Seventeen. Seventeen was my best year: carefree, hedonistic and fun! Not words I would choose to describe my eldest son's initiation into his seventeenth year.
A rugby injury, when he was head- dumped in the scrum, has left him angry with his inability to tackle men or life in general. Any request to lift anything above the weight of a feather has resorted in a grimace; an ask to involve himself in family life has also resulted in whimpers of pain. However, since the injury has now been deemed as muscular damage by doctor, physio and a higher being ( ME), he can at least attempt to engage with the idea of a party. Funny that since girls have entered his sixth form!
Requirements from injured soul:
1. Do not look at my friends
2. Do not talk to my friends
3. Leave the building
4. Do not eavesdrop on any conversation
Requirements from me:
1. I will meet and greet
2. No one goes upstairs
3. Bass is turned down
4. Music off at 12
Negotiations from son:
1. You may meet but not greet nor make eye contact - I have a Medusa stare and appreciate his need for his friends not to be turned to stone!
2. You will not listen to any conversations - yeah, yeah get realistic as that is going to happen?!
Negotiations from me:
1. I will leave the building - I only agreed to the interior sucker!
2. I will play decent music music quietly upstairs on my return - The Spice Girls baby boy!
Still a subject of debate:
From him:
1. Why can he not berate me for being a total embarrassment - all the time, party or no party?
2. Why should he allow me to meet his friends as I am a total loser freak?
From me:
1. Why can I not discuss the fact that rugby players have small....?
2. Why am I paying for this party? Clearly I have " mug" written on my head!
Deal breaker on both parts:
His: me breathing
Me: not being allowed to laugh at his growing moobs! ( not true but mummy mafia weaponry)
Wednesday 11 December 2013
Tuesday 10 December 2013
Bed Breaking News
Yet again a broken bed!
The boys have been through four in six years.
First bed death: three jumping up and down on top bunk in time to " We are the champions of the World", during an important football victory, which resulted in two needing plasters and one needing staples - death followed soon afterwards - those poor, poor bed slats, may they rest in peace.
Second bed death: five thirteen year old males decided to run and bellyflop with full weight onto unsuspecting bed. Result, instant collapse and death.
Third bed death: gradual and slow drawn out demise due to constant use as fight club arena for twins. Bruised, ruptured and haemorrhaging it eventually gave up.
Fourth and, hopefully, the final bed death: eldest son's bed. Reason for death - over use of fourteen stone rugby prop dreaming, I presume, of next match. I can only presume this is the case,as no human male or female would enter his lair without need of a tetanus jab, yet the noises emitting this feral hole seem akin to the NZ Haka! So either he sings the New Zealand chant of his step father subconsciously; or has sleep apnea and is gasping for air, writhing around maniacally with a desperate bed breaking need to breath or he is tugging on his favourite - that climatic call of every male in England ......that first try!
The boys have been through four in six years.
First bed death: three jumping up and down on top bunk in time to " We are the champions of the World", during an important football victory, which resulted in two needing plasters and one needing staples - death followed soon afterwards - those poor, poor bed slats, may they rest in peace.
Second bed death: five thirteen year old males decided to run and bellyflop with full weight onto unsuspecting bed. Result, instant collapse and death.
Third bed death: gradual and slow drawn out demise due to constant use as fight club arena for twins. Bruised, ruptured and haemorrhaging it eventually gave up.
Fourth and, hopefully, the final bed death: eldest son's bed. Reason for death - over use of fourteen stone rugby prop dreaming, I presume, of next match. I can only presume this is the case,as no human male or female would enter his lair without need of a tetanus jab, yet the noises emitting this feral hole seem akin to the NZ Haka! So either he sings the New Zealand chant of his step father subconsciously; or has sleep apnea and is gasping for air, writhing around maniacally with a desperate bed breaking need to breath or he is tugging on his favourite - that climatic call of every male in England ......that first try!
Friday 9 August 2013
Planking
Thanks to my twins, this summer I have discovered the delights or horrors of a new form of exercise -"planking".
"Planking" was introduced to me by the twins. Now this, they informed me, required little aerobic exercise but patience and a degree of nerve - apparently. Initially, this type of exercise appealed to me as I imagined watching something on the television whilst developing muscle control and deeper levels of concentration. I was a little concerned where the "plank" came into it, and in my naivety, thought perhaps it was some sort of yoga position. How stupid was I!
According to my Double Act, firstly, you travel by train to your local shopping centre or mall with a group of friends, preferably wearing hoodies ("although some malls are complete melts and won't let you in if they can't see your face," moaned a twin.) I asked why your face had to be hidden and to much eye rolling and facial gurning was told that being hidden was part of the risk. When they had finished staring at me as if I was totally incompetent, I reflected on whether I had a hoodie in my wardrobe; whether I could swop a mall for the lounge floor but more importantly how I was going to watch the television with a covered face whilst practising the new craze of "planking"? I prompted them to continue and raising their head from the XBox, they begrudgingly complied.
So on entering the centre/mall, you had to find a flat surface, I was told.
"Where does the plank come into it?" I inquired.
"Wait! The plank will be revealed," the younger twin assured me.
Once the surface had been assessed for suitability you had to lie flat on your stomach, legs straight, immobile.
"Like a plank?" I exclaimed eagerly. "Oh what happens if I trip someone up?" the horror of causing injury to an unsuspecting shopper was dawning on me.
"Well, they would be a total plank for not seeing you!" they said in unison and returned to their gaming.
"Well, that is totally out of order. Completely pointless and lacks any thought!" I was becoming rather worked up.
"Planking is planking. It does not have to be dangerous. It is quiet and only harms complete planks if they are too plankish not to notice you! Anyway most of the time, we plank on the edge of walls so noone is harmed. If we fall we will look like a total plank!" said one.
"Or become as flat as one!" mused the other with authority of one who has had a near "plank" miss.
Oh that made it so much better! Lying on a wall three storeys high was clearly plankish! Potentially, landing on the ground floor, whilst ricocheting off an escalator, passersby and kiosks contained every "plankish" element! Needless to say , my two twin "plankers" will NOT be "planking" anymore.
"Planking" was introduced to me by the twins. Now this, they informed me, required little aerobic exercise but patience and a degree of nerve - apparently. Initially, this type of exercise appealed to me as I imagined watching something on the television whilst developing muscle control and deeper levels of concentration. I was a little concerned where the "plank" came into it, and in my naivety, thought perhaps it was some sort of yoga position. How stupid was I!
According to my Double Act, firstly, you travel by train to your local shopping centre or mall with a group of friends, preferably wearing hoodies ("although some malls are complete melts and won't let you in if they can't see your face," moaned a twin.) I asked why your face had to be hidden and to much eye rolling and facial gurning was told that being hidden was part of the risk. When they had finished staring at me as if I was totally incompetent, I reflected on whether I had a hoodie in my wardrobe; whether I could swop a mall for the lounge floor but more importantly how I was going to watch the television with a covered face whilst practising the new craze of "planking"? I prompted them to continue and raising their head from the XBox, they begrudgingly complied.
So on entering the centre/mall, you had to find a flat surface, I was told.
"Where does the plank come into it?" I inquired.
"Wait! The plank will be revealed," the younger twin assured me.
Once the surface had been assessed for suitability you had to lie flat on your stomach, legs straight, immobile.
"Like a plank?" I exclaimed eagerly. "Oh what happens if I trip someone up?" the horror of causing injury to an unsuspecting shopper was dawning on me.
"Well, they would be a total plank for not seeing you!" they said in unison and returned to their gaming.
"Well, that is totally out of order. Completely pointless and lacks any thought!" I was becoming rather worked up.
"Planking is planking. It does not have to be dangerous. It is quiet and only harms complete planks if they are too plankish not to notice you! Anyway most of the time, we plank on the edge of walls so noone is harmed. If we fall we will look like a total plank!" said one.
"Or become as flat as one!" mused the other with authority of one who has had a near "plank" miss.
Oh that made it so much better! Lying on a wall three storeys high was clearly plankish! Potentially, landing on the ground floor, whilst ricocheting off an escalator, passersby and kiosks contained every "plankish" element! Needless to say , my two twin "plankers" will NOT be "planking" anymore.
Wednesday 7 August 2013
Big Mumma is Watching You Sunshine!
Yesterday, my eldest asked me if I would be around tomorrow night. Momentarily, I felt wanted. After all, this is a boy who has found a new respect for his home and mother.
Oh come on - really! I am not that naive! Yes, he has cleaned. Yes, he has been polite. Yes, he has not condemned me me for being alive (which obviously would be more stupid than mud as I gave birth to him and therefore he wouldn't exist otherwise). However, he is a teenager and he wants to branch out and discover things such as .... well I do not need to point out what we all wanted when we were teenagers, but I of course wanted to study really hard! (or so I told my parents). However, I am no fool and this new sensitive soul has been trying to soft-soap me for a while with his love of all things domestic, whilst trying to work out when I would be out with friends for a night. BEEN THERE AND GOT THE TEA-SHIRT.
So when I said I felt wanted momentarily, call me a cynic but the chill of "you are not wanted here here" blew through my kitchen like tumbleweed. . It was his attempt at nonchalance but oh so clearly pained look on his face that made me want to play with him a little - like a cat with a mouse.
" Of course, I will be," I said." In fact, I thought we could spend some quality time together discussing your options for university or perhaps listening to music, as I believe there is an 80's revival at the moment.Let's face it, I grew up listening to that type of music and I could give you the heads up. Just time for you and me as the youngest are away. " My eyes had narrowed slightly whilst unloading the washing machine but my head was bent sideways enough to see his look of disgust and fear.
" Great!", he replied, clearly appalled, stepping back from the kitchen work top in horror" I thought you might be out. In fact. Mum why don't you ring some of your friends and go out as you have been working so hard lately? "
Raising my head mid washing machine load, I gave him the wounded mother look of "oh I thought it could be just you and me". "Mum, seriously, I will be ok and you need a break!" he continued (give up buster, I know your game).
I raised myself to full 5ft 6. " A break? Bless you - you are such a caring son" He was starting to sweat a little. "A break? MMMM" I began to fold the washing silently. I noticed from the corner of my eye that he was clock watching. "Darling?"
"Yes, Mum?"
"What time is she coming round?"
"Sorry?"
"You heard me sunshine!"
"What?"
"You may have blocked me off Facebook but I have means you idiot!"
"Oh my god, you are so wrong! In every way! Why are you such an idiot? No other mothers are like you! Why can't you leave me alone? ......" And on and on and on. Thank the lord, my boy is back and his saccharine cleany-uppy, nicey-smashy doppelganger had disappeared. All thanks to my new best friend Twitter. who tells me everything about my eldest without him moving his lips!
Oh come on - really! I am not that naive! Yes, he has cleaned. Yes, he has been polite. Yes, he has not condemned me me for being alive (which obviously would be more stupid than mud as I gave birth to him and therefore he wouldn't exist otherwise). However, he is a teenager and he wants to branch out and discover things such as .... well I do not need to point out what we all wanted when we were teenagers, but I of course wanted to study really hard! (or so I told my parents). However, I am no fool and this new sensitive soul has been trying to soft-soap me for a while with his love of all things domestic, whilst trying to work out when I would be out with friends for a night. BEEN THERE AND GOT THE TEA-SHIRT.
So when I said I felt wanted momentarily, call me a cynic but the chill of "you are not wanted here here" blew through my kitchen like tumbleweed. . It was his attempt at nonchalance but oh so clearly pained look on his face that made me want to play with him a little - like a cat with a mouse.
" Of course, I will be," I said." In fact, I thought we could spend some quality time together discussing your options for university or perhaps listening to music, as I believe there is an 80's revival at the moment.Let's face it, I grew up listening to that type of music and I could give you the heads up. Just time for you and me as the youngest are away. " My eyes had narrowed slightly whilst unloading the washing machine but my head was bent sideways enough to see his look of disgust and fear.
" Great!", he replied, clearly appalled, stepping back from the kitchen work top in horror" I thought you might be out. In fact. Mum why don't you ring some of your friends and go out as you have been working so hard lately? "
Raising my head mid washing machine load, I gave him the wounded mother look of "oh I thought it could be just you and me". "Mum, seriously, I will be ok and you need a break!" he continued (give up buster, I know your game).
I raised myself to full 5ft 6. " A break? Bless you - you are such a caring son" He was starting to sweat a little. "A break? MMMM" I began to fold the washing silently. I noticed from the corner of my eye that he was clock watching. "Darling?"
"Yes, Mum?"
"What time is she coming round?"
"Sorry?"
"You heard me sunshine!"
"What?"
"You may have blocked me off Facebook but I have means you idiot!"
"Oh my god, you are so wrong! In every way! Why are you such an idiot? No other mothers are like you! Why can't you leave me alone? ......" And on and on and on. Thank the lord, my boy is back and his saccharine cleany-uppy, nicey-smashy doppelganger had disappeared. All thanks to my new best friend Twitter. who tells me everything about my eldest without him moving his lips!
Monday 29 July 2013
It's Oh So Quiet!
It's freakishly quiet in my house this month, after months of activity:wedding ( another post will soon follow about that); ex partners gnashing, GCSES, work issues, friends traumas and family dramas. Oh yes, it is so quiet that even Bjork, in her swan costume, pirouetting,screaming and hushing. would not raise an eyebrow nor the dead here- it is scarily cool, calm and collected..
My three youngest sons have gone to camp - Scout's camp and I remain in my hovel with my sixteen year old, who after his GSCES, swallowed the code of chivalry - not sure which knight but hopefully not Lancelot, as I can't face angry souls on my doorstep demanding their daughters' justice. However, after a local work experience, during which young mothers commented on his beauty (they need to go to SpecSavers), and trustworthiness, perhaps he is akin to Galahad - pure. Whatever! All I know as a mother, he is a joy to be around - rugby obsessed, cleans the house, goes to the gym ----- Oh Lordy, now I am scared. This is not my son and clearly he must be waiting for the most opportune moment to launch something momentous on me. such as: "Mum, you are a grandmother" or that he has found religion. Well, until I receive either bombshell, I will live in ignorant bliss that he likes life and has a new found fondness for me.
Yet, my house is quiet. I took "Double Trouble" out for their 15th birthday, the day before camp, and all I had to endure was: "Shut up you melt!" directed at each other rather than the Tourettes' outbursts of last year. Apparently, "melt" is some sort of endearment. So all was all peachy or so I thought.
No. Once the three youngest were sent off to dig pits and build tents and the eldest was clearly reading the Bible or some such (or having a rave whilst I was away), I alighted a train at Waterloo to travel into the depths of Corporate (I'm so much better than you coz I earn mega bucks) Land. Entrenched in the "Quiet Zone" I felt I was safe reading a book, after all, for the last week my life had been peachy and QUIET. No. I was made to endure the life of QC Bla Bla and his inability to persuade his eldest son to pick up his youngest daughter from Haselmere train station. Now I was able to know he was a QC because he decide to sit next to me and bray loudly about his job to wife, whilst stroking her inner thigh - really not cool as, call me a prude, but some things are private! His wife, after telling him he was : "Immense and really yummy" (how are those terms at all appropriate - EVER), ineffectually begged so called eldest son to pick up daughter with a piercing whine.: "Darling, Daddy and are delayed and it is so very rude for us = to turn up to a dinner party late- we would pick up your sister but time is tight - so, I know you are really busy with your friends gaming on Xbox (clearly a hip mum,) but I would so appreciate it if you could pick up your sister from the station. I know you are a bit "miffed" (really? How? He's playing a game!!!) right now but please answer mine and Daddy's calls. Darling, please sweetie, we know you had plans but it's really upsetting when you hung up" Sorry, DARLING, it was really upsetting that you were whining down your mobile in the QUIET ZONE AT ALL. HELLO I AM NEXT TO YOU! Am I a beast? Seriously, I would be arriving home and unplugging XBox and taking away keys to "spoilt brat's" car. I know they had bought it for him recently because they whimpered together that perhaps they should have bought him a better model and maybe he wouldn't be ashamed to drive it, It wasn't rational but now I wanted to pull on all of my Tourettes Twins obscenities and scream at them full force in the QUIET ZONE. QCA Bla BLa was reassuring his wife by stroking further up her thigh. I needed a sick bag,
.Is it rude not to go to a dinner party on time? Rude for your son, at possibly 17 plus, to have a hissy fit so he doesn't answer your calls about picking up his sister from the station, with a car you idiots have bought for him? Or RUDE to speak very loudly in the QUIET ZONE - it is meant to be QUIET. My boys are beginning to behave and they are 16, 15 and 9! Why can't QC Bla BLa , with all his wealth and education, and his family behave too? It wasn't "Oh So Quiet" on South West trains and "Zing Boom" I would have "Blown a Fuse" had they not descended from the train!
Thursday 16 May 2013
Einstein a No No!
How can I be waking up at four o'clock in the morning with a frozen right shoulder worrying whether I answered all the questions on a GCSE (England's exams for 16 year olds) accurately on a physics paper? I always hated studying physics! In fact, I can claim, with absolute authority, that I achieved the worst recorded result prior to GCSE in the history of Westcliff High School for Girls - 1% : I placed my name upon the paper and then decorated it with cartoons of all the physicophiles in my exam room -I am completely offended that my illustrations achieved so little! What's more is that I am convinced that the physics teacher also was disappointed with my 1% as she spent so much time in detention with me extolling the virtues of the subject and trying to reform me to the physics way of life!
Nevertheless at end of Year 9 ( in my day 3rd Year Seniors), I knew physics and I had parted company and our dalliance was spent. Physics will always remain that complete anomaly to me, never entering my world or my grasp on normality! The one that got away. Physics, \I am sure feels the same about me! We have no understanding of each other: The Theory of Relativity does not hold me agasp just as The Theory of My Relatives plays no part in the world of Science.
So why the sleepless nights? Because my arrogant eldest son is sitting his GCSEs and I seem more concerned than him. Every exam he faces I live - cold sweats, hyperventilation and sleepless nights. But not for him. Physics, he informed me was really enjoyable - in fact he spent 2 hours of absolute bliss answering questions that would have tied me up in knots (not in a 50 shade way!). Questions that I would have responded to with:" No one cares actually and "Whatever loser! Not for me the physics phenomena. But clearly for my eldest.
Why then,on his return home, did I grasp said eldest tightly when he admitted enjoying his physics exam? Why then did I say: "I am so proud of you!"? Maybe because he had beaten something that had avoided me. Or maybe because - OMG- he must have gone horribly wrong as noone in their right mind could possibly enjoy physics! Or just maybe because I was knackered from hours of sleepless nights and worry.
Is physics the precursor to the girlfriend? You have to accept her but you worry whether she is treating your son properly; or whether he has read her properly? I await the results of both.
Nevertheless at end of Year 9 ( in my day 3rd Year Seniors), I knew physics and I had parted company and our dalliance was spent. Physics will always remain that complete anomaly to me, never entering my world or my grasp on normality! The one that got away. Physics, \I am sure feels the same about me! We have no understanding of each other: The Theory of Relativity does not hold me agasp just as The Theory of My Relatives plays no part in the world of Science.
So why the sleepless nights? Because my arrogant eldest son is sitting his GCSEs and I seem more concerned than him. Every exam he faces I live - cold sweats, hyperventilation and sleepless nights. But not for him. Physics, he informed me was really enjoyable - in fact he spent 2 hours of absolute bliss answering questions that would have tied me up in knots (not in a 50 shade way!). Questions that I would have responded to with:" No one cares actually and "Whatever loser! Not for me the physics phenomena. But clearly for my eldest.
Why then,on his return home, did I grasp said eldest tightly when he admitted enjoying his physics exam? Why then did I say: "I am so proud of you!"? Maybe because he had beaten something that had avoided me. Or maybe because - OMG- he must have gone horribly wrong as noone in their right mind could possibly enjoy physics! Or just maybe because I was knackered from hours of sleepless nights and worry.
Is physics the precursor to the girlfriend? You have to accept her but you worry whether she is treating your son properly; or whether he has read her properly? I await the results of both.
Saturday 11 May 2013
Thursday 4 April 2013
One Woodland One Fat Bloke One Month
A quick break from my helter skelter life to introduce you all to an amazing man. This guy I am proud to call a friend! He is adorable, incorrigible and has a huge heart! He will be living off the land camped in a wood for a month from Monday April 15th raising money for a charity. He needs all the well wishes you can send and any funny comments but most importantly if you have any loose change, it would be gratefully received xxx
www.justgiving.com/1woodland-1fatbloke-1month
Please take time to click and view x
I promise my tales of boydom will be soon bombarding you all again. However, it has taken an awful big lot of time to look half decent for my looming wedding - yikes a week away!
www.justgiving.com/1woodland-1fatbloke-1month
Please take time to click and view x
I promise my tales of boydom will be soon bombarding you all again. However, it has taken an awful big lot of time to look half decent for my looming wedding - yikes a week away!
Tuesday 5 March 2013
Traumas and Tantrums
Yes, I have been burying my head in my posterior, coming up only for breath to see if the world is beautiful once more! Please, please let the horrors go away! Please let the monsters be gone! Sadly, no, those pesky beasts are still looming in the near present. Not piles, even worse than that - GCSES!
Now, I know they are not my exams, but I am living and breathing those pesky piranhas, since my eldest is now swimming in their pool. I am totally, utterly drowning! They hurt. They bite. They are endless. They are eating me alive! My eldest is ambivalent, carefree and negligent but I AM COMPLETELY PANICKING!
Recently, I received a letter commending my son on his mock results - phew - I thought for a nanosecond - then reality bit. How is absolutely no revision, whatsoever, commendable?
So I arrive. a month later, at an aftermock parents meeting. Needless to say, things are remarkably different. Suddenly, French has grave concern, History worries, English bitches, Economics has the itch and P.E is cruising - or so I am led to believe by a man-/boy, who could not be old enough to surely crawl let alone walk! That is until the tape of my eldest skiing came in, then P.E is whining, "It's not A*" - too late fitness baby - we asked you at the meeting and you did NOTHING! Science and Maths are happy little potters - yes, he likes you two!
So now Mummy puts her boots on - big, bloody, kick-arse boots on! Life, for my eldest is no longer a bowl of cherries. Revision hurts. Hang on. Revision hurts me more than him. I am finding I am watching him, spying on him, entering his room without knocking (always a danger), checking, monitoring screaming, insulting and crying!This has to stop. I am in a constant tantrum and it is only March.
Any stolen moments that I spend with my "soon to be husband" is in a constant full pitch whine, usually fuelled with wine! He is indulgent and our local pub is also... indulgent. They are at least being paid to hear my moanings.
Yet, from the bedroom of this GCSE student I hear, "Mum, stop your row! Hush a little".
"Hush? Stop? Row?"
I start to fall apart:, dribbling about future and life and ...."Trauma! Mayday! Trauma!
Thursday 10 January 2013
Well hello Mrs Scrooge!
So long, too long I have missed my bloggy world! Time flies when my head has been spinning 360 degrees in a toilet bowl of December celebration build-ups. As the bill grew, the exorcist gained momentum-.my tongue spontaneously reeled in and out lashing all those unfortunate souls nearby and my body shook in desperate need to find any coin available on my person to fund this nightmare.
Christmas sucks doesn't it? I love the build up, pretty sparkling trees and lights, shiny menorahs for Chunakah, Christingels and then the star event. But holy cow, the expense! For one day! Christ was born in a stable and I'll be flipping living one if I bought into my youngest's Father Christmas list! That bad boy is being killed off next year - "Yes, son I'm a liar. He doesn't exist and that is why he didn't buy you a plasma HD top of the range TV; all the Moshi monsters in the world; make you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and guest star you on ICarly!"
Still, I have survived to tell the tale and despite family dramas, tears, food, booze and floods, I enjoyed myself. That worries me. I enjoyed Christmas. Oh holy cow I enjoyed Christmas!
Christmas sucks doesn't it? I love the build up, pretty sparkling trees and lights, shiny menorahs for Chunakah, Christingels and then the star event. But holy cow, the expense! For one day! Christ was born in a stable and I'll be flipping living one if I bought into my youngest's Father Christmas list! That bad boy is being killed off next year - "Yes, son I'm a liar. He doesn't exist and that is why he didn't buy you a plasma HD top of the range TV; all the Moshi monsters in the world; make you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and guest star you on ICarly!"
Still, I have survived to tell the tale and despite family dramas, tears, food, booze and floods, I enjoyed myself. That worries me. I enjoyed Christmas. Oh holy cow I enjoyed Christmas!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)