Family Affairs

I am at home writing blog posts about Christmas trees late into the night.  This is infinitely better than being on sick patrol.  My son is in the midst of his 17th birthday party and I am extremely relieved to report that it is all happening at his dad’s house rather than at my house.  It is sort of a shame that they’re not all here.  I love having lots of teenagers about but frankly when his “few” turned out to be 30 (which immediately needed to be doubled) and when I reminded myself of the pile of vomit by the side of my bed after the last party and the photo of a girl’s bottom on my computer,  I really am not sorry it is taking place down the road. Especially as it has been profusely snowing and they will all no doubt go outside and roll about in the snow in a drunken manner and make a soggy mess of his house.

I cannot believe that I am the proud owner of a 17 year old.  How did that happen?  My friend rang me and said “Happy 17th Birthing Day – where were you this time 17 years ago?”  I was in Melbourne in a huge amount of pain after 36 hours of labour – it seems about five years ago.  I remember it so clearly.  I remember being given the best cup of tea I had ever tasted after the event, which was almost as memorable an event as meeting my little wrinkly very over-cooked, three weeks late first born child.

He had his first driving lesson today and has already turned into a car bore.  ”I had no idea how sensitive the clutch/brake/biting point was, I didn’t realise I couldn’t swivel the driving wheel like you do, I only got in to second gear, I had to give way to a large lorry, bla bla bla”,  followed by what sort of car he could buy/borrow/steal to practice in followed by what he was going to do when he’d passed his test.  I am obviously hoping that like me he will fail at least three times and not ever be able to afford a car and not have parents who are kind enough to buy him one so that he will never have an accident.  According to his driving instructor (who arrived at our front door in a rather bloody mess having fallen over in the snow, which I have to say didn’t fill me with a huge amount of confidence about his driving ability), the national average for number of driving lessons needed is 48. Great.  So if he’s an average candidate it’s going to cost in the region of  £1,000 which is a bit bloody scary.

Whilst he was delighted with the bulk of his presents being made up of driving lessons, I heard him say to his mate that his best present was his Cheryl Cole 2010 calender.

Typical.