Biggest bairn has just sent me a meme with nothing but the following HYSTERICAL sentence on it… ‘pray for my Mum, she’s suffering from ‘shoutfornoreason’ syndrome’. How rude.
I can’t begin to think what she means by it. Is it not normal for a mother to suggest that someone else takes a turn at running the hoover round the house or clean the bathroom? I have to laugh at the irony, she looks horror-struck at the thought of doing a dance with the Dyson on the same day she’s received an unconditional from university.
Does she think the magic cleaning fairy will follow? Or maybe they teach the cleaning fairies at the same educational establishment she’s been accepted? Bachelor in Bleach? Masters at Mopping? Tinkerbell’s theory of Spring Cleaning?
I take heart in the fact she has at least learned the art tea making. Not only brewing a cup, but ensuring anyone else in the house who might like a cup of tea is also asked.
There will be no making of solo cuppas in this house! A cup of tea is the solution 99% of all problems. Upset? Cup of tea. Lonely? Cup of Tea. Worried? Cup of tea. Anxious, depressed, too cold, too warm, something to celebrate? Cup. Of. Tea. And she makes a decent one at that. I can send her off into the world safe in the knowledge she at least has this skill and friends will follow.
Who am I trying to kid? I’m not ready to send my precious first born out there into the world? Who else will keep me company when the mister is on late shift? The other two watch weird programmes and don’t tolerate my penchant for the back catalogue of Scrubs. Who else can I send to the shop in the emergency ‘crisp’ run? A lack of salt n’ vinegar IS a valid emergency.
And yes, this IS all about me. Not the giant step into the rest of her life. Nor the fact she’ll meet so many new people and have so many brilliant experiences. CERTAINLY not the niggling worry that she might be a little too like me when I was at University. Absolutely none of those things.
We are excited to run round IKEA knowing any dodgy choice decisions she makes don’t need to accompany us home. Her sisters have already contacted our painter and decorator friend to book him for the moment she goes.
The tears of a mammy
Nick Knowles and his whole team couldn’t get it done quicker. The fact she even lived here will be a long forgotten fact. Commemorated only by the salty loch formed by the tears of a distraught mammy…
This tiny thing rollicked into my world just short of 18 years ago and blew any semblance of normality and routine out of the water. And that was just fine.
I didn’t dress us in matching outfits or enter her in weird Mother/Daughter competitions, but I loved having a wee bestie that was a tonne of fun and hadn’t yet developed her award-winning eye roll. Who’s going to sing too loudly in the car with me now?
Thank goodness for the ‘spare’ kids. The two that aren’t determined to leave me quite yet, let’s not dwell on the fact it’s illegal for them to go quite yet and pretend it’s because they want to be here.
How did I leave before mobile phones?
How did my parents let me leave when I did? Before mobile phones? What were they thinking with their shoddy, lazier faire ‘70s parenting? I left home in 1994 and didn’t get my first mobile for years. When I finally did get one, my Dad phoned every half hour. That got old very quick.
I am going to be so much worse and I’m not even sorry. She is aware. I told her it’s my right and she can’t deny me it.
She’ll head off. She’ll settle in. She’ll make new friends and learn new things. She’ll go places I’ve not taken her to before and experience things I haven’t arranged.
Not a single jot will be given, not even one. And she’ll live happily ever after. The end. And I’ll be okay with that, because that’s what I’ve brought her up to do.
I will be okay with that, eventually…
