oodles of money and food, and love.

I flit between longing for time to myself. Moments not fraught with arguments and strewn with strife. I shan't miss our Battles of Wit. I shan't miss the hurtful things he can say to me... That spring from no-where and from no-one I know...

I shall miss his sparkle, his humour, his quick-wit and wild abandon. His eyes half-shut in sleep, cornflakes caked hard in sweet and sour milk on china bowls. I shall covet the stolen bear-hugs, when he forgets to be rock-hard and becomes my little pumpkin once more...

I shall revert to type. I don't really remember who I am. Nor who I was at any time in the past, when I wasn't his mum.

I shall be me.

I won't miss his laundry, mind.

But I suspect I'll still see it on weekend visits!

The New Phone

2010-01-17T11:02:00.002Z

On Saturday I had 2 mornings, as if getting out of bed just once isn't bad enough!!! I'm not great in the morning.

I was awake at 3am to take my SO to the airport and then returned home to bed, being woken the second time by a Small Sprog with and a roaring dinosaur! He often brings his Nintendo into bed in the morning. Getting up the second time in one day wasn't any easier than the first.

This morning the children and I are all in my room again, on various electronic devices. I can't think where they get that from!

Small Sprog is creating a virtual creature to do battle with, I am here, obviously, on my laptop and Tall Girl is playing truly awful music on her new phone, which apparently is the best thing in the world........

Yesterday we went to Tesco to get her a new phone. Before we get there she tells me how she likes a particular phone that all her friends have, but that it seems to break easily. So when we get to the 'phone dept', she points to the said phone and says that is the one she wants.

'You must be joking' I say as she throws a pout my way 'You said it is hopeless, and just look at the price!'

The pout gets more pronounced. If she had been two years old she'd be lying on the floor kicking and screaming!

'Have a look at the others, there must be another one that you like?'

Obviously there wasn't, not one! Why on earth didn't I delegate this job to her father?

I tried to point out that she has just had a birthday and Christmas and a laptop in September and the fact that her existing phone has just decided to die, didn't mean she could have a top of the range phone, just for nothing. End of lecture! The pout continued.

'Well, you'll just have to make do with your old one until it completely gives up' I say determinedly, beginning to walk away.

I noticed a moment of panic in her eyes. I had found her weak spot!

To cut a long story short, we found a medium priced phone that she deemed acceptable. By the time we arrived back to the car she was beaming with excitement! She tore open the box, loaded her Sim and memory card and before we were out of the car park, she was oohing and ahhhing about all its various attributes. It was 'The Best Phone In The World'. Damn I thought, I could have got away with an even cheaper version!

Teenagers!

Totally aware of what's going on.

2010-01-11T15:39:00.008Z

At my son's school (a 14-19 college) they allow the students to arrange with the individual teacher suitable appointments for parents night. Yes, we'll all raise our middle aged eyebrows at the wisdom of that idea.

So, I asked my son who I'm going to see and at what time.

And his reply...

"Oh, I didn't bother I thought you could just speak to them in the staffroom or something"

And my response...

"I haven't taught there since July"

I do actually live with my son.

Love from your

auntiegwen xxx

The Best of Intentions

2010-01-07T13:37:00.000Z

I don't know, I just thought the new school year would kick off with a little more, hmmm, organization/organisation. I'd had two weeks of sitting around with not enough to do while everyone else was out on the slopes. The "reminders" and "to-do" lists had used up all the memory on my phone. I have significantly reduced my Pinot Grigio intake, mainly due to histamine reactions to the merest whiff, so my mind is razor sharp. (OK, poetic license/licence there.)

I made all kids go to bed at a reasonable time on Sunday night, the backpacks were ready at the door, the PE clothes washed and ready, cell phones, keys and other paraphernalia located. Oh yeah....2010 is bringing some changes, I thought.

Now, I admit that we were an hour behind on Monday morning, having spent two weeks on Mountain Time instead of Central Time, so waking up was going to be a challenge. The Ball & Chain usually gets up five minutes before me and makes so much noise that there's no way I could ever fall back to sleep, but since he's on a quote unquote "conference", I was in charge. Managed to wake the man-child a whole ten minutes before he had set his alarm - not a happy camper, to put it mildly.

"Oh for god's sake it's only ten minutes" I said. He displayed a surprisingly dry wit for a just-woken teen when he punched back with "Oh yeah, 'cause you wouldn't mind at all". I sloped off, stage right.

The Queenager said she was awake when I popped my head in, but she could have been sleep-talking. The Little Guy - was nowhere to be seen. At 6, he's perfecty capable of getting his own breakfast, as long as I don't mind wiping up the half gallon of milk that doesn't make it into the cereal bowl, so I wasn't worried. I'm not thrilled about him getting up earlier than 7am though. Why? Because he can't tell the time yet (eek) so neither of us have any idea how long he has been up. Has he been watching TV for two minutes or two hours? How much sleep did he actually get?

Anyhoo, after much questioning, the teenagers were allowed to leave for school. (Phone? Keys? PE stuff? Homework?) "Mom", they wailed as one, with maximum lack of patience, and much eye-rolling.

And yes, it happened.

Two minutes before leaving with Little Guy, came the first phone call. It was so predictable that even LG said "Oh that must be one of them."

Me: "Yes", stretching out the word for maximum effect.
Queenager: "Oh thank god you're still there." (Playing to an audience of at least six high schoolers, I deduced.)
Me: "Well...."
Queenager: "I forgot my math homework. Can you bring it please."
Me: "What, - the stuff you were panicking about last week and have been working on ALL weekend?"
Queenager: "OK, OK. Pleeeeze can you bring it? Thanks. Love ya."

Thirty seconds before leaving, there it goes again.

Me: "What now?"
Man-child: "Whuh?"
Me: "Oh it's you. What's the matter?"
M-C: "Hey. Mom? (Pause) I forgot my key. You will be in at 3.30pm won't you?"
Me: "What if I'm not?" (Like I go anywhere.)
M-C: "Mom". Again with the hour-long word.
Me: "Yes, I suppose so". (Implying huge sacrifice on my part.)
M-C: "Cool. (Pause) See ya".

Oh well. What's that song? Tomorrow, tomorrow......

Expat MOM

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Ten Ways I Know the Teenagers are MIA

2010-01-05T17:47:00.005Z

The teenagers and their little prodigy (aged 9) have disappeared Down Under to torment the Father for a month. We can tell they’re Missing In Action. Here’s how:

1/ Water – We have water. We have HOT water, on demand! This little terrace in North Hampshire has become our latest spa. Now if I could only figure out how to get manly, muscled attendants to preside over my la salle de bain.

2/I threw out a bottle of milk, because it was past its use by! I know. I can’t remember ever doing that before. Typically the Son (15) skulls the milk with cornflakes to build up his strength for another demanding day building levels on Little Big Planet. Dark Princess (13 going on 30) is determined to nip osteoporosis in the bud so she downs the rest of the carton before anyone wakes. We are perpetually short of milk, so much so I’ve considered raising a cow in the back yard.

3/ The TV has not magically turned itself onto Cartoon Network overnight.

4/I have loo roll, dishwashing and washing machine tablets, and enough butter left to freeze and carve into a sculpture!

5/At midnight last night I could hear something creaking in Son’s room.

6/I can dash to the loo in the middle of the night without having to grab my ever-so-sexy black velour dressing gown, and no one yells ‘Muuuuuum’. (‘This embarrassingly stretch-marked body gave birth to you child!’)

7/ I can play Tainted Love without being reminded how old I am by the teens knowing all the words (it’s on Guitar Hero as a retro hit)

8/I have bandwidth. It’s not being sucked away by Limewire or online battles of Age of Empires.

9/I feel the need to engage my Englishman in petty argument. I’m just not getting enough verbal sparring.

10/I can locate all of my clothes. They are not stuffed under Dark Princess’ bed in a smelly heap. Pairs of shoes are still in my wardrobe not missing last seen at school/dance/drama. I have hair ties for the gym, and I haven’t had to look at a nit comb in a fortnight!!

I have two more weeks of this strange regime and then they will return. I’ll probably be missing them by then.

Vegemitevix xxx

Incedious Unwanted Guest

2010-01-01T02:55:00.000Z

And I have kicked him out.

We have busy house with lots of people and lots of space.

We have one TV, no cable, no Tivo (I actually don't even know what that it, exactly), and pretty ancient guidelines/rules about watching only on the weekend.

Over the last year or so, the TV has been making a more and more invasive presence in our home. Borrowing movies from the library has become an almost weekly expectation. Teenagers like all kinds of crazy television. Saturday morning Yu-gi-oh turning into Saturday afternoon bad 70s movies, turning into baseball games, and now football games. I haven't liked the refocusing, but I have let guidelines be bent.

Until this weekend....when a disrespectful unload from a teenage mouth that had just spent hours in front of the television led me to walk to the box, unplug it, and remove it from the living room. I didn't have to or plan to offer an explanation.

You might be wondering what television has to do with a disrespectful mouth. Well, it's all attachment. Television disconnects from relationships and when our kids are disconnected from the loving people around them, they forget how to behave. Sounds simple...and in many ways it really is simple.

The kids were facing a Sunday through Wednesday holiday from school and were distraught...it seems they have completely forgotten how to make themselves happy without the plug in box.

"What do you expect us to do while you are at work all day?"

"You mean, after you finish your chores?"

"Uh, um, yeah...?"

"It's not my job to entertain you, my dear. I am sure that you can figure it out."

When I returned home on Monday afternoon, the house was quiet. I couldn't hear a peep. Only the dogs greeted me at the door.

Good golly, they ran away to a house with cable!

Actually, I found them. Quietly doing a variety of creative activities in their rooms!

I love when it is so clear that we, as parents, do the difficult, but right thing!

Yours in Chaos,
Sink

Happy MMM Christmas

2009-12-24T12:08:00.001Z

Remember when your teens were as small and cute as this...?

Those were the days...

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

to all you MAD MANIC MAMAS & PAPAS!!

from Saz, Fhina and MMM team

(whom we would like to thank for all contributions in this new venture, we done good, yeah?!)