Why Worry?

There’s nothing quite like a conversation with your mum to make you realise that you have fucked up as a parent…again.

My latest fuck-up was allowing daughter 2 to watch a band in Camden last night.

“What! On a school night? How old is she? 15?” Yes mum, you know that already (and actually she’s 3 weeks off being 16, which doesn’t sound nearly as bad). “I would never have let you do that on a school night!” Erm, well actually you did – remember, I went to see ‘The Bolshoi’ and when I told my teachers the next day, they all thought I’d been to see a ballet. “I don’t remember that.”

No, I sighed. You never do.

The thing is, I had felt as if I’d fucked-up when daughter 2 reminded me 2 nights previously that she was going. “You’re doing what?” I asked incredulously, confident that I would never have agreed to such a thing – especially on a school night. “Yes, you remember Mum. I bought the tickets ages ago.” I searched my brain for a glimpse of a recollection…nothing. “I thought it was tomorrow, but actually it’s the day after.” Ah, now the penny dropped. She had told me that it was on the night she stays with her Dad, so I had relinquished all responsibility for the decision. Now, with 2 days to go, she tells me it’s on my watch. Shit. Suddenly it’s left to me to explain to the police, if anything were to go wrong, that I allowed my 15 but nearly 16 year old daughter out on a school night, with only her 15 year old friend as a chaperone. I falter. I’m stuck. Partner shoots me ‘one of those’ looks, that says: she’s taking the piss. I’m thinking: she can’t let her friend down now. It’s too late to stop her. What’s the worst that can happen? At which point I just switch off.

Until the morning of the night of the concert, when I suddenly panic that I don’t know the name of the band she’s going to see, let alone the name of the club. I march into her room and demand details. She’s too busy getting ready for school to be able to pay me much attention, she just waves her hand towards her bag where the tickets are. I take a photo of the ticket. This makes me feel a bit better. What I actually achieved by this, I have no idea, but it did make me feel a little more responsible.

I spend all morning worrying that I’m a really bad mother, then her friend’s mum rings me and reassures me that they’ll be ok. I feel fine again. Anyway, I have other things to worry about, so I’m more than happy to put this one to bed. I text daughter 2 to tell her that I’ve spoken to her friend’s mum and she’s to ring me when she leaves the venue. ‘I haven’t got any credit’, she texts back. Shit, I think to myself and start worrying all over again. I ring her: “you can’t go to London with no credit on your phone. What if you get lost? Separated from your friend?” I’m back to imagining various scenarios that involve young males and police. “I’ll be fine mum,” she says, adding reassuringly, “I can still text.”

She sends me a photo: ‘we’re right at the front’. The text doesn’t serve to reassure. I can see the barrier. I envisage her getting squashed up against it. ‘You’re in the mosh pit’ I text back. ‘Don’t get trampled on.’ ‘Hahahaha we won’t it will be fine’ was her text back.

And with that, I let go of my worry. I cooked, I blogged, I stared mindlessly at Facebook. I periodically told the kids to get on with homework and I watched TV. Then I went to bed.

Shit! I woke-up at midnight. I’d forgotten to worry. I grabbed for my phone – nothing. I did a quick calculation of timings. How could I have forgotten she was travelling home? How the bloody hell could I have forgotten to worry? I sent a text: ‘you back yet?’ and waited…

‘Yeah. It was soooo good xxxxxx’.

Another worry put to bed, until the next one.