Cyclone warning

Cyclone Senza exploded into my life 13 years ago, after I’d been at the hospital in drug-free childbirth hell for 25 minutes. She couldn’t wait to get the party started.

Or trash our house. She has painted on the walls of every place we’ve ever rented. And they’re good paintings, so I can’t get mad. Senza leaves a creative mess in every room she enters. It would be easier to parent her if we lived in a castle with four maids, a butler and a housekeeper.

My girl, you are the funniest person I’ve ever met; entertaining, smart, animated and kooky, you have only two gears, full throttle or passed out on the floor  You struggle to use your inside voice but your astute observations about supposedly mature adults are always worth hearing.

Looking at a box of unpaid bills you said,

“Mum, that is a box full of nightmares.”

You are physically courageous; you surf, swim, climb trees, duck and dive. You’ve had breathtaking bodily self-confidence from the moment you were conceived. And you have a kind heart. This year you cared for babies in a Thai orphanage like they were your own family.

You are fast, furious, full of attitude and love for your friends, and easily bored. I hope your adventurous spirit takes you all over the world. You run head first at life, without fear. Your courage is everything I wish I could find in me (but with less back chat).

You kid, are everything. In your adolescent angst phase, don’t let teen bitches, dopey dudes and unenlightened teachers snuff out your fire.

Happy 13th Birthday to my beautiful hurricane #teenager


Teenagers

Teenagers are like Queensland, beautiful one day, a nightmare the next.

On Saturday my 14 year daughter glanced down at her floor-drobe. She had nothing to wear but clothes that were fashionable at breakfast time. All this while I turn into an aging cougar. Except that I am the anti-cougar, the tracksuit pants wearing tragedy in tired trainers, wishing I had some energy left over from mothering and working to desire a makeover.

This week teenage beast cleaned up her floor-drobe and turned into an interior design fascist. She wants me to be the queen of minimalism on a single mother budget. If her sisters place so much as a Barbie on the floor she screams.

She is also a control freak about the music we listen to at home. I mention the Bee Gees and she looked blank. I said,

“Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth there were three brothers who wore tight white pants and hair-drier-fluffy-wind-blown hair singing falsetto disco hits.”

“Shit mum, they sound Palaeolithic.” There is no one more hip than a teenager and no one who has ever suffered more.

So I dedicate this song to her. Whether you’re a mother or whether you’re a brother…..