Time goes so fast.
It is a truth I tell to my eye bags in the mirror most mornings.
Inside I am still 19 and full of resilience with the enviable quality of being able to sleep on someone's floor and bounce up the next morning looking refreshed and bright-eyed, rather than walking like a lame John Wayne with piles, while clicking dislocated shoulder and hip joints back into place before brewing half a litre of espresso to combat the painful lack of sleep and telephone ordering an electric bed with memory foam mattress and pillow from the 24hr 'Orthopaedic Channel'.
One minute, I'm getting married, the next, my 7 year old bridesmaid from 1992 is planning her own wedding next year. I am officially old. I may cry at the wedding. (note to self - up the Prozac before September.). Anyway, time does indeed fly, and the older we get - the faster its little wings seem to beat.
One of the reasons I have been thinking a lot about time lately, is my children, namely the oldest two, who seem to have 'grown up' all of a sudden. I seem to have adapted okay to this phenomenon with my 15 yr old daughter even though none of her girl friends seems to have a 'sensible' curfew and she's always the first one in her group going home. She understands it's because I worry about her and think that the world's a scary place. I'm sure her friends think I'm mad.
So sue me.
She's lucky I don't follow her around wearing dark glasses and a false moustache, rapidly hiding in bushes when she turns round. My daughter is highly aware that things could be worse (She's very gateful for the invention of the mobile phone, without it, I could easily be stalking her.).
My son, however, is, has always been, and will always be, convinced that he is at the nadir of his own existence. The success of life for my son, is based on the amount of wool he can pull over his parents' eyes. At the age of 15, our uncanny knack to predict his next move (after having years of experience) is ticking him off. It's just not 'cool' for a fifteen year old to be that transparent. I realized too, that the time has come when I need to change 'how' I speak to him. I've always had to be very blunt with my son - euphemisms or sensitive suggestion have never really worked. Mainly because his constant 'Why?'s always reduced any 'sensitive suggestions' down to the wire and I have had to get to the point. Bluntly. For example;
'Maybe you should have a shower love'
'But I had one last month...'
'Yes I know that love - you should really shower every day...'
'Why?'
'Because it's usual to.'
*Getting exasperated and shouting, 'But why have I got to have one NOW?'
*squirming a bit, 'Because you need one.'
'BUT WHY???'
'Because you do.'
'BUT WHY???'
Hours of wasted time and energy later, I decided just to tell him that he needs to shower because he smells bad. Fullstop. We avoid all of that and cut to the chase. The trouble is at 13, he appreciated the bluntness. At 15, he's becoming sensitive to it and I need to respect that.
We have just had a talk about this. That sounds so reasonable, but really, it was an argument that peaked at the statement, made by my son and heir that I, his mother who has an almost 'psychic' gift of knowing when a lie is being told, is 'a right, bloody pain'. 'If you want us to get on, then get off my case.' - I think Reggie Kray said something similar as they carted him off to prison.
Resisting the urge to say, 'The only case I'll be 'on', my darlin', will be the one full of your clothes when you're zipping it up, on the day you leave home.', I calmed him down and we discussed the use of 'codewords', when he's inappropriate or hyperactive, to lessen his embarrassment at me 'getting on his case' in public.
I am trying to be positive. I really am. It's just that, I know that when our son is hyper and talking at six million miles an hour, without pausing and without actually ever finishing a sentence, he just doesn't listen. Unless I punch him in the face with a comedy boxing glove to break his flow, he won't hear me. It'll be that or he'll forget that we ever talked about using codewords and he'll think I'm just being bizarre... But for the sake of helping him to maintain his 'coolness', I am going with it.
So,if you see someone with a false moustache and shades, frantically chasing an adolescent male down the street, as he sings along to his MP3 player with abandon while swinging round lamp posts, and they're shouting over and over again 'The Red Mackerel is Flying Over the Blue Danube Tonight son', you'll know it's me...
