Category Archives: The Teenager

Jun 03 2014
12 Comments
The Teenager

Don’t Need No Education

examsOnce again our little cottage is in a state of uproar.

The Teenager is sitting some GCSE exams, with the rest to follow next year.

I have bought him the Lett’s guides, replenished his pen-pot, explained how to write up mind maps and supplied him with a steady stream of juice to refresh his brain.

To no avail.

In the middle of cooking dinner yesterday (a home-made curry he refused to eat – tough), the phone rang.

‘Mrs Stumbling?’

‘Yeeeeees?’

‘Well,’ and sounding relieved to reach a real, live parent on the phone, regaled me with a tale of woe and lost opportunities. The Teenager could easily reach an A in this subject, but is cruising close to an F, if he’s lucky. The usual – not concentrating, joking around, no proper presentation of coursework.

It was a good conversation in some ways. I explained that he has all the support he needs here. Apart from anything else, I’ve been studying something or other for ten out of his fourteen years. It simply boils down to him being a Teenager who is somewhat lazy. And rude. And…(I could go on and on).

When he came home from school, I summoned him to the kitchen as I was juggling naan bread, a hot grill and a large pot of curry. He saw my face and scarpered, slamming his bedroom door extra loud. He really should have taken GCSE drama. He’s quite superb. I counted the seconds, and sure enough, within 15, loud music was blasting out. The angsty type.

I yelled up the stairs – handily, his name has three syllables, so the effect can be quite stern. ‘Wha?’ ‘Come down……..NOW.’

After a stand-off worthy of a spaghetti western, he sloped into the kitchen, refused dinner (a recent recurring theme), told me his version of events – ‘teacher hates me, wasn’t doing nuffink wrong, s’not fair.’ Stage direction – exit left.

A while later his door opened and his school tie floated downstairs, followed by the door slamming shut again.  Not the most rigorous form of protest, but it made me laugh. Which annoyed him.

I can only do so much. Nothing to do with MS. I have just returned from a visit to Staples as his pencil case was stolen and he needs the stuff for exams. He has an exam today. He told me this last night, around 10pm.

Stage direction – curtains.

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May 19 2014
6 Comments
The Teenager

Annual Report, Lol

TeenagerI was handed an opened A4 envelope today by The Teenager, with the words:

‘s’ok you know, s’not me, s’my teachers, honest, I mean, reallllllly, you know, innit, obvs.’

Yes. School Report Time.

First, the good news -he has a 96% attendance record with 0% unauthorised.

As for the rest:

  • ‘…he has the potential to be an amazing student…but he procrastinates……’
  • ‘….he is a popular member of the class but can become distracted’
  • ‘…he is a bright pupil but easily distracted….’
  • ‘…..you can do it!’

And so on. So we had The Talk. Of course, his teachers lie. Dreadfully. Tut. Never in my day.

I was, and I freely admit it, a girly swot. I was over the moon when I found out he would have the same German teacher as me. At parents evening a couple of years ago, we had a huge hug (I hadn’t seen her since I left for Austria at the age of 18), then she sweetly told me The Teenager would never be reading Brecht in the original. But no matter, he had other talents.

And he does. Many. What’s difficult is juggling this hormone-tastic time with general life. Take for example a couple of days ago:

Me: Hey, that was a nice dinner, no?

Him: Yeah. But I hate MS.

Me: Oh. Um. Yeah. Was it the carrots?

Him: Hate carrots. Hate MS.

Me: And how does that make you feel? (what else should I have said??)

Him: Sad.

The next day we had breakfast together in a cafe. I tentatively raised the subject again – MS, not the carrots. We chatted. We mulled over how both our lives had changed. We shared a baby-ccino.

MS is horrible. The Teenager has needed to formulate what has happened to me into words he can understand and pass on and make acceptable for his peer-group, i.e. ‘oh, yeah, my mum has MS, just like Jack Osbourne. I know!!!! Wicked (or dench, lush, etc)’

The biggest accolade happened the other day: ‘I told (friend) all about you and the MS, and he likes you and I like you and he’s staying over on Tuesday, so can we have  pizza?’

Annual Report. The Teenager – Must Try Harder

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May 07 2014
8 Comments
The Teenager

Welcome Chez Stumbling….

no vacancyMe: ‘You treat this place like a hotel’ (am I really saying this?)

Teenager: ‘Yeah? So sack the maid’ (chortle, snicker)

We have reached that Awkward Stage, lasting roughly from 9 months to 18 years of age.

The Teenager has re-written the rules of polite house-sharing, so here are his:

  • Welcome to Hotel de la Stumbling! We hope you’ll have a comfortable stay (for years and years). Come in and don’t worry about taking off your muddy rugby boots/wet school shoes/soaked jackets. Just tramp through the house and make vacuuming that little bit more challenging. Drop your coat anywhere – we will pick up and return to the allotted coat-hook at no extra effort to you. We aim to make you feel at home.
  • Perhaps you fancy a shower to freshen up? Feel free to use the host’s very expensive shampoo (for fine hair, in need of tender loving care), imported at great expense from America. And of course, there’s no need to pick up the towels or flush the toilet. You must use as much toilet roll as your heart desires. Why not end your luxurious experience by spraying yourself liberally (and then some) with a selection of our finest Lynx deodorants?
  • As for on-site catering, we offer a home-cooked meal every day and should that not suit, we also offer an out-of-hours service whereby you may sneak down late in the evening to make toast and Nutella. As always, please don’t feel it is necessary to clean up after yourself. We are more than delighted to attend to this.
  • Taxi service – always available. However, please be aware, last minute bookings are discouraged. We do request patrons allow us at least five minutes notice. Furthermore, any detours must be agreed with your driver, for example, to ensure we have the correct money for a drive-thru McDonalds.
  • Guests. We naturally welcome any friends you may wish to bring back to our establishment, however we politely request you limit the number to five, with no more than two overnight. Extra Domino’s pizza can be arranged upon request.

We hope you enjoy your extended stay. Just one minor point – it may be helpful if you open your curtains at least once a day week. And we seem to have less crockery in the kitchen than usual. Finally, should you enjoy a tub of ice cream in your bedroom, please refrain from throwing out the spoon…

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Apr 15 2014
18 Comments
The Teenager

Ready Or Not…

Noo YoikO to the M to the G.

We are getting ready for New York. Manhattan. A Times Square hotel. Bonkers.

A year ago, it seemed a suitable use of my paltry tribunal payout (minus legal fees). Nothing could make up for the year of bullying and intimidation I went through, but this would surely make amends to The Teenager – ‘…..um, (sniff) just give me a minute……(wail)…..(meh)….’ He put up with a lot.

So here we are. I have two suitcases wide open. In mine – pyjamas, earplugs, moisturiser, face pack, shower gel, trainers, pen, notebook, clothes (natch), headphones, challenging novel, bubble bath, wet wipes, more wet wipes, NY guide book….

In The Teenager’s – shampoo, Lynx, SPACE for Tootsie Rolls he plans on buying and selling at school for a premium.

It’s weird. I spent a very happy six months living in New York. I was young and daft. A mere 19 years old.  And now I’m taking my son there. Strange. I lived next door to a Snapples sales-man in the west village. But that was 20 years ago. It’s all changed.

What will he make of it? Could be interesting…

How will I fare with MS and Manhattan? Should I sit in a cafe and wave The Teenager off? He goes to London every month, so it’s not that different?

Will he be inspired, as I was? Will he see the similarity between the Glasgow grid system and Manhattan?

Who knows. But what I do know is his must-do list:

  • Tootsie Rolls
  • American t-shirts
  • A hot dog from a hot dog vendor
  • A taxi
  • A fire escape
  • Steam rising from the metro (underground?)
  • McDonalds
  • Taco Bell
  • Wendy’s

Wish me luck…

 

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Mar 12 2014
2 Comments
The Teenager

A Sad, Wan Little Face…

man fluThe Teenager has been poorly.

To make sure he wasn’t blagging, I immediately ran the Playstation Test – waving the controller in front of him to check for a response. Nothing.

Just to make absolutely certain, I resorted to the Nutella Test, offering to fetch him some toast slathered in the stuff. Not a flicker.

Oh. It was probably serious.

The Teenager is rarely ill, so when he is, he seems to display a dazzling array of symptoms, as if he’s been saving them up for a special occasion. Luckily he made it to the loo in time (and time again), the Bloo was changed and I sloshed a bottle of bleach around (in the toilet, not on The Teenager).

He lay in bed, tossing and turning. I then heard through the rugby-grapevine that a load of kids had been felled by the same bug. All Sunday and into Monday I was the butler/nursemaid. I fetched this, I carried that, I soothed and reassured. I had to work part of Monday so my mum took over, dashing down to my house with sandwiches and treats plus the ubiquitous biscuits for the cat (she’s not daft, she hears my mum coming a mile off).

She called me in work – ‘Well, he’s had half a sandwich, a wee bit of lettuce and some Smarties and the cat’s had all her biccies. Oh and I found that dead bird she left outside and put it in your recycling bin, dear. It was a robin, poor thing.’

By Monday evening, he was returning to normal, managing a short Skype call with his friend – ‘yeah, it was mega – all over the bathroom, you should have seen it.’ By Tuesday, he was wolfing down a pie, asked for chocolate and watched a football match on telly. All back to normal. A sigh of relief.

He was packed off to school this morning, totally recovered and no doubt with a stronger immune system but without his chemistry homework completed. All was right with the world again.

I got to work. Gah. The boss turns up clutching a medical cupboard full of cough/indigestion/headache/throat tablets. He’s unable to eat his usual morning pastry and orders an immune-boosting smoothie at our coffee-house catch up meeting instead of his usual caramel macchiato. Here we go again.

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