I have been asked by two different people this week, as to whether or not I am still blogging.
The shortest answer is yes. Yes, I am.
However, I have been concentrating so very hard on the book these past few months that thoughts about blogging about my everyday life has fallen down the side of the sofa. Nevertheless, keen as I am to make people happy and to at least attempt to please the two people who had the grace to mention the blog, here I am today.
So, if you want someone to blame - I can provide their email details at a later stage.
I have to confess, I thought (past tense), that I was a fairly cool mum. I didn't expect to get down with every nuance that my children were going through or indeed liked, as I would rather watch paint dry than listen to One Direction but I do at least know who they are. However, I thought I was pretty much up with the times and was ready with fantastic knowledge that would make my children say with a wink and a smile, "She's got it, our mum's a dude."
Alas with a rude awakening I have discovered that this is not the case. I am 'Embarrassing Mum'.
My son had a school disco yesterday. I lovingly ironed, yes FFS, a pair of fab, khaki green, combat trousers that I considered my son would adore. I imagined he would come home and see them lying on the bed, and simply turn to me and say;
"You are amazing Mum. God, they are so cool, how did you get to be that cool?"
I would, of course, have shrugged off the compliment with cool nonchalance, while inside screaming 'Get in girl."
Unfortunately, things didn't go quite to plan.
"What's that on my bed?" Says a grumpy faced Spider-Man.
"Green combats, aren't they fab?"
"Err, no." Followed by a face full of disgust.
"Oh."
"Why are they on my bed?" And my 9 year old Gok Wan tosses them to the floor with a flick of his duvet.
"I thought you might like to wear them tonight?" I say hastily picking them back up again.
"Err, I don't think so. I'm wearing the red ones."
"What?!?! They are old and faded, and horrid."
Thus started an argument that most of the street must have heard. I wanted him to wear the smart trousers, so that he could woo the girls at the local disco and look a dude, where he wanted to wear the same bloody red jeans he always wears which look like they have been washed and beaten on the rocks in a local stream.
We argued for at least ten minutes between doing other things. He steadfastly refused and I found myself between a rock and hard place. Much like where the jeans had been.
Eventually I sent a photo of him in each pair to a good friend and asked his advice. Spiderman and I agreed that whatever the friend went for, then that would be the winner. I secretly felt that I was in a good place, after all - I knew, I was the cool one. What did Gok know?
A few minutes later my friend texted back, "Red. Defo. They say, 'Seduce with a diet-coke.'"
"Yes!!" Shouted Spiderman, punching the air with his fist.
I had to accept defeat. However it wasn't just the defeat that mortified me, it was also the total realisation that I am out of touch with what 9 year old boys want to wear - what they feel is cool.
Thankfully I am not the only one. Pootle is feeling much the same, and confirmed my suspicions that we are not the hip kids we thought we were.
"I had exactly the same conversation with mine," She lamented to me over tea and sympathy this morning. "Yesterday, I chose a fab pair of denim shorts but mine wanted to buy a pair of torn off jogging bottoms! I ask you! They looked like something I had dug out of the bin. I flatly refused of course, but you'd think I'd bought him an orange tank top with his reaction!"
I couldn't help but laugh, "God, what has happened? I know I am not a big clothes shopper, but I thought I had a bit of an idea."
"I know. Trouble is they are 9. They are balanced on a precipice of being a young child and then just over the cliff is a young man who is starting to think about how they look." She continued, "The funny thing is, we had this big row yesterday about it, then this morning he walks out in bright green shorts, bright green trainers and a pink t-shirt singing the Frozen soundtrack." She laughed at the memory, "They are still little boys who want their mums, but then every so often, this young man rears its head and says, 'No, I feel the grunge-look is more my style'."
"The disco itself was an eye opener too - when I said "goodbye and have fun', he just looked at me as though I had suggested the most ridiculous thing in the world. 'Whatever, mum'."
...and thus it starts...the beginning of the pre-teenage years. The start of total defiance, annoyance, and they know it all scenarios...
Serves me right for raising boys with their own minds.
The good news is we haven't quite completed the transformation. They still squeal with excitement at the thought of homemade pizza and want cuddles on the sofa. Alas, I'm just going to have to brave out the next few years, and I suspect it won't be long before I start going to them for advice about what to wear.
