Mommie Dearest

It was the first day back at school on Monday for Boy, Teen and also me, as I work as a Teaching Assistant at our local primary school.I'm kept pretty busy; not a moment of my day is unaccounted for. I've been pulling a 30 hour week recently for extra money rather than the 24 hour one I have been used to (no more afternoons home alone!) and it's proved pretty tiring.But on the upside  no two days are really the same when you work with kids and you are never short of a challenge.


That aside, this blog is about my daughter and our recently somewhat strained relationship.


As I've indicated, Peter's been regularly robbed lately to pay Paul, and we've had to cut back. I've been buying shop or value brands rather than named ones, for example - although to be honest haven't notice any real differences. We've had lots of pasta dishes (love that cheap penne !) and I've been using up what's in the store cupboard. We still eat pretty well, and given that I have to cook two sessions (kids starving by 5:30 - R not home til 7pm) I think I do OK. 


But oh the guilt that I cant provide all the things Teen wants at the moment. Or the things Boy probably wants or even needs but is too quiet to tell me about.


Teen is working exceptionally hard for her imminent AS Level exams and I applaud her for it. But it feels to me at the moment that every time she deigns to speak to me it's simply to ask for money, or to complain.
Don't get me wrong. She's wonderful, beautiful, talented creature. But it's as if when it comes to me, her mum, she has a blind spot. I cease to be a human being. I'm actually Joan Crawford. I may as well be screaming, "TINA! Get me the axe!" every time I speak to her.

I veer between patient and really rather cross with her. Which sometimes prompts the response "Mother, are you bipolar?"
Things came to a head (of hair) at the weekend. I was doing the usual weekend shop (micro managing the cash as I shopped - adding 68p to 89p to £1.19 in your head while dodging people you don't particularly want to stop for 20 minutes to chat to isn't as easy as you might think) and I was under orders to get her some hair dye. She likes to be blonder than she actually is. Now I knew that her roots had grown out, so I purchased root touch up.
Mistake.
Boyfriend was due within hours having been absent at Centerparcs in Belgium for a week and this was all wrong !!! 

After a heated exchange involving the whys and wherefores of her not being able to do the exchange for a Clairol SB1 instead of me due to still being in her PJs, I reluctantly headed back to the supermarket. Doors may have been slammed.
I look at the colourant; I haven't brought any money with me and the colourant is way more expensive.
I get home again, really hacked off now, and the boys are making noises about lunch. I'm a tad stressed and have a theatrical flip-out before heading back to the supermarket for a third time.


"DO I HAVE MUG WRITTEN ON MY FOREHEAD?" I storm on my return.
The boys are laughing at me. I'm not very big, 5'1" and size 8-10 so I look a bit silly when I'm trying to be menacing. 
"WELL SHE CAN DO IT HERSELF!!!" I say, passing her the box. 
"Fine!" she says, and disappears to the bathroom.


Things are frosty.


Ten minutes later...


"Muuuuuuum...I don't know what to doooooo...." 


So I end up colouring her hair for her, even though she is 5 inches taller than me and I can hardly reach unless she sits down. We find an uneasy truce. 


She disappears to her boyfriend's home and I don't see her again until Sunday night, by which time she has missed my large and lavish  roast beef dinner. She takes my disappointment for anger and we're back to square one.


I suppose what I am saying is that I am intensely proud of this unique feisty individual, who sings like an angel and understands science and maths and music scores that all look like Greek coupled with Sanskrit to me, is confident and beautiful and is living her life to the fullest in a way I was too scared to do at her age. 


But ... I just wish she'd stop and think- maybe mum's upset because she's frustrated ? because she can't lavish money on me when she'd love nothing more? 
Maybe the fault is with me - maybe I put too much emphasis on money? 


Anyway. She's upstairs now Skyping the boyfriend having come home and voluntarily done a mock maths paper.


I can't complain about her, truth be told. But blimey, it isn't easy. 


Mommie Dearest
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082766/


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