I am touched...

On so many levels....

Not only touched by the magic wand of lunacy but also touched that so many people have asked why I hadn't blogged for ages!  I kind of thought blogging was a bit like peeing in a wetsuit  (you are the only one warmed by it) but NO, I finally have a following!

I am the Charles Manson, the Bert Potter, the Hone Harawira (nah! not Hone!!) of teenage hell, without the killing, random acts and weird stuff of course!!!

I pledge to you, my readers that I will now follow my teenager around 24/7 to find funny stuff to share with you.  I have a cause and I have following- I will not let you down.........

Corporate Punishment

 
It's been a while.  I have waited.  We have had many moments but not those deep belly laugh moments that I have found in the past.
We have been overseas together, her and I, alone.  Very little funny stuff.
Today, at last I had a funny! 
We were eating breakfast and were talking generally.  Chatting about the news and what was happening and to whom.  She came out with another 'erotic driver' saying.  "Oh, that must be like Corporate Punishment"  

"What did you say?"

"Corporate Punishment"

"What is that?"  I ask, trying not to give away that I was about to explode in mocking laughter. 
Is that what happens when Finance Companies go bad and the Government has to bail them out? 
What happens when you get caught smuggling ‘documents’ out of Argentina for your secret internet lover?
Why Mark Ellis had to take Ecstacy because the Corporate Punishment at 'Charlies' had bought him downnnnn......
When the poor and downtrodden have paid too much taxes and the Government have excess so can buy a plastic WAKA?


Possible forms of Corporate punishment- 

When someone is really annoying you at work and you lean over and staple things to their head.  Your turn, come on now....

Want to come with us? We're going to buy a gun?

Saturday afternoon and wet.  We had to go and pick up a rifle that Ian had bought to sort out random magpies and other vermin.


'Why don't you come?  It'll be fun" I lied to the teenager, through ever yellowing teeth.  "Okay Mum, then you can drop me off at babysitting."  Man, she is a planner....

On the way into town it was chatty.  Just the rubbish you talk when you are trying to involve a teenager in conversation.  Most of it starting with 'So.......'  Stuff like....

"So..... how has school been going?"
"ok"


"So.... what are your friends doing tonight?"
"nothing"

"So.... what do you think about teenage abortion?"

"Well of course Mum abstinence  is the best option, but for those unfortunates who find themselves in this situation, they should talk to their mothers and seek the best outcome with them, because Mums know best...."  (no.... not really.....just ever hopeful....)

Yes, all was going well.  We pulled up at a house, so unlike our own.  The neighbours literally breathed the same air, the houses were closer than close and we parked in the driveway.

Ian went in, to do man buying gun stuff.

'Hey look Mum, what is that man doing?"  she pointed to a window of a house ridiculously close to the driveway we were parked in "WHAT IS HE DOING???!!!??"  I looked, I really tried hard to see "where????....."
"Nope" she said," he has disappeared............there he is!  See the pink shirt!  See Mum!"  I saw.  It was not good.

Crips!  I hope that was exercise.  Perhaps a few fast reps of....????,  push ups????  Chest crunchie things???

He disappeared again and I was almost relieved.  No, damn it!  He popped up again, did another set of ?????? and took a rest.

Please Ian, please come NOW, please before pink shirt man pops up again and teenage imagination figures out what may well be going on.....

Pink shirt man disappeared again.  It occurred to me it might not be a pink shirt!!  Oh doG, poke out my minds eye!!!!

Ian arrived back in the car and we did the 'look, look, look, see??, look, see??'

He is so much cooler than us he just went "there?  oh yeah, looks dodgy, bad pink shirt" We backed out of the driveway and he started up the street.

Partial relief - thank doG it was a pink shirt!!!

We drove on.  Out of the street.  Out of the suburb.  Out of their world......

Those freaky town dwellers!

As if I don't have enough strangeness to deal with...................??????

I'm a What??

Yesterday we went to the supermarket and the carpark was moderately full.  I drove in, changed my mind, changed direction, changed again, selected a carpark, saw one closer, went in that direction.

"Mum, you're a very erotic driver!" 

One hand on the steering wheel, the other behind my head, I tried to pull off the model pose, I moved my opposite hip up and down, pursed my lips,  trying to look like and erotic driver.....

"You're weird!  What are you doing?"........ pause, thinking, thinking, what is my weird mother doing? what??.......

"No, thats not the right word is it?"  ......" that means like porn and stuff doesn't it?" 

"Yes Darling, the word is erratic, but thank you anyway.  I think I am a pretty erotic driver too."

All Before 6am!

This morning was a rowing morning and as such we were up before 5am to get there on time.  I had told Alex she needed to do more driving and she went over to get the Rav from the shed.

She is a morning person.

I am not.

Still half asleep I stumble into some clothing, its dark, I don't care, something off my floordrobe.  Can't find shoes- oh well, its only driving.  Don't need shoes. 

Leave house, still half asleep, no phone,  no wallet.  Just there and back.  I'll be awake by the time I have to drive.

We set off and the driving is a little erratic.  We were slow, fast, slow, fast, slow, slow 'don't forget to dip the lights', slow, slower.  We got to a slight rise and a red light.  Stalled.  Fast thinking mother relayed instructions in terse, crisp manner.  We got going.  One other car made it through the lights.

My next waking moment was a close call with a power pole and more instruction 'POWER POLE!  YOU HAVE TO CONCENTRATE'  By this stage I had heart palpitations and my mouth was dry. 

The next corner, we take the curb- it's the same curb that has caught us out before.  I am AWAKE!  We stay in the left lane of 3 and let the cars behind us pass.


They do, we change lanes and follow.  Both cars that had been behind us, one since the red light failure, turn into rowing, we follow.  "Oh, those people have seen your driving this morning"  thinking she would be mortified or at least vaguely embarrassed.  "I don't care!!!!"   .......Yikes, I was just going to give the pep talk about not caring what other people think/say/do.

As we come down toward the shed, there is a hard 90 degree right turn, we drift this corner, seriously, wheels slide, gravel flying, steering wheel correction like a pro.  I clutch the door with both hands and make a silent scream, my knuckles white.

"Pull over here"  Now gone beyond palpitations and into full cardio arrest.  She stops.

"Okay........"  What to say?  Give me words..  "Not so good this morning.  Need a bit  more practice huh??" 

"Yeah. Oh, by the way, we don't have much petrol."

I glance down "Holy petrol producing nations having civil wars!!!!!"  I wouldn't say that's not much!  I would say that's NONE!  It was under E.  Not E for enough, E for Eeeekkkkk!

E for no monEy,
E for no shoEs,
E for no phonE,
E for grabbed whatEver off the floor to wear.

I wish I hadn't looked.  I drove the 30ish kilometres back to my house frantically trying to remember all those petrol saving tricks my Dad had told me over the years, I coasted, I turned off the air conditioner, I tried to maintain an even speed about 90km, I tried not to look down- but still did!

As I traveled along planning what I would do at each stage if I ran out.  The motor kept going.  I made it Clevedon where I contemplated going into the service station I normally use and talking to Akshat or Imran or Pooja to get some free petrol  

"You remember me?  I drive the new Calais.  You call me 'Loarf' (love), I always fill here.  Just ignore my lack of footwear, my old surf T-shirt with paint on it and the unmatching dress skirt with wrinkles, I just need enough to get me home, it is so far under E it has started digging."  My pride got in the way.  I would not beg to our Indian servo boys "here take my watch, I'll be back........"

I made it home.  I don't know how.  I think the car must have been running on the smell of someone elses oily rag.

What have I learned?  Hope for the best, plan for the worst and stash $20 somewhere under the seat!  And if in doubt..... don't look down!

But.......

She really is quite delightful and if you are reading this blog thinking it is all hell, it is not. 

She is a very kind, sweet typical teenage kid.  Even better!  She loves me and she needs me- just in a different way to how it use to be. 

And if you are asking where this deeply insightful thought has come from?  Yep, its wine!  It's Friday.  Rugby is on and wine is following.

Oh, that and......... she is away for the weekend.

I Don't Remember You Asking Me To Do That!

Why is the sour cream still on the table?

Why is that wet towel still on the floor?

Why is the cat still sitting beside the bowl looking hopeful?

Why is the washing still on the line?

Why is the archeological dig that is my car, still full of her random stuff?

I know what I said, I know we made eye contact and still........ nothing........

What is going on?

Theory 1.  The task is way to complex as it IS hard to line up the fridge with the sour cream container.  

Theory 2.  The ipod has ruined her hearing.

Theory 3.  It is the  general breakdown of civilisation as we know it, one teenager at a time.

Theory 4.  It's my mothers fault.

Theory 5.  I need to introduce fish oil tablets into her diet.  Tried this once but apparently they tasted REVOLTING - like fish even!!!

Theory 6.  She was reading a text or thinking about her last Facebook conversation and my voice was 'blah, blah, blah, sour cream, blah, blah"

Theory 7.  Stupid song lyrics have stolen her waking thoughts and they are repeating in her head. in her head, in her head, head, head, in her head, better off dead, so listen instead.....

Theory 8  In the night, in her biohazard bedroom, life forces build civilizations inside her ears. 

Theory 9.  That Vivaldi music I played her as a baby, to increase the Alpha rays and her brain function actually  erased all active memory cells.  "Hmmm what sour cream, what fridge, who is this woman nagging me......."

Theory 10.  It means NOTHING to her, seems pointless and is not worth the time it takes to register the request and there aren't really any consequences anyway so
"
.......I am going to wander off
go the have a shower,
cause I want to,
right now,
why is she looking at me like that? 
Must be because I am wearing her shirt,
didn't think she would notice.
Oooohhhh, there is something shiny,
and here is a mirror
what's in this drawer?
Cool, my favourite TV show....."

It's My Car, It's My Radio!!!!!

I lack the generational understanding that comes with songs that repeat the last word of each sentence- over and over.   I can however, come up with some REALLY funny mixes of words that 'sound like' what is being blasted out of our car stereo.   Mostly it is mocking and not received well.

'Are they talking about me when they say sexieeeeee?'

"No!  MUM!"

I am trying to understand how MY car radio has been hijacked by radio stations that talk utter rubbish and that the only volume to be had is that decibel just over the normal rate of conversation.   That means anything said in the car is YELLED.  Then, strangely enough, when I turn the volume down,  the conversation is maintained at the YELLED rate.  Are our kids so use to listening to ipods that we have deafened an entire generation or two?

"I would catch a grenade for ya"  -really?  Then I hope you would be quick enough to throw it back before it exploded!

"gonna kick him to the curb unless he looks like Mick Jagger"- He was old and ug (and short) when I was young, so what is the deal?????


"its like an eyeball stuck on my plate...."  Which actually turned out to be saying 'an ipod stuck on replay' but I think mine sounds closer.  Go ahead, listen.


Did my parent say what rubbish these songs are?  Yes they did!!

Am I turning into my parents.........no............

"Alex, did you know that song said 'love you' 52 times?"

'You counted??? You're weird Mum"

"No, not so weird, its just the words of the song are so uninspiring I have to do something to keep myself awake!  Can we pleeeeeze go back to the stock market review on the old people station?" 



 

Santa's Little Helper

Just before Xmas, Alex and I were driving along,  locked in the same car (that coupled with the 'if I am good, I will get good loot' aspect) she was VERY chatty.  We discussed 'cool mother's'

'everyone thinks she is cool'
'she wears cool clothes'
'she is more like a sister'    Oh doG- spare me!!!
'she lets her kids  __________" insert SO many things, start with your own personal pet hates.
'she doesn't really growl'   must have some seriously good drugs then???

'Oh well,'' I said "lucky you have such a cool Mum"  this was greeted by silence, then in sad 40 something desperation  

"I'm cool????????"

I immediately wished I had shut up and basked in the silent glory of knowing,  I AM cool, I have ALWAYS been cool and I don't need a 15 year old to validate me.

'No, Mum.  Not really"  came the reply in tones that you would use for breaking to someone the death of their cat.    If she mentioned how cool the other Mum was I was going to pull over and chuck her out in the mean streets of South Auckland!!!  Maybe even by the hair.

We drove on.

Silence stretched, we passed a house with blow up Santa sleighs on the roof and Xmas lights and 'house bling' (word I have now invented) of all description.   One of the larger pieces was a blow up sleigh- Santa,  Reindeer,  presents and rather randomly, a penguin perched on the back of the sleigh, hanging on to Santa.  It was exceptionally windy for December and the wind was catching the random penguin and making him rock back and forth, at pace, in rather a suggestive manner.

I laughed, pointed and said "Hey, check out the penguin that is humping Santa".  Dead silence!  Followed by a sigh and a slow turn of the head.

"Mum.  You are trying too hard."

I wanted to burst out laughing, slap my leg, throw my head back and roar with laughter.  Instead I chuckled with unmoving lips and used resistance exercise to tighten the muscles on my face that threatened to expose mockery. 

So many things begged to be said!!! 

She is darn lucky I am this cool!

The Massive Wobbly....

Alex was home for a rather brief time these school holidays and in between a stint at the beach with her buddies and rowing camp there were things for her to do, such as laundry, rubbish ridding...... the ever present BEDROOM tidy.

Since she was only home for 3 days in between, I began to ask on the first day about the "above normal tasks that this poor child would be expected to attend to"!!!!!


"......have you done your washing?"
".....you will need to do some washing?"
"......what clothes are you taking?"
".......what the hell is this and why is it moving across the floor and leaving a slick?"

And..........

After many repeated conversations (if me saying, and her appearing to listen, is a conversation???) nothing happened.

Eventually, enough was enough and I said 'we are going to do your room'   After the lead balloon hit the proverbial floor, we started (well I started)
Time elapsed and 1 rubbish bag, 1 full laundry hamper, 1 made bed, 1 mostly clear floor, 1 wardrobe with visual floor later things (in my mind) were coming together.

I asked Alex to get the Spray and Wipe and clean a mark off the wall.  She squirted with no consideration for the carpet directly in line and finally  the patience snapped.

"DON'T SPRAY DOWN THE WALL ONTO THE CARPET IT WILL STAIN IT!!!!!!!!!!"

This was followed by the very predictable throwing down of items and stomp outside with random words surfacing "mean.....murmur, murmur.... my room.... murmur, murmur ....mean....like it....murmur, murmur....4th element of the periodic table....... (nah, not that one, but ever hopeful)

Suddenly the massive wobbly came on.  Not her.  Me!  I lost my cool and threw the laundry basket all over the room, emptied the rubbish bag onto the previously made bed, tossed cushions, cleared the desk in one dramatic sweep.  Then, not spent I walked through the house finding all the lying round items, and chucked them down the hallway into the room.  The room looks surprisingly 'usual' so I stomped to the front door and delivered (at volume) the pièce de résistance "YOU CAN COME BACK NOW......... YOUR BEDROOM IS HOW YOU LIKE IT!!!!" 

The slam of the door sealed the deal.

In our house, me being cranky is not a usual element and in this case I even surprised myself.  Short term, there was an effect and next time I saw the room it was very tidy.  Long term............ the room is still not my scene, but maybe a little crack in the rock???