…BACK TO SCHOOL No three words are more beautiful than those. Even if Jake Gyllenhaal told me ‘I love you’, I’d be happy but not as happy as when I hear ‘back to school’. Tomorrow I shall watch them trudging up the road towards school and rejoice as they return to detentions, discipline and lots of study.
I love my kids, I do. However, when they’re in the same room/building as each other, all hell breaks loose. Granted my eldest lives and works away from the family nest, but I still have a 15 and 12 year old to contend with. Moving to the coast has been the best decision. They’re feral and living life as kids did in the 70s and 80s. However, when they’re both home and brooding in their respective bedrooms, it’s as if there’s an evil force that drip feeds bad thoughts into their hormonal fuelled heads; ‘do it, do it now’ and one deems it necessary to break the peace by turning into the agitator. It’s then that the screams and abuse starts, usually spurred by my 12 year old boy provoking his 15 year old sister. It’s often like a scene from The Exorcist. I expect to find her head spinning, Regan MacNeil style. True. I get scared at times. Also true. My neighbours must also get scared at times…I’m almost certain the Pastor living peacefully next door prays with his family and congregation for my lot:
The smart mouth retorts, the catty comments and of course the photographic evidence taken during hostile moments (which adds petrol to a smouldering fire) between them, then reels me into the crossfire. I often feel like the third wheel in all of this, attempting to write/work and be a good mum/mediator/peace finder. It’s like standing precariously on the precipice of a cliff, trying to find the right balance, which inevitably goes wrong. I do try, honest. I try my hardest to zone out and to have an objective point of view, averting a ‘It’s because I’m the youngest/middle child’ outburst spewing out at me as if their position in the pecking order is my fault (which technically it is I suppose). See what I mean? I can’t win. Then, they push and push and push until I go bat shit crazy and sound like a trap queen. They bring out my inner gangster (or gangsta/G if I want to sound cool…which I’m not. I’m mum aka Muggins).
I’m grateful that I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to have three kids, I am, truly. They’re smart, strong willed and bloody funny. Conversely, they are exemplary examples of young adults when we go out. When people approach me and comment on what well mannered, intelligent and confident kids they are, I feel that for every potential ulcer and migraine I get, that it’s been worth it. I’m proud to say I’m their mum.
Will I miss them when they go back to school tomorrow? Erm no. You thought I was getting soft, didn’t you? I’m proud of them but I’m not mad either.
So, back to school tomorrow. I have given them the ‘work hard lecture’ but more importantly, I’ve told them to try not to get detentions or into pointless spats that results in beef with other kids. I don’t want to don my Supermum cloak for a while.
Take care, Eva x
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