Amidst the chaos of packing, moving, unpacking and attempting to settle into some sort of routine (a greater challenge that anticipated, for various, child-instigated reasons), Monkey Boy has been struggling to maintain some sort of contact with his friends.
This is heavily thwarted by the fact that we don’t yet have a proper internet connections, although Telstra are being wonderfully fabulous in regard to the customer service side of things. I haven’t yet had to have a tantrum.
Not only is the extremely limited internet access a problem, but his horrible mother is being even more horrible about it’s use, because she needs it for work and running her business. Thus she gets first dibs on usage and … well, basically, I’m the Worst Mother In The World.
Like I didn’t already know.
Despite this, he has found an alternative solution, that doesn’t involve MY internet connection, and during the week managed to organise a social outing for he and several of his friends.
A couple of adults were required along for this particular occasion, and it was Grumpy Pants that was asked to accompany them.
I thought it was really, really lovely of Monkey Boy to invite his dad along, and he clearly saw the need for Grumpy to get out and do something not work related, to have fun, and to just chillax. Not entirely sure an outing with a bunch of 13 year olds was terribly relaxing, but anyhoo …
Today rolled around, Grumpy muttered something along the lines of not really wanting to go out, and preferring to stay home, Monkey Boy’s plans were starting to all apart, which happens when you have something like eight teens, a majority of whom are incapable of making any sort of decision, two whom will one day make great dictators, and one whom likes to please everyone and ends up having to choose between the suggestions put forth by they dictators …
I told Grumpy I’d happily go if he’d prefer not to. Didn’t bother me none. Also, I could use a day out of the house.
Monkey Boy quickly leapt in to state that I wasn’t invited.
“What’s it matter?” I ask. “Dad doesn’t really want to go, and I’m happy to. What’s the problem?”
“Well …,” he explains, clearly trying to decide just how honest he should be.
“Welll, we had a meeting at school, and we discussed which parents we would ask along, and we chose the parents that weren’t going to be, like, pretending they’re all cool and who wouldn’t talk to us and be all embarrassing and stuff. It was decided that you were not allowed to come along.
“You talk to my friends and be, like, all friendly with them and stuff. It’s embarrassing. So you can’t come,” he concluded.
“Sooo … I’m not invited cos I’m nice to your friends?” I ask.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he confirms and goes back to sorting out the mess of his plans.
Game on I think to myself. There will be payback for this.
Several hours later …
Monkey Boy arrives home with several of his friends in tow. They’re invited and welcomed into the new house, the first of his friends to come inside. I am tempted to hug them all, but given most of them still call me “Monkey Boy’s Mum” I felt that might be pushing things a little.
Also, with this far to PC world, I’ll probably end up being sued for being nice to teenagers or some shit.
They find my Swear Jar …
.. and they laugh.
“Please don’t laugh!” he begs his friends.
“But it’s funny,” they reply.
“You’ll only encourage my Mum. Please don’t.”
And in that short sentence he gave me all the encouragement I need …