A teenagers needs are pretty basic. Feed me, clothe me, drive me, fund me, and leave me alone! Simple really. Oh and read my mind constantly.
So unfolded a conversation with one of the men-children on Monday morning at 6.30am that is pretty indicative of how “adolescent” they can sometimes be.
The first thing that popped out of his mouth: “Did you make the sandwiches I asked for?” Actually he asked his father for a certain variety, not me. So no, I didn’t make them, because I didn’t know, and by the way he was pretty lucky that a Year 10 boy was still having his sandwiches made for him. What are we, a tuckshop? No we’re just parents with boys who are rowers who recognise how important their food requirements are.
“That roll is small!” This immediately followed the last comment. Oh sorry, it’s only half a baguette, and yes it’s not the same size as the ones I’ve bought previously. But it’s better than a sandwich isn’t it? Sorry I bothered I am thinking to myself by now. See previous point about rowing men-children – it’s all about fuel!
Within 60 seconds, man-child was heard from the laundry: “Where’s my zoot suit?”. (For the uninitiated, this is the all-in-one fitted suits that rowers wear – very “gay” when you’re in year 7/8/9 but somehow more “manly” when you’re in year 10. Go figure.) Now, since I had VERY KINDLY trawled through both their bedrooms late on Saturday for dirty clothes to wash, only because they were both rowing all day and I felt sorry for them, I knew the zoot suits had indeed made it into the washing machine, onto the line, and into the folded pile of teenage clothes that seems to live permanently in the laundry. So you can imagine my response – silence! (Actually you could call it fuming, because I was). He eventually found it, but not before he’d told me that the only one he found was his brothers, not his, and therefore that’s why he couldn’t find a zoot suit. Yes, they still fight over clothes regularly. And no they don’t put their names on them to stop said fighting.
It got better. A minute later we had the same thing over the rowing t-shirt, which he promptly produced for me saying “You didn’t wash my shirt”! Well no, I clearly didn’t wash your shirt – as any blind man can see because it’s filthy. It obviously wasn’t on the floor, and so I didn’t pick it up when I was VERY KINDLY looking for 4 weeks of washing on your bedroom floor, you know the floor that the cleaners no longer vacuum because they can’t find the carpet!! “Well it was in my backpack!” Oh sorry, I didn’t go through every bag in your room looking for errant dirty clothes. On another day this would be called an invasion of privacy wouldn’t it? Clearly ESP and XRAY vision are two skills I need to add to my mother of a man-child collection.
Ah the simple joys of motherhood. Slavery would have been a better option for some. I can’t recall the last time they voluntarily thanked us for a nice meal, or for driving them at 5.45am every second day to school for rowing, or to a party, or for washing piles of clothing. One of the men-children (yes the one above) sees it in very simple terms – well you chose to have children so it’s your job to do all this stuff. Stop complaining. I can’t wait to be laughing if and when I’m a grandmother to his children and he tells me how ungrateful they are. The joys of parenting. 🙂
I do recall a similar conversation with the other man-child a few years back: Argue this Logic