tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68236814319382829602024-03-20T08:42:17.793+00:00Mad Manic Mamasis a place for women who live with teenage terrorists. For women who have misplaced their Mojos amongst the menopause, meatloaf, Mojitos and Maltesers! (oh, and dads too!)Sazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.comBlogger201125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-40811077918190082922013-09-18T23:16:00.001+01:002013-09-18T23:16:09.129+01:00how fast it passes...<span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Where has the time gone, asks</span><a href="http://houseoflime.blogspot.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #855a3e; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"> Lime</a><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> indeed...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">My son Patrick turned 19 in the summer, just one day before he leapt across the Atlantic to up state New York for his 2nd year of uni...I miss him. even though he has already been away from me for a year, we have been in touch, email/skype/viber more than last year.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">But he is truly away from me, on another vast expanse of earth, separated. This time is different. I expressed this, though less emotionally t'other evening..and his response was, 'yeah, but mum we are under the same sky..!'</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">such calming, soft words, soothed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">He has been my companion, my world these last few years; his first year of uni, were my first days truly single, starting over. Loss of purpose is very hard to deal with, and each of the last three years has brought about layer upon layer of loss and partings.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">He is my last born, my baby...my man child...my hero</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">How would life be, if he had chosen to remain with his father and sister, after the break-up.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Just by his being, he saved me; he allowed me to become a better mum; a better me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">love, labours, lost...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">and found....the stages of mother/child.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">god I love the very bones of the child...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">keep him safe for me 'till June...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">saz xx</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5d5d5d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">( I haven't posted here in over a year at least...apologies..life has taken many of us by the short and curlies and we have allowed our eye to be taken off the ball. Both my kids are at uni now, only one is a teen, Patrick as mentioned above...so I still qualify as MMM!!!)</span>Sazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-83160916279541382602012-03-30T01:21:00.001+01:002012-03-30T01:26:20.732+01:00Hindsight<br />
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Re reading my post of <a href="http://madmanicmamas.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/strange-day.html"> 13 October 2011</a> I am amazed at how fast time moves, no surprises really there eh? And it occurs to me that time does heal, again we know this to be true, but at any given time, the pain and stress and perhaps frustration at it all overwhelms and we cannot see it...<br />
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My daughter, now 20, is I am guessing submerged in uni-itus. She does not text not email nor phone me. I last saw her twice over the christmas hols, no not over christmas and not on her birthday a few days later. She appeared at the apartment to 'crash' after losing her friend in a club and so l was the port in the storm, at least l had that.<br />
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I haven't wept over it, nor let it define any piece of me. I am after all changed; by the emotional chaos of our split and divorce. I now think that she maybe haunted by the break up and her choices she has come off worse than either of us and her brother. Or perhaps she is more of his blood and just separate from me in a way I don't care to admit, or praps I just failed her and I was less than she expected or needed.<br />
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I know I did my best for her and by her. I stayed longer in an unsatisfactory marriage than l should, and that may have seeped through and stained her. For that l am sorry.
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I didn't bring her up to cause pain by omission. It concerns me I keep it all in a box. Carefully apart from me, so as do less damage to my heart. Under wraps and I always fail to reach outf again, for fear of more rejection. No Mothers Day card nor call.<br />
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I did do my best. My best now would be better.<br />
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My son hopes for uni in the autumn. I am prepared, I will not be bereft. I will not. I will.<br />
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Recently I was told, '... your Mum (Moannie who is very ill) is on her own journey, as is your daughter and soon your son, Saz you should not wait to live and love....live and love now and make for your own journey..'<br />
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and I will and I do just that...<br />
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My message here is there comes a time, often way overdue...to put yourself above it all and yeah maybe in the line of fire.....but out there...the teenagers become young adults and accountable....and the consequences kick in and they have to wipe up the spilt milk, not you or I...now I hold the cloth in readiness...just let them go, it is very hard, but do-able.<br />
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I have plans, I am rebuilding and on my own journey, centre stage..<br />
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... and I have the arms of a wonderful man to hold me.<br />
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Saz x<br />
Sazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-69973657691609089122012-03-29T12:30:00.005+01:002012-03-29T13:20:37.494+01:00Teenage Trauma...<a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS3rrfZnc5zq4grVs_WzSeqcsE-szVpl1gR1dAvMT1DUMCHHGu4JFxqrYPrWw"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 165px;" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS3rrfZnc5zq4grVs_WzSeqcsE-szVpl1gR1dAvMT1DUMCHHGu4JFxqrYPrWw" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><a href="http://www.therapytribe.com/upload/image_files/photo_4057.jpg" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 488px; height: 326px;" src="http://www.therapytribe.com/upload/image_files/photo_4057.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Forgive me for the pictures today, which are all over the place - Blogger does not seem to be behaving itself.</div><div style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Wonder where it gets that from?!</div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><div><p style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,</span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit</span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,</span></p><p style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.</span></p><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Some of my favourite lines in poetry come from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span><br /></span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>AWAKE ! for Morning in the Bowl of Night</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>And Lo ! the Hunter of the East has caught</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.</span></p></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">Those of you who may be wondering where my post went from a couple of days ago - Who saw it, pondered it, commented upon it, only to see it go 'Poof!' in a whisp of smoke like a genie from a lamp, I thank you from the heart for your erudition, education and ease of communication!</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I have taken your good comments on board.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">You see, I did tremble a bit when I realised what exactly I was putting 'out there', for public consumption as it were and I reflected and understood that I did not have the right to do so. </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">...I appreciated, finally, that I was trespassing in fact on another's life, albeit my unruly man-child's. </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">We have these fleeting moments with our children, our tantrum-flinging teenagers. Tantermongers, I call 'em.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">Do you wish sometimes, as I do, that you could turn back the moments of time, to when things were simpler; when you were younger, prettier, less lined? </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">Do you ever wish you could delete some memories of your own of that time? </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; text-align: left; ">Did you have moments of reckless abandon, of joy? Did you take calculated risks?</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">Looking back, I sense I was a bit of a 'Goody Two-Shoes', a bit stuffy, uptight, perhaps not much fun. I don't know where that came from, but it was me. I've never touched a cigarette in my life and have no intention of doing so. I really didn't get the taste for alcohol until my late teens - My twenties, in fact. </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">...I've never sniffed, snorted, sniped, licked or swallowed any substance other than that legally prescribbled. I've never rebelled.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I've shop-lifted three times. All by accident. </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">If someone short-changes me, I usually correct them on it. If I haven't, it's because I didn't notice the error!</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I don't travel on public transport, (knowingly), without a ticket.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I've never had a tattoo (although I hanker after one in my forties!), or rogue piercing.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I try to 'Do unto others as I would have done unto me', or words to that effect.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I am good, then. I can safely say, 'Je ne regrette rien'.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">But I can't help some regrets. And I can't figure out where I might have gone wrong.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">So we agree to love our children in good and bad - In sickness and in health, as in the Marriage Vows, n'est-ce pas. Therefore, let us <span style="font-size: 100%; ">forgive our trespasses. While not precisely forgetting them.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">'Will no-one think of the children?' </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">Revel in them, as you would in a gossamer-thin chemise on a summer's day. The scent of meadow and new spring lambs wafting through an open window. A bee buzzes against the window pane and, thankfully, moves on.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">What I mean to say is, enjoy it while it lasts.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Ah, Love! Could thou and I with Fate conspire</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Would not we shatter it to bits - and then</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span>Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire !</span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span><br /></span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">Console yourselves then that you've been 'good enough' parents to your Teenagers. </span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><a href="http://www.jrf.org.uk/publications/parenting-support-need">(CLICKIE for more information on the concept of 'good enough' parenting)</a></span></p><p style="color: rgb(87, 51, 191); font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">They might not agree, but you have always been good enough, if not perfect.</span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">Who wants to be perfect? </span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">So what makes us expect it of them?</span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">Oh, and it's Fhina by the way.</span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; ">Trust me, I'm a therapist!</span></p><p style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); margin-left: 0.1px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><br /></p></div></div>A Woman Of No Importancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218721100500130784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-42284737001418191682011-11-22T15:21:00.004+00:002011-11-22T15:48:12.828+00:00The Mysteries of Adulthood...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://data.whicdn.com/images/3660447/teenage-dreams-6_thumb.jpg?1283295227"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="http://data.whicdn.com/images/3660447/teenage-dreams-6_thumb.jpg?1283295227" alt="" border="0" /></a>Our teenagers are the in-betweeners; Neither a child, nor fully an adult...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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... <br /><br />Whatever it is, this is the time when he should be able to make his own choices in life. <br /><br />I can only hope they are the right ones. We have done all we can to be 'good-enough parents', have we not?<br /><br />I breathe fresh air in deeply and exhale further, puffing my cheeks out like Dizzy Gillespie.<br /><br />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'.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />On my own blog, I tend to find myself writing a lot about loss. Love and Loss. Love and life.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />My life.<br /><br />Oh yeah, it's Fhina by the way...A Woman Of No Importancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218721100500130784noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-6288611386313301552011-10-13T23:16:00.003+01:002011-10-13T23:17:19.568+01:00a strange day<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">29 September 2011</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSRql40rwI9O1iZi2gEnqCOXHzjrmH6a1Or1n--kSDdIextoyLXFFWdXZL9" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSRql40rwI9O1iZi2gEnqCOXHzjrmH6a1Or1n--kSDdIextoyLXFFWdXZL9" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; position: relative;" /></a>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.<br /><br />A rite of passage for them. For parents too.<br /><br />Buying things together for their room in halls, Stationary. New duvet and cover. posters, prints. Books, More books.<br /><br />Anticipation. Nerves. Tears.<br /><br />Loading up the car. Will it all fit. Two trips perhaps?<br /><br />Excitement. trepidation.<br /><br />Today my daughter and first born, woke with mixed emotions. Today was the day.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I arrived at my destination. Unpacked the car. Parked up. Walked into the hall and began to set up my stall.<br /><br /> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />For me it bites hard. People ask me why I stayed so long. I say because I didn't want to miss a thing.<br /><br />What next the graduation? Will I be asked? It's not a given. Time will tell.<br /><br />This time next year it will be my son's turn to leave for Uni.<br /><br />Take nothing for granted.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Sara</span>Sazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-5897261454905516742011-08-31T16:02:00.000+01:002011-08-31T16:02:12.509+01:00One Down, Two to GoI'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.<br />
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To say we were disappointed is an understatement.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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However, it would have been more meaningful if the first ever text hadn't been -<br />
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"Beyonce's PREGNANT!"<br />
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Sigh.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-79542491223028884742011-08-08T19:50:00.000+01:002011-08-08T19:51:12.951+01:00TEENAGERS ON TOURAs 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.
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<br />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...
<br />
<br />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.
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<br />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.
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<br />What do you think? family affairshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896692261265817869noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-41088352876736003072011-08-08T16:12:00.000+01:002011-08-08T16:12:22.358+01:00Would that I could take her placeThe Queenager had her bottom wisdom teeth removed this morning. (She only has two, but the two she has are the hardest to remove.)<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I think mothering is the hardest when we are powerless to take away the pain and discomfort.<br />
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Anyway, as I write, she's drugged up to her eyeballs, watching the Kardashians, so everything's OK now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-76021730636902292522011-07-30T23:25:00.000+01:002011-07-30T23:25:39.871+01:00I am not their friend - I am their motherThe 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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
I am not their friend - I am their mother.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-74230086968242698242011-07-08T20:11:00.003+01:002011-07-08T20:18:10.570+01:00The Student Life...<p class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.stud-lets.co.uk/images/jesmond_road_newcastle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://www.stud-lets.co.uk/images/jesmond_road_newcastle.jpg" border="0" height="138" width="320" /></a></p><p>You may not know that my nineteen year old son, Grizz, has come back home from Uni for the summer?</p><p>He's been back home for about a month.</p><p>There have been a couple of tantrums.</p><p>It's worse when I wake him up too early by trying to wash HIS dishes from the night before in MY kitchen sink.</p><p>By too early I mean anything before 1 in the afternoon!<br /></p><p>...Now he kind of brings his girlfriend back on a night or so a week too.</p><p>My living room is not mine own.</p><p>Ditto the telly. <br /></p><p>I can't remember when I last watched something I wanted to watch...</p><p>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.<br /></p><p>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...).</p><p>The downstairs Victorian garden flat is situated in a posh part of the city but very near to a green space. <br /></p><p>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.</p><p>I looked in a second hand jewellery boutique there only the other day and the prices almost made my eyes melt.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I'm wondering when I can move in??!</p><p><br /></p><p>Oh, it's Fhina by the way...<br /></p>A Woman Of No Importancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218721100500130784noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-71211886048317591712011-06-07T05:24:00.001+01:002011-06-07T05:25:18.692+01:00The Heart Ache of High School GraduationI'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! <br />
<br />
Ok, I'm better now.<br />
<br />
No. I'm not! I didn't think it would be this painful.<br />
<br />
She's not ready. OK, scratch that! I'm not ready.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
And LEAVE.<br />
<br />
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 <strike>five times a day </strike>once a week, blow off the cobwebs and make sure the dog hasn't pooped on the carpet as a token of love.<br />
<br />
And I'll get a web cam so we can Skype.<br />
<br />
My heart really hurts, people.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-82045500793593146832011-05-25T14:25:00.000+01:002011-05-25T14:25:02.533+01:00Teen Daughter? Some novel advice -Pop over to my piece at <a href="http://inthepowderroom.com/read/shit-happens/what-would-you-have-done.html">In the Powder Room</a> for a new and novel idea on how to keep our teen daughters chaste.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-63094790230273372412011-05-19T07:00:00.006+01:002011-05-19T07:00:09.990+01:00Born YesterdayDespite 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 "<em>I wasn't born yesterday</em>".<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
At least he had the grace to laugh when I handed the paper back to him while calling it "Bloody rubbish". <br />
<br />
Nice try son.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5D1OaGeQf_6KogNtBkE3mN8YlidT0w2R7UNGbqf2JYf-j-KpAFbtk23j1NJAoc0k1am3Glrl5yJFKRG9-yiNEGjf1kvU7-d1SmSdcjX0S1azVo2JYMzql3M9xZ7TlCVJ7L4I3DNPOwL8Y/s1600/union-jack-brit-voices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5D1OaGeQf_6KogNtBkE3mN8YlidT0w2R7UNGbqf2JYf-j-KpAFbtk23j1NJAoc0k1am3Glrl5yJFKRG9-yiNEGjf1kvU7-d1SmSdcjX0S1azVo2JYMzql3M9xZ7TlCVJ7L4I3DNPOwL8Y/s1600/union-jack-brit-voices.jpg" /></a></div>Expat Mum<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<u>*Born Yesterday</u><br />
Tightly-folded bud,<br />
I have wished you something<br />
None of the others would:<br />
Not the usual stuff<br />
About being beautiful,<br />
Or running off a spring<br />
Of innocence and love -<br />
They will all wish you that,<br />
And should it prove possible,<br />
Well, you’re a lucky girl.<br />
<br />
But if it shouldn’t, then<br />
May you be ordinary;<br />
Have, like other women,<br />
An average of talents:<br />
Not ugly, not good-looking,<br />
Nothing uncustomary<br />
To pull you off your balance,<br />
That, unworkable itself,<br />
Stops all the rest from working.<br />
In fact, may you be dull -<br />
If that is what a skilled,<br />
Vigilant, flexible,<br />
Unemphasised, enthralled<br />
Catching of happiness is called.<br />
<br />
(This was written as a christening ode to Sally Amis, daughter of Kinglsey Amis)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-90892729527811044992011-05-17T08:34:00.001+01:002011-05-17T08:35:29.320+01:00Conversations I wish I'd Never Started<strong>I've posted two conversations with my 15 year old son on my own blog, <a href="http://mumsgoneto.blogspot.com/">Mum's Gone to,</a> but felt the Mad Manic Mamas might appreciate them and sympathise with me.</strong> <strong>The inability of my addled, middle-aged brain to connect with the sharp, intolerance of youth. </strong><br />
<br />
<u>Conversation One</u><br />
<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> I see there's that famous bloke coming to town to talk to the Science Society at your school<strong>.</strong><br />
<strong>Son:</strong> What famous bloke?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> The one who used to do funny science things<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Who?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> He's the father of erm, that woman<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> What woman?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> The one who's on the radio<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Who?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> She's married to a DJ<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Vernon Kay?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> No, no, a proper DJ, does the spinning things with records<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Calvin Harris?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> No, an older one<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Fat Boy Slim?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> YES, that's the one!<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> What's her name then?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> .......Zoe! <br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Zoe who?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> Ball! Zoe Ball.<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> So it's her father who's coming to Spalding<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> Yes, his name's something Ball.<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Michael?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> No, he's the singer<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Okay, Mr Ball, let's just call him John.<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> That's it! Johnny Ball! He's coming. Do you want to go and see him?<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Nah!<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<u>Conversation Two</u><br />
<br />
<strong><em>Me</em></strong>: I just heard a good song this morning from Radio One's Big Weekend<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: What was it?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em></strong>: I can't remember.<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Who was it by?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em></strong>: The Foo Fighters.<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Was it Everlong?<br />
<em><strong>Me</strong></em>: No idea. <br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Well, how did the song go?<br />
<em><strong>Me</strong></em>: I can't remember now.<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: What, nothing at all?<br />
<em><strong>Me</strong></em>: No. Say a few more of theirs.<br />
<strong>Son:</strong> Pretender? Best of You?<br />
<strong><em>Me</em>:</strong> Doesn't ring a bell. Actually it might have been Chasing Status?<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Chase AND Status<br />
<strong><em>Me</em></strong>: That's what I said! What do they sing?<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Let You Go? Blind Faith?<br />
<em><strong>Me</strong></em>: Oh I don't know.<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: Mum, you're really annoying. Try and think.<br />
<em><strong>Me</strong></em>: I've got it! It went "I've got a feeling...oooh....oooh.....that tonight's gonna be a good night"<br />
<strong>Son</strong>: That's the Black Eyed Peas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Trish x</em></strong>Trishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00119443727504215312noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-33638583266871424302011-05-08T18:15:00.006+01:002011-05-08T18:43:26.490+01:00"You with your Mother's Pride and Poetry...!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.osbornsmodels.com/ekmps/shops/osbornsmodels/images/classix-76619-00-1-76-scale-ford-e83w-van-mothers-pride-bread-4225-p.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="http://www.osbornsmodels.com/ekmps/shops/osbornsmodels/images/classix-76619-00-1-76-scale-ford-e83w-van-mothers-pride-bread-4225-p.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />My word, it's been a little quiet around here lately... Where is everyone?!<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />...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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />And people kept on saying that things would improve. That, in time, the relationship between Mother and Son would be restored.<br /><br />And that day - those days - finally came.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I never stopped telling him I loved him, even when I wondered where my sweet boy had gone.<br /><br />I won't say that it's all sweetness and light.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />And sometimes I find myself back in the old Drama Triangle: Victim, Rescuer, sometimes Persecutor...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />We all should, if we have succeeded in raising adaptable, confident, communicative kids who can thrive all by themselves in the outside worlds.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />"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...<br /><br />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... <br /><br />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..."<br /><br />And B R E A T H E!<br /><br /><br />The title of this post comes from one of my favourite songs by the Eurythmics...<br /><br />It's Fhina, by the way!A Woman Of No Importancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218721100500130784noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-43488628453966549822011-03-17T20:55:00.002+00:002011-03-17T20:55:54.381+00:00Knowing Where You're GoingIt'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 <a href="http://www.expatfocus.com/toni-hargis-140311">Expat Focus </a>column.<br />
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Expat MumUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-81995355871120977842011-03-01T19:23:00.002+00:002011-03-01T19:23:51.185+00:00How to Embarrass Your TeenPop over to <a href="http://www.notsupermum.com/2011/02/how-to-embarrass-your-teenager.html">Not Supermum</a> and have a read of the fabulous tips on how to embarrass your teen. And add a tip if you have one.<br />
Tee hee.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXIb8w7AAvMb7Q3DeZqBeZmiBnR187hOhh988Q_2JJjD4RTC-q0TIEeueRylkfVM-n1hWdsFgkZZTOH-4NRAMRJSM0cvgv9x_dE5dcy8V2wwSZYpi0UMw2YnYAZpRKSyYt04LEA_avLHqF/s1600/British-American+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="104" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXIb8w7AAvMb7Q3DeZqBeZmiBnR187hOhh988Q_2JJjD4RTC-q0TIEeueRylkfVM-n1hWdsFgkZZTOH-4NRAMRJSM0cvgv9x_dE5dcy8V2wwSZYpi0UMw2YnYAZpRKSyYt04LEA_avLHqF/s200/British-American+flag.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Expat MumUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-85729302436186970582011-02-24T00:07:00.004+00:002011-02-24T00:07:00.355+00:00Thanks for the memory...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dH0q9hvpVHg/TDs24PIlx5I/AAAAAAAAECc/W6uGlwEmEX4/s400/gratitude.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dH0q9hvpVHg/TDs24PIlx5I/AAAAAAAAECc/W6uGlwEmEX4/s400/gratitude.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I've started to work, as a volunteer, in a Youth Work charity.<div><br /></div><div>Am I stark, staring mad, you ask?</div><div><br /></div><div>Probably!</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love it!</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm training as a counsellor myself. I'd like to work with young people. Eventually...</div><div><br /></div><div>Call me mad. I am after all a proud Mad, Manic Mama!</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like I'm giving something back. Something good!</div><div><br /></div><div>More laters.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85706/sazfab/069ceb5d2c7ec3f4d35fcc2a6fbaaeb6.png" /></div>A Woman Of No Importancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08218721100500130784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-41128182791976296142011-02-10T18:07:00.001+00:002011-02-10T18:10:51.143+00:00OK, Someone Tell Me...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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?".<br />
<br />
Um. Yes. I knew that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9qAjNpDCYgt6y_Eew9QXKvl0HGS_umjfP-QkdcXAkCSO0XomI9PAplUiQpPvacy-MWhfDhA9msdfdhvfHFF1WTyhSm-_L4Klg9jIS7LU_8Z9X8Vhx9D6E1VzVNYv7d7A1Zk7LO3LO4d0/s1600/union-jack-brit-voices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9qAjNpDCYgt6y_Eew9QXKvl0HGS_umjfP-QkdcXAkCSO0XomI9PAplUiQpPvacy-MWhfDhA9msdfdhvfHFF1WTyhSm-_L4Klg9jIS7LU_8Z9X8Vhx9D6E1VzVNYv7d7A1Zk7LO3LO4d0/s1600/union-jack-brit-voices.jpg" /></a></div>Expat MumUnknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-80323725157825242482011-01-30T01:50:00.000+00:002011-01-30T01:50:16.369+00:00Get a grip woman!<div><img height="200" src="http://reclamatione.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/paris_paris.jpg" width="200" /></div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I like living as a single woman I find, exploring possibilities, no longer in fear of what lies ahead.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>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. </div><div>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. </div><div>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. </div><div>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...</div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm not sure l'll have the time to miss him or worry. </div><div>He'll be fine and l'll be fine.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now this sounds like a plan. I shall pick up some brochures tomorrow!</div><div><br />
</div><div>I could even use my french passeport for the first time, enfin!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Saz x</div>Sazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-79476437197635264832011-01-13T02:56:00.000+00:002011-01-13T02:56:00.856+00:00E-mail - Not Cool!<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">(True story - on my mother's life.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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 <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">enormous font</span> 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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The hilarious e-mail I could send as a reply. Here it is ver batim:</span><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thanks for the information Mr M. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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.!!!!</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thanks,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Toni H (not yet 50 and almost 20/20).</span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Hilarious, don't you think? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">So I sent it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The reply? I give up. I realise teachers have to tread warily with parents, but please. Could I really have been serious. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>"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...</em> "</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Argh! No! You're supposed to think I'm one hilarious, hip-cool mama, not a Type A, politically correct a** hole. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"<em>No problem - it was worth the absolute humiliation that I seem to have put the Queenager and the Man-Child through! ;-)"</em></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-65821757854949840402011-01-05T17:09:00.000+00:002011-01-05T17:09:08.408+00:00MMM Public Service announcementI came across <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/susan-stiffelman/my-teenage-daughter-was-m_b_803938.html">this article t</a>oday and wanted to share it with everyone. It's common sense but we all lose sight of it sometimes.<br />
<br />
Not that I have any experience of this. <br />
<br />
At all.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaydtqHpRIkcBbHvd2SBpL4mdrZGH1cs5v-nYaNAx6aleNjwzT4QY6J9ay4Usuef0Ce3dXkGQT-AIeNGupPtGqHUlRb2o73ZG9wM7NCj93Ko-8WnjuwkJJLsLkr-F927xASFsG5Wtvh0Y/s1600/British-American+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="104" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaydtqHpRIkcBbHvd2SBpL4mdrZGH1cs5v-nYaNAx6aleNjwzT4QY6J9ay4Usuef0Ce3dXkGQT-AIeNGupPtGqHUlRb2o73ZG9wM7NCj93Ko-8WnjuwkJJLsLkr-F927xASFsG5Wtvh0Y/s200/British-American+flag.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Expat MumUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-21470953007614579462011-01-02T21:04:00.003+00:002011-01-02T23:04:40.353+00:00First ChristmasAfter 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Christmas eve and I found myself in bed with antibiotics, coughing up my lungs, off work.<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I popped into wish a friend happy Christmas and an hour later I was home.<br />
<br />
And I was not alone for long.<br />
For now that is all l can say about that.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year!<br />
<br />
Sara xSazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04433666175721615185noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-47420258747486524372010-12-22T09:02:00.003+00:002010-12-22T09:35:40.959+00:00Changing ChristmasesWhen 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<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Not on your life.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Have a very happy Christmas with love from your<br /><br />auntiegwen xxxauntiegwenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605486752049211743noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823681431938282960.post-68737196307530989382010-12-16T20:42:00.000+00:002010-12-16T20:42:41.518+00:00I Really Should Be More Careful<div style="text-align: center;">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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOdBXseUroE/TP0KpkmLwgI/AAAAAAAAADo/X6BYL8Kzr2c/s1600/robe.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOdBXseUroE/TP0KpkmLwgI/AAAAAAAAADo/X6BYL8Kzr2c/s320/robe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547602025305063938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Or maybe I will just stay in bed.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Susie @ <a href="http://www.newdaynewlesson.com/">NewDayNewLesson</a><br /></div><br />Image:<br />GETTING SLEEPY<br />© <a href="http://www.dreamstime.com/assignments_info">Dreamstime.com Agency </a>| Dreamstime.comSusiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02916495112660390038noreply@blogger.com5