Teenage Angst (and that’s just mine) Part 1!

What a week!
From severe stomach ache that turns out to be suspected Gallstones, (because why the hell not?) a teenager who’s phone automatically breaks when she leaves the house, an 8-year-old who’s attitude seems to be expanding by the minute and the itchiest skin known to man, this has been a week that I won’t be sad to see the back of.
While the health-related shit is, unfortunately just becoming commonplace nonsense I am learning to live with, the kids are driving me to insanity.
I can go from relaxed and productive to a screaming maniac at the speed of light thanks, these little shits.
The littlest of my humans for some reason has decided her preferred sport is to torture me with eye-rolling, staring blankly into space when I speak to her and when her rage gets the better of her door banging in all directions, feet stamping, squeals to rival that of pigs being burned alive and what I can only guess to be objects getting thrown about.
When did my sweet child turn into a gremlin? When did she change from being a cuddly affectionate little lady to a teenager at the age of 8?! I have no idea what has inspired the change in my mini kid, but I now am also eye rolling, banging doors and muttering the phrase ‘Fuck sake not again’ before screaming ‘if you bang one more........wait and see what you get!!!’
I am, I have decided one of the mothers that I listen to on podcasts, read their blogs and watch their tv interviews. These women are complete legends. They’ve come out of the woodwork and blown Jo Frost and her bedtime routine clean out the water.
I’m all for routine, my smallest human is a creature of habit and she loves knowing what’s going on and when. Change phases her a little. But I didn’t have my kids to fit round my life and the routine I felt was the right one. You can save your parenting ‘how-tos’ for some first-time mother with unrealistic expectations of how their life will be when their perfect child arrives. The Unmumsy Mum, Mother of Maniacs, Giovanni Fletcher and Clemmie Hooper is my new found hero’s. Saying it as it is, with no holding back.
That’s what mothers need. We need to know that everyone else loses their mind on a regular basis. We need to feel normal and these women help us feel that.
The only downfall to my new ‘friends’ is that they are still dealing with younger kids. I’ve not yet found anyone who catches my parenting soul, my crushed spirit and my imaginative punishment ideas when it comes to dealing with the oldest human I gave birth to.
Yep, normally I am all about the mental health journey and the ups and downs of my life being a fucking nutter. The realism of it is however that, as much as I love my kids, they have a hand in making me batshit crazy.
While my beautiful if not extremely sassy 15 was out living it large last night, I was sitting rocking in a corner, muttering incomprehensible words about how selfish she is.
Every time my almost legal teenager leaves the house, her phone stops working.
I know, right! I should be writing to the mobile phone company and complaining about how terrible the service is.🙄🙄
She heads out the late afternoon with a bag packed with fancy dress, expensive makeup and a small bottle of vodka! The obligatory Halloween party has landed and she’s not messing about this year.
Do not judge me for allowing the kid to head out with alcohol, I’d rather know what she’s going out with than get a call at 1 am telling me she’s in the A and E having her stomach pumped after drinking some weird cocktail of cheap shite.
This has been, so far the one trick I’ve tried that appears to have worked because I have not had that elusive 1 am call yet.
It’s a sobering thing, to watch your first born head out the door to a party, knowing in a couple of months she can leave home if she likes and I can’t stop her. She’s grown up so fast and while I am totally proud of her, I want to wring her shitting neck every other minute of the day.
Living with this human is a mind-boggling experience. On the one hand, she’s hilarious, and far too clever for her age. This means I laugh a lot of the time. Usually when I shouldn’t be.
There is the flip side of the coin though. The side I know I shouldn’t rise to, I should just chill out about. But when the little bastard can’t answer a text message after 4 hours, then doesn’t answer the phone calls I persistently make for a further 45 minutes I am absolutely going to lose my mind.
Is she unconscious in a ditch? Has she got too pissed and wandered off with a boy that she’s having sex in within a bush????
Worse, what if she’s decided she’s tired, you know from all the dancing and drinking, and decided she wants to come home to her mum, leaves the party and walks in the dark alone?! She could have been mugged, raped, murdered!!!!!
That has to be it, someone stole her phone after jumping her. That’s why she can’t answer!
Dear god my baby!!!!
Nope! The slightly drunken little witch says, when she eventually picks up, ‘I left my phone at my friend's house!’
She thinks I’m buttoned up the back. She cancelled two of the incoming calls I made, now I know she’s really drunk. Now I know she’s not in her right mind because she hasn’t realised she’s done it.
I rant and I rave when she tells me she has arrived at her friend's house, safe and sound, ready to head to bed, a be awoken in the morning to pancakes and a cooked breakfast.
You know? By the normal, respectable, married, two-parent family in the nice house! With the fancy car. 🙄
I’m red in the face, I’m doing that crazy mother mad whisper through your teeth about how grounded she is and how the phone is coming off her, because she never answers the bloody thing!!!! I hang up and frantically write in the ‘journal of my crazy thoughts’ about what a witch she is.
In fact, now it’s not just her, they are all getting it. The friends, parents, little ones! The bloody cat who has just sat it’s furry arse on the page I’m writing on!
Fuck you all!!!!!
Eventually, after I settle down, I manage a decent sleep, only to wake up and preempt the fact the teenage monster won't be home by the time she was told to be home by. I’m furious at her already for being late!
I was slightly pleased with my spot on mothering instinct when she was in fact not home by said deadline and I was proved right!! Ah ha!!
Twenty minutes late this pretty little mess walks through my front door, all last nights makeup and slept in clothes, looking at me like, ‘please don’t start yelling again woman!’
And I just can’t do it. My resolve to make her sorry ass as miserable as possible has slid away and in less than 60 seconds, she has me creased up laughing and feeling a little like I’m the teenager, just without the fun of the vodka and the party the night before.
I believe that is 1-0 to my oldest human!
Well played love! Well played!
My blog is supposed to be a record of my journey dealing with craziness. I guess you don’t get much crazier than being a mum. Maybe sharing more of the ups and downs of my teenager's antics will fill the gap I’ve found in the ‘parenting hero’s’ collection I am building.
Maybe reading back on the things she puts me through and the things I put her through, will be the only advice I need!
L x


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