Delta40
08-08-2011, 05:02 PM
So the daughter struts in with 'da boyfwend', dumps her bag on the lounge room floor and says, 'Guess what just happened to Billy?'
'What?'
'Well his Mum decided she wants her own life so she kicked him out! He doesn't even have a place to live and she just told him to leave!'
Billy stands in the background, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, studying his feet moving side to side like a kid who wants to be anywhere but here.
'Did you have an argument with her or something?'
The daughter throws her impatience round the room like virtual crockery. 'Why is it that everything has to be an argument? Can't you just believe that his Mum doesn't want him there anymore?'
I puzzle over that one. Do Mums just wake up one day and think 'Gee I'd like a life of my own so I think I'll kick my unemployed son to the kerb?' Personally, I don't buy it. I get up and make us all a coffee trying to deflect what I know will inevitably arrive on my plate. While I'm pouring, she dumps it all there in one shot.
'So Billy needs to stay with us till he finds somewhere to live.' There. It's out in the universe. I knew she was going to say it, she knew I knew she was going to say it and Billy continues to shuffle his feet, saying absolutely nothing.
To be honest, I'm getting too old for these endless dramas and I mean endless. If it's not one thing, it's another. Take last week for example. She tells me she is going to court to take out a restraining order against some psycho middle aged mother of a friend of hers for threatening to come over and 'run our house through'.
'What the hell does that mean?' I demanded.
'It means she's gonna rock up here with a group of people, probably a few baseball bats and wreck the place.' I remember her chewing gum while applying make-up as she told me. Another rush of fear. Another drama. Whenever I question her too closely, she just sighs like I'm the problem rather than the trouble she brings to our home. If I had a dollar for everytime she said 'I don't want to talk about it ok?' before storming out the room, I'd be on a yacht in the Carribean!
So while I sip my coffee as thoughtfully as I can, she thinks I'm looking for solutions to poor little Billy's problems when in fact the inside of my head is screaming 'Don't lose it. Just keep calm. Kill the daughter later!' In the meantime, she tells me how exhausted her and Billy are from all the emotional upheaval they've been through today. I don't even know Billy's Mum but according to these two teenage lovebirds, there hasn't been an argument. I wonder idly if its worthwhile ringing the woman but I discard the idea as quickly as it enters my head. I know what happens if a Mother feels she's being attacked by another Mother and a stranger at that!
'We're gonna go to my room and watch TV for a while.' I let them go because I'm still trying to keep my cool and stop my thoughts on 1001 ways to kill a child. I do tell her we will need to talk about it and that I'm not happy. She retaliates in true adolescent style.
'We've all got our problems right now Mum. Don't take your stuff out on me!' So off they go to watch an entire season of Trailer Park Boys. If only they lived there I think as I light up the smoke I was never going to have. Now don't get on my back about this. I'm really trying hard but it seems to me barely a day goes by without some 'major emergency' occurring in her life and a summons for me to help. Strike that. More like rescue her. Honest to God, giving up smoking requires alot of breathing space.
I smoke, drink coffee, pour another and light the second cigarette I was never going to have. Now that I'm over my insides going berserk and accept that I can't creep into her room in the middle of the night and smother her with a pillow, I start to look at what it is I'm supposed to do about homeless Billy.
The two of them got together about a month ago. They insist their eyes met across a crowded room and that was it. So cliched but according to them, they invented love and sex so who am I to argue? I don't want the guy living here and especially not in her bed so the only option is to give him temporary shelter on a mattress on the lounge floor. I figure to help him will help me get him out ASAP. But it won't be an easy ride. He has to get online, do some street walking, get a job, do something to show his gratitude for my sanctuary. The third smoke has almost finished before I decide to let the two lovebirds know of the way things will be.
They're tucked under her quilt, arms tightly wrapped around each other. The daughter is weeping into his chest while he murmurs 'It's ok babe. It's ok.'
'What's wrong?'
She snorts into his shirt and mumbles 'nothing.'
'Don't lie to me! You've just arrived home with yet another drama and now you're bawling your eyes out. Tell me!'
She bolts upright and starts shouting. 'Well Mum, I went for a pregnancy test yesterday and it came back positive!' I'm speechless. This drama wins first prize for sure and I reckon I need to buy a pack of fifties to keep me going on this one. I do have a heart and need to keep my head screwed on instantly, even though I can feel the springs in my neck painfully uncoiling. The daughter is obviously upset about the whole thing. So am I but I'm a realist too. This is one area where a Mother should not fly off the handle. After all, she does enough for the two of us of most days.
I move toward her. She's my daughter and needs a Mummy hug, as well as a Billy hug. Seems like Billy can do more than just shuffle his feet after all. I do the 'there, there. It's ok' but she pushes me away.
'You don't understand Mum. It's not ok.' Well I know that. Jesus, she's 19 years old and living at home and now the father to be is homeless. I look for anything that I can say to calm her down but she rants on.
'The urine test was positive so she took a blood sample and I just found out by text message that I'm not pregnant after all.'
I'm doing somersaults in my head. She's crying like any well raised drama queen would.
'So what is it that you're upset about?' I ask the ticking time bomb tentatively.
'How would you like finding out you're pregnant one day, get used to the idea of having a baby and then find out you won't be a Mummy just yet?' Honestly, at my time of life, I'd be over the moon, if I didn't kill myself based on the first results but whatever I think isn't important to her so I put on my crocheted sympathy hat and 'act' as sorry as sorry as can be while cheering 'Yes!' inside (and doing a barely perceptible victory dance.)
The daughter cries on my shoulder and wipes her nose on my sleeve.
'Thanks for understanding Mum.'
'Thanks for being honest and telling me. I'll leave you guys to watch TV for a while ok? I'm just nipping down to the shops for some milk.' As I close the door, I hear her tell Billy, 'See? I told you my Mum was cool.'
I count out the dollars for a pack of fifties and tear out of the house, wondering what the next dramatic instalment will be next week.
'What?'
'Well his Mum decided she wants her own life so she kicked him out! He doesn't even have a place to live and she just told him to leave!'
Billy stands in the background, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, studying his feet moving side to side like a kid who wants to be anywhere but here.
'Did you have an argument with her or something?'
The daughter throws her impatience round the room like virtual crockery. 'Why is it that everything has to be an argument? Can't you just believe that his Mum doesn't want him there anymore?'
I puzzle over that one. Do Mums just wake up one day and think 'Gee I'd like a life of my own so I think I'll kick my unemployed son to the kerb?' Personally, I don't buy it. I get up and make us all a coffee trying to deflect what I know will inevitably arrive on my plate. While I'm pouring, she dumps it all there in one shot.
'So Billy needs to stay with us till he finds somewhere to live.' There. It's out in the universe. I knew she was going to say it, she knew I knew she was going to say it and Billy continues to shuffle his feet, saying absolutely nothing.
To be honest, I'm getting too old for these endless dramas and I mean endless. If it's not one thing, it's another. Take last week for example. She tells me she is going to court to take out a restraining order against some psycho middle aged mother of a friend of hers for threatening to come over and 'run our house through'.
'What the hell does that mean?' I demanded.
'It means she's gonna rock up here with a group of people, probably a few baseball bats and wreck the place.' I remember her chewing gum while applying make-up as she told me. Another rush of fear. Another drama. Whenever I question her too closely, she just sighs like I'm the problem rather than the trouble she brings to our home. If I had a dollar for everytime she said 'I don't want to talk about it ok?' before storming out the room, I'd be on a yacht in the Carribean!
So while I sip my coffee as thoughtfully as I can, she thinks I'm looking for solutions to poor little Billy's problems when in fact the inside of my head is screaming 'Don't lose it. Just keep calm. Kill the daughter later!' In the meantime, she tells me how exhausted her and Billy are from all the emotional upheaval they've been through today. I don't even know Billy's Mum but according to these two teenage lovebirds, there hasn't been an argument. I wonder idly if its worthwhile ringing the woman but I discard the idea as quickly as it enters my head. I know what happens if a Mother feels she's being attacked by another Mother and a stranger at that!
'We're gonna go to my room and watch TV for a while.' I let them go because I'm still trying to keep my cool and stop my thoughts on 1001 ways to kill a child. I do tell her we will need to talk about it and that I'm not happy. She retaliates in true adolescent style.
'We've all got our problems right now Mum. Don't take your stuff out on me!' So off they go to watch an entire season of Trailer Park Boys. If only they lived there I think as I light up the smoke I was never going to have. Now don't get on my back about this. I'm really trying hard but it seems to me barely a day goes by without some 'major emergency' occurring in her life and a summons for me to help. Strike that. More like rescue her. Honest to God, giving up smoking requires alot of breathing space.
I smoke, drink coffee, pour another and light the second cigarette I was never going to have. Now that I'm over my insides going berserk and accept that I can't creep into her room in the middle of the night and smother her with a pillow, I start to look at what it is I'm supposed to do about homeless Billy.
The two of them got together about a month ago. They insist their eyes met across a crowded room and that was it. So cliched but according to them, they invented love and sex so who am I to argue? I don't want the guy living here and especially not in her bed so the only option is to give him temporary shelter on a mattress on the lounge floor. I figure to help him will help me get him out ASAP. But it won't be an easy ride. He has to get online, do some street walking, get a job, do something to show his gratitude for my sanctuary. The third smoke has almost finished before I decide to let the two lovebirds know of the way things will be.
They're tucked under her quilt, arms tightly wrapped around each other. The daughter is weeping into his chest while he murmurs 'It's ok babe. It's ok.'
'What's wrong?'
She snorts into his shirt and mumbles 'nothing.'
'Don't lie to me! You've just arrived home with yet another drama and now you're bawling your eyes out. Tell me!'
She bolts upright and starts shouting. 'Well Mum, I went for a pregnancy test yesterday and it came back positive!' I'm speechless. This drama wins first prize for sure and I reckon I need to buy a pack of fifties to keep me going on this one. I do have a heart and need to keep my head screwed on instantly, even though I can feel the springs in my neck painfully uncoiling. The daughter is obviously upset about the whole thing. So am I but I'm a realist too. This is one area where a Mother should not fly off the handle. After all, she does enough for the two of us of most days.
I move toward her. She's my daughter and needs a Mummy hug, as well as a Billy hug. Seems like Billy can do more than just shuffle his feet after all. I do the 'there, there. It's ok' but she pushes me away.
'You don't understand Mum. It's not ok.' Well I know that. Jesus, she's 19 years old and living at home and now the father to be is homeless. I look for anything that I can say to calm her down but she rants on.
'The urine test was positive so she took a blood sample and I just found out by text message that I'm not pregnant after all.'
I'm doing somersaults in my head. She's crying like any well raised drama queen would.
'So what is it that you're upset about?' I ask the ticking time bomb tentatively.
'How would you like finding out you're pregnant one day, get used to the idea of having a baby and then find out you won't be a Mummy just yet?' Honestly, at my time of life, I'd be over the moon, if I didn't kill myself based on the first results but whatever I think isn't important to her so I put on my crocheted sympathy hat and 'act' as sorry as sorry as can be while cheering 'Yes!' inside (and doing a barely perceptible victory dance.)
The daughter cries on my shoulder and wipes her nose on my sleeve.
'Thanks for understanding Mum.'
'Thanks for being honest and telling me. I'll leave you guys to watch TV for a while ok? I'm just nipping down to the shops for some milk.' As I close the door, I hear her tell Billy, 'See? I told you my Mum was cool.'
I count out the dollars for a pack of fifties and tear out of the house, wondering what the next dramatic instalment will be next week.