Eating with teenage son ’17’ No. 2
Me: You know, some of my friends can’t believe I still make your lunch every day for school. *Pause Him: I think that’s a bit rough Mum… it hardly even rates as a snack really.
All posts tagged: teenage son
Driving with teenage son No. 4
Me: I need something humorous about driving with you for my Blog… Ooh, look at that ‘grey nomad’ old lady over there with her massive brand new shiny RV … mmm, it’s even got a satellite dish… she must be driving round Australia… that’ll be me one day y’know, spending all your inheritance… Him: Well, that’s certainly not funny.
Driving with teenage son No. 3
Me: I know you love them, but you can’t use the good white bathroom towels any more, they’re actually meant for guests. Him: Well… they’ll just have to adapt.
Driving with teenage son #2
Me: I need something funny from you for my next Blog post, my readers love them Him: [Scathing glance sideways] Mum, I’m not your performing monkey
Gift from teenage son…
I heard ‘Almost17’ in the shower at 6am (we had to leave for the airport at 7); he soon came into my room fully dressed, with still-damp hair, where I lay in bed reading before getting up. Him: Move over Mum. Me: [Really??] OK Sweetie. [Sliding over, slightly stunned, but pretending I’m cool…] Him: Happy Mother’s Day. Me: Thanks. You know I think it’s a load of Hallmark crap don’t you, but that’s still lovely, thank you. Are you bringing me peppermint tea in bed? Him: No, I’m too tired. I didn’t get home from the party till 1am. *Rolls on his side away from me*. Spoon me Mum. Me: [REALLY??] OK Sweetie. [Spooning behind him, completely stunned, gingerly resting my arm on top of him and the quilt because, you know, I’m Cool…] Him: No, properly Mum, under the covers. Please let me sleep for another 15 minutes. Me: Sure honey… *Lie there holding my baby boy as he begins to twitch and dream, breathing deeply. For how many nights did I hold him until …
Eating with teenage son…
We’re chatting & laughing as we share my yummy nachos, when suddenly: Him: Mum… Me: [Giggling, cheesey corn chips halfway to my mouth] Yes Sweetie… Him: Have you seen that meme online which says ‘If I can hear you chew your food, I’m fantasizing about killing you’? *Disclaimer: my son ‘Almost17’ is fabulously kind, sensitive, smart and honest. We spent 2 months sitting in an old Barn in the Dordogne region of France a couple of years ago, cooking, reading, & talking. HERE’S one of my fav longer posts from those days, if you’re interested ❤
Driving with teenage son No. 1
Him: “Mum, I’d like you to try and control some of your sassy replies; there’s no need to always be so feisty.” Me: [deep breathing through half a dozen sassy replies, and a proud Feminist rave about smashing the patriarchy] “Perhaps you could try choosing not to react to them?” Him: [after pausing for a moment to consider this] “But if you weren’t so sassy, I wouldn’t have to choose that, so nice try Mum, but it’s back to you I’m afraid.” *Disclaimer: longer post with statistics and his true Feminism HERE
Walking with teenage son…
… along our favourite sunset beach, talking. Somehow I lose the thread of the conversation (maybe it was yet another rave about surfing?), and tune out a bit. He suddenly says ‘Mum, what are you doing?’. I answer ‘Sorry Sweetie, I didn’t understand what you meant, so I started daydreaming…’ He replies, with that knowing sigh only teenagers can truly master: ‘Well, you’re not going to understand by not listening are you?’
When your teenage son asks if you’re a feminist
‘Yes. Absolutely 100%. Totally, dedicated, committed, Yes!’ I replied. He shrugged, in that gangly, wide-collar-bone way so many teenagers have, and said: ‘Yeah, so am I; it’s just obvious isn’t it?’ My heart nearly burst with pride, and my eyes teared up over our cereal bowls. But I kept my cool, and made a casual remark about how great it was he thought that, and what a shame he wasn’t running the country entire world (he often teases me for my over-enthusiasm; I really don’t know what he means). That was last year. Yesterday, on March 7 2016, the day before International Women’s Day, the Australian Council of Trade Unions (ACTU) released their updated report ‘Gender Pay Gap – Over the Life Cycle’, which sums up its findings with this nugget of shame: “Australian women are financially disadvantaged at every key stage of their life: in childhood, at the workplace, through pregnancy, motherhood and as a carer, and in retirement.” This is why I’m a Feminist. I care about financial equality because we live in a …
“France is a desperate party girl.”
I thought that yesterday, as we drove home from the local village with fresh bread. Autumn is really here: all the trees are red, gold, yellow, throwing their leaves onto the road in front of us. France has become a fraught, older ‘woman of the world’, throwing one last drunken ‘soirée’ before the lonely slam of Winter. She’s piling on her jewels, strings of rubies and gold chains, wrapping round and round her big bosom, as she leans forward into our space, spilling cheap champagne, desperate for us not to leave yet. She’s talking too loudly, her perfume’s too strong. She’s painted her toenails Tangerine, clinging to the last cotton dress of summer, her last green lace petticoat. She’s straining to throw bright sunsets, ignoring the bite of chill in the air, laughing hard at our more introspective moods, which lower on us as the darkness comes sooner. France has a population of 60 million, and her visitors number 76 million a year. She’s busy, receiving them all, mostly from June-September 30. And now her …
bone&silver 