My seventeen year old daughter was almost ready to leave the house last night when, without taking my eyes from the television show I love, I called out my usual checklist, “Money, phone, bus pass, brain?” All my kids love the last on the list because it gives them an excellent excuse for rolling their eyes heavenward, or some such thing that lets me know I’m really not funny. My reason for putting it there is obvious to anyone who’s had to deal with teenagers – sometimes we like to annoy the blighters.
“What about the loo?” she asked. This was an unexpected response; most times it’s ‘Yup, yup, yup’, then the eyes.
“The loo? What about it?” I replied, trying not to sound peeved that she was extending this routine beyond the norm and causing me to slightly lose my concentration with ‘Gardener’s World’.
“You used to ask me if I’d been to the loo. When did you stop doing that, Mum?” There was a long-unused childishness to her voice. This diversion from our script made me take my eyes from Monty Don as he was explaining how to re-pot a citrus tree. I carried on listening to him though – he has a voice that would make you follow him into the garden even in a hailstorm.
“Mum, are you even listening to me?” I felt relieved that her ‘exasperated with all adults’ voice was back.
“Yes, of course” I lied without missing a heartbeat. “When did I stop asking you if you’d been to the loo? Not sure. Maybe once you’d stopped peeing in your pants.”
“Mum!”
I didn’t want her to head off to town being cross with me, not crosser than usual, anyway. “My mum used to say the same to me, and her mum to her. Think of it as a family tradition.” I risked a quick look at the television as I spoke. The glorious blooming wisteria on screen was almost my downfall.
“I don’t know why you and Dad are always on about teenagers and their phones, you’re just as bad with the T.V.”
“You’re right, sorry love.” I wasn’t all that sorry really, but I know when to pretend I am. Reluctantly, I turned off the only man I know who gives dirt under the fingernails sex appeal. “So, what’s your question?”
“It’s not really a question.” She came and sat next to me on the sofa. “It’s just that, well, things change, don’t they.”
I gave her a hug. “They sure do. Is it difficult?”
“What?” she mumbled into my neck.
“Being seventeen. Not being sure from day-to-day if you’re a kid or a grown-up.”
She lifted her head and tried to look brave. “Yeah, sometimes. You’re not going to go all psychologisty on me, are you, Mum?” Then she giggled. “I did used to pee in my pants a lot though, didn’t I.”
I laughed with her, remembering how she’d come back from playing in the park, or visiting a friend after school, soaked through. “Oh, yes. You had a thing about not going to the toilet until the very last second – but timing has never been your strong point and you mostly misjudged when that last second was.”
My lovely daughter stood up, fussed with her hair for a few moments, gathered her bag and headed for the front door. “See you, Mum. I won’t be too late.”
“OK,” I mumbled, knowing that she would be much too late and that was an argument waiting for tomorrow. I switched the television back on, just in time to hear Monty say he’d see me at the same time next week. I called out as the door was closing, “Money, phone, bus pass, brain?” And to her footsteps running down the path I yelled, “Have you been to the loo?” I heard her shout back something very rude.
About the author: Helen Kreeger was born and raised in London, where she worked as a registered nurse and earned a degree in sociology from the London School of Economics. She has been living in Israel for twenty-three years. She and her husband have three sabra children, assorted animals and full-time jobs.
