Lynx ‘Africa’ And The Eight Year Old Boy

I don’t know about you but the last two weeks have been madness in our wee house. The boys social life has now completely taken over the calendar and I now know what it’s like to be a taxi driver – although the only tip I ever get is ‘Don’t eat yellow snow Mum’ so I’m all out of cash in that department.

Wee N had his first school disco and I thought he was going to burst with excitement. Five days earlier he didn’t want to go but once I reeled off who was going in his wee circle of friends he pondered it all for a minute and promptly changed his mind.

That gave us two days for purchasing…The Outfit! Mother’s Day arrived and in true Wee N style he had grown. Big style. New shoes were now required, new jeans and new t-shirts. Difficult when your child has no bum to hold anything up with so we are still down the elastic/button doo-daa’s route that make me scream inside because they are so fiddly.

Anyway, after a well deserved latte to keep Mum happy and a smoothie to keep him happy (although he managed to spill most of it down himself, which meant we left a sickly strawberry smelling aroma everywhere we went for the rest of the day) we were successful in purchasing an outfit that was ‘cool’. I was just glad I didn’t have a hangover, as the selection of tops he chose were blinding me in all their neon glory.

The decision now for my wee man was – what to wear on the night!

Disco night came and I collected the soon-to-be-knuckle-dragging-teenage-boys in the surrounding area and off we went. I had to keep checking in the rear-view mirror as I thought I had picked up 3 girls to add to Nathan and his ‘Africa Lynx’ scent. The car groaned in displeasure as it was now full of squeaky-voiced wee boys bouncing around in their booster seats. The amount of ‘Is my hair OK like this?’ or ‘I like your trainers’ followed closely with ‘that’s a fab jacket’ and the resounding ‘don’t touch my hair, the gel will come out’ made me snigger so much that N was patting me on the back thinking I had something stuck in my throat.

The high-octane levels of noise that surrounded me on approach to the school was unbelievable. And it was raining. We all waited patiently (well I did anyway) in the queue and eventually it started to move and the crescendo of young children’s excitement filled the air. Bless their wee cottons.

It took me back to all those concerts I used to go to as a teenager – once the doors opened there was an audible sound of ‘Woooooooo’ and then you were disappointed when nothing happened as the doors remained firmly shut. Back then it was cool to go and see bands like Five Star and Rick Astley, the equivalent of One Direction and The Wanted these days.

Is it wrong that I still prefer Take That better the first time round rather than now? Just showing my age.

Anyway, an hour and a half later I picked up the remains of my child and his pals and literally poured them into the car. Fifteen minutes to click a car seat belt in was what I was now dealing with. I could swear someone was snoring in the back but no-one would admit it.

Of course did I not ask the dreaded ‘kissing’ question and then they appeared to wake up from their slumber and all hell broke loose. Apparently there was none of that going on ‘just on the forehead not on the lips Mum’. I ask you.

A great night though and they can’t wait for next year. I meanwhile will need to take out a second mortgage for that new ‘outfit’ and all the other paraphernalia that goes along with it! The things you do for your kids. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I walk to the kitchen, open a bottle of wine as I listen to Bob Marley on my Walkman stereo while heading up the stairs to run a bath. Retro rock’n’roll people. Retro rock’n’roll.