Well, my dear son has returned from his sojourn with my party loving, chain-smoking mother in Cyprus. I’ve been driving myself nuts wondering what they’ve been up to.
Just before Easter we collected Son and Girlfriend to take them to the airport. Son was in a complete tizzy as he’d forgotten to pack something vital to the trip. He raced off back inside and kept us waiting while he ferreted around for whatever it was. Hubby blasted the car horn.
‘Hurry up!’ he yelled.
Girlfriend sat waiting nervously in the back of the car.
‘Don’t worry I said. ‘You’ll enjoy it. My mother is rather good fun. I know you haven’t met her, but she’s quite a laugh.’
Girlfriend wasn’t convinced. She’s heard lots of stories about my mother and her shenanigans. She also knows that Son is a handful when he’s been at the ‘watering hole’ i.e. the pub, so completely wasted with his Grandmother in tow, wasn’t something she relished. I don’t suppose I helped by asking:
‘You will text me won’t you? Just to let me know you’re all okay.’
Finally, Son appeared clutching something in a plastic bag.
‘Soz,’ he puffed. ‘I needed this for Grandma. I promised her I ‘d bring it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing you’d be interested in,’ he replied and gave Girlfriend a big squeeze. Don’t you just hate not knowing? I tried to look at the bag but he’d moved it out of sight.
‘You’ll text me, won’t you?’ I asked Son later as they were about to go through to Departures.
‘Yeah, yeah, of course I will.’
Son texted me three times in the first half hour of arrival, after which time he was no doubt far too sozzled to even remember his own name, let alone how to text. I heard no more. I sent a text to my mother. Same thing. Silence. I sent one to Girlfriend.
‘Hi! Weather lovely. Your Mum is so funny. She’s been telling us stories all about you. How’s weather at home. Hugs x’
Came the reply.
Great - just what I feared. My son and his girlfriend would now know all about my failings and misdemeanours when I was young and would never look at me the same way. Children should never learn what you were like as a child. It’s like showing photographs of your son or daughter as a baby, naked on the rug, to their future spouses. My mother has hundreds of tales of what I used to be like. My son will be either mortified or fall around thinking he has a complete nut case for a mother.
No, don’t ask me what I was like. In fact, I should get my mother to blog the tales. You’d all laugh yourselves senseless. She particularly likes the story about how I went skiing with the school. She was worried I would hurt myself as I was a dreadfully clumsy child. I didn’t fall off my skis or break my arm snowboarding. I did, however, fall down the bus steps spectacularly as I disembarked from the bus at school, in front of all the waiting parents, and twisted my ankle so badly I couldn’t walk for weeks.
I tried sending a couple more texts but they also got no reply. Girlfriend, my secret spy, has been no use either. She sent another a few days later.
‘Weather lovely and hot. Ate outside last night. Your Mum is lovely. Hugs x’
They came home a few days ago. Girlfriend’s parents picked them up and took them home, so I didn’t see them. I sent a welcome home text to each of them. Son still hasn’t replied to his. I’ve been his mother long enough to know something is afoot. Girlfriend wrote:
‘Isn’t the weather nice here? Your Mum was brilliant. Hugs x’
You know that saying ’what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’? I have a feeling the same applies to Cyprus. ‘What happens in Limassol, stays in Limassol.’
My mother is coming home for a few days next week. I’m going to phone her. Sooner or later I’m going to find out what transpired. Concerned? No. Nosey? Yes. And when I find out I shall come and tell you.