Cutting Another Parental String
Our eldest daughter has gone shopping on her own in a nearby town for the first time today. I will admit to being ever so slightly nervous. I'm not really watching the e-mail in-box, all social networks, and staying near the phone, honest.
The whole adventure started yesterday evening, when we realised we were going to be pulled in two directions at once this morning (three children and two adults never quite adds up). I had been informed my “standing on the touchline” services were required at Rugby for Miss Ten, while my other half would be performing a similar function at Football (Soccer) across town for Miss Nine. This would leave Miss Fourteen at a loose end.
There's a funny thing about fourteen year olds – or at least our one. If you let them, they will not get dressed out of their pyjamas all day, will not brush their hair, and not have a wash. They will sit in bed until lunchtime watching rubbish television shows, and then play The Sims on the computer until an hour after they should have gone to bed. They will show up for meals in a begrudging manner, like they are doing you a favour, and then leave the table without clearing anything away.
We put the idea inMiss Fourteen's head yesterday morning that she might want to message one of her friends to go shopping on their own. We essentially gave her permission to catch the bus, and “do her own thing” for the day. After a colossal communications failure involving a certain fourteen year oldthat doesn't understand Facebook Messenger, we waved parental magic wands late last night, and woke her early this morning with the good news.
“If you get up and have a wash, your friend will be calling soon to go into town.”
She raised the corner of her eyebrows in response, trying desperately not to show happiness.
While standingon the touchline of a rugby field two hours later, my phone started going crazy in my pocket. I managed to remove my gloves just in time for it to stop ringing. Two missed calls from my other half. I tried calling back four times, and go no answer – with thoughts immediately racing – had our youngest broken her leg playing football, or something equally as catastrophic?
I eventually got through.
“They are back home – the bus ignored them and drove past the bus stop twice”
“What?!”
As we left the rugby field a few minutes later I called home.
“Were you sitting inside the bus shelter when the bus drove past?”
“Yes”
“Ah. You need to step out to the side of the road.”
“But the driver saw us!”
“And he saw you sitting inside the bus shelter, not moving.”
Silence...
I got home fifteen minutes later (with Miss 10, caked from head to toe in mud), and offered to walk our eldest and her friendthe few minutes back up the road to the bus stop again.Somehow the bus not stopping previously was all my fault – for not having told her she needed to step to the road-side. I smiled. This time the bus stopped, and I watched as they paid the driver, and took the tickets.
I whispered “look after the ticket!” at our eldest as the doors of the bus closed.
So... I'm sitting here at home, half-watching Miss Ten play games on her laptop, and half wondering if Miss Fourteen is ok. I know we're doing the right thing – drip feeding her independence, but it's not easy at all. We thought about dropping them into town after their disaster with the bus, but then I insisted – no – if we keep bailing them out, they won't learn anything.
I wonder what time they'll get back? (not drumming fingers anxiously, at all, honest)