I have been at home for the last two days because Amber wasn’t well and is still a bit too young to be left at home alone. Daisy was on exam leave (hahahaha! Sorry, sorry, it gets me every time, that one…), so we were three. To encourage Daisy to do some studying I thought I’d do a bit myself. I’ve recently enrolled on a home-study course which, despite sounding like a throughly worthwhile pursuit, hasn’t involved a lot more than sticking lots of different coloured index tabs all over the course notes and sharpening some pencils so far. Anyway, we studied and after a while Daisy announced that she was going to do some music practice. Question: How do you know when a teenager should be revising? When they VOLUNTARILY do (really quite a lot of) music practice. After about an hour (yes, I know!) she shouted down the stairs:
Daisy: Mum, I’ve just had a text from S_ (her music teacher). He can’t make the lesson this week.
Me: Aww, what a shame. All that practice for nothing.
Daisy: It’s not for nothing, Mum. It’s all good.
Me: Err…wasn’t that conversation the wrong way round…?
A little later she appeared in the kitchen and proceeded to make soup while I did my “homework” at the kitchen table!
What I want to know is, if I have inadvertently fallen through some rip in the space-time continuum and Daisy and I have swapped places, why couldn’t this have happened when she wasn’t a teenager anymore? Who wants to go back to that? My twenties, now that’s a different matter. Although I am quite looking forward to my first teenage strop for years. I mean, next thing you know she’ll be telling me that catching a train to Glasgow, by myself, at 11 o’clock at night is TOO DANGEROUS! Jesus, I’m not, like, a CHILD anymore! Seriously, what is her problem?!
