Hestia and The Summer Holidays

Justin Bieber: The smiley teen we would
all love our son to be. 
Maybe not with that hair though

God, I hate the school summer holidays.
I fondly imagined that as Sonshine grew more independent, I would only see him for the odd bite of lunch and a hastily wolfed down dinner before her disappeared back out with his friends for some cycling, fishing or some hanging about on street corners.

And I would be permitted to carry on with my life. Which is mainly facebook. And knitting.  But I digress....

Our schools closed at the end of June for six long weeks.  And almost every day has been wet.  You would think, then, that when a nice day (or even just a non-raining day) dawned, they would be out there, doing what pre-teens do best.

And perhaps he IS doing what pre-teens do best: sprawled over an armchair watching endless Cartoon Network shows.  I persuaded him to start writing a blog, but after a few posts (and a few days up at my mother's) it sort of petered out.

'Why don't you phone the Meerkat?' I suggest brightly as I clatter the breakfast dishes into the sink.

'He's not coming round today.  He said, well, that, well, you know.  *pause*'

'Yes?'

'Oh you wouldn't understand,' he sighs, sloping back through to the TV.

After the kitchen is squared up, I venture into the Cavern of Gloom.

'What about Liam?'

'Liam isn't very nice.  He said all those things about you.'

'Ah, yes.'

'What about Jay?'

Which one?' 

'Either one!'

There is a large drawn-out sigh and he balls his fists into his eyes like a world-weary London commuter after a straight 8-hour shift.  Another sigh.  Clearly, neither Jay is going to be any use.

'What about making a blog post?'

'I could do that...' he considers.

'And then you can help me in the garden.'

Ten minutes later he has his baseball boots on and his black hoodie.  'Am off out.'

'Where are you going?'  I call after him in a voice and tone that seems strangely familiar to me.

'Just.....out.'  There is something familiar too about the tone of his voice.

The front door closes.  I recognise the voice: I have turned into my mother. 

And Sonshine has just turned into me.