If you have a teenager. Or a child that will one day turn into one. This will hit the spot. No not that kind of spot the sort of relevant, been there done that, guffaw we are not alone spot as this illustrates the hormonal fluctuation of the teenager is not unique it is a universal joy. That was sarcasm. Mind you it made me laugh like a drain as it does feel good to know we are not alone.
And here’s the good news. I have heard it on very good authority once their brain synapsses join up again they do resemble the delicious delightful people they were when they submerged into the hormone tunnel – they just have more facial hair and better enunciated verbs.
Bloody exams. Driving us all to distraction. And this year they matter. Teenwolf in 4th year knows there is no escape. He works, but is it hard enough? He says yes. I say em………I don’t think so. When I walk into the room he is texting, fiddling aroud with Facebook and listening to his Mp3.
For Gods sake it is a known medical fact men cannot multi task.Not even Stephen Hawking could cope with that overload of stimulation and think whatever he thinks about.(A mystery to me all that millarkey and that is with no extra stimulation on my part) So….yes I do have an issue with the multiple sensory overdose.
Also residing within this maelstrom is the long suffering husband. He is the diplomat and tries to straddle the two opposing views.
This tense situation is inevitably helped by the dogs who just sit around staring and intermittently releasing vile emmisions into the atmosphere. Always raises a laugh and a shriek of horror.
Then there is my Mum, aka Spidergran, who is a fat lot of use when it comes to offering up a bit of support.
Teenwolf to Spidergran: ‘Was Mum any good at school?’
Spidergran ‘ha ha ha ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…get me a tissue….ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…oh you’ll have to excuse me I need the loo’.
As you can imagine this sort of thing hardly bolsters my argument.
So I genuinely start off every night thinking ‘ I am not going to harrass him, he will do it in his own time’. and before I know it I am huffing and puffing about hperventilating waiting for some action on the book front until I snap.
‘Is that you finished studying for the night’ I say gently, trying to affect the air of a smiling, calm Stepford woman and failing.
Seeing my mad eye and worrying tick, he answers ‘ Em…no I ‘ll go back to it…for a while…..later’.
Puce in face, with palpitations imminent, sometimes I smile and walk away. Sometimes I go for it. Either way the result is always the same grumpy him, grumpy me and a regretful silence as we part company for the evening. Him to his room, me to dream of an alternative existence.
Ah yes the alternative existence. This is the one where we just think bugger it and all run off to Australia where he can play rugby all day and all year and I can lie by a swimming pool reading and writing and repapplying my Factor 50 each time I go to the bar to replenish my gin & tonic. LSH still straddles but not so much the mood swings of his hormonal housemates more the prow of his wee wooden fishing boat as he plouters about catching our tea. Yes there are other ways……breaking out from our Scottishness is always on my mind…