a strange day

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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.