I don’t know anyone who has enjoyed this year. For a variety of reasons. But during the last week, I realised that one thing that I have truly benefitted from myself, over the last 12 months is the wisdom and insight of my (now) fledgling teenager.
Yes – I’m a firm believer in ignoring the bad press that teenagers get. I think that as a species, they are rather terrific (even when I’m not hitting the Temazepam). So, the next few posts are all a product of her words. With her pemission to reproduce the conversation of course, because; “I always come out on top anyway, Mum.”
HER: “I reckon that you, me and Grandma are the Three Wise Women.”
ME: “How so? Because we always listen to our dreams – and we wouldn’t want the Baby Jesus to have been murdered?”
HER: “Nah. I’m referring to the ‘WOMEN’ bit. Because we’ve got the sense to put our knickers on the radiator the night before we know it’s going to be a frosty morning. I’ve yet to see a man do that.”
ME: “And come to think of it, I don’t think that the Wise Men were particularly wise. Stupid gifts – a bit of bling, some posh body lotion and some sort of drug – for a baby. Hardly wise purchases.”
HER: “Actually, I’d say that they *were* pretty wise – turn up with those big grand showy-offy, grand gesture ‘oh I’m so important aren’t I’ gifts – and then let the women do the buying of Christmas presents for the next 2000 years. That’s dead clever. And cunning.”
HER: “I just love Christmas so much! I love everything about it – I don’t ever want to grow up and be like you and be turning into a mentalist and all stressed because you feel that you have to buy presents for a load of people – just because they get them for us. Me? I’m starting as I mean to go on. I’m buying no one nowt. Nowt! More women should do this.”
ME: “Great. I’ll remind you of that in 30 years time, shall I?”
HER: “Yes you can. But you’ll be on your own in an old peoples’ home and no one will care what you say, anyway.”
HER: “I have a little daydream – that you and Dad don’t have weird jobs – that you have ordinary jobs, with ordinary working hours and you come home all nice and happy every day because you have a lovely boss and lovely people to work with.”
ME: “Ha. Just wait till you start work. Nice boss and nice colleagues – show me where! Anyway, the reality of that would be that I would never be home for you as much as I am. Nor Dad. And you wouldn’t get to do half of the stuff that you do with us, because of our ‘weird’ work.”
HER: “I’m sure there would be a way round it. You could just skype us from the traffic jam on the M62 or summat.”
ME: “Look, I know that that woman in the supermarket was a bit snippy with you but… well, you need to remember that not everybody likes children.”
HER: “I *do* realise that you know. And actually, I’m not even sure I’ll bother with having them myself if it makes me as old and as joyless as you. Still. I think that most people who don’t like kids are actually afraid of them. And that’s fair enough. We have the power to get rid of you all in a few years’ time.”
To Be Continued …..