The words you know are coming but keep hoping it won't be yet.
Perhaps not until next year or maybe the year after that.
Those 5 small words:
" Can I have a party?."
And you stand, gazing at your tiny house, your shiny wooden floors, the clean surfaces in your kitchen and with every nerve in your body, you want to shout out
"NO."
But there is an inevitable, rite-of-passageness about teenage partying.
And probably, a bit like your first drink, your first day of work, your first time......It is best to get it over with.
I look dubiously at almost 15 year old Joss, with his high hair and his trendy Topman clothes. and suddenly I find myself missing the tiny version of him who used to toddle around the garden chasing butterflies.
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| Joss in New York |
Missing the time when the most exciting thing he wanted to do was pull the cat's tail.
Missing the days When teenager-hood was still a whole decade of sleepless nights away
" I'm not sure Joss," I say, playing for time, " when did you want to have it?"
" This Saturday," he says, casually.
"But it's already Tuesday," I say, hearing the panic rising in my voice. " You won't have time to invite anyone."
" Oh, everyone can already come," he says, glancing at this phone.
" But we haven't said you can have a party yet.
" I know," says Joss, " but I invited everyone just in case. You said I might be able to have a party for my birthday and you know I can't have it on my actual birthday because everyone will be on holiday and next week there's already a party, so this Saturday is the only day left to have it."
I am, as usual, floored by his certainty of his teenage logic.
Because it's true, we did say he might, just might, be able to have a birthday party.
But we thought it would be in the holidays.
We thought we would have weeks to plan it all and mentally prepare ourselves.
Days to organise the best way for it to have no loud music, no alcohol, no cigarettes,
" This Saturday's not really a good day," I say, " I'm out all day and dad's band has a gig and...."
But already I can hear my voice trailing into indecisiveness.. and at that moment all is lost.
That's the thing about conversations with teenagers - you must never, ever sound like you're not sure.
Because while they might never listen to a word you say, they never miss the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice and they will always pounce when they sense the chance of victory.
" It's fine," says Joss. "I'll get everything ready and I'll tell everyone not to be here until 7.30. You'll be back by then, won't you? Can you buy us some cider?"
" It was bound to happen?" say my mum and dad when I go round for a comforting cup of tea, " Remember your first party. Some of the guests stole all the pictures from the hall on their way out.?"
I make a mental note to take down all our pictures.
"Remember that party when people stole all the eggs from your mum and dad's fridge and had an egg fight in the garden," asks an old school friend when I tell him about the party.
I make a mental note to take all the eggs out of the fridge and hide them in our bedroom.
" It was fine," says my sister, whose 16 year old daughter has just had a party, " the walls just needed a little bit of touching up afterwards."
I make a mental note to cover the walls with bin liners.
Saturday morning arrives, bright and sunny.
Joss is lying, texting on the sofa, pyjamaed and bleary-eyed, as I get ready to go out.
" Right," I say, pulling on my jacket and trying hard not to sound like I am organising anything because, as Joss points out, that's very annoying "Is there anything else I need to get?"
Joss looks up form his phone.
" Maybe some stuff for breakfast," he says.
" I just offered to make you breakfast, " I say, glancing at the clock, " you said you didn't want any."
" Not for today," he says, " for tomorrow."
" We've got a packet of bagels," I say.
" Well one packet won't be enough," says Joss.
" What do you mean?" I ask, " is someone staying the night?"
" Everyone is," explains Joss, returning his eyes to his phone.
" Everyone," I say, swallowing hard and trying to sound calm. " About how many is everyone?"
" Oh not many," he says, " only about 20, 25."
I gaze around our little house, that is just about big enough for a family of 4.
" Where is everyone going to sleep?" I ask.
Joss shrugs.
" In the garden or the shed or somewhere. Could you get about 5 packets of bacon and lots of cereal."
And with that he goes up to his bedroom, closing his door firmly behind him in a non-negotiable sort of way.
And so it happened.
Saturday night arrived and the house and garden were full of raucous teenagers, drinking, shrieking, laughing, chatting, dancing and sometimes crying ( but that's a whole other blog ) with the music always being played just a little bit too loudly.
And when the band all came back to ours for a drink in the early hours after the gig, they found themselves clambering over the 20 or so teenagers bedded down for the night on our living room floor.
As it turns out, all our pictures were still here in the morning, the eggs remained whole and the walls were pretty much in tact.
As it turns out, our house is plenty big enough to sleep 20.
As it turns out, I realise as I pick a stray beer bottle out of the bathtub, our house is quite a good size for teenage parties.
I only hope that Joss hasn't realised that too!
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| Partying in the garden |
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