336. Parenting skills

 Friday night. Total chill night. I am on holiday and my husband is … well, kind of … unemployed. It is around half past nine in the evening, maybe a touch later. My husband has just made hot toddies because he’s caught a cold and I’m having one just in case I catch a cold from him. My husband’s hot toddies have the juice of an two lemons, a Hagrid-size spoonful of honey and enough whisky to send a Scottish clan into battle. It is a delight to drink. It’s been proven time and time again to fend off a cold. But to fend off teenagers is an other story.

So here we are in the lounge, sipping our toddies. Me deeply engrossed in watching my favourite - stupid - series and my husband desperately trying to catch up on the story line. So when Baby comes downstairs with a huge grin on her face (she had gone up to her room a couple of hours before with a thundering look on her face) with Miss Organiser following close behind I immediately smell a rat. 

‘Hi parents! Enjoying your evening?’ She said with a cheesy grin.

Miss Organiser is sitting on the stairs, giggling to herself, her phone in her hand. I smell an other rat. The blogger mother knows what the vlogger daughter is up to.

Baby grabs the remote control off the coffee table and pauses the show while placing herself right there between her parents and the screen. I smell another rat. I look at my husband who is staring at his toddy. Miss Organiser is sitting on the bottom step, laughing. Yet an other rat. Then Baby starts speaking.

‘Can-I-go-out-tonight-with-my-friends-Ellie,-Sienna,-Iona,-Billie-and-Talulah;-to-the-bar-in-town-it’s-like-the-holidays … Like.’

My husband raises his left eyebrow and looks at me. The look says you deal with it. I unfold my legs and put my feet on the floor and sit up and put on my best proper mother impersonation.

‘It is far too late and you are far too young and bars are not suitable for unplanned outings. You get yourself back to your room and back to bed young lady.’

Miss Organiser bursts out laughing sitting there on the bottom step. Baby is not at all impressed by my authoritarian speech and is half laughing half speaking.

‘I’m almost 17 and anyway I’m going with Ellie-Billie-Sienna-Ta-‘

‘Hang on a minute! Who are these people?’ Her father has decided to join the conversation. Probably thinking the mother’s talk does not quite cut it.

Horrified shocked look on Baby’s face.

‘I’ve known them for years!!!! You’ve met them.’

Puzzled look on my husband’s face. 

‘And Talulah goes to Lycée Malvergne.’

This is the prestigious local private school. Miss Organiser is doing the running commentary.

‘Baby has just made a good point here. Will the parents resist?’ 

‘And what bar? And You’re not even 16 yet!’

Now Baby has lost both her good humour and her patience. 

‘DAD!!!! I’m 16!!! And I’ll be 17 in three months!!!!!!’

Again my husband looks in mu direction. I’m the mother I should know.

Before we know it the Talulah-Billie-Sienna-Ellie crowds 

are at the door.

‘I’m off to bed. It’s half-term after all.’ 

Miss Organiser gives the thumbs up to Baby and heads back up too. I’m left alone with my drink and my blog. And an other failure at parenting.