Big wan

What happened to the big kiddo, who used to be my wee boy? Last year, his school was nominating as him as having social adjustment problems, but since the New Year I've barely seen him. His social life at 13 yrs is better than mine's ever been, two inches taller than me and too damn smart for his own good. If I were his teacher, I'd smack him.

The same day he arrived back from his Irish holiday he was out with 'friends', who now visit the house in large mixed-gender roving packs. This is fine with me, but we have to establish some rules: they (or he) can wash up their own bloody tea mugs and they should not be paraded into my bedroom while I'm in deshabille after a nightshift to say hello. That's a time and a place, and while I'm sleeping is not the time for formal introductions. I gather that I'm considered a 'cool' parent because there's art on the walls and books on the shelves, and because I swear at my kids (?).

Anyway, he graced us with his presence for a berry-picking session with Heather today, and between his sister, he, Heather and me, we took through the till about £25 worth of produce to be sweated into jam for winter. That's not counting the berries we ate, nor the ones the big wan smeared on my face as warpaint. He's too much for me, so I've left him and his sister at Heather's to make jam and give me a break. Heather's more than a match for him, and will hopefully kick his butt. I don't think he can have any idea how much I missed him and his sister when they were away, nor how much I enjoy being with them.

Addendum:
Of course, what happened to the big wan was puberty, which is the very last subject he would wish his mother to discuss.