Subspecies

Teenagers are a weird and wonderful subspecies of the human race. Living in close proximity of one (possibly two) such teenagers provides me with ample opportunity for some anthropological observations.

The first thing that strikes me looking closely at my 14yo son, is his complete inertia. The once so sporty boy, who always woke up at the crack of dawn, seems happiest these days when he does not have to move at all. Not one inch. He seems to have about three 'modes' these days: lying in bed, lying on the sofa, preferably under a blanket while reading/sending whatsapps, or - and this is by far the predominant mode - sitting in front of his playstation.

Asked to rank the importance of things in his live (school, friends, family, sport, homework, playstation) from 1 to 10; the boy would probably merit the playstation with a 12+. The mystical machine - to me that is - seems to absorb all his time and energy. On the afternoons when I am home before he arrives back from school, I notice he does not hang around anymore for a cup of tea or - God forbid - a chat. Instead he can not wait to sprint upstairs to the boy cave where his playstation lives. Within seconds he is deeply engrossed in killing/robbing people, stealing cars, or other virtual criminal offences. Headphones firmly on his head he talks to his mates, who are all on their own play stations, real time and non stop.

Monologue

Now picture me downstairs in the kitchen reading a newspaper, working on a shopping list, checking my work mail and glancing at the clock every ten minutes or so. I feel an hour, or may be an hour and a half is more than enough time to get rid of some surplus testosterone playing Advanced Warfare or Black Ops 3. The 14yo of course completely looses track of time. Every single day. Depending on my hormonal balance (or unbalance) I am either trying really hard to ignore the clock a bit longer, or getting ready for a fight.

Either way there comes a point when I am climbing the stairs to talk to my son. This by the way is easier said than done.  It proofs to be very difficult to make eye contact, because the boy is totally fixated on the screen. So instead of talking with him at talk at him.  Some rather long winding monologue about keeping check of time, homework, reading a book (I know) helping out around the house, only to hear him say:'It's my mum'.

Incubation period

I always, always forget that his friends are listing in. How infuriating! If I get really angry at this point he just rolls his eyes at me, which isn't very productive. Believe me, I tried. If I go downstairs to sulk, he does not get the message that he should NOT be playing on the playstation for hours and hours. So the best thing by far is to state - without once raising my voice - how disappointed I am. A few tears (again depending on the hormones) every now and then work wonders as well.

Not straight away, mind you. The 14yo usually needs a 24-hour incubation period. However within a day (or two) my son will spontaneously offer to help empty the dishwasher or peg out the washing. He might even come back with a surprising 'yes' when asked to accompany me to the supermarket. Wow!

But still, I feel something has to change. In me. I am the mum of a 14yo spotty, greasy haired boy and it is about time I start acting like one. Just telling him what to do (or if truth be told, what not to do) is no longer effective, if it ever was. I have to try taking an interest in his interests and if that means listening to stories about him and his mates on the playstation/smartphone/tablet so be it.

Snowdrop

To stick to this resolution I decide to let him show me the snapchat app on his phone; something I would not normally shy away from. I even go as far as installing it on my phone as well. And you know what, it is really good fun. You can take silly pictures and send them to a friend, who can look at it for a whole 5 seconds before it self destructs. It is such good fun that I find myself crouching down in the front garden to take a close-up of a snowdrop and then finger write brrr over the top. So imagine my joy when I check my phone during a coffee break at to find the boy has added me to his snapchat friend list.

He has even sent me a snapchat of an overlarge smiley on which has written just the one word: happy! It was at that precise moment I realised that yes, I sadly had to let go of my little boy, but that living with a teenager definitely has its moments as well. I just need to recognise and grab them!

Happiness

Recently I have been thinking a lot about 'living in the moment', finding a better 'work-life-balance' and - dare I say it - 'mindfulness'.  And then all of a sudden today I feel completely happy and 'in the moment'. And I have not made any effort to 'focus on my breathing', 'use all my senses', or 'consciously feel my 
body' (let alone honour it for the sacred temple it is).

No it is just a gloriously uncomplicated day. I wake up quite late after an epic ten hour sleep and decide on a whim that eating five chocolate digestives makes for a lovely breakfast when washed down with three cups of strong milky tea. I finish off painting the room upstairs that I have been working on for the past three days and then plant some tulip bulbs still wearing my paint smeared jogging bottoms and a shapeless cardigan. A quick but lovely cappuccino and a cheese sandwich later and I am on my bike and on my way to the rowing club to coach my daughter's team.

Manure

It is a totally lovely autumn day and the girls are all in a good mood (which is quite something for six twelve and thirteen year old girls).  The air is quiet, the sky blue, the trees are showing off the most beautiful autumnal colours I have seen (noticed?) in a long time. The day is mild enough for me to cycle along the canal without wearing a jacket. A whiff of manure from a nearby farm makes lift my spirits even further in a way only scents can.

My daughter is uncharacteristically generous when discussing my coaching abilities on the way back home. Which probably is a really smart move as I - also totally uncharacteristically - agree to clean her guinea pigs cage. Something that I not so long ago vowed I would never do, as the 12yo was the one who wanted the guinea pigs in the first place. Not me.

 Waistline

While Mr S., the 14yo and two of his mates watch the match between Manchester United and Manchester City I decide to totally ignore the pile of ironing and the overflowing laundry baskets and bake a cake. It turns out really well and the abundance of 14yo boys in our house this afternoon means everyone is digging in and I don't feel any need to watch my waistline either. Nice!

After eating too much cake, it miraculously is five 'o' clock (already!). Time to light a fire and pour myself a glass of wine (Mr. S. sticks to beer). The children as it turns out, have actually done their homework, so we don't need to raise our voices, which makes for a nice change on Sunday night.

Uncomplicated

Dinner consists of a hearty stew, concocted the night before by Mr. S., who invariably likes to take us through the steps to get to this perfect result. He also never tires of discussing how he could tweak the recipe to get an even better stew next time. The children and I happily oblige. It is just a totally uncomplicated, lovely and relaxed night. In fact just as uncomplicated, lovely and relaxed as the day has been.

So who needs mindfulness, when a good night's sleep, some fresh air, scrumptious food and hanging out with your loved ones, can give you the exact same result? So here is to spending time doing uneventful things, hanging out at home and being totally unadventurous. Cheers!


What does a perfect day look like in your life? I would love to find out!

Burgers

  

The 13yo recently turned 14, leading to festivities, which, amongst other things, saw 8 of his mates gobble up an oversized cake in two minutes flat. This meticulously planned get together at the birthday boy's house went on for exactly 7:53 minutes. The boys spent the rest of the afternoon on a nearby football pitch. Kicking the hell out of each other.

A week or so after the cake eating feast, the 'gang' again gathered at our house for the real party: a night of 'chilling'. Cool as cucumbers as they are at this age the guys all turn up at the exact agreed time, ready for burgers, sausages, crisps, chocolate, or basically any type of food you care to shove their way. Such joy! Mr. S. fires up the BBQ, while I cut up the ubiquitous carrots, cucumber and apples, as even after twelve years of party teas, I am still not ready to let go of the hope that some kid some day will accidentally eat a carrot stick.

We start off with sausages, generously covered in ketchup, mayonnaise and curry sauce. The second course consists of burgers, rolls, ketchup, mayonnaise, curry sauce, cheese, some tomatoes and lettuce leafs. On to the third course - we are now fifteen minutes into the meal - of profiteroles and chocolate sauce. It seems 14yo bodies can easily handle 3000 calories in one sitting. But even more surprisingly, considering the fact that the boys are heading for a Guinness Book of Records entry for fastest meal, they manage to have a lively conversation at the same time.

So Mr. S. and I are now completely up-to-date with all the boys' teachers and their qualifications ('boring', 'really boring', 'can't teach at all'). Of course they are being taught by some good men and women as well, because some of them are labelled 'can be funny', 'okay' and - best in show - 'not so bad'. I hate to think what they would make of me, or Mr. S., had we been brave enough to try and teach these boys 'French', 'Humanities', or 'Biology'.

After the festive dinner, they all retire to the front room to watch films on Netflix. They are in to action comedies at the moment, a genre that Mr. S. and I haven't explored really. At least not in the last twenty years. Not that we are allowed to watch this film with them of course. Our place is firmly in the kitchen, making sure cokes, crisps and chocolate biscuits find there way to the hungry troops at regular intervals.

The next morning, however,  I get a blow-by-blow account of a film called 'Big Dan', about this 'really small guy, mum, who has to go to prison, because of embezzlement and is really scared to get raped in prison. So that's why some Kung Fu master teaches Dan to defend himself, mum, and then when he goes to prison he beats the crap out of everyone and they all call him big Dan, even if he is only 1,60 or so'. The 14yo thinks I might really like this film. And you know what? He might be on to something.

So here's the plan for next Friday night. 'Big Dan', a big bar of Tony's Chocolonely (salted caramel!), me and the 14yo: heaven!