This is more of an announcement-for-parents-of-teens than my usual blog-style email for everyone on my mailing list. I’m writing to tell you that I’m making a significant change to my practice which might be relevant to you and your teen.
I’m aware that there are many parents among you who are deeply concerned for your teens’ emotional wellbeing. That you’ve been searching for support for them and are possibly on multiple waiting lists – maybe even mine.
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There’s a lot of talk of tradition at Christmas isn’t there?
The food, the shopping, the gifts, the visiting, the dreaded relatives…
But despite tradition, things always change. Usually without our consent. And some of those changes can be so jarring.
A friend recently asked me if I’d write a piece about loss and bereavement for Christmas. And something weird happened to me when he said it. I felt a block. I reflected on it on and off the past few weeks, wondering had my brain actually finally been emptied of words? Or worse, was it broken? Why wasn’t I flinging open my laptop to release the flow of unedited thoughts as I normally do?
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If you’re from Ireland, you may have heard of Knockadoon Summer Camps. They’re an Irish language summer camp, very popular, and just around the corner from me – well, practically, perhaps not quite literally…
Anyway, a friend of mine had her 2 kids there for the 2nd or 3rd consecutive year and I decided to pop over and meet them all, see how they were getting on. Maybe try and get some scandal re potential romances etc – y’know, the usual old-person-embarrassment rituals (they’re so tolerant of me these two!)
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It’s Father’s Day again – already!!
For many it’s a day of celebration, cards and the cutest little homemade gifts.
It was a Friday, and I was sitting on a desk in a school classroom, all excited. Friday had become my favourite day of the week, not because weekend, but because that was the day to deliver my personal development and sex education class to a bunch of sparkly bright teenagers. Fun guaranteed!
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I usually avoid writing when I’m on leave but y’know sometimes you see something and you get the rages, and as a colleague said to me yesterday as we raged to each other – sometimes right is just right. And so you respond.
My mother used to love brushing my hair. I remember my first hairbrush too – it was white, shell shaped and had gentle ridges in it. The bristles were soft and white. I can still remember the feel of it in my little hand as I sat in my pram in the garden, going back and forth over the bristles, watching the steps up to the house. Watching for her probably.
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There was a girl in my class in school that I was pretty tight with. She wasn’t my bestest-in-the-world friend but I liked her and spent a good deal of time in her house at weekends and such. Especially when I started smoking. I know, I know…
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I know this is the exact opposite of how I normally speak but here’s the thing: when it comes to parenting and housework, I’d really love women to stop asking for help!
