380. Getting a grip

I keep checking myself in the mirror which in itself feels strange - I'm not a great mirror person and have been known to go out with an inside-out jumper and even ill-matched shoes. It's probably in a post somewhere in this blog.

I look and I am surprised to see this new respectable efficient middle-aged woman. Mrs No-Nonsense.

Just as well.

Remember that grip I was supposed to get on Baby? So when Baby asked me tonight:

'Mum, is it ok if I go out tonight?'

I stand firm and answer:

'Didn't you tell me you were not going to go out until the 31st? Well this is not the 31st ... so no.'

Here the old hippy-me would have done a Mrs T impersonation of the famous no no no but the new me keeps a stern face and tucks her hair behind her ear.

Baby then starts going on about the fact that she is nearly 18 and is on holiday etc. I keep my hand behind my ear, putting hair in place and walk down the stairs.

My husband is sitting on the sofa. I sit next to him and give him a quick run through the situation. We are quietly assessing the situation  when Baby appears at the bottom of the stairs and striking a pose, says.

'So? Can I go?'

Which gets her father really angry. She then gets a lecture about the tone of voice to employ and the choice of words when speaking to her father. I now wish I had said yes so we could enjoy a peaceful evening, eating and drinking and watching a movie.

'Your room is not even tidy and your washing has been waiting in the laundry basket, clean and neatly folded by me your mother for at least a week!'

Before he father starts an other lecture she is running up the stairs in a terrible mood stamping her feet hard. 

We forget about her and start planning our evening. Then bang slam bang bang slam bang ... and Baby appears at the bottom of the stairs, empty laundry basket in one hand and telephone in the other which she brandishes under our noses, swiping so a string of photos of an impeccable bedroom, of an impeccable desk top, of an impeccable inside of wardrobe, of an impeccable bed made with Nono the sheep on the pillow.

We stare at the photos. We stare at each other. We stare at Baby. Then we tell her to put the laundry basket away and while she disappears we agree on the terms of her going out. My husband who gives her the good news:

'Bar. Nobody's house. You do NOT walk alone neither there nor back. And 11:30 on the dot you're home.'

She is not even 30 minutes gone that he goes off to bed. I stay downstairs and watch a movie, write for a bit, drink for a bit, draw, write some more ... and then I cannot remember if we told her 11:30 or 12:30 so I go to bed too.