Category: Teenagers, love ’em

Continue reading “Dear Teenagers…(my reply)”

Daughter 2 walks into my bedroom, just as I’ve got up. I’m still naked…in MY bedroom – it’s allowed. Apparently not: eurrggh Mum, she announces on entry. I’m not sure whether she objects solely to my nakedness or to the exact state of my nakedness. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am leaning forwards, naked, in front of my mirror. Pushing my boobs subtly together, with my legs slightly apart, my bum pushed out and my tummy sucked in (NOT!!) that she objected to (see blog: Twat).

Sitting at daughter 4’s parents’ evening, I keep getting vague whiffs of Haddock Chowder. Can you smell Chowder, I ask her, in a hushed tone. What’s Chowder? She replies. Fish! I whisper. I had it for lunch and it seems to pervade everything. I keep sniffing at my jumper. I notice that it is covered in (non molting) dog 1 and dog 2 hair. I feel rather shabby, in contrast to the teachers, who have all made a real effort. How can they be so positive at 8 o’ clock at night? Saying the same half truths, over and over again. She’s so enthusiastic (won’t ever shut the f**k up). I have nothing but admiration for their style. As they are talking to me, I find myself wondering what they are really thinking. I try not to be too demanding – nobody wants to be that parent. The Latin teacher has a dreadful cold and I spend the appointment worrying about shaking his hand – it’s a busy week next week and I can’t take any chances. 

I was slightly nervous about meeting the science teacher, on account of some homework she had set before Christmas. Daughter 4 had announced that she was going to make a sperm cake for science. What’s a sperm cake? I enquired, wondering whether, despite having conceived four children, I had missed out on something. It’s a cake in the shape of a sperm, she replied, matter of factly. She googled ‘sperm’ to get the correct shape. I hovered over the computer as she did so, just in case. Eurrggh, that’s disgusting, she said, staring at photos of real sperm. Why don’t you scroll down a bit, I suggested helpfully and look for a cartoon shaped sperm, it will be easier to make into a cake. Once made, it looked rather good: covered in carefully rolled Royal white icing. When she came home that evening, I asked her what her teacher had said about the cake. She didn’t say a lot, daughter 4 replied. Well, what did other people’s sperm cakes look like, I continued in a tiger mother fashion – did someone else make a more impressive sperm cake and if so, I want details. No one else made a sperm cake, she said. Other people made models of other types of cell. So why did you choose to make a sperm cake, I ask in a trembling voice. Because I wanted to, she replied, somewhat defensively. Oh shit, I thought to myself, the teacher is going to think we’re freaks. 

The science teacher beckons us over and I give her a firm handshake and look her straight in the eye, feeling that the best way to approach this is head on. The teacher gets straight to the point: while your daughter is doing really well in her written assessments, her last practical fell slightly short. I was about to launch into an apology, when in the next breath she turned to daughter 4 and said: you have lots of sisters, don’t you? I wondered where this one was going. Perhaps they can help you with criteria next time. I thanked her and left, onto the next appointment, but still wondering whether the teacher’s juxtaposition of comments was intentional. 

   The Sperm Cake

To Mummies everywhere. Cherish every moment, time flies.

Things were fine,
My mother said
Until you got
That double bed.

It’s just confirmed
My awful fear
That you will marry soon
My dear.

You are no more
My little lamb
Whom I was pushing
In that pram.

You’ve grown beyond
A teenage grot
And now you’re going
To tie the knot.

I studied mother
With despair
And noticed that
Her auburn hair

Showed little streaks
Of silver grey,
I knew what she was
Trying to say.

But as she pulled me
To her knee,
The time had come
To struggle free.

MadHouseMum©

Looking ahead to Mother’s Day tomorrow, I thought that I would share with you some quotes from my daughters, taken from the past week. Those of you with small children, who are non-judgemental and who think that you are a princess and quite simply beautiful – please enjoy and cherish those moments, because they don’t last. If you don’t believe me, read on! 

Daughter 1: Even mum looks better than me today.                                           Oh and apparently that was a compliment.

Daughter 1: You are looking more and more like Granny B every day.  Apparently that was a compliment too and yes, my mum is, as I’ve mentioned before (blog: Three Way Mirror) a glam gran, however, I am not yet 73.

Me, as daughter 3 is pointing her new Polaroid camera at me: don’t take a photo of me now. Daughter 3: no, I’m not going to. I don’t want to waste it. 

Getting ready for a rare night out, daughter 4: what are you wearing, Mum? I’ll choose ‘cos you can’t look over 40.

Daughter 1 drops some hand cream on the floor as she is slathering it on: you can have that Mum, she says.

All I can say is this: having teenage girls around you keeps you on your toes (which must be painted, of course). 

Daughter 3 – judging me

Now I’ve got your attention…
and don’t teenage girls know it. Mother and step mum to five girls I see tits displayed over Facebook and Instagram (not theirs – they know I’m looking) like a badge of misplaced honour. Friends ‘like’ and comment ‘so beautiful’, while I’m bumping into their mothers in the supermarket in a moral dilemma: do I mention the fact that your daughter’s tits are currently gathering ‘likes’ on Instagram faster than holes in tights. How do I approach the subject: now I’m in no way, shape or form criticising you, your daughter, nor her beautiful tits, but while I can safely admire that she is growing into a lovely young lady, so can all the stalking 55 year old perverts, who are slathering over them as we are choosing our veg.

I don’t consider myself to be easily shocked and I certainly don’t want to be that person who tuts and says: it’s all changed since I was young, because historically girls have always got their tits out – look at the Tudors and their heaving, corseted bosoms. The difference is that with social media, it’s not just Henry the eighth who got to lust, it’s friends, friends’ dads, their teachers, their prospective employees, old Uncles and all and it really bothers me.

Now I’m no prude, but I am a great believer in more is less: more clothes (and I’m not talking a nun’s habit) means less unwanted attention – because at the end of the day, the message us parents want to get across, is it isn’t your tits that define you as a woman, however bloody amazing they are, they are just one part and if your tits are stealing the show, then the rest of you sure is missing out on a whole lot of ‘likes’.

Bear with me – I know this sounds really schmaltzy and that isn’t usually my style. However, it suddenly struck me how cute teenagers can be and how this is a word so rarely used to describe them, except in a sleazy sexual context. We don’t think anything of attributing the word ‘cute’ to a photo of a baby, or to something sweet that a toddler does, but not to describe the teens. 

Obviously there are various reasons for this: 

1. No teenager on this planet wants to be called ‘cute’.
2. They are quite often not cute: they are selfish and rude and oblivious to others and so we tend to forget the cute bits.

So, in an attempt to readdress the balance, here are some genuinely cute things that teenagers do (and by ‘cute’ I don’t mean all the kind and helpful things that teenagers are, occasionally, capable of):

Teenage boys actually ‘do’ their hair. They actually get up in the morning and style it. This is cute.

Teenage girls buy cheap dress after cheap jumper after cheap shorts on ASOS. They wear them on holiday with you and you spend the whole holiday thinking how cheap their clothes look, but they have bought them themselves and this is cute.

When they babysit for other people’s kids, they genuinely care about the children they are looking after. They read them bedtime stories and tell you about it when they get in at midnight. This is cute. 

They still want Father Christmas to visit. This is cute – but obviously the motive behind their cuteness is getting more presents. 

They still like having sleepovers with their sisters. This is cute – especially when they top and tail. 

They plait each other’s hair. Cute. 

They will look out for each other and give reassuring hugs. This is cute, especially when siblings do it, because you then know that, deep down, they actually do love each other. 

Their awkwardness in social situations is cute. 

They love spending time with their grandparents, especially shopping. This is cute because it simply melts the generation gap and has huge benefits for both. 

Their relationship with their pets is cute – their genuine love for them (which doesn’t mean they will poo pick in the garden, because they don’t find that part of having dogs cute).

There are many, many more examples of teenage cuteness: please add 😃