But If You Try Some Time....

So did I mention how much I like the Rolling Stones? Maybe not. Maybe that's a facebook thing....?

So, I really like the Rolling Stones. I like them so much I have considered getting a tattoo when I'm 80 (and I HATE tattoos).

And at this very moment in time they are IN MY TOWN. I even know where they're staying! I suspect that they will perform a small, intimate,  surprise gig somewhere in town prior to their concert on Saturday night and I am desperate to see them!

This weekend I went down to their hotel and sat in the bar for a while, but they didn't come out. I am considering a camp out on Friday (my day off)........

Truthfully though, I have a friend, who knows someone who works in the hotel, and although she has given me tasty tidbits like: the floor they are on, and calls me when they are going in or out with exhortations to 'get down here!!!'.... to be honest, the thought of being that close to them fills me with an awe approaching paralysis!! I am a pathetic creature torn in two directions.

One part of me wants to take my Goats Head Soup album (the second I ever bought, after Ziggy Stardust) or my Keith Richards authentic T Shirt certificate, down to the hotel and hope for the best. The other part thinks that I would not have the words or the spine to approach them....

But Saturday night is the big night. Of course we all know the traumatic story of their cancellation of the March shows after the death of L'Wren Scott. It was weird because people had been teasing me about one of them dropping dead before the concert etc and when a UK friend posted about L'wren's death at 6.30am my time.....I thought I was still dreaming! Still, time passes and we are here and now, waiting for The Stones.

So last weekend I went out on a Stone Hunt. After all, Adelaide is a small town. I had had a few tips as to where they may surface and, although I was flying solo, I ventured out into the night life of Adelaide in order to stalk the Stones. After all, what did I have to lose? It's not like they're going tobe here again.....

Most of the suggested venues looked pretty subdued during my drive past so I thought to park in the CBD and hang out in the hotel lobby. As I made a right turn into the street where I hoped to park, I noticed a slumped form on a bench outside the Cenotaph on the corner. By the time I had parked and walked up the street to the Cenotaph corner, the slumped form had parted company with the bench and landed squarely (and hard) on the pavement. He was lying in, roughly, the recovery position (apart from a weirdly twisted arm) and a quick check ensured that he was breathing. I tried to rouse ham and got little response so, feeling somewhat desperate, I called the Police. They were very kind and took all the details, assuring me that it was not my responsibility to sit with him until the officers came. But what could I do? He was incredibly vulnerable. I waited with him.

So it was that at 1.30am, I finally made it to the Intercontinental Hotel and strolled surreptitiously into the bar, to be surroundedby  a whole bunch of people in red, white and black clothing, and not a Rolling Stone in sight.

But my thirst for the Stones is unassuaged. I cannot wait for Saturday's concert. It is an amazing opportunity to see an iconic group of people doing what they do best. My Baby Angel was brought up to the strains of 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' and 'Straycat Blues' (a lullaby), warbled inexpertly by her obsessed mama. You cannot imagine how proud I was the day a friend reported that she had sung it to him from the back seat of his car as he had admonished his (same aged) son for asking for that 'one thing too many'. That's my gal!

And this brings to mind another issue. The BA had phoned me from the UK in November 2013 to ask me to buy her Stones tickets, back when March was the concert date. I baulked and refused to buy them on the grounds that she should not be deciding her course of action based upon the performance dates of a rock group! As a result, she stayed in her nanny position, traveled around and had a jolly good time. Just as we missed out on the Stones!

So here she is now, brought up on the icons, short of funds and pretty well 'bought out' of the ticket market by the ridiculously swift uptake of tickets in the first instance. There have been offers of tickets this time around, where people were unable to honor their commitments, but I felt unsure about buying them off the internet. It seemed inherently dodgy.  Then tonight all that changed.

Checking my twitter feed to see whether there was any suggestion of a late night show in Adelaide to night I came upon a last minute 'production run' of tickets. My mind was clouded by fog. I said to myself:
Is it likely your daughter is going to be able to see The Rolling Stones in real life ever again?
Can you let her miss out on this life event?

Of course the answer was 'non'. I booked those tickets right there in the car park of the supermarket.  They'll probably be behind a pole, but hell.......she'll be there! IT"S ONLY ROCK N ROLL!!!!!!

On A Happier Note

I recently received this from one of my ex pupils. She had been writing an essay on her Mathematical Journey for her Uni course....

"Through high school my anxieties developed into panic as my school placed an enormous emphasis on high level maths. Late in year nine a maths teacher started to understand that my abilities were limited due to the constant fear of failure and she took it upon herself to help me in any way she could. She began to tutor me every Tuesday after school for a couple of hours, working through the class work again and helping me with my homework. It was this teacher’s kindness, skill and patience that ensured my success with mathematics and I will forever be grateful to her. "

Nawwwwwwww. Well, at least I saved one starfish!

The Following Day

He called his father at 7.30pm the next day and asked to be picked up from the bus station at 8.20pm. My first reaction was to suggest he found his own way home but Himself, ever dutiful and 'caring', hopped in the car and responded to the finger click. When they arrived home I waited for the fireworks.
There were none.
There were no consequences.

At 2.30am that night/morning the Small Boy was on the phone to his mother again, crying, anxious and desperate.

His world is out of control. He is controlling the adults and it does not feel safe.

His mother has taken him to a psychologist since then and apparently there have been blood tests. I hope they're testing for drugs. Nothing like ice afterglow to give you paranoia and 'bad thoughts'.

Since then, Himself and I are barely speaking. Small Boy went back to his mother's mid week last week when Himself had a country trip to do for work. When I asked when he was coming back, I got a snarled "He's not." This is apparently because we are selling the house but if truth be known, I am merely speculating at Himself's motivation in sending the boy away. Could be to save himself the trouble of confrontation, could be to keep me out of the equation.....

I texted The Small Boy a few nights ago and got a mild "I'm fine. I'll let you know if I need anything." I'm not sure there's much more I can do.

I think I'm done here. It's been nearly 9 years and the realisation that nothing is going to change crashed over me with the force of a breaker which has hung, curled over my head for so long. I don't want to watch this train wreck of a relationship anymore. I don't want to be asked for advice and then ignored. I don't want to see the hurt in that boy's eyes and the casual lies he tells to cover for his spineless parents. "I have a caring family."

You have a lazy father Small Boy. He is lazy in all his relationships and you deserve so much more.

Where I'm No Fun Anymore

After the 'grounding' we entered a period of inertia. As I predicted, allowing the Small Boy to move into the downstairs area (albeit newly renovated) meant he became isolated from the family. I had suggested to Himself that it would be more difficult to monitor him from upstairs. Himself solved the problem by peering over the balcony to see if the lights were off downstairs. 

On one occasion, I arrived home around midnight to see the lights still on in The Pit. On approaching Small Boy with the suggestion that he should be in bed, I was greeted with howls of "Let me finish", "I'm just about to..."and "In a minute.....". After a few well placed words I simply went upstairs and turned off the internet. On another occasion I got "What's your problem?"

Given the information , that Small Bo may not be adhering to his curfew, Himself completely failed to change his checking methods. Head over the balcony. Light out. Must be in bed.

School holidays commence. Small Boy has licence to do as he pleases. Although this is less than appropriate, I was assuming that there would be no crises until term time when the demands piled on.

Wrong

After a week of holidays, where significant adults were continuing with work and other commitments, Small Boy called his mother on a Friday morning, crying, anxious and talking about 'bad thoughts'. Desperate, Mother called Himself. Unable to get away from work, Himself called me.

Assured that SmallBoy was prepared to talk to me, I went down and hauled him up out of The Pit. We sat up in the sunshine and I got out a pad and paper to make graphic notations of our discussions (since his working memory is not great). For two hours we talked, I sketched, he cried, I held him.....it was intense. We established a few points:

• he is terrified of being a failure
• he cannot articulate many of his own strengths
• he glosses over his family issues (my family care about me)
• he is a pathological liar (not surprisingly he cannot admit to this)

At the end of this he said he wanted to go to his friend's house and 'forget about everything'. I drew up a list of things to do for the day. They included all the things he wanted to do but finished with

COMING HOME

His immediate reaction was to wriggle.
 
"Why do I need to come home? 

I've got to truncate this because it causes me so much distress; but suffice to say I endured over an hour of harassment to change the boundary. It was insidious, passiv aggressive, but insistent and you so knew it was usually successful. Later that day I had to go into Himself's work  and had an opportunity to discuss the same thing with SB's parent "Whatever you do," I urged, "Do NOT let him talk you into a sleepover." The sleepover was not the point. He was being allowed to do a number of things which he wanted to do, the coming home thing was a line in the sand.

The testing time would come later at night when his parents were tired.

10.30pm Himself gets a text message from the Small boy: Can I stay the night?
Himself, desperate to make this work decides to phone first. SB does not answer. Himself calls SB's mum. She texts and calls. No answer. Finally Himself and his ex get in the car and go to the address Mum  thinks is the home of the boy SB is staying with. It is an old people's home.

At this point they called me.

"He's got you over a barrel " I say. The best thing is to get him home safely and determine consequences later.

They agreed and we all went  home....

It's Getting To The Point

I feel guilty. I should tell him what I've decided but I haven't got the heart yet.

I have to get good and mad again; as mad as I was when I finally worked my way towards the realisation that nothing is going to change and I need to get out. As mad as I was last Sunday.

Small Boy has been back with us. Things have not been going well for him this year. Aside from the usual round of visits to school to discuss his failure to submit work, failure to turn up at classes, and (a new low) failure to pay for a chocolate frog at the local supermarket whilst in school uniform and during school hours.....he has been getting himself mixed up in some pretty dubious stuff. If the shoplifting incident was not a large enough red flag, the charging ipad left open on facebook messenger should have been. He has been involved in assisting others in the procuring of 'controlled substances'.

Himself and SB's mum were devastated. They were furious! They counted 30 names on the thread of messages, asking about access to a variety of substances. They were horrified by how many pupils at the school were casually making enquiries. They considered their options before confronting him.

They gave him a good talking to and he promised never to do it again.

No, I am not joking.

They did assure him that if he put one more foot out of line he would be whipped out of that school (assuming they could find another to take him) and sent to a private school, and that they would let the parents of these other pupils know what had been going on. So, there. That's good then. That'll show him they mean business. Won't it?

So why then, when he was caught truanting again just weeks later, did nothing happen? Why then when he was picked up by the police for smoking dope in a car with two post school aged fellows a month ago, did nothing happen??? Oh, sorry. Something happened. He was grounded.

Grounded for a weekend that included a sleepover at a friend's house, a visit to the Royal Show on the Saturday and a trip to the Skate Park on Sunday. None of which were supervised by his father.

That kind of grounded.

But the full stupidity of my husband had yet to reveal itself.

At The Cross Roads

It has been a long time coming, as these things always are.

Part of me is relieved and part of me is terrified he'll talk me out of it.....

I am sad, excited and sad all at once.

Sorry to everyone, especially Small Boy...