Letter I Would Like To Send

Lady, your lovely kid is a creature of relationship and habit. With all his challenges, he works best when he allows relationship to break down his walls and his fears. Over the past 18 months there has been a discontinuity of relationship: from my sessions to reading recovery; a new year group; two new teachers and the changes around hearing aids;  and back to sessions with me. And right now, when he is settled and there is continuity; right now when he is beginning to see gains, you want to move him.?!?!!

Why? Because we don't use the Listening Program? Because you don't see his progress????? He is making those small steps, which will turn into giant strides as he sees his own progress. He is happy in his relationships with teacher and support teacher.... And now you are about to undo all that?????

I am so angry with you. Apart from sending him to professionals, what are YOU doing to support his learning????

You didn't even come in to discuss it with us.

Just Because they Say They Don't Love You Doesn't Mean You Haven't Done A Good Job

As I find so often nowadays, I must preface this post with the fact that I started it a long time ago.
Nevertheless, as I move to complete it, there are still issues that remain unresolved and roads to travel for both of us. And so I give you:
My Struggle With My Beautiful BA

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(Quite A While Ago in 2014)

So the beautiful but temperamental Baby Angel (who would probably need a new name if she even remembered I had a blog, let alone bothered to read it) is not dealing well with my decision to strike out on my own.

I had not anticipated this.

In the past, The BA has sagely commented on the foibles of the male members of our family, summing the whole lot up with statements such as 'I wish we had a normal family'.
Well apparently, it seems, a crap family is better than none and guess what? It is all my fault!
Of course.

Because you see, I am still the adult. Even though the BA is 19 going on 105, she is still a neophyte human being with limited life experience.
And because I am still a teacher, while I am going through **** , you might as well learn from it.

So, here are her declarations and the obvious common responses.
I give you however, the Flaming Sword responses as an alternative.

1) "Mum", she cries, " You are messing up my life!"

Trap for Swordless parents: omg she is right. I am being so selfish. I should stay with him to provide a stable home for her to stay in for ....oh another 6 months before she moves out with her boyfriend.

Sword Response: This is a minor inconvenience for you now. You will still have a place to live, a roof over your head and food on your table. The negative elements of your life are being removed and with that comes pain. No one said life would be without pain. Nevertheless, the change will provide many positives which you still (because of your youth) cannot see. You will be ok. You will survive this my very loved child. The people who have been your stable childhood are all still there. You can adjust. You have the foundations.  You have the ability. You are resilient and you will be better off in a less stressed environment.

2) "Mum", she cries,"You are such a hypocrite, what can you tell me? You discouraged sex before marriage and yet we KNOW what you did!!"

Trap for Swordless parents: omg she is right, I was so totally a slapper.....

Sword response: That is like saying a person injured in a car accident cannot caution others against excessive speed.

3) "Mum", she cries,"venom venom venom "
Trap for Swordless parents: I am a terrible parent, I must get my child to love me again....

Sword Advice: when your child spews venom at you, respond with "I'm sorry you feel that way, however...." This strategy works as well at the age of 19 as it does at 4.

 You may have noticed that this last example was a trifle vague. That is because there were actually more nasty things that she said to me, but (the good news is), two months on, I can't remember what they were.... (deliriously happy face)

My happy lesson to you is that whatever I suggested....works!

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It is now a long time since I started this post. There were about three weeks of awful, awful agony as she wrestled with the idea of giving up her 'childhood' home and her dysfunctional family. In that time she threw barbs at me which would pierce the toughest armour. Every flaw in my character, every mistake I had ever made in my life (all of which I have discussed freely over the years, believing that all learning is valuable) was brought back to assault me. I will not pretend the attacks did not hurt. Oh my goodness they hurt. They hurt because generally they were true but also because when I had revealed these 'life lessons' it was with the idea that she might 'learn' from them. I had not really anticipated catching them as a low blow to the stomach. Call me naive.

Since this post The BA has come around. I can almost pinpoint when it happened. She had stormed off to spend the weekend with her boyfriend and on her return she hugged me and said sorry. I don't know what had transpired on that weekend but she came back a changed girl. After weeks of resentment, obstruction, and aggression she returned resolved and cooperative.


So what are my lessons for you, young parents out there with younger kids and the vagaries of life before you?
My answer is: It is a process. It starts when they are tiny and you build, build, build upon it.

Every positive interaction you have with your child early on cements a relationship which will pay you back in spades later.

My relationship with the BA is far from storybook. It is normal and healthy, which involves a fair bit of argy bargy but when all is said and done, this is what she wrote on my Christmas card this year:

Dear Mum
I am sorry I decided to spend Christmas away this year, in hindsight I wish I hadn't. Just wanted you to know that I love you am always here for you no matter the distance. 2015 will be our year to start afresh and kick a***. I love you to the moon and back and appreciate everything you've done for me over the past years. I admire your strength, compassion and selflessness as an individual and your way of always making me feel loved. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year Mum.

(I am not making this up!)

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.

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.

Impotence

So we know why the Small Boy wanted to stay with us the other week.
He was avoiding a camp.
The Small Boy will always avoid things which cause him discomfort.
Fortunately, his dad forced him to go to the camp and he returned last Friday with a big smile and a sense of accomplishment. But then he decided to stay with us for another week.

A large part of me wonders what he is trying to achieve, or avoid.
I am cynical yes, but it is a cynicism borne of experience. Unfortunately, I am completely powerless to do anything about it.

On the following Monday morning, having spied the vile X Box (which had arrived with Small Boy),  I asked Himself,
"What are the rules about X Box going to be during the school week?
"Well," he drawled, "I've said there will be a one hour ban every night."
It was all I could do not to choke.
"A BAN?" I sputtered."How about a one hour ALLOWANCE??????"
My protestations were not met with sympathy.In Himself's eyes he had made a reasonable compromise.

Now here is a Flaming Sword lesson in the obvious. A ban suggests that the activity is the norm, and reinforces the idea that our normal life is spent engaged in the pursuit of virtual reality. Giving an hour of internet time however, assures our children that the internet is an appropriate, entertaining and necessarily brief reward for persistence in the bigger issues.

I went to work that morning seething with resentment. Small Boy is not my problem. His father is.

So do I tell you of my Big Falling Out with Small Boy now, or do I leave it for another post?Another post methinks. It exhausts me just thinking of it.

Unspoken

It's been a very long time since I wrote about, or even mentioned, The Small Boy. Of course,  this is partly because he is no longer small ( it's official, everyone in the family is taller than me) but mostly because we don't see him much anymore.

There is a long story behind this and in the past I would have filled you in along every gruesome step of the journey. As it is I barely know where to start. Suffice to say that when Himself informed me that Small Boy wanted to stay with us this week, my first thought was "what is he trying to avoid?" What does he stand to gain by hunkering down over here at our place (where he is usually bored) and why does it have to be THIS week, when the Honorable Husband is visiting us from Germany???

It didn't take long for us to find out. He is avoiding a school camp.

There is so much hurt in this young man. 

More later.

If You Love It Let It Go......

OK, so who was the smart a*****  d*** brain who said this then? Very good mate! Brilliant. Sounds great in theory.

I am having a hard time letting my butterfly go.
For one thing, I don't like the directions she flies in. Additionally, her wings are ever so fragile (though she is more from the 'My wings are like a shield of steel' school).

She rightly accuses me of hypocrisy (although I don't think I ever wore anything I had to be taped into) as I was a far from perfect teenager. Many have suggested that I may be reaping a severe case of karma, considering what I may or may not have put my own parents through.

All this is beside the point.

No. Actually. All this is exactly the point.

I am challenged by the  dichotomy of my own teenage (hell....let's face it...my 20s, 30s and even 40s) self and my feelings towards my daughter's developing identity.

It was all so much easier when she was a kid. Somewhere between here and here I was relieved of my Flaming Sword. It's still there mind you, in the background, hissing and spitting in a somewhat lacklustre manner. I can encourage you that, from time to time, I still reach for it.

Like last Sunday night when she came in and started to get ready to 'go out'.
Me: But it's Sunday....
Her: Oh Mum! I worked yesterday so I didn't get to go out.
Me: Ye-es. But...it's Sunday......
Her: Haha...yes Mum...don't worry, we'll have an early night...probably be home by 2 am
Me: (spluttering) 2 am??????? (This is obviously  some strange usage of the word "early" that I wasn't previously aware of).
Her: Haha...Mum you are so cute...
Me: No, you mistake me....don't you have work tomorrow?
Her: Yes but I don't start until 12pm...I can sleep in...
Me: But.....it's SUNDAY

So OK...that bit wasn't exactly me reaching for the sword.

Look, don't get me wrong, the BA is essentially a good kid. She volunteers at the Red Cross shop on Saturdays; she cleans up our kitchen (with a prompt); she gets to work on time; she is a loyal friend and enthusiastic employee. I just wish she didn't view the whole world through the lens of 'personal appearance/read: body image' and the motto 'I party therefore I am'.

I am hopeful that her overseas trip (when she gets to it) will sort out some of her priorities and help her settle to a more worthwhile purpose. It certainly had some effect on me in 1979 when I did my backpacking thing.

Of course her travel plans have been put somewhat on hold by the fact that this young man will be  back from Afghanistan in 2 weeks.

He has been away since March and he will have no doubt changed. I somehow feel that the BA will not commit fully to her overseas trip until she has run the course of things with this very nice, but inevitably 'not quite right for her', young man. Of course, I could be completely wrong and she may marry him and become an army wife.......
NAH....................

Now I wanted to finish with:
For those of you who visit this blog for wise insights into child rearing....could you please come back in about 5 years ad I'll give you the benefit of hindsight :-D;

but I suddenly realised I was thinking about this from completely the wrong angle.

The whole point of the Flaming Sword is that it 'sets things up'. What you do with these precious tiny souls throughout their formative years will have a major impact on their development at this end of the journey. Of course, you cannot really parent to totally avoid drugs and alcohol, you cannot parent to avoid stupid casual sex and you can rarely parent to avoid young men taking their motorbikes down the Norton Summit Rd at high speed (OMG I LOVE that you can just google that!) but you can know that underneath that veneer of testosterone or oestrogen, they are still the babies you nurtured.

Example in point: the other night the BA hopped into bed with me (in her onesie) to tell me she loved me. We discussed some of her friends and their choices, we reflected on her her various employments, we shared the excitement of Army Boy's early return date....

What she does on her 'nights out' is beyond my control. All that I can hope is that she has been imbued with sufficient sense of self to fend off the d*** br**ns and to conduct herself with dignity and self worth. There are definitely girls that age who do this. I know because I was always (sadly) bemused by them..........

Where Do I Start With The Dysfunctional Paving Company?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the dysfunctional family are whirling themselves up a dust storm of trouble.

For anyone unfamiliar with our set-up, we have No 2 Son (quite possibly on the Autistic Spectrum) living with us, The Baby Angel (my only progeny), also living with us, and No 1 Son, recovering drug addict and tormentor of his bro, back with us for an undetermined length of time, having been forcibly ejected 5 years ago and now here for a 'holiday'.

Himself also has two ex step children from his relationship with the mother of Small Boy (a child who no longer speaks to me and is stirring himself up a mess of trouble over at his mother's place where he has been wagging school and handing up no work despite changing schools at his request, having had an assessment last year which showed he has a dyslexic profile and having had a Support Plan put in place. But I digress).

One of the stepchildren, I'll call him Lance, is a reasonably skilled young man who quit school at 16, because he could, and has tried a variety of jobs over the last 7 years most of which he tossed in because they required him to get out of bed before midday. Recently he has decided to start up a little business himself, doing landscaping. Himself, out of the goodness of his heart, asked him to quote on the paving of our yard.

Does this have disaster written all over it or what?

He came over initially, took measurements and sold Himself on these pavers >. He then went away to do his 'calculations'.

Three weeks later, Himself told me to look for other quotes. He also told his ex that Lance hadn't got back to us so we were looking elsewhere and lo and behold, there was Lance on a Friday afternoon, with his quote. It was for $7000. A further few measurements were taken,  we discussed the direction of laying the pavers, the placement of some beds to break up the corridor like appearance of the patio and off he went to finalise the quote. It came in at $13,000!!! When queried about the sudden jump in price he replied,
"Oh, well the first time I forgot to include labour costs."

Are the alarm bells now ringing loudly??

Himself was keen to give them a go. He had also assigned the task of building garden beds and levels on one side of the new retaining wall, to No 2 Son.

This photo was taken at the end of January, after No 1 Son had weeded out a stubborn shrub and No 2 Son had thus been shamed into weeding out a slightly smaller but no less gnarly nandina. The quote was in, the job was scoped....everything was set to go. The pavers arrived on the 28th of February.

As of yesterday, this was the progress.

The general work hours seem to be 11.30am til 12.30pm followed by a two hour lunch followed by an arbitrary hour, or not, afterwards....followed by knocking off at 3pm.

There has been some discussion over the slope of the area. The lads want to lay most of the pavers horizontally across the corridor with a vertical row running parallel to the roof-line of the house, draining any rainwater into the basin under the tap (see first photo). I have mentioned to them that it is illegal to run storm water into a sewage drain (not to mention the fact that I do not want a row of vertical pavers dissecting the already narrow patio!) but have heard no response. I see no reason why the patio cannot slope towards the retaining wall, and if a drain is necessary, an in ground channel could be laid along the wall to take run off toward the storm water drain over near the pool equipment. Anyway, whatever they do with it....it better not be contrary to building regs!!!! >:-( I feel this battle is one we still need to have. Himself has a limited knowledge of all this sort of thing and as a result feels quite resentful that I wish to have a say in it. It's a man thing.

So as the days grow short and the working hours of our 'contractors' grow even shorter, I am left wondering whether we will have to engage some professional pavers to rescue us from the mess these two renegades may possibly leave us in! The whole thing needs to tie in with the pergola (commencement date 22nd April) and the BA's 18th birthday which we hope to hold on the 11th May. Fingers crossed.

Oh well, we always have this......

For The Baby Angel Although She Would Be Horrified

How do I let you go?
How do I let you go after I have loved you so long?
How do I hand you over to another's hand?
Small, snuggling, needy child
You grew
Every stage of growth
A loss
Every moment a treasure
A robbery

How do I let you go?
After I have loved you so long?
It is time
Time
Relentless ruthless foe
It is time
Loss
It is life that makes this so

No-one took you from me
There was no tragedy
But the moment you were born
the end began.








Photo credit

Finishing The Unfinished

The last time I pressed 'publish' it was by accident and an abbreviated version of what I had intended to write was displayed to the world. As it turned out it was kind of appropriate. It has taken me weeks to get back to this post. But back I am and I will endeavour to finish what I started.
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Do you know how much I hate pressing the blogger button lately? Guilt. What a crap emotion, and how easily manipulated.

So let me see...last time I spoke to you I was laughing freely through the first, and easy, Formal choice. All this went out the window at the second formal invitation!

The Baby Angel was over the moon with excitement when an old family friend, bereft of female company, asked her to accompany him to his formal. He attends a lovely school, where I once taught, and their formal is something of the 'prestige event', so you can imagine how smug the BA was at her invitation. I was delighted for her of course (no one ever asked ME to that formal) but the unasked question hung in the air: will she wear the same dress??????

The mother of the BA's date (actually my Quilting Doyenne) was delighted when she saw the St Saviour's formal shots and the lovely black dress on my Baby Angel. "Excellent!" she exclaimed, "Youngest Son could do with a bit of street cred and having the gorgeous BA on his arm will really earn him some kudos!" She was a big fan of the black dress, commenting on its tastefulness and, relative, modesty. Imagine my concern then when the BA started making noises about finding another dress!

"But Muuuuuuuuuum! It's been on facebook! Everyone has SEEN that dress!!!!" she exclaimed as if it were perfectly obvious that she couldn't possible be seen in public in that 'old rag' again. I did not hesitate to point out that it was her own fault that it had been all over facebook....
 Nevertheless, despite my assurances that the dress was lovely, unusual and the crowd atthis formal would not have seen it, she became more and more determined to find something different. She started by trying on all her friend's dresses. Now if you have seen the selection she had to choose from, you will know that she was never going to find anything to rival her own dress from that lot. And anyway, there was the whole issue of size discrepancy!

Closer to the date, she started emailing me photos from her phone as she tried on dresses in shops after school. I had made it pretty clear that if she was to find another dress, the budget would need to be at least half that of the previous dress. Now, before you condemn me for my weakness, listen to my reasoning: I figured that for less than $200 we would never find a dress that looked anywhere near as good as the original, therefore we would have no call to purchase it! For a while my plan worked. And then someone told her about renting.

There are very few formal hire services for women's clothing in our city. On inquiry it seems that this is due to the exorbitant cost of dry cleaning but regardless, there is one, small, place that all the girls rave about. Under sufferance I accompanied her to see what they had to offer.

Now this little boutique is run by a sweet, very thin girl, who obviously has too much money and time on her hands. She looked at her wardrobe one day to see tens of extremely expensive dresses which she had only worn once, and saw a business opportunity! For around $60.00 you can borrow one of her ex dresses for the night, returning it in the morning with no dry cleaning charge! The BA was hooked. Unfortunately she only had 3 formal gowns to choose from.The first was a Grecian number which was lovely, but in a pale blushing beige which left the BA looking like a hepatitis patient. The next dress was a mere scrap of fabric, slashed at sides and back and dancing seductively with the limits of decency. This of course was the dress the BA fell in love with!

I mean...I ASK you!!!!!!

I was pretty straightforward about the fact that I would not be hiring it for her and that I would not be facilitating her in the hiring process. Unfortunately I had overlooked the influence, and generosity of HIMSELF!!! I can be excused, I think, as he has never shown the least interest in girl's clothes. Until now.
"Oh, that's not SO bad," he exclaimed and promptly lent her the money. We had words later.....So the morning of the formal saw me phoning the date's mother and making excuses for the coming undressed state of my daughter. She was understandably perturbed and did wonder if in fact the BA would be 'sent home' from the formal,  for being dressed inappropriately!

We laughed about the fact that as we spoke on the phone, the BA was playing netball! "Oh my," my friend caustioned,"make sure hse doesn't end up on crutches!" I laughed and went to catch the end of the BA's netball game, only to discover that she had fallen and grazed her newly tanned leg  from mid shin to knee! How I laughed.
Like good mummy however, I wen to the pharmacy and purchased some opsite and some healing cream which she applied through the afternoon. Fortunately the graze was on the one leg which was covered, in some way, by some form of what passed for material!
 So later that night I double taped her into her dress and she greeted her date.Who was suitably impressed.

Terrifying.
By all accounts they had a great night, but my heart sank as she informed me the following Monday that she had been invited to yet ANOTHER formal and that we would need to start looking for another DRESS!!!

To Complain or Not To Complain: THAT Is the Question

OK. So now I'm going to tell you the story of 'Bad Doctor'.

My Baby Angel is incredibly robust. She rarely visits the doctor. In fact, so unaccustomed is she to illness that she was about 9 before she had to stay off school with a bad cold for the first time.  In obvious distress and confusion she was heard to wail, "Muuuum, I can't breathe!!!" Recently, she's had the occasional flu/cough thing as her diet and bed times move increasingly out of the sphere of my control but nothing warranting a surgery trip. Which is why, as she complained yet again about the heat rash on the back of her legs, I was faced with the prospect of finding her a doctor.

I was mindful of the fact that, at 16 and a half, she is going to want to start visiting the doctor under her own steam. Perhaps not straight away but certainly in the near future, the idea of being taken to the doctors by Mum is bound to become anathema. So, obviously, we had to pick a surgery nearby and easily accessible by public transport. Check.

I called the surgery to book an appointment and got the standard "Which doctor would you like to see?" Well, call me coy but I only see lady doctors so that was my first request. After that, I told the receptionist it was for my daughter and she suggested Dr HNB. A quick check of the surgery's website informed me that Dr HNB had a certificate (and special interest in) adolescent and children's health. Bingo! We thought.

It was a cheerful BA and I who fronted to the surgery that sunny morning. We had a list of 'little things' that we wanted to ask about: the heat rash of course, a nasty dark mole on her neck, her non-meat eating diet and tiredness.....but I figured we could knock them off pretty quickly. Imagine our confusion when Dr HNB stalked out of her office and called our name with the withering tones of someone who wished to God she had put down Law instead of Medicine on that fateful uni application form.

In typical addictive personality fashion, I tried to work out later if it was something we had done from the outset. I mean, we were a bit late but she wasn't standing out in the foyer waiting for us so..... ??? Whatever it was, she was snippy from the get go. She marched us in and sat us down, then rolled her eyes as we did that familiar mother/daughter dance:
"Tell, the doctor why you're here.."
"Well, it's nothing really, I mean, it's like, well there's not much to see, it's probably nothing.."
"Oh for God's sake...she gets a heat rash on the back of her legs."
"Muuuuuuuuum" (spoken through clenched teeth)....
I mean, I know it's pathetic but surely we're not the first pair to air our changing relationship in public? And not even in public! In the seclusion of the surgery no less! Surely, that's what adolescent health care is all about???? Well, at least partly about?

She got out her torch and ordered the BA around to have a look at the back of her legs.
"Huhm," she snorted dismissively,"well, sit down, I'm not going to talk to your bottom."
Suddenly I have a distinctly uneasy feeling; this isn't going the way I imagined and yet, despite my intellect, strong character and usually forthright nature, I wonder if there is something I am missing? Perhaps this is part of the bedside manner recommended for adolescents?

The discussion around heat rash, wearing cotton clothing and 'there's not much I can suggest' went waaay longer than it needed to. In the end, bigmouth mother suggested some hydrocortisone,
Dr HNB agreed and we moved on to item no 2.

Again, the nasty black mole on the back of the BA's neck took longer than necessary to analyse. Apparently it was my fault that I didn't know the year, nay the month, nay the DAY it had appeared on her neck......as that may have made a difference to the treatment. Let's face it, we don't know if it's a melanoma, we could leave it there and see if it changes or we could make arrangements to chop it out. I get that. She gets that. Let's choose and move on!!

Next: diet and sleep.
Last year, one of the BA's teachers mentioned that she thought the BA may be iron deficient because she is very pale and she is often tired. Of course, she is pale because she is my daughter and we do not produce melanin (hence concern over mole), but she is a picky eater and not a great lover of protein so it did worry me vaguely that we weren't catering to her burgeoning adolescent need for nutrition.
Dr HNB: So, you're tired?
The BA: Well....yes....sometimes.....but...I....I mean I....
Dr HNB: What time do you go to bed?????
The BA: Well, sometimes it's quite late, I mean, on a weekend, and then some week nights I have 
                things on and home work and stuff so I...
Dr HNB: Do you get 10 hours sleep a night?
The BA: Errrrr no, I don't think so.
Dr HNB: Well then, there's your answer! It's not rocket science you know! If you're tired...get more
                 sleep!!!

At this point, my internal dialogue was having a raging debate with itself.
Me: Well she's right
Me: Yeah...but there must be a better way to say it
Me: Perhaps it a kind of tough love thing? That she learned at her adolescent health course?
Me: OK....and maybe the BA will actually take it on board since she's being so blunt.....
Me: Yeah but she's being so blunt!!!

At this point, foolishly in hindsight, I decided to let the BA have a chat to the Doc alone on the final, and perhaps most important issue. It was girly health thing and I thought I was doing the right thing by giving her some autonomy but even now, as I read back over the unfolding of events, I can see that leaving her alone with Dr HNB was a mistake. Firstly, as I announced I would leave them to it, the Doc pulled me up in no uncertain terms and told me that 'if I had a lot of things to discuss in the future, could I please book a double appointment'. A small gasp of surprise and I was apologising and assuring her that we would do that next time.
Oh the wisdom of hindsight.

Twenty minutes later the BA emerged from the surgery, weeping and broken. The doctor had told her that she was cross because we had made her 45 minutes behind schedule! But that was OK because
Dr HNB had also told her not to worry because she was the second teenage girl she'd made cry that day!!!!!!!!!!!!
A simple "please make another appointment, we've run out of time," would have sufficed!!

>:-( grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

We will not be going back to Dr HNB.

So what am I trying to say by telling you this story? Well, the BA will not let me write a letter of complaint and I wonder whether that is right? Should this lady, whom I am sure is probably a fine doctor, be allowed to tout herself out there as specialising in adolescent health, whilst at the same time being almost the polar opposite of what a doctor of teenagers should be?? Should I be informing her that her bedside manner is lacking. Would she care? What do you think? Should I ignore the BA's social reticence to inform the woman of her effect on others??


To add insult to injury, she charged me $150.00 for an extra long consult and when the rebate cheque came back....it was made out to the BA!

*sigh*

(PS: Have you worked out what Dr HNB stands for????? Here's a hint. It's not complimentary).












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South Australia: State of Inebriation

My friend Elisa and I have talked about the issue of teenage drinking on more than one occasion. Almost exactly a year ago, the BA was wanting to go to a local beach with her friends for New Year's Eve fireworks and carousing. There was discussion of alcohol. At the time she was 15 and there was no WAY I was condoning any bending of the no-drinking rules. The event passed without incident and I breathed a sigh of relief.

In May of this year (was it only this year???), the Formal and it's 'after party' reared its ugly head. For a brief moment I considered hosting the after party, providing a DJ, putting up lights and a dance floor, making party pies and sausage rolls.......
Then came the question of alcohol.

I thought my immediate 'no' response would be that of any sane parent but I was sadly mistaken. Tales of the previous year's after party complete with security guards, a cloak room for checking in bags so nothing could be smuggled in, fending off gate crashers, and wrist bands entitling the guests to 2 alcoholic drinks, changed the way I viewed the world. Such parties did not occur in my day!!

At a meeting with the girls organising the event, I explained that I would provide everything they needed for a party except alcohol. They thanked me for my interest and found another parent who would!

In the angst and stress that went with this whole experience, I read up on a whole lot of legal information and was surprised to find this:

Where can a minor legally drink alcohol?*

1. At their own home or someone else's - regardless of whether an adult legal guardian or spouse is present.
2. In public places that are neither licensed premises, regulated premises nor dry areas (e.g. a family barbecue in a public area such as a park) provided they are in the company of an adult legal guardian or spouse.

Where can a minor NOT legally drink alcohol?*

1. In regulated premises including licensed premises (e.g. a restaurant, hotel, premises with a limited licence or reception centre) - a minor may be present at these venues (before midnight, or before 9.00 p.m. at premises with an entertainment venue licence), but may not buy or drink alcohol.
2. In a public place unless in the company of an adult legal guardian or spouse.

*These explanations for where a minor can and cannot legally drink alcohol also include possession of alcohol.

It is illegal for anyone, regardless of age, to drink alcohol in non-licensed regulated premises, such as a public hall, shop, vehicle or vessel, and other specified premises such as dry areas. Therefore, the only additional restrictions on minors are that they are not allowed to drink in licensed premises, or unaccompanied in a public place.

In summary, minors:

• can consume alcohol provided it is not in a public place or regulated premises
• can consume alcohol in a public place under the supervision of an adult legal guardian or spouse provided that it is not a dry area, regulated premises or in or near to prescribed entertainment such as a dance
• can generally be on licensed premises before midnight (before 9.00 p.m. in an entertainment venue) but cannot obtain or consume alcohol
• are not allowed in areas of licensed premises declared out of bounds to minors, or in gaming areas
• are not allowed on licensed premises between the hours of midnight and 5.00 a.m. unless in a designated dining area, a bedroom or an area approved for minors

Examples:

1. If at the clubrooms, a football coach gives the team some beers to celebrate a win, and some of the team are under 18, that is an offence (supplying liquor to a minor in regulated premises, section 110 & 114 of the Act). However, it would not be illegal for the coach to invite the team to his home for drinks.
2. At a wedding reception held in a licensed restaurant, a hotel, a wedding reception centre or public hall, it is illegal if a minor drinks a toast containing alcohol to the bride and groom (selling/supplying alcohol to minors, sections 110 & 114 of the Act).

(From: http://www.dassa.sa.gov.au/site/page.cfm?u=124#minors)

In July of this year, someone tried to do something about it: but as far as I know there has been no change to the law.

The BA is going to continue to be confronted with opportunities to drink to excess. In a recent conversation I pointed out to her, "It is not about me trying to control you, it is about you remaining in control of yourself."

With Tuppence For Paper and String

Post New Year and with the house to ourselves (Himself is off sailing at the National Championships in Canberra), the BA and I have been working on a jigsaw puzzle. I am a great believer in things like jigsaw puzzles; not only do they sharpen visual/spatial awareness (BA! Does it LOOK like it's going to fit in there??????) but they create space and time for togetherness and a sense of shared experience. They are also prevent you from doing petty tasks like folding the washing but that's another story.

One of the first movies I ever saw was Mary Poppins and even at the tender age of 7 or so I saw clearly the message of shared experience.


The final sequence, as the workaholic but disgraced father throws propriety to the wind and rushes off to fly a kite with his family, resounds clearly in my soul.

Watch here.

It never fails to bring tears to my eyes, which is interesting in itself. Why does this still affect me after all these years?

I think perhaps, as a child whose father could be away for weeks at a time, I felt the 'wrongness' of the 'present but absent' father. When my father was at home, and when he was engaged with us, it was the most exhilarating and affirming of times. How could a father be at home and yet leave interaction with his children, to someone else? It struck a discordant note in my open, childish heart. To this day I'm not sure if it was because I resented my father's times away, or because I genuinely felt the wrong for the Banks children. Whatever the reason, the resolution of this, the most fundamental of parenting errors, still pushes all my buttons.

Maybe the source of my open wound is the relationship I observe from weekend to weekend as the Small Boy and his father play the timeless father and son game of 'why don't you play with me?' tag. It goes like this:

Scene I
Son: Can you take me to the skate park?
Father: But I only see you on the weekends and now you spend all your time up there....
Son: Why don't you stay and watch me?
Father: No I've got work to do.

Scene II
(son has returned from skate park near tea time and is on the computer. Father is cooking)
Me: Why don't you go and help Dad with the dinner?
Son: Nah. I don't want to (eyes never leaving the screen)
Me: Well, he doesn't get to see you much and you've been out all day, he hasn't had a chance to talk to you
Son: (eyes still on screen) He never talks to me anyway, even when I am here.

Scene III
Father: (approaching Son who has been playing X Box for 2 hours) Do you want to come to the football with me?
Son: (eyes never leaving the screen) Can I bring a friend to talk to?

Scene IV
Son wants to see a particular kid's movie for his birthday. He is all excited. He gets to go with his Dad! He loves the movie. As it ends.....
Son: that was SO COOOOL
Dad: That was the worst movie I've ever sen. It had no plot, no discernible heroes or villains and was just a lot of special effects.
Son: (face falls)

As a parent who spends inordinate amounts of time with her child (probably more than is healthy at our respective ages) I find this painful to watch; the constant reaching and rebuttal from each of them. At least Son No2 and his father have sailing in common. Himself's attempt to make that connection with Small Boy was an abject failure.

When Himself and Small Boy tried sailing together, Small Boy had a bad experience the second time (first time was good) and then gave up. At this point Himself should have insisted he try one more time and then ensured that the primary focus of the day was the shared experience. Not winning >:-( Instead, Himself said he didn't want to 'force him' to do something he didn't like. Hellloooooooo? Cleaning his teeth? Going to bed at a reasonable hour? Not crossing the road without looking both ways???????

One has to orchestrate these moments sometimes. The BA is a 'watchoholic' whose first resort for entertainment is the DVD player. As Flaming Sword parent I have to make suggestions and then carry them through, knowing that once they are in action she will enjoy them. Thus it is with jigsaws. And gardening. And going to the gym.

The only positive thing I can think of is that Himself agreed to coach Small Boy's basketball team last term.

Hallelujah

Shared experience.




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It's Managing Director or Nothing!

"That's Sarah, who works with me, over there Mum and guess what? She's going in to work tonight and she's going to QUIT!!!" announced the Baby Angel with some fervour on Friday night. "And Zac? He's quitting too. And Mum, you KNOW how much I hate my job! You know how STRESSED I get about it!!"

"What's your point BA?"

"Well I think maybe I should quit too."

(Mother pauses to take a deep breath, don't blow this now mother, just the right amount of indignation mixed with a soupcon of sympathy and a firm line.......)

"I see, well, I suspect you should make sure you've got another job before you quit this one," I reflected in measured tones.
"But I'll never get another job! Do you know how many people are out there looking for jobs???" she wailed in response.
"Exactly. Be very grateful you have a job (and 'suck it up Princess' I refrained from adding)."

Lately we have been having discussions about money. Her latest bank statement showed that she had spent rather more than she'd realised in the last 3 months. She is trying to save for this trip to Vanuatu with the Church Youth Group and, thus far, her weekly stint at the Golden Arches is not providing her with the saving and the spending she desires. At least, it provides her with the spending, but at the expense of the saving. When trying to determine where all this money had gone, she had to admit that she was frittering it away on junk food and so forth on trips to the mall with friends.
"But," she exclaimed in outrage,"the others all have money from their parents! It's not fair!!!!"

Now this is true. Ever since an unfortunate incident with her bedroom door a couple of years ago, I have stopped giving the BA pocket money. In the first instance it was to pay for repair of the door, but somehow it never really got going again and now that she works, I don't see the need to supplement her income with 'spending money' every time she wants to go into town with her friends. So, the question is, am I being too harsh?

I don't think I am. She has many things provided for her: I buy all her toiletries and basic clothing necessities (socks and the like) whilst her dad and step mum buy her bags of clothes every time she visits; I pay for her music tuition, her netball fees and transport to school each week; I somehow manage to make most concerts or gigs into birthday or Christmas presents. If we go to the movies I pay.

I do not pay for phone credit or socialising. Nowadays she buys presents for her friends on their birthdays as well, an item which used to be my domain.

I think this is fair.

If I start forking over 'spare change' every time she feels the need to meet friends at the food court or buy a teen magazine, the message goes out that everything comes easily and there is no need to monitor or regulate the amount you are spending on these 'extras'. I think this would be doing her a disservice. The difficulty, of course, is when other parents do not share these values.

Of course, it is completely up to each family to decide which expenses they will bear for their emergent adults and which they will leave to the teen; but please folks, leave something to them! Aside from the financial learning they will experience and the money you will save, you reward them with a sense of responsibility and control, essential for their healthy development. If parents are continually providing cash, young people begin to believe that they are not capable of doing it themselves.

And so BA, no, you may not 'quit' your job simply because you 'don't really like it that much'. Welcome to the real world! And anyway, part of the reason you work at Maccas when you are 15 is to remind you what you are studying for!!!

Here endeth the lesson.

Edited to add:

Jill made a comment which prompted me to clarify something. Part time jobs are definitely NOT meant to interfere with school work! If this is the case then it is time to quit the job until something more suitable comes along. My part time job as a teen was Thursday nights til 9pm and Saturday mornings at the local supermarket. This left plenty of time to keep up with study and assignments. The Baby Angel works one LOOOOOOOng shift at Maccas on a Sunday, usually 8am until 3pm which still leaves time for homework in the evening (should it not have been completed before this....which it should have!).

My main point with the BA's recent desire to quit was that it was based on her general disinterest in the job and more particularly, dislike of one of the supervisors. Whilst these things are certainly reasons to look elsewhere for employment, the danger with youth today is that Mum and Dad will 'bail them out' and they never have to learn to deal with the unpleasantness of life, like long hours and bad tempered bosses.


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Nan Chin Says: Analyse THIS

I had to share this! (Hope you don't mind Nan Chin)

Nan Chin was my housemate in the UK and is now the amazing mother of two delightful (and cute) Taiwanese/French children. Gaston is 4........his mood graph is the white one; and Rosalie is 21 months...she's the green line!

Nan Chin is also a scientist.
:-)

An Aversion To Laziness In The Use of the Expletive

I have to confess I am not adverse to using the 'f' bomb from time to time. Nothing like Himself of course, for whom it is as natural as breathing; I put it down to his background in the creative arts.

I am famously remembered by my parents for using it as I dressed for my first wedding. Well, there were waaaay too many flowers on that headpiece! It looked like I had an effing garden on my head! Anyway, my point is that I use it to effect, rather like an exclamation point (and yes, Headbang, I know that if I continue with that analogy I shall be digging myself ever deeper into an expletive grave.......) I will also admit that my need for exclamation and effect could be said to increase exponentially according to the amount of wine I have consumed but that is neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is that I object to hearing it all the time on national radio!

The occurrence of the 'f' bomb in contemporary song has increased past the point of having any point at all. Once the territory of angst ridden rappers who had obviously seen 'Platoon' too many times.......(dialogue: mumble mumble motherf****** mumble Gooks mumble mumble mother f****** Gooks), this pre-Elizabethan curse has moved inexorably from; the purposefully dropped expletive or descriptor; to an occasional, casual adjective or adverb; to the title of the song and main chorus lyric! Lily Allen started it with her supersweet message to George Bush "F You"and more recently Cee-Lo Green has given us a cheerful, soul version of the verbal 'finger'!

Really! (spoken with rolled eyes)

Given my own predilection for the word, I am somewhat confused as to why these songs bother me so much, but bother me they do. I find myself murmuring "Huh! Charming!" in schoolmarmly tones, to the obvious amusement of the BA. I have tried to pinpoint the source of my irritation and after much soul searching I have decided it comes down to one thing. Laziness.

I mean! In my day we were clever and amusing in our use of the word! Witness the crowd at an Angels concert spontaneously bursting into an improvised echo chorus at the query 'Am I ever gonna to see your face again?' ( No way, get f*****, f*** off!). Now you see, that is iconic.

But more than that, we could be smutty, angst ridden or suggestive with nary a mention of the 'f' word.

Here are some of my favourite examples:

Bette Midler does Long John Blues (one of my party pieces).

Patti Smith spews forth the horrors of working class America in Piss Factory (alright..she did say piss...but at least it wasn't an 'f' factory, although come to think of it that might have been appropriate)

The B52s do Love Shack: the BA and I heard this in the car the other morning right after one of the previously mentioned modern offensive songs. I looked at her and said "You know, there is no doubt that this song is about a place where people get down and dirty and yet there is not one explicit word in the entire piece. That's its genius." And she agreed. Because she is a good daughter.

Looking back, one does not have to think too hard about the nuances of the expression 'rock and roll' to be quite clear as to its meaning. Even in the safe, middle class genre of musical theatre people like Cole Porter gave us 'innocent, carefree' lyrics like these:

I'd like to stop for my baby tonight,
And blow my top with my baby tonight.
I'd like to stop for my baby tonight,
And blow my top with my baby tonight,
But I'd be a flop with baby tonight,
'Cause it's too darn hot.

("It's Too Darn Hot" from 'Kiss Me Kate': 1949)

No prizes for guessing what HE was talking about!



In my day (and before) there was currency in vaguely disguising the intent of your lyric; this is obviously no longer the case. And guess what? I think it is reflective of the inability of the Baby Boomers to wield their Flaming Swords!!

Your kids don't care what they say folks. They're happy to put the 'f' bomb into the title of a song cos they're pretty damn sure you ain't gonna do a thing about it. Oh you might roll your eyes and say 'In MY day' and write blog posts and even change the radio station from time to time but at the end of the day you'll shrug and say "Ah well, there's nothing we can do. The world is changing."

What a load of lazy b******* you all are.

No wonder the Y Generation are the way they are !

(That faint pop you heard was the sound of me, gently removing my tongue from my cheek)

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The Flaming Sword On The Dance Floor Of Life: or Keep Your Eye on the Teen In The Tutu.

I'm not sure quite where to start this post. It comes from a conversation I had with the BA when things were at their lowest French ebb.

I know the teen years are the 'mating' years. We all know that. Being a teen is all about trying to find your place in the world and part of that involves exploring the people with whom you will share that world. I don't know about you but in my experience as a teen girl there are phases that you go through.

There are the physical changes. They can be daunting enough. At this time your eyes are on all the other girls: Am I the same as everyone else? Am I deformed???? Am I better than everyone else? What are my chances in the upcoming mating dance of life? What is my equipment like? Does ANYONE ELSE FEEL LIKE I DO???????? At this time, boys are interesting but they are aliens and it's your girlfriends that you look to, to help you carve out your place and define yourself as a woman. This is definitely where the BA is at the moment.

Once you are secure in your social circle, in your body and, to a degree, in your emotional development, the mating dance begins. Your girlfriends fall by the wayside as the important 'survival of the species' process takes place. Who will make the best mate? Whose genes are strongest? Who will be a reliable protector, provider and procreator? Once the animal instinct hormones calm down a bit there is also room for questions like: will he play board games with me? does he hog the remote control? and does his conversation extend past 'who will coach The Power next week'?

We all know that young girls will be obsessed with boys, music, fashion and socialising. It is part of growing up. It is normal, and its intensity ebbs and wanes around the ages of 13-16; however what I think is important for any young person is that they also maintain an interest in the outside world. What was their passion before the hormones began to roar? What are their natural interests? What are the things that make them who they are? In the end, if the only thing you are is' successful at the mating dance', by the time your peer group begins to move out of that phase you will be left with inappropriate skills and a sense of inadequacy as your equipment also starts to fail you.

Where am I going with all this? Well, the thing we couldn't find about La Jeune Fille was any sense of passion or involvement in anything outside the teen obsessions. Even her interest in surfing did not go as far as wanting to hire a wetsuit and dive into the freezing cold Southern Ocean. Sure, she likes sharks, but we had to convince her that a trip to the Shark Museum was worthwhile (and, typically, when we got there it had been shut for three years!). I am sure that she probably does have some interests that are hers but at the moment they are swamped by the teen experience. She mentioned tennis, but didn't want to play; she went for a run once but didn't want me to sign her into the gym; she was NOT interested in church and youth group although we hauled her along once to watch the BA play drums in a morning service; she liked movies but only horror movies and only if they had French language options! She expressed an interest in the World Cup but, during the match, spent the whole time surfing facebook on her phone. She did show a great deal of interest in shopping however.

As a parent of a teen, and one who is right on the verge of moving from girlfriend focus to mapping out the steps of the Sexual Gavotte, I think my role is to help her keep the whole person intact. It is too easy to allow our children to go completely down the path of teen obsessions. Meeting friends for shopping expeditions, downloading music or organising playlists on the ipod can take up inordinate amounts of time. Our job is to ensure they still attend training sessions for a beloved sport, they still practice the instrument they loved as a younger person, they still get out to educational and beautiful parts of the world and experience them with their senses, they still try new things, interact with real people and they still pass exams!

It's too easy for parents to say 'oh well, they're teenagers, this lifestyle is to be expected' and to drop the responsibility we have to keep them in touch with their roots. As I keep saying to Himself when he drops the Small Boy off at the skate park for a 4 hour stint.....children were not meant to bring themselves up you know.

Someone Notify the RSPCC

I thought I was doing ok. Alright, I had lost my sense of humour a bit over the failed costume which made Annie look like a 6 ft giant, but I had recovered and I was calmly going about the business of school, musical, family and friends.

I made plans to visit A Free Family and their gorgeous little new addition; I prepared for a full on meeting with the mother of Lance Boy to try and resolve some of his issues; I continued to ignore the submission which is overdue; I took up hems and replaced buttons on second hand costumes; I mentally prepared to empty my office and classroom by lunchtime today in order that the carpet layers could commence their mammoth task. Everything seemed to be roughly under control.

At 3.30pm I was besieged by 40 kids all asking me one of (or a form of) the following:
"Mrs A, I need a costume for..."
"Mrs A have you made my costume?"
"Mrs A, my costume is too short/big/long/small/pig ugly"
"Mrs A, what shoes do I need?"
"Mrs A, I can't find my costume!"

When the rehearsal finished at 5.30pm, I was suddenly alone with a room load of chaos. Think 40 kids, two to three costumes each, limited hanging space and general lack of 'hanging' skills. By the time I had restored some sense of order it was 6pm and I elected to leave the piles of costumes left in the change rooms where they were. They can find out next week that they don't know where their costumes are.

I made my way back to my half carpeted office and rescued my mobile phone to find that I had four missed calls and a text. Two were from A Free Man letting us know that we were ok to visit after school and the rest were from the receptionist at the BA's school letting me know that she was still there waiting for me to pick her up!

She had been waiting three hours.

I had forgotten that I was meant to pick her up before rehearsals started.

BAD mother :-(

When I spoke to her she was in the receptionist's car being take home. How embarrassing. I burst into tears as I apologised profusely and she, sweet girl that she is, forgave me.

Needless to say we did not make it to see A Free Baby but we are determined to get there tomorrow night. At least I'll have time to make him a little present.

I've got to stop juggling so many balls.

If You Want Something Done....

"Your son needs some new trousers," I informed Himself last week. Small Boy had arrived for his holiday visit with nothing but a few pairs of shorts, one pair made of that thin shiny fabric basketballers wear. It has been about 9C in the mornings here lately.
"Doesn't he have some in his drawer here?"
"Yes, but they're all too short for him now and he's refusing to wear them. Take him down to the shopping centre sometime."

I must admit I was surprised when I didn't get too much argument. Himself notoriously loathes all shopping centres and our nearest major shopping centre in particular. It's one of the larger mall complexes and for some reason it never has enough car parks, sin number one in Himself's eyes. It is also deliberately convoluted in order to make you walk past as many shops as possible and past the thousands of determined women shoppers, who, according to Himself, always have their elbows extended.

So I was naturally quietly delighted when he agreed to take on the task. Normally he would handball this sort of thing to me but the week with Small Boy had been a little fraught due to Himself's constant work and even he could see that Small Boy was in need of some serious dad time. You see, no matter how good your relationship with your step mother is, when you're a boy, there's no-one like dad.

Later that day he phoned me, "We've been shopping," he said.
"Great, what kind of trousers did you get?"
"Well, we didn't actually get any trousers."
"What do you mean you didn't get any trousers???"
"Well, we got some wheels for his scooter instead."

You think I make this stuff up don't you?

How To Create A Delinquent

A list of rules for parents wishing to turn their children into juvenile delinquents,
handed out in leaflet form by the Police Department of Houston Texas (allegedly).

1. Begin in infancy to give your child everything he wants. In this way he will grow up to believe the world owes him a living.

2. When he picks up bad language, laugh at him. This will make him think he's cute.

3. Never give him any spiritual guidance. Wait until he's 18 and then let him decide for himself.

4. Avoid the use of the word 'wrong'. It may develop a guilt complex. This will condition him to believe later, when he is arrested for trespass/nuisance/vandalism/stealing etc, that the world is against him and he is being persecuted.

5. Pick up everything he leaves lying around: books, shoes, clothes, toys, puzzles, empty booze bottles etc. Do everything for him so that he will be experienced in throwing responsibility onto others.

6. Let him read any printed matter he can get his hands on, watch any subject on television, dvd or internet, ensure he cleans his teeth and develops hygiene habits but let his mind feed on garbage.

7. Quarrel frequently in front of your child; this way he will not be too shocked when later on his own social groups break up.

8. Give your child all the pocket money he wants. Never let him earn his own. Why should he have things as tough as you had them?

9. Satisfy his every craving for food, drink and comfort. See that every sensual and carnal desire is granted. Denial may lead to harmful frustration.

10. Take his part against neighbours, teachers, policemen and his pals. After all, they are prejudiced against your child.

11. When he gets into REAL trouble, make excuses for yourself saying,
"I could never do anything with him."

12. Prepare for a life of upset and sadness; you will probably have it.