It seems a long time since we’ve had Youth Club at our house. With each individual taking a turn to open the doors of their home to all their mates, and with the numbers slowly increasing, it can be a fair few weeks before our turn comes around. Hosting such an event has lost none of its thrill for Max; in fact the wait has made it more so. He was bouncing with high spirits and anticipation on his return home from school. He couldn’t wait to wave off Carol, the driver of his school bus, in order to get busy with the food and preparation.
Max and I did discuss him having a shower and freshening up, but that was a leap too far. The sweaty complexion would have to be endured; a quick change into funky cool clothes was all Max could manage. That took very little time indeed and, with astonishing speed, Max presented himself to me at the kitchen door, hands washed and ready to ‘boss’.
It’s the same food every time. Change and variety is not required in the world of DS. Repetition and routine is just the ticket. This can be handy sometimes as well as a pain in the butt at others. My regular supply of croissants, crisps, raisins and Jaffa cakes, along with mini cartons of apple juice, were dug out from the pantry, as well as popcorn and filled pitta bread (egg mayo, tuna, and just butter for Nikita).
The bounty of food was arranged on the table and bang on 5.30pm the guests arrived. It’s a two hour slot, so no time for any fashionable lateness. Max’s joy is a treat to watch, but the drama soon began. Teenage angst, hormonal intoxication and some healthy rivalry, it all goes on. There’s nothing pretty about teenagers en mass. The flirting and dating, the dumping and the making up. It’s all so terribly stressful and exhausting – and that’s just for me!
The women can be minxes, the boys can be..... well boys. These young people are no different to your average teenager and hopefully they get to experience similar situations of friendship and dating. I overheard Max chatting to one of the girls; she had lured him to a private corner by the bottom of the stairs.
‘Max,’ she said.
‘What’s an affair?’
‘An affair?’ he gulped.
‘Yes, I don’t know what that is. Do you?’
Max had no specific idea either, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
‘Yes, an affair is when you have sex with someone.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Thank you for telling me I never knew that. Are you learning about condoms at school?’
‘Yes! We are! Are you?’
‘Yes!’
‘We are learning all about that stuff. Where not to touch, you know, private bits.’
‘Yes us too. Thanks Max.’
Off they went. A good deal of whispering in secret huddles in the corridor went on between one or other of the group. They just love it, it lets them tap into a world they sometimes feel they are just on the periphery of, bystanders only allowed to view yet desperate to get stuck in and enjoy the dance just like everyone else. It’s very educational to over-hear too.
By indulging in all the drama and fuss they learn appropriate boundaries and suitable forms of behaviour. Most of it is by trial and error just like your world and mine. They don’t get it entirely right all of the time, but near enough for it to count. Their development relies on it and it’s a healthy safe environment for them to spread their wings.
At one point Charlie bravely came out from the sanctuary of his bedroom and while coming down the stairs was spotted by Annalie.
‘Don’t worry about all the fuss Charlie,’ she called up to him.
‘It’s only girls stuff.’
As host, Max gets to organise the event and choose the music. Within no time he’s serenading all the ladies with ‘I can be your hero baby’ by the lovely Enrique Iglesias. All the facial gestures and hand movements spot on, those hours of practice in front of the mirror paying off handsomely now. Personally I think Max is a dead ringer, I can guarantee he agrees!
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Tummy Trouble
I’d just tipped my feet out of bed and was adjusting my thoughts through my morning fog; mainly consumed it has to be said, by what to make for supper, when Paul ran up the stairs to our attic bedroom.
‘I think we have a problem.’
‘How come?’
‘Max is sat on the loo and complaining of tummy trouble.’
‘Ah.’
‘I don’t think he’s the slightest bit ill. I just think he’s setting things up for a day off from school.’
‘Oh goodie, that old routine.’
‘I’ve had a word, but I’m just giving you a heads up.’
The time was ripe for no messing. I knew that in order to beat my son at this little cycle of behaviour I was going to have to get tough. I dragged on my slippers and plodded downstairs to the toilet. Max was sat looking suitably glum with just a hint of perplexion – the perfect pitch to pull off fooling mum. I was having none of it.
‘Hi Max! Got a problem with your tummy sweetheart?’
‘Yes. I’m not well.’ He pulled an impressive pained expression.
‘Well love, you still have to go to school. I know it must be hard to go back to your class after trying out the Sixth Form for a week, but it has to be done, and let me make it very clear Max, you are going to school.’
‘Don’t say that! Leave me alone!’
‘Ok. Well, Get a wiggle on and I’ll get breakfast.’
‘That mum, she’s so mean!’
I set myself onto autopilot for the next half an hour. I made Max’s sandwiches, produced breakfast, shooshed my boys along in their preparations for school, determined not to waiver and lose heart. I thought I’d drop Max’s teacher Miss Cseko, an email just to be on the safe side.
Dear Miss Cseko,
Good morning!
I thought I’d alert you to Max’s cunning plan today. I do think we’ve nipped it in the bud, but it won’t hurt to give you a heads up. Max started off this morning by complaining about his tummy. He did have sweet potato last night which may make his bowels a little loose perhaps, but not the runs and certainly not cramps etc.
I came down hard and made strong noises about there being absolutely no chance of getting off from school .(I think he did particularly enjoy himself in the Sixth Form last week & has perhaps found returning to ‘normal class’ quite difficult) Thankfully he grasped the strength of my feelings and had his shower & breakfast etc. However a runny nose has developed.
I’m not sure if anything needs to be said by you, but as we have discussed, I think it will be handy for you to know!
Have a good day
Very best wishes
Sandy
Remarkably Max got ready for school with very little trouble, but just as his bus pulled up outside our house he threw a hissy fit about biscuits.
Dramatic tears, hands over his face, the whole performance.
‘I need a packet of biscuits for the bus! Pauline will be cross with me.’
‘Max there is no way Pauline will be cross with you and you know it. I don’t have any biscuits, you only took a packet recently, I’ll get some more, but I just don’t have any right now.’
Max sat, tears running down his face pulling off a hand-crafted drama rather well.
I ran out to the bus to let Carol and Pauline (driver & escort) know the dilemma we were facing. The fact that I was still in my pink Polka dot winceyette pyjamas was of no consequence to me. I’ve been known to dash out in all weathers, lashing rain, freezing cold, hair slimy and wet with conditioner piled high in a scrunchy, bare feet, I’m well past caring.
Thankfully Pauline came back into our house with me and enticed Max out to the bus. I felt I had won the battle, but I had my doubts about the war. The anticipation of a telephone call from Oak Lodge, Max’s school, was in the back of my mind all day.
Max arrived home with his usual bounce and I was delighted. Not long after I got a telephone call from Miss Cseko.
‘Hi Mrs Lewis, Miss Cseko speaking.’
‘Hi Miss Cseko!’ Such a lovely lady.
Miss Cseko explained to me that Max had been fine all day and she had not been required to talk with him. She did mention that she had been forced to tell him off the day before because he had been messing around when he should have been listening. Max hates to be told off, even when he deserves it. She also said that Max was more than ready for the Sixth Form. He was losing concentration in her class and becoming disruptive.
For once I was delighted. Miss Cseko’s phone call was similar to many phone calls to parents up and down the country. I felt ridiculously normal. For a fleeting moment I was happy to enjoy Max’s rebellious spirit just like any other sixteen year old.
‘I think we have a problem.’
‘How come?’
‘Max is sat on the loo and complaining of tummy trouble.’
‘Ah.’
‘I don’t think he’s the slightest bit ill. I just think he’s setting things up for a day off from school.’
‘Oh goodie, that old routine.’
‘I’ve had a word, but I’m just giving you a heads up.’
The time was ripe for no messing. I knew that in order to beat my son at this little cycle of behaviour I was going to have to get tough. I dragged on my slippers and plodded downstairs to the toilet. Max was sat looking suitably glum with just a hint of perplexion – the perfect pitch to pull off fooling mum. I was having none of it.
‘Hi Max! Got a problem with your tummy sweetheart?’
‘Yes. I’m not well.’ He pulled an impressive pained expression.
‘Well love, you still have to go to school. I know it must be hard to go back to your class after trying out the Sixth Form for a week, but it has to be done, and let me make it very clear Max, you are going to school.’
‘Don’t say that! Leave me alone!’
‘Ok. Well, Get a wiggle on and I’ll get breakfast.’
‘That mum, she’s so mean!’
I set myself onto autopilot for the next half an hour. I made Max’s sandwiches, produced breakfast, shooshed my boys along in their preparations for school, determined not to waiver and lose heart. I thought I’d drop Max’s teacher Miss Cseko, an email just to be on the safe side.
Dear Miss Cseko,
Good morning!
I thought I’d alert you to Max’s cunning plan today. I do think we’ve nipped it in the bud, but it won’t hurt to give you a heads up. Max started off this morning by complaining about his tummy. He did have sweet potato last night which may make his bowels a little loose perhaps, but not the runs and certainly not cramps etc.
I came down hard and made strong noises about there being absolutely no chance of getting off from school .(I think he did particularly enjoy himself in the Sixth Form last week & has perhaps found returning to ‘normal class’ quite difficult) Thankfully he grasped the strength of my feelings and had his shower & breakfast etc. However a runny nose has developed.
I’m not sure if anything needs to be said by you, but as we have discussed, I think it will be handy for you to know!
Have a good day
Very best wishes
Sandy
Remarkably Max got ready for school with very little trouble, but just as his bus pulled up outside our house he threw a hissy fit about biscuits.
Dramatic tears, hands over his face, the whole performance.
‘I need a packet of biscuits for the bus! Pauline will be cross with me.’
‘Max there is no way Pauline will be cross with you and you know it. I don’t have any biscuits, you only took a packet recently, I’ll get some more, but I just don’t have any right now.’
Max sat, tears running down his face pulling off a hand-crafted drama rather well.
I ran out to the bus to let Carol and Pauline (driver & escort) know the dilemma we were facing. The fact that I was still in my pink Polka dot winceyette pyjamas was of no consequence to me. I’ve been known to dash out in all weathers, lashing rain, freezing cold, hair slimy and wet with conditioner piled high in a scrunchy, bare feet, I’m well past caring.
Thankfully Pauline came back into our house with me and enticed Max out to the bus. I felt I had won the battle, but I had my doubts about the war. The anticipation of a telephone call from Oak Lodge, Max’s school, was in the back of my mind all day.
Max arrived home with his usual bounce and I was delighted. Not long after I got a telephone call from Miss Cseko.
‘Hi Mrs Lewis, Miss Cseko speaking.’
‘Hi Miss Cseko!’ Such a lovely lady.
Miss Cseko explained to me that Max had been fine all day and she had not been required to talk with him. She did mention that she had been forced to tell him off the day before because he had been messing around when he should have been listening. Max hates to be told off, even when he deserves it. She also said that Max was more than ready for the Sixth Form. He was losing concentration in her class and becoming disruptive.
For once I was delighted. Miss Cseko’s phone call was similar to many phone calls to parents up and down the country. I felt ridiculously normal. For a fleeting moment I was happy to enjoy Max’s rebellious spirit just like any other sixteen year old.
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