Tuesday at 6pm, the phone rings as I am driving home. It is DD. She asks if I would like some of the ( very nice ) supper she is currently cooking when I get in from work? Absobloodylutely! As I savour every mouthful of the food I Did Not Have To Cook I tell my son that I now love my daughter far more than him and will be leaving her the vaster portion of my vast estate when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Unless he also feels like rustling up some tasty treat for me one night this week? He smiles sweetly. ‘ It’s never going to happen old woman, we both know that. Can I have some money for a Dominoe’s, I’m still hungry ‘.
When I finally walk through the door on Friday evening at 9pm after a very long but enjoyable day in the Nursery Pavilion at Lords cricket ground, yes you’ve guessed it, exhibiting www.stuckonhomework.com, DD has left me a treat of 5 empty WKD bottles on the kitchen table rather than a home cooked meal. She and several friends have gone to a local party which I have seen advertised on the teen hostess’ facebook page. Hummmm, I tell DD on Thursday evening, 24 hours before the planned celebration, that’s gonna end in tears ‘ Why? You always think the worst, just because there’s a lot of people going doesn’t mean anything will go wrong ‘. Back to Friday and I have arranged to pick up DD and her sleepover friend R at midnight, so kill the next few hours with a bit of light cleaning and telly and standing in the back garden trying to work out where the sound of loud music is emanating from – it can’t be the party, that’s a good half mile away. The phone goes at 11.30. ‘ Yeah, it’s me, can you come and get us now cos the party’s over, the neighbours called the police because of the noise ‘. Or then again, maybe it can. ‘ Delighted to ’ I say, ‘ The police eh? ‘ But DD has already hit the end call button cutting me off mid-gloat, so I head out into the night to pick up two barely dressed teenage girls, thanking the publicity department at facebook for providing me with further ammo in the ‘why you will never be able to have a party, ever ‘ debate.
, Summer Holiday
This Thursday the GCSE results came out and amid the usual furore of news headlines, analysis and debate about the state of the nation’s education system, DS opened the brown envelope we had been waiting all day to open and I held my breath for longer than I am accustomed to. The news was good. Phew. He has done well and I am happy and relieved, particularly with his B in maths thanks to www.stuckonhomework.com – I am a proud mummy on all counts. So when he asked if ‘ a few ‘ of his mates could come round for pre-Motion ( pronounced Moshun? as if it were a question if you are a Bristol teenager ) drinks then I could hardly say no. How many I enquired? ‘ Oh, just the usual, you know, J, J, K, you know ‘. I don’t in fact know how many ultimately turned up as I lost count of the loud, ebullient youths going in and out the front door as they arrived, departed to get beer, returned, took over the kitchen, lounge, bedrooms and bathroom with their newly large man bodies, but what was probably no more than 12 seemed like 50. They’re so BIG. ‘ Is it ok if H stays tonight? ‘ asked DS. ‘ Just H? ‘ ‘ Well maybe J as well, but that’s it ‘.
The GCSE celebrants left in taxis about 9.30 and I began Operation Clear-up which lasted about the same time as the visit, ie. 2 hours, opening windows to get rid of the particular and clingy smell that is the combination of testosterone, beer and deodorant, before finally falling into bed shortly before midnight. Only to be woken at 2am by a collection of voices and laughter and tugging sounds at the back door. I stomped downstairs and let in what seemed like about 20 boys but was in fact upon a head count 7, drunk but all capable of speech, normal movement and good manners and no one looking like they might be sick. So I set about finding sleeping space and bedding for them as they moved from room to room deciding who was sleeping where and with whom, climbing in and out of the various bedding options on offer like large, tipsy puppies, their loud young men voices filling the air with the same jokes and insults about each other’s physical attributes and sexual orientation they have been making for the past 5 years. They were still jubilant, but tired and so asleep within the hour, not a problem if you are a 16 year old facing a long lie-in. I on the other am some considerable distance from my youth and not so blessed. At work by 9, I spent the day drinking strong coffee and avoiding looking in any mirrors in case I caught sight of the bags under my eyes. And of course telling everyone I spoke to how proud I am of my son and his GCSE results.