Occasional Scribbles

“Hey Mum, would you like a ‘fry up’ for breakfast this morning, you know, as a thank you for last night”?

My goodness me, I am so shocked I forget to answer, instead I stare vacantly at The Teen.  I notice how much he has grown, standing as he is, in only his jimmy bottoms, slender but strong .  I note how he towers over me and eventually my eyes arrive at his, dark, flecked, chocolate brown, beautiful eyes.  His look is questioning, I still haven’t answered.

I laugh, (we both know this is a rare offer) and he smiles, recognising my surprise, such a lovely smile, he has become quite handsome.  “No darling, I think I’ll pass, but thanks a lot for asking.” I wonder if it is a hint that really he would like me to make him and his friends some breakfast but when he tries to tempt me with “a tiny slice of bacon”? I realise the offer is genuine and he pops off to the kitchen. 

“I’ve tidied up the games room too by the way”, he calls out and I feel this is going to be an excellent Saturday.  The reason for all this helpfulness is that I’ve had two other Teens staying last night and frankly, thats not much fun.  Deafening music, the bass and and drum sounds positively rattling my teeth, is enough to put me an asylum if not the dentist’s chair.  Loud laughter, a suspicious smell of cigarette smoke which I don’t feel inclined to investigate (The Teen will undoubtedly blame one of the other Teens), all adds up to an unwelcome effort on a Friday evening.  I open a bottle of white wine, £3.99 reduced from about £8, (can’t be bad) and pickle in on the sofa.  It is only slightly surreal, the clash of The Teen’s music and the offerings on the telly but at least they are ensconsed in the ‘games room’ and I have the telly to myself.

Fortunately they all behaved very well, as far as I know, and I didn’t have to come downstairs and read the riot act.  Three Teens is quite different to two.  Two are fine, there is enough room in The Teen’s tiny bedroom to fit in one extra body on a mattress on the floor, but three means sleeping downstairs in the Games room where I can’t keep such a good eye on them.  Whatever they got up to, they have cleared up and put away the bedding which is quite something and as they didn’t disturb me at all in the night, I am peaceful goodwill personified this morning.

The Teens are staying at one of their homes tonight and I find myself Teen-less.  It’s really quite a luxury as usually other Teens tend to stay here and not all of them return the favour.  Generally I have at least one spare body around and so it is lovely to have time on my own.  The Teen thoughtfully outlines the itinery for the weekend so I am not worried about him, holds his mobile up anticipating my next query and borrows £10 from me.  A glance in the kitchen shows his efforts at clearing up after the ‘fry-up’ aren’t bad at all and clearly designed to ensure I am utterly delighted with him and rather sorry to see him go.

“So Mum, JW’s parents will collect us from town, not late (he hastily assures me) and we’ll go back to his house.  I’ll call you in the morning ok?”  He offers his cheek for a kiss, gives me a conspiratorial wink as we both notice JW’s very bright shade of neon blue tracksuit and heads out to the car.  I leave them in town and hasten back to my bolthole, bring up the drawbridge and wallow in the unexpected freedom I have at my disposal. 

That bottle of wine looks quite appealing and The Blue Macs are on the telly.  George Peppard, James Mason, Ursula Andress are acting out their parts in this wonderful wartime movie.  I could sit and watch it if I feel like.  There is no lunch to prepare or even supper for that matter, since I made a Lasagne yesterday which will do.  Oh the luxury of it all.  I get so bored with cooking these days.  Endless meals and shopping and clearing, mean that a small break like this is very welcome indeed.  There’s always eggs from the chickens too, if The Other and I fancy them later.

I have only one eye on the film, (it’s a bit decadent to watch telly in the day time) as I contemplate The Teen’s charm in my now quiet house.  I think back to pre-teen days when he was such a dear little lad and note the difference becoming a Teen makes.  On the whole he is still a dear little boy, he is seldom actually bad tempered and is usually nice to be around but his life is more complicated now than it was then.  Then, his entire life was sport or outdoor activities like camping in the garden, making tree houses, bows and arrows, cooking sausages on a little camp fire and so on.  Now, he is a social animal, has lots of friends and is out a great deal.  The girls are keen on him, he can be very good at listening to them, but he is not actually interested in them in a girlfriend sort of way much to their chagrin.  He has a lot of older male friends, lads a couple of years older than himself and it is they who hold a fascination for him and he yearns to be older. 

I always dreaded the Teenage years.  I had often heard mothers complaining that their Teens would barely talk to them, were monosylabic and grunted all the time.  It sounded awful and I decided I wouldn’t let mine become that way.  So far I have been sucessful.  The Teen talks to me a lot, though he needs me less in some ways.  I always insist on a reasonable level of please and thank you’s and luckily The Teen has decided that he prefers his room to be clean and tidy rather than a smelly messy hole.  I am aware that I am very lucky in this and The Teen keeps himself clean, if not tidy too and that does seem to be a bonus.  Of course he’s not been a Teen very long, so I may be in for some challenges ahead but at least for now, on occasions he can be quite delightful.

Ursula is stretched out like an alluring minx and George Peppard is getting undressed.  Perhaps I will watch telly afterall. Have a good weekend!