Skip to main content

Because he (my teen son) said I should write a blog about this

Childrearing, or parenting - what are the most difficult times?

Judging by the number of new baby books; books for helping your insomniac mini-monster to sleep; food bibles for babies; volumes and volumes devoted to managing toddler tantrums, faddy feeding, the tricky sharing of child-care when parents life apart, learning to say no, coping with teething, nursery, the dilemma of whether mum should work and if she does whether the separation will damage the child for life, whether to vaccinate or not, and tomes on the first day at school and education in general - it is the early years that worry parents the most.

I would, however, like to put in a plea for mid to late teen parenting being pretty difficult, too. When son was born, we received a card that said something along the lines of " When he wakes you for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night ... just think, when he's sixteen you'll be grateful simply to know where he is!" How true! But the most significant change is the one that concerns control - when your child is an infant, as the parent you are absolute boss - it is you who will be judged when your child runs screaming through the shop; you who chooses when he eats, what he eats and what he drinks with his food; you who, because you are in charge of the diary and the phone, decides who he plays with; you who organises his leisure time; buys his clothes; selects which school he goes to and puts him to bed at bedtime. NONE of this applies any more when he is a teenager and woe betide any parent who tries to buy their teen clothes - they will reside untouched and unloved in the bag you brought them home from the shop in and when you remember to ask why he hasn't worn them, you will be told it's because he's grown out of them - well of course he has - they have been on his wardrobe floor for months. No, the teen years are definitely a time for letting go, standing back and keeping your distance - teens have to be allowed to make mistakes; to fall in love; and to have their hearts broken; to learn about trust, and booze, and having a good time, and what to do when that good time turns sour. But  ... but ... but ... it is so hard to get the balance right. All around there are parents at the same stage, some spectacularly getting it wrong, some sailing through completely unruffled - and you struggle to be the unruffled one.

This stage should come with some sort of health warning - 'Working mums- just when you thought life was getting easier - you will find yourself on-call at home as guru on all matters academic, vehicular, emotional, social, dietary, alcoholic, spot related and university applicational - so work on your flexibility and make yourself available.'

So, what are the desirable attributes of a parent of teens - the ones that I haven't found in any book: to be unruffled, but supportive; silent, when it's best to be; encouraging, in the gentlest way (encourage too enthusiastically and they veer off in the opposite direction); quietly proud; and loving.

Always, gloriously and embarrassingly loving.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn...

Holiday cake and old friends

Chocolate cake. Most of us who bake probably have a favourite chocolate cake recipe - the one that always works; that forgives being made in a rush or once without eggs (added to the cake tin five minutes after it was initially placed in the oven ... even I didn't think I'd get away with that one); that tolerates the fickle heat of different ovens and different tins and without fail, at first sniff of it baking, brings back delicious memories of old friends and old holidays. And picnics and sand between toes and laughter and blustery walks and holding hands and eating too much and wind in your hair and squinting in the sun and dancing in the rain and dragonflies hitching a ride and castles and hill-tops and freezing cold lochs and a long walk with a black and white cat. This is my favourite chocolate cake recipe. Written by the dearest of old friends, on this scrap of paper, over twenty years ago. (Annotated by he who should have known better and me. He was right abo...

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful.  Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten! ...