Our Little Neville…

What the daughter does, the Mother no doubt did first…

Alright my lover?

Well, here we are again. I know, I know, bloggers probably shouldn’t start off by blogging every day but, as I said from the start, stick with me, it won’t always be like this, I’m just too excited to show off my little gang to you all. Once you’ve met them all, I’ll give you, and me, a break. Promise.

I was going to start off by introducing Paul to you all, you know, start from the most adult and work my way down but then I realised if I did that, Nev would be pissed off. She’s a 13 year old teenager, with hormones. Big, massive, unpredictable, pissed off hormones. And, considering she left for school today, (minus yesterdays dose of the shits) in a relatively good mood, I want to finish work tonight and come home to peace, not “Yeah I get it Mudda, you don’t love me enough to write about me first”.

Don’t get on your ‘social services on speed dial’ high horse, what you need to know is, that’s a typically sarcastic comment from Nev, she says it with the biggest grin on her face with an air of attitude and finishes off with a sassy 360 degree spin back up the stairs to lock herself into her black and white monochrome pit, complete with her mini collection of cacti and succulents “I need them Mudda cuz they remind me of Nanny Pam”.

*Nanny Pam. Her Daddys Mum and affectionately known as Nanny Oogie-Boogie and Nevs second favourite person in the world. Nanny Pam is quite possibly, one of the nicest, most humble and decent women I have ever known and I am literally buzzing my tits off on a daily basis that Nev quite possibly has THE best Nanny in the world. I’m willing to put my life savings on it, but I don’t have any, so you’ll have to take my word for it. No doubt, you’ll encounter Nanny Pam a lot throughout this blog, she’s pretty important to us both.*

Anyway, before I potentially piss Nev off by going off the subject, let’s get back to it. Nev. No. I’m not one of those people who gave her child a mans name because I’m some kind of feminist who doesn’t believe in his and hers and we are all equal. I didn’t and I’m definitely not.

Bethany Emilia was born 13 and something years ago, on Thursday March 6, just after 9am weighing a little under 6lb, I could be exact but those little details are mine. (We don’t know each other enough yet for me to dish out my pregnancy and birth story, I’m sure that will come another time, but let’s just say if I told you I was in labour and her Dad sat dozing in a chair whilst pulling a pillow cover on and off quite delicately as though he realised it was too late to practise safe sex, you know it’s going to be a bit of a good read.) So, there she was, this tiny, silent, yellow (and honestly quite hairy) bolt of lightening in my arms. As a young, unknowing 19 year old Emma, I didn’t have a clue what I was meant to do with this beautiful little thing, all I knew is that she was mine, she was here to love me and I was here to love her, and oh boy, I really, really do. Even when she’s pissed off and her perfectly threaded eyebrows are doing this weird thing where they have a personality of their own. I’m not going to lie and say I was the perfect Mother straight away, I was far, far from it, hence why Nanny Pam will always be my hero without the cape ( back then, it was far cooler for heroes to have a fag in hand and a cuppa on the go. She’s since quit the fags. Go Nanny Pam!) But again, that’s another blog.

Nev has always been one of those kids who’s had to make herself known. She’s in the room and you NEED to know it. She was always the child that had to be roaring around needing your attention. If you went for a piss, she went with you. If you rebelled against Health & Safety by sitting on the worktops, she sat with you. I shit you not, she was like a little shadow. We didn’t even like to sleep apart. And I liked that. I liked that she would be there when I opened my eyes. She still is that kid even now.

On the days that she’s not pissed off at the World for no reason at all, she’s seriously loud. REALLY.FUCKING.LOUD! Now I’ve always been told I’m loud but this kid, she makes me look the shy type. I guess it’s called karma because now sometimes, believe it or not friends and family who are reading this, I do enjoy a bit of silence. I actually do. This loudness I speak of, it’s not even like it’s for any purpose. She just wants to stand in the middle of the room and sing seriously out of key whilst wearing a saucepan on her head, a pair of my heels and a superbly drawn on ‘Jesus Beard’ (thankfully, not with MY eyeliner), I actually find it pretty amusing to be fair, but what isn’t amusing is when she sings the Home & Away theme tune seriously out of key, I constantly explain the end key is raised not lowered but she doesn’t listen and now Paul joins in on her crusade to ruin my favourite programme for me. But, I usually get her back for it by grabbing her hand in public, pulling it behind my arse and gently farting into it, I know, I’m gross.

Nev is amazing at pushing boundries.I say be home for 7, she sends a text to see if she can stay out until 8. She says she’s going to Nandos, I find out she went to Nandos then fucks off for a casual walk along the main road wearing heels to Mcds. She goes out wearing too much make up but bloody hell ,that kid is good at it, I’ve literally never seen an adult who can look half as good as she does. Winger eyeliner? She nails it. There’s a big part of me that loves seeing her push those limits, she’s a young, independent woman trying to make it out alive in the big wide world and, as a teenager it’s really shitting hard to find a place in society where you fit in. I never did, and because I never fitted in anywhere, I want Beth to make it, to fit, because being a teenager can be a lonely old place to be.Luckily she fits. She’s got an amazing circle of school friends, all unique in character and all battling to be the leader. I bloody love her friends, for example, when  I watch Taylors snap chat vids I’m literally creasing with laughter, or when Georgia calls over and she looks good in everything she wears. I secretly wish I’d been more like them at that age instead of wearing my sisters hand me downs and not washing my hair for weeks whilst trying to roll my skirt up on the way to school. (Nev will never be that child, not only does she wash her hair daily but she only ever wears skinny trousers to school) Nev, you really are so lucky to have such a good, tight circle. You see, where we used to live, at Primary School she was bullied, she then moved to middle school and made friends with a lush group of  girls just as we moved away. I was so proud when she started her new school and took to the changes like a duck to water, it really can’t have been easy for her, but she never once complained, just sat down, got on with it and settled right in.

Now I’m fully aware that this is the age where boys come in and trust me, they’ve tried knocking but, from what she tells me, they’re all just friends and “soooo gay”. From what she also tells me, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And I believe her. Mainly because whoever wants to take on that level of pissed-offness is a brave kid but also because I trust her to be honest and open with me. I don’t doubt she has little secrets don’t get me wrong, but my little sister will tell you, when it comes to people close to me going on dates and having boyfriends, I practically do a DBS check on the spot and go full on Columbo on them. I’ve always stood by the fact I will NEVER like Nevs first, second, third and probably tenth boyfriend, I know I have to pretend to and be all sickly sweet nice to them but I also know these little bastards are, at some point going to break her precious heart, make her feel like she wasn’t good enough and question herself on what she did wrong and it will be me that wants to go and rip their scrawny little bollucks off for ever daring to make her feel the way she will in that moment. I’m then going to have explain to her that she wasn’t the one at fault, it’s them not her. Unless of course, I’m raising a little bunny boiler (and trust me, in the past, I’ve been a little bit of one, Holly from Ex On The Beach is a good enough comparison) but you know what, even if she IS a bunny boiler, it still won’t have been her fault because she’s beautiful, she’s kind, she’s smart and she’s a fucking Queen (Yes Constance Hall, I take heed and I’m raising a future Queen). So yes, Nev, probably best to stay away from boys a while longer because not only is your Mother is a nut job but nobody will ever be good enough for you.

Everyone says that their child is funny. But my child is effing hilarious. Like full on, stand up comedy hilarious. There have been so many occasions that she’s been giving a stern talking to and I’ve had to suck my laughter inside (the pain is worse than when I stayed over at Pauls for the weekend for the very first time and held my poos and farts in for 3 long arse days.) If she knows I’m feeling crap or having a seriously menopausal day, she just knows how to make me laugh, and then we laugh to together, proper stupid, idiotic, nobody-else-would-understand laughter, and then I look at her and forget why I ever felt crap in the first place. She’s the kind of girl who tells me in public that my VPL has worked it’s way into my arse for feeding time and stand behind me as we walk along and I pick out my primark specials all the while chanting quietly “Nothing to see here”, we do a telepathic high five to signal that our team work has been successful and then she will tell me that “I’m so embarrassing”.

And I am embarrassing. Because that’s my job, it’s what us Mothers are meant to do.

It’s not all sweetness and light with me and Nev. We clash, really clash. There is nothing worse than a Mother on the menopause with a teenage daughter. Her moods annoy me and I can’t get through to her, granted, I’m not the most patient person and I snap, because at that moment in time, I’m moody and selfish and can’t cope with two set of raging hormones that don’t want to be controlled. Recently, on a family holiday to Spain, Nev and I were having some of those moments. My ‘one day I hope’ sister in law hit the nail on the head a few times when I told her there were times I felt I didn’t feel I know how to Mother properly, she told me that’s how we all feel. Another time, Nev and I were disagreeing, most likely I was being irrational and yet again one of us had to have the last word, my sister in law said “Don’t you find when it’s not your child you want to step in and give them a hug when they’ve been told off but when it’s you’re own child you do exactly what you’ve just done and it’s ok?” That struck a chord with me both times, maybe sometimes I am being too hard on her, maybe sometimes I should relax a bit and not go in all guns blazing, Nev is the child and I’m the parent after all. So Nev, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that sometimes I am going to seem like the worst Mother in the World. I’m sorry that I do have a go at you and make you cry and I’m sorry that sometimes I don’t see your point at all but I promise, I WILL try harder. Because I have been in your shoes and I know what it feels like to not be understood, and mostly because I love you more than anything in the entire world and want to be your Mother and best friend forever and ever.

*But I “swear down”, if you don’t remove all the crockery from your room by the time I’m home tonight and take you’re hair out of the bath plug hole, we might clash again and I really don’t want to because really, I think your kinda cool and I wish I was more like you*


Emma xox

‘Mudda and dudda’



2 thoughts on “Our Little Neville…

  1. Very good blog Emma. You have summed up being a mum to a teenager very well. My Katie sounds just like your daughter, she is 12 going on 22, and some days whines like a 2 year old, so I understand how you feel. Very funny, honest blog. Xx


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s