Reggie Kray and Mackerel

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...

Pebbles and Ripples

"Can we all just calm down here a minute please....?"

These were the fateful words uttered, with full patronising accompaniment of palms outstretched, patting the air in front of her as if guiding in a Hawker Harrier on an aircraft carrier, by my 15 year old daughter, in response to me raising my voice, at the third time of asking her to look for her mobile phone charger as she had no alarm and the cockerel we'd hired to wake her at the crack of dawn, was slowly losing the ability to crow as it was being intoxicated by her brother's trainer whiff.

I almost choked on my Prozac.

These words did something to me. I found it hilarious, infuriating, saddening, shaming and condescending - all at the same time, in a micro-second. I looked at her, unable to speak. The old chestnut; 'I would never have spoken to my mom in that way...' rang through my head. Although that kind of confidence to express herself is great, I'm beginning to feel like living with teenagers who are not afraid to speak their mind is not good for a parent's self-esteem. Their free expression can come at the expense of feeling good as a parent especially when the children are acting like 'critical parents' and are questioning how you are and what you do. In fact, sometimes it's like being a kid again.

My son is prone to hurling insults freely and the usual howls of 'you don't understand me...', 'You're bad parents...', 'Leave me alone...' and 'I'm ringing Social Services if you don't give me my Playstation' have slowly, mainly due to their repetition and therefore induced compassion fatigue, lost their impact on me. I suppose in the same way as my 'nagging' him to 'cut his nails' has less impact than donning an Edward Scissorhands outfit and, while he rem sleeps at 3 a.m in the morning, sticking a pointed finger up his nostril and bellowing menacingly 'CUT YOUR NAILS'....

However, when I am on the receiving end of my adolescent daughter's wrath and/or condescencion (the latter being worse), it's like a blow below the belt.
'Calm down'??
'Calm down'????
This from the girl who could wind up The Dalai Lama - in fact I'd pay good money to see them in a 'head to head', with my darling daughter jumping up and down, flapping her arms and screaming hysterically while his holiness calmly reassures her that when her brother 'does the finger' at her, it is merely a reflection of his 'inner turmoil' and not a 'let's wind up my sister 'cos it's fun watching her whirl like a Dervish' move. It's like throwing a pebble in a pond - his 'finger', in this case, is the pebble, her reactions are the ripples. As his holiness asks her sagely if she really wants to be a 'ripple', I can see her now - scrunching up her face, shrugging her shoulders, raising her hands questioningly and glaring at me; 'Ripple?? What is he on about??' Buddhist metaphor is lost on the disaffected...
The trouble is teenagers don't know what it's like to live with them... It's probably similar to living with parents when you're a teenager. Pebbles and ripples. Pebbles and ripples.

"Calm down"?
I'd love to.