Dos and Don'ts

Dos and Don’ts For Parents (from a teenager’s point of view).

By Miss Tickle. Aged 13. (Truly.)

• DON'T laugh at your child/teenager, no matter what they’ve said or done, if they’re trying to be serious.
• DO give them a cuddle if they’re crying.
• DO give them their freedom.
• DON’T be too protective.
• DON’T just say things like: "Don’t be stupid", "What a silly thing to say", "Why did I bother?"
• DO let them spend up to half an hour on the phone.
• DON’T nag, if you say it more than twice, they’ll get annoyed.
• DO give them lifts.
• DO take notice of what they say.
• DO set out clear rules on almost everything, so as not to have too many arguments.
• DON’T be insensitive.
• DO try to get to know them.

(I think I might adopt this DO/DON’T attitude in my daily life. Especially with Hub: "DON’T answer “I don’t know, what do you want?” when I ask you what you’d like to eat, DO bring me tea in the morning." And so forth. Perhaps a list on the fridge.)

But really, it is all just quite boringly sensible.

Although I do not know what the yoof of today would say to being allowed up to half and hour on the phone.

Probably nothing, they would just go off and be interwebby.

I am also a little intrigued by what exactly I meant by “DON’T be insensitive”. I think it is excellent advice, but I do wish it were a little more specific.

And I know, obviously the time when your teenager is the most amusing is when they are trying to be serious, but really. Some of the things I loved got broken that way. And I do not mean that in a metaphorical sense.

PS. This is not, as I acknowledge that it might possibly seem, a damning indictment of my parents. They were hopeless and wonderful in equal measure, as I think most parents are.

How many jars of honey does a girl need?

Four.

Apparently.

Miss Tickle is pottering

So I have done the Dos and Don'ts, but they are on the Mac. And I am having trouble transferring them onto the PC. And I have no internet on the Mac at the moment. So there they will have to stay until everything is less like my head is exploding.

We are moving.

Moving is rubbish.

And generates rubbish.

Loads of it.

Today I have cleared out everything in the world from my Important Cardboard Files.

It turns out (would you believe it) that there was nothing of any importance in there at all!

Nothing!

So I threw it all away!

(Recycled, obviously. I am a good Tickle.)

It was really rather liberating.

I think with no effort at all I could get a bit overexcited by throwing things away and end up with nothing at all.

I must remember not to do this.

I also spent an unnecessary and frankly slightly embarrassing amount of time this morning playing with my Shiny Toys and making a film of The Weird Cat. It is quite good, but does not really do justice to her weirdness.

What could?

Now I am drinking tea.

I realise this post is a bit vague and without purpose.

I do not care!

Ha!

A whole lot of love

I recently read about a woman who has published her own teenage diaries.

I do not know if it is good, I just read about it.

I was a particularly angst-ridden, sensitive and overly thoughtful teenageer, so obviously I kept a diary.

From 1993-1999.

Obviously there is more than one actual book.

Since I am at the parental home alone and feeling nostalgic, I thought I would dig out my diaries and browse through them.

Things I recorded in the back of each one:

-A list of boys' and girls' names for my future children.
-A breakdown of my personality traits.
-A list of the personality traits I would like to have (honest, sweet, funny, unselfish, loyal: a list that an angel would have difficulty fulfilling.)
-A snog list (come one, you know you had one too.)
-A detailed and oddly literary description of each of my friends.
-A Useful Guide for parents from the point of view of a teenager.
-A christmas card list which included most members of the known universe.

But the main thing that struck me was that I fell in love at the drop of a hat. Every week. And each time, I was so sure I was completely in love.

At the age of 18, I became aware of this tendency, and began to refer to myself as an emotional tart. Entirely accurately. At one point at the end of my first term at university, I was claiming to love four people, and was going out with a fifth.

Now I am affectionate.

But really.

There is a limit.

Of five apparently.

Any advance on five? Anyone?

A theatre and blogging and sex thing.

I thought it was worth mentioning this, which came up on my theatre radar.

If, y'know, you fancy a good old chinwag about sex, blogging and feminism.

Also, can anyone explain where the rich text shenanigans has gone now I'm using blogger on my shiny thing?

Please?

*wanders off, muttering html to self*

In which I get A SHINY TOY.

In the form of a MacBook.

Pro.

I am excited!

But I do not know how to use it.

I will learn my very best, but I do not like not knowing all the shortcuts. It is a pain in the bottom.

So. I am in Birmingham, England, in the home of my parents. (I have come to do the training for my new yoof job; the company is based in the middle lands of the England). They are not here. (My parents. We are back-to-the-story.) They are in Scilly. The home of my parents is for sale.

It used to be my home, and it is the first time I have returned here since they put it up for sale.

I wept.

A lot.

On entering the house.

And in fact for the fifteen minutes prior to entering the house. And if I'm honest, the fifteen minutes afterwards too.

I may document it. With my new toys. (I also got a digital camera, a video camera and an ipod. Do not come and rob me. Please.) I will take photos and video footage of me in my house in which someone else will soon be coming to live.

*sniff*

Damn them.

PS. Woo! A MacBook! Pro!

My brain.

I have been considering. And I have come to a conclusion.

I feel I should have further exploited the beach security alert for witty and whimsical blog purposes.

I have missed a trick.

It is rather reflective of my slightly woolly and non-creative current state of brain.

I can only apologise.

I assume it's because at some unconscious level my brain is in fact feverishly compiling Important and Detailed Lists of Things To Do Before We Move.

It could be happening right now.

And a bit like a computer with its RAM, I am running on about 3. (I do not know much about RAM, except that the puter hub so cleverly built has about 1,500 RAM, and when we are doing too much computery goodness, it drops and goes red and says "Three left! Only three!" And stuff.)

So. My RAM is low and this accunts for the poor quality of recent posts and indeed the trick that I missed.

In connected but slightly tangential news, hub is afraid that he is getting stupider.

(I have known this for some time but did not wish to upset him.)

On Monday night, being the groovy and rock 'n roll couple that we are, we did the test the nation IQ test.

Yep.

Anyway. The point is, that his IQ had gone down by 23 points from when he last did the test the nation IQ test.

Yep.

And a mighty 58 points from when he once did one on the interweb.

All of which has led him to conclude that being a maker of furniture is good for the brawn but bad for the brain.

When we move to Brighton we shall be rectifying this.

I do not yet know how.

But we shall begin by compiling a list of Possible Security Alerts Facing a Kentish Beach and take it from there!

Join in!

1) Suicide shrimps
2) A suspicious looking limpet
3) Marines