Poorly Legumes

Recently I went upstairs to where my teenage daughter was lounging on her bed talking to friends on MSN in a very strange language and handed her a bowl of profiteroles dripping in chocolate sauce.

She responded with: "Ooh! Profiteroles! Sick bean!"

If anyone could explain the last two words, I would be extremely grateful. And yes, I did ask said daughter, but she couldn't help.

Google Mood Ring (Green): Steady, stable, no emotional turmoil

Unwashed Teenage Blondes

Well, for those who know what I mean, Second Life is down for updating and the Beta grid doesn't seem to be working either, so I may as well prattle in here a bit seeing as I haven't done for a while.

Perhaps I will moan about my teenage daughter for a paragraph or two. What is it about teenage daughters and clothes? Mine has like hundreds of things to wear, but yesterday she wanted to wear the one thing that hadn't been washed. Never mind that everything else was clean and dry, it just had to be the one top that she'd forgotten to give me for washing the day before.

We had far more fun during the Easter holidays, though. Her hair is naturally medium-dark brown with red highlights. Due to the fact that, like her mother, she can be a bit scatter-brained at times, the majority of her schoolfriends have told her that she should have been born blonde (she was actually dark blonde as a toddler, but it darkened). Anyway, to this end she decided to colour her hair blonde. Unfortunately, being 'blonde', she didn't make too good a job of it and ended-up with a large patch of very blonde hair on top, surrounded by reddish blonde, graduating to gingery-brown as it went further down. She did all this at her father's and he hadn't the common sense to tell her that with hair the length of hers she'd need two or three packets of colourant, not one. She did try using several others afterwards, but it didn't seem to work.

I had a similar problem when I was her age. My hair then was extremely dark brown (blue-black in some lighting), but it also had red in it. Blonde highlights were all the rage when I was about the same age my daughter is now and as my mother didn't want to pay for me to have them, I decided to try them myself. I bought myself a box of peroxide, grabbed an old toothbrush, and ... well, the end result was several huge frizzy pieces of ginger fuzz and the eventual loss of an entire head of hair that had taken me years to grow to well past the bottom of my bra strap. The hairdresser insisted the only way to solve the problem was to cut it all off to nape of the neck level (way above the bottom of my bra strap, on account of the fact that I have never worn a bra around my neck). Since then, it hasn't seemed to want to grow much past my shoulders, so goodness only knows what damage I did to it.

The upshot of this is that my daughter ended-up having to colour her hair medium-dark brown and the final count in financial terms was around £30 to get herself back to the colour she'd started with.

Google Mood Ring (Blue): Comfortable, breezy, at rest, lovable.

Pushing the Elderly in McDonald's

My 14-year-old daughter is OK as far as 14-year-old daughters go, but she is awful when it comes to pushing herself forward. She's had since October to arrange a work placement for July and recently I received a letter from her school asking why she hadn't done so. It would have helped if she had told me about it coolly and calmly in October, rather than telling me in total panic a few days ago.

The letter I received included a website where details of available work placements could be found. My daughter said she'd tried this website at school and it was useless as it had hardly any placements on it. I went to look anyway and found so many it took about 15 minutes to read through them all. She'd already expressed an interest in social work and I found one for that, but the person dealing with it was unavailable until Monday so I tried another one in the care field. After trying that, I went back to the social work one and pushed myself forward a little on the phone, resulting in me being given another number to try.

The end result of this is that my daughter now has two work placements on offer, one working with disabled young adults in a social work setting and another working with the elderly at a nursing home. She has therefore decided to do one week at each. What she likes best about them is that both of the places she works from are situated round the corner from McDonald's.

What she likes least is the fact that when she is at the nursing home she will have to tie her hair back and remove her jewellery, including her belly piercing. She also isn't too keen on the fact that when she's on the social work placement she'll have to work from 9-5, not to mention that she will have to work on her birthday, which falls on the second day of the first work placement week.

My daughter is clearly going to go FAR once she finishes her education and has to work for a living.

Google Mood Ring (Dark Blue): Impassioned, delighted, whiff of romance

Moaning Musical Mothers

My teenage daughter told me off today. OK, so it's nothing new (I'm a lousy mother), but I do feel that she was out of order on this occasion. It's not as if I was doing anything wrong, I was only SINGING. I suppose the fact that I was wearing headphones (I'd been told to do that because I was disturbing her tv viewing) meant I was singing rather loudly (like you do when you're wearing headphones), but it's not as if I can't sing (well OK, I've had better singing days, but I'm still in tune). The thing is, since I've discovered Last.fm, I've been able to listen to all sorts of stuff I haven't heard in years, plus lots of new stuff, and I just have to sing to it if I'm in a singing mood. And today I just happened to be in a singing mood.

Anyway, I had a sort of indie morning, then I switched to the old sixties flower power stuff, which I just can't resist warbling to. It takes me back to when I was young and free and hopeful and totally unaware of the existence of "good old days". Anyway, there I was, warbling away at the top of my voice to Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds and I got told off. I am now about to start warbling at the top of my voice to Itchycoo Park (for the second time) and no doubt I will get told off again, because I also sing this one very loudly (well, you have to, haven't you. Poor Stevie's been dead for almost 16 years, he wouldn't hear me if I didn't ... my god, has it been that long?). Anyway, let's face it, lyrics these days just can't compare to blowing your mind by getting hung-up feeding ducks with a bun.

My eldest son was here this morning and he sort of told me off as well, although not for singing. He said it didn't seem at all right that his mother should enjoy the same sort of bands he did and as a result he was seriously considering changing his musical tastes totally. I reminded him that he was the one who was heavily into the Doors, which were actually from my era not his, but he excused that by pointing out that the Doors were timeless and therefore didn't count.

One thing I've noticed is that some people on Last.fm have no idea how to tag music. As an example, I am more than happy to listen to Ace of Base because I like them (I am warbling away to them now as it happens), but they are NOT from the flower-power era, not unless it lasted into the 90's, which it didn't. And has anyone else noticed that the intro to "Always Have, Always Will" is almost identical to the intro to "I Can't Help Myself" by the Four Tops? Well, it is. Listen to them both and you'll see what I mean. Talking of "I Can't Help Myself" (sugar-pies, honey-bunches), I still remember the dance to that ... and the dance to "Band of Gold" ... and the dance to "Get it On" ... hell, I'm old. I need another visit from Christine to make me feel better. Then again, having seen her latest photos, maybe I don't.

My Daughter is a Prick

There I am, innocently enjoying a cup of coffee and a bit of surfing (internet variety, I don't go in for the other sort, gimme a break), when my 14-year-old daughter screams at me from the kitchen.

Daughter: MUM! HELP! There's a needle stuck in my foot.
Mother: A what stuck in your foot? Just a minute ...

Mother goes into kitchen. Daughter is hopping on one leg and announcing that she is dying. Mother looks and sees needle stuck in daughter's foot, with black cotton threaded through it. Mother has no idea how needle got on kitchen floor. Mother attempts to pull needle out of daughter's foot.

Daughter: Don't pull it out! I'll die!
Mother: What else am I supposed to do with it?
Mother pulls out needle. Daughter remains alive.

Daughter: Is there blood on it?
Mother: No. Next time try shoes or slippers.

Daughter returns to cooking pasta, Mother returns to coffee and surfing, assuming crisis is over. A few minutes pass quietly and peacefully by.

Daughter: AAAGGGHHH!!!
Mother: What is it NOW?
Daughter: **BLEEP**BLEEP**BLEEP**

Mother goes into kitchen and discovers floor covered in fusilli, mushrooms, bits of tomato and pasta sauce. Daughter announces she tripped over something and her pasta went all over her arm on its way to the floor and she is now scarred for life (she isn't). Mother tells daughter to leave kitchen and she will cook her some more pasta. Daughter leaves kitchen to go watch TV. Mother screams (therapeutically) and starts cooking.

Moral of Story: I live in a madhouse with mad people.