I was hopping from foot to foot, desperate for the loo, but she was about to go 5 minutes ago and still hadn’t gone. I couldn’t hold on any longer: have a lovely time! I shouted, as I disappeared off upstairs. That wasn’t very good timing, I heard her say, as I shut the toilet door and that pretty much sums up daughter 2’s DofE weekend thus far.
This is my third DofE experience with a teenage daughter – you’d think I’d be an expert at it by now, but I’m not. I’m a ‘hands right off’ rather than a ‘hands on’ parent and with that comes both the good and the bad. Last weekend was daughter 3’s expedition and she happily prepared for it herself. True, she arrived at the camp site on her first night and had forgotten the groundsheet to the tent, but from this she learned the importance of checking your equipment beforehand (the bad was that she got piles…well, no she didn’t, but the potential for that with a bum on a cold ground was there).
I probably should have reminded daughter 2 of her sister’s schoolboy error, so that she didn’t repeat it and I know that a tiger mother would have been right on it, growling at her to be methodical and probably standing over her with the kit list on a clipboard, ticking it off herself. Instead, I sat down with a glass of wine on Friday night, telling daughter 2 that she had to get ready herself, because I was bloody knackered. I was actually really impressed with how she got on with it. She raided my drawers for all things polyester, coming downstairs with them all layered on: running shorts over leggings over cycling shorts. You’re only away for one night, I reminded her, helpfully. True, she said, I must remember to take my dressing gown.
I’d better go and find the tent, she cleverly thought. We were going to take a 2 man and a 3 man, but the girls in the 3 man have had an argument and so either we have to squeeze her into our 2 man, or we have to take a 5 man. This all sounded very complicated to me (girls) – far too complicated for me to contemplate after two glasses of wine on a Friday night, so I just nodded and off she disappeared into the shed – in search, I think, for some sort of tent. It was when she re-emerged that she discovered that the tent had neither poles, nor pegs. Oh shit, I muttered under my breath, oh crap! she exclaimed. She asked her sister, who nonchalantly told her that her friends still have them from her DofE expedition last year! She rang her friend, whose mother leapt into action in the way that I probably should have, but didn’t: knocking on neighbours’ doors and pleading. I presume that her pleas were to no avail, as this morning at breakfast, daughter 2 informed me that friend’s mother was going to Lidl to purchase a tent. Lidl – that well known camping shop…or the only shop close by, that opens in time for the pre-arranged drop off at 8.30am. Except, that it didn’t open on time. So poor friend’s mother was apparently banging on Lidl’s window at 7.30am and gesticulating that she wished to purchase a tent. (I believe she succeeded – go Lidl).
Daughter 2 put on her rucksack. Where do I hang my sunglasses? she asked, at the same time as not being too bothered about where the sleeping roll or water would fit in. We’re sharing a camp site with the local boy’s school, she bemoaned, as I imagined her slipping a lipstick into a side pocket. Instead, it was lip balm that she seemed most intent on remembering, food and a toothbrush took a back seat. In fact, her main source of energy for the weekend seems to be coming from a packet of Oreos and a large bag of Haribos.
In the car she had a sudden panic attack: I should have gone to the toilet, she wailed. I’m so cross with myself! You’ll just have to go behind a bush, partner said helpfully, but totally unrealistically to a teenage girl. This is the kid who travelled around the world with a rucksack on her back for 7 months aged 8. Overall, I’m not too worried, but if you are in the Ashdown Forest area today and you notice a group of 5 girls dressed head to toe in polyester, arguing – I would suggest you give them a wide berth.