Category Archives: The Teenager

Feb 17 2014
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The Teenager

For The Last Time….

The TeenagerMany moons ago when I held my colicky, screaming baby in my arms, a visitor smiled indulgently at me, took another sip of their tea and said, ‘Ahhh, make the most of it, they grow up so fast.’

I glared at them through glazed and dull eyes. Oh really. Infinity stretched ahead of me, filled with nappies, screaming, cabbage leaves (don’t ask) and snatched sleep.

Fourteen years down the line, I now know what they mean. The years whizzed by. I visited a five-day old baby last week and was just about to say, ‘Ahh, make the most of it….’ but I held my tongue. Instead, I stared in awe at the tiny bundle, stunned that The Teenager had once been that size.

I remember all the firsts. The first step (far, far too soon), the first word (‘food’), the first day at nursery, at primary, at secondary. The first time he stayed over at a friend’s house. The first time he made a lego kit by himself.

The sadness is, I never knew when the endings would be. The last time he held my hand crossing the road, or the last time he wanted a colouring-in book. We don’t know until time passes and we realise they took place some time ago.

Excuse me for being a touch maudlin. I guess I’m just a bit angry that a lot of  ‘last times’ took place during the turmoil of the MS diagnosis. Whether I liked it or not, The Teenager had to come to terms with a parent who has a long-term illness and with his dad living 140 miles away.

Don’t get me wrong, I never put an unacceptable responsibility on too-young shoulders. I strove to maintain our normal routine, even when it was beyond-exhausting. But inevitably life changed, and so suddenly. Gone was the parent with boundless energy, who would go on long day trips, packing the car up and heading off. Gone was the spontaneity, the feeling that yeah, we can do that, why not?

Instead, life was filled with, ‘not now’, ‘maybe tomorrow’. I’ve never lost sight of him though. He is central in everything I do, hence the Campath treatment. Who cares about the potential side effects when it can keep me on my feet?

Perhaps instead of thinking remorsefully about the ‘last times’, I should concentrate on the new experiences The Teenager has. The new ‘firsts’. First razor, first girlfriend, first rain-sodden festival he goes to. Hang on, did I just say first girlfriend? Hmmm…..

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Feb 13 2014
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The Teenager

Teenage Tantrums…

Raising a teenagerOur little house is in a state of uproar.

To begin with, I trusted The Teenager to go to the hairdresser on his own.

He’s fond of the woman who cuts his hair and he’s partial to the lollipops (meant for the little kids, not six foot 14 year old’s), so I thought I’d leave him to it.

Off he went. Within half an hour, a photo pinged to my phone. A selfie of The Teenager, pretty much bald. And I paid a tenner for the privilege.

Then Parent’s Evening. Or rather, lack of it. After last year’s disaster (a complete and utter bun-fight), I asked him to kindly request that his teachers email me their reports. MS heat intolerance and unsteadiness on my feet make it nigh on impossible to queue-hop and use my elbows effectively.

I waited. And waited. ‘Oi, you’re teachers haven’t emailed me yet.’

‘Oh, computer servers must be down (rolls eyes) you know what it’s like.’

‘Hmmm.’

I waited some more.

‘Oh, there’s a terrible bug going round. Like, no one’s in school. Hoooooonestly.’

‘Hmm.’

I called the school. ‘Oh yes, you are the mother of The Teenager?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Ahhhh.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. We have a few, well, issues.’

I explained what I thought I had organised. ‘Hah! (foolish parent). Anyway, an email was sent out to all the teachers, asking them to get in touch with their thoughts about my son.

Let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant. When he got home from school that day, I brandished a wad of printed off emails at him and demanded answers.

‘All the teachers hate me. S’not my fault.’

‘Why has one teacher said ‘he appreciates the difficulties with regards The Teenager attending after school training?’ You live a couple of hundred metres from the school. What’re you saying??’

(furtive, shifty look) ‘Dunno.’

Anyway, to cut a fraught story short, I reminded him that I did not spend an entire Sunday putting together a flat-pack desk from Ikea, just for him to put his telly on it. And the lovely little lamp I got him. Or the executive chair.

‘And why are you answering your teachers back?’

‘Dunno. They said I wouldn’t get any qualifications so I asked to see theirs.’

I was a girly swot in school. I have no idea where he gets this attitude from. What annoys me is that he can do it if he puts his mind to it. We had The Discussion. About how he was throwing away his future.

‘I’m not! Alan Sugar started off selling stuff from the back of his car.’. Give me strength.

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Nov 01 2013
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The Teenager

Proud? Oh, Yes.

The Teenager was on his way back from London in the aftermath of the storm on Monday.

It was touch and go whether he would get back on time and during the journey he sent me a long string of texts, keeping me updated minute by minute. Bless him;

Train not moving. Train moved for a minute. Train stopped. No idea where I am. Got off train. Got on another. What’s for tea?

His last text was more enigmatic – Brilliant news!!! Something amazing just happened!!

He refused to elaborate until he was safely back home, an hour late, but beaming from ear to ear. Finally, he said, ‘It was great, I was speaking to a medical student on the train and I was telling him all about MS and all about that funny treatment you had and how much better it had made you, and we had such a great conversation and I actually know an awful lot about MS, don’t I?’

Just like me, The Teenager has had a long way to go from shock to acceptance throughout the whole MS drama. He was 11 when it all started and I worried about the long-lasting impact witnessing a parent in rapidly declining health would have on him. I stood by helplessly as he cried in the bathroom or slammed his bedroom door in anger. He did not want to be consoled, he just wanted it all to stop.

At the recent MS Society awards ceremony in The Dorchester, he moved with ease through the crowd, chatting to anyone and everyone. He experienced a positive side to MS and realised that he was not alone in his new environment.

Thanks largely to Alemtuzumab treatment and a great support network, MS has not been as devastating for us as it could have been. If anything, having MS enter his life at a relatively young age has made The Teenager far more compassionate and acutely aware of the multifaceted issues surrounding disability.

However, he is still a teenager. I don’t confide my fears in him (why would I?), his life continues as normal as possible and although MS may have weakened me, I still retain my strength as a parent. And I am still more than able to nag him about the state of his bedroom, not doing his homework on time and not closing the fridge properly. Some things will never change…

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Oct 24 2013
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The Teenager

Paper Round (And Round)

read all about itIn my day (here we go again), I had a job when I was 14. So when The Teenager turned the same age in August, we had a little chat.

I explained that had he been born 100 years ago, he’d be going down the coal mines as we live in Wales. Luckily for him, that was no longer a viable option, so he’d have to look for something else.

Last summer he set himself up as a car-washer, lugging round a bucket and sponge, knocking on doors. He did quite well until he got bored with windscreens and wheel trims.

So with my rousing speech ringing in his ears (it will give you discipline! it’s character-building! you’ll be earning your own money!), he went to the local newsagents and signed himself up  for a paper round. He also seems to have signed me up too.

He started on Monday, along with probably the most apocalyptic rain to hit in months. I waved him off at 6.30 am (You can do it!), set my mobile ring tone to loud, made a cup of coffee and waited. Sure enough, within nine minutes, there was an anguished phonecall.

‘Come and rescue me, pleeeeeaaaaase. I’m soaking, I can’t see anything for the rain, my papers are wet and I wanna come home.’

I trudged out to the car and searched for him. There he was, a miserable, hunched figure holding a luminous bag bulging with undelivered papers. He’d managed to cram three soggy newspapers through letterboxes then got lost in the maze of back streets. I set the sat nav and we searched through the driving rain for the remaining houses. By the time we got back home, we were both thoroughly fed up.

After we’d dried off, it was time for another chat (lecture). ‘You should have done a recce the day before. You should have planned your route. Responsibility, discipline,  blah, blah, blah.’ We finally came to a tearful agreement. Each day, he would find the next street on his route and I would meet him there, so by the end of the week, he could confidently do the round himself.

I have my reservations how long he’ll last. Just this morning I asked him what he would do when he was in London with his dad one weekend a month. Quick as you like, he replied, ‘well, you’ll do it for me, won’t you?’

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Oct 03 2013
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The Teenager

Shops ‘n’ Strops

meanwhile in HollisterEarlier this week, I spent a frustrating couple of hours in the men’s changing room at Hollister.

There were fumbles, anguished cries and yelling. Yup, I was clothes shopping with The Teenager.

I had laid careful plans and bundled him into the car straight from school, turned on the central locking and hightailed it to town before he could escape.

He’s at that fussy stage (when isn’t he?) – his clothes have to fit just so, the colour has to be just right. Although how he could see anything in Hollister is beyond me. Maybe it’s my age, but it’s pretty darned gloomy in there. And there’s far too many über-handsome staff with chiseled jaws and their underwear on show. Tsk. After rummaging round in the dark and messing up all the lovely neat displays, The Teenager pulled out a couple of shirts to try on.

An hour later (and after profuse apologies to Mr Handsome for all the noise), he emerged from his cubicle and posed before the mirror, turning this way and that, arms flapping.

‘Oh, it’s a lovely colour! Suits your eyes. Let’s buy it.’ (looks at watch)

‘Nah, it’s, like, dunno.’

‘What about the other one? Or that one? Or the one you flung across the room?’

‘S’not dench, innit?’ (Dench? Huh?)

We left empty-handed and repeated the same scenario in the next store. And the next. Normally on trips like this, we have a little family tradition of rounding off the whole drama by taking it in turns to choose a restaurant for dinner. It was my turn. More eye-rolling and dramatic sighs when I told him I wanted to try a nice, eclectic place he hadn’t been to before.

‘Wanna go to Nando’s. Wanna go to Nando’s. Wanna go…..’

‘Oi, it’s my choice. You’ll like it. ‘

‘My friend said it was a girly place. Wanna go to…’

‘How can a restaurant be girly? It’s dench!’

‘Mum, that’s just tragic. Please don’t.’

We sat ourselves down in my choice of place, The Teenager grudgingly admitting it wasn’t that bad and he admired his new rugby socks (our only purchase), before tweeting his friends a picture of them. Then he facebooked a picture of his burger.

We had a lovely meal. Me, The Teenager and his phone. Dench…

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