Small girl and I relaxed this morning, with a spot of painting, while the teenagers slept.
I gathered some rain-washed flowers for inspiration. I have conceded defeat in the Battle Of The Buttercups and put some of the wretches to use instead. They do look like harmless little dots of sunshine but they are not! They are pernicious creepers who strangle all before them!
Today is the first day of Ireland’s state exams. They don’t usually include The Leaving Cert on those lists of most stressful times of your life but I’d put it up there. Go find somebody who is in the middle of moving house and ask if they’d like to swap places with the poor sod who has one exam down and nine more to go. Nope. Even a quarter of a century later, my chest tightens at the thought of it.
This morning, a radio DJ asked listeners to text in the songs that were the soundtrack to their Leaving Cert. I did mine the same month that Ireland reached the quarter-finals of the soccer world cup. Consequently, Put ’em Under Pressure by The Republic Of Ireland Football Squad was on the radio from dawn to dusk with only brief interludes when they played Give It A Lash Jack by Liam Harrison and The Goal Celebrities. I recall Loveshack By The B52s blasting out from the 6th year classroom on our last official school day but, by evening, the mood had plummeted and we were crying along with Sinead O’Connor and Nothing Compares 2 U. It was stomach-churning; an emotional, and musical, rollercoaster.
This blogging lark is proving to be a steep learning curve for me. Himalayan, if I’m honest. Teenage Son and I have some variation on the following conversation twice or three times a day.
Me: Waaahh, I can’t do it. Sob.
Teenage Son: Just calm down and let me show you.
Me: But the instructions say that I should X and then Y and I tried X and Y won’t work and WHY won’t it work and Waaaaahhh…..
Teenage Son: Never mind the instructions. Just do it my way, it’s much easier.
So, I do and it is.
Our roles have been reversed. I sit at the computer while he stands at my shoulder and patiently (really, very, patiently) watches me work. He corrects me when I get it wrong. He demonstrates easy fixes. He makes me do it myself so that I’ll remember how. He’s a great teacher and I am getting old. It seems to have happened overnight, while I was busy battling buttercups.