One Week with OD

Now.... it would seem that you cannot change the dates that you post things on this here blog and so over the next few days I shall put up postings I have written during the previous month - and what better place to start than this:

Monday 4th September
First day back at the IB after two weeks off. Requested that I changed my working hours to allow me to ensure that OD gets up for school in the mornings. I now start at 8:30AM and finish at 6:30PM, which means I don't have to leave the house until 7:25 but I don't get home until around a quarter to eight.

Tuesday 5th Septmber
The new school year begins. OD attends and stays all day. Huzzah.

Weds 6th September
At 7:20 OD was out of bed and pottering in the bathroom. "Dad, you can go to work now" she shouted down the stairs. I left at 7:25. At 10:30 the school rang to say that she wasn't in. I rang both home and her mobile; no response from either. At 11:55 Mr Moore, the head of year, called to advise me that she'd arrived at 11:40. She claimed the reason for her lateness was due to sleep depravation having been awake for most of the night with a toothache. What bollocks! That girl is so full of shit she could start her own manure factory. She is apparently now on report. "For one late!" she told me in disbelief. Well… that's what happens when you are a priority one absentee.

Thurs 7th September
OD went in to school on time. At break I got a phone call: "I've got History this afternoon and I've forgotten my books. If I go in I'll get slaughtered. You've got to ring up and make an excuse". Now bearing in mind that last time she faced this dilemma she just walked straight out of school, plus the fact I want her to attend and not give her reasons not to, I rang the school and drew on the excuse she'd given previously by telling them that her dentist had contacted me to say they had a cancellation for this afternoon and asked if OD could attend. "Make sure you go back in for the final lesson of the day", I said [RE]. Did she? Did she buggery!

Fri 8th September
"Dad, I've got no PE kit", OD called down the stairs this morning. "Someone jacked it from school". "When's your next lesson", I asked her. "This afternoon". And you didn't bother mentioning it till now? So I wrote her a note excusing her from PE. Thus week one ends with OD missing six and a half of the fifteen lessons she was supposed to attend. Not the most auspicious start to the new academic year.

In the evening, OD's friends come over to visit, eleven in total. "It's Tom's birthday", she rang me to say whilst I was en route home, "can you buy some cake mix?" So I get home from work, cake ingredients and eggs in hand, and OD and Laura bake him a cake. They also make themselves a curry. "You are going to clear all this mess up?", I ask. "Of course we are", they say (but, of course, they don't). I go out for the evening and when I return around midnight with YD in tow I find my house resembles a drop-in centre for drunken teenagers. OD's boyfriend, Chris, has been in a fight with a bunch of local chavs. Hadleigh is completely pissed. Various girls are giggling loudly whilst others sit in a circle in the garden, knocking back vodka and smoking fags. They are all relatively peaceful and, to be honest, I like to see OD happy and laughing (although preferably not because it is booze induced).

Saturday 9th September
I don't have many rules in my house. I try to make OD's life as stress-free and pleasurable as possible. However there is one which I am rather strict about: boys sleep downstairs; girls sleep upstairs. OD and Chris are both fifteen. I remember what it is like to be fifteen. When Chris has stayed over before, OD has slept downstairs with him and all his mates. That's fine. Everyone has their clothes on. What they get up to when I am not there is anyone's guess but while I am present I expect my wishes to be respected. OD knows this. I remind her every time he stays over. So when I got up on Saturday morning and mentally went through the list of names of the bodies asleep upon my front room floor… well, you can guess the rest.

I spent 45 minutes washing-up; the house is still a tip. I leave to go to Tescos with YD. OD's front door keys are still in the front door (outside, obviously!). I tell everyone that I expect my house to be tidy upon my return. When I get back two and a half hours later after a period of calming down in Starbucks, food shopping, and tumble dryer purchasing (I never needed one when I lived on my own but it is going to be an essential during the winter the way OD insists on washing every garment every day, even if it has been worn for less than an hour). The house is empty. It has been tidied (by her friends, I later discover, not her). She returns home at midnight (or rather, I get a call at 11:20PM asking to be collected from the station in half an hour). She has four friends with her. I pack them all in the car and we drive back. OD goes straight to bed. It is therefore left to me to sort out duvets, airbed, etc. Is this a tactic to ensure she doesn't have to talk to me about the previous night or does OD just not care? Either way, I ask myself why on earth it is I am left to do this and what kind of fucking mug I am for putting up with it.

Sunday 10th September
OD spends the day in Kingston with Chris. She returns home alone at 10:00PM. "My phone has been jacked", she tells me. [This is the same phone that refuses to accept a charge since she put it in the washing machine for the second time]. I asked how that happened. "It was in my pocket and I fell asleep on the train and when I got off it was gone. There were chavs on the train so I think they stole it". Of course they did, dear. After all, there's no way it could have fallen out of your pocket is there?

As I have her on her own, I decide to tackle the subject of Friday night. "Fuck off, Dad. It's none of your business" she promptly snaps. I stress that it is my business. She is, after all, only fifteen and so is Chris so if they are having sex it is illegal and as I am her parent/guardian, it is very much my business. I also point out that this is my house and that she has way more leniency here with me than she ever had with her Mother and that I expect one of the few rules that I do have in place to be respected. I do all this very calmly. I do not raise my voice; I do lose my temper. "If you want to behave like an adult, then let's talk about it like adults" I say. "FUCK OFF DAD!" is the response. "GO AWAY". "You can't tell me to go away in my own house", I point out. But she doesn't want to talk and I, quite frankly, am too tired to argue. "Either Chris sleeps downstairs with the other boys or he doesn't stay over at all" I tell her. "Fine, I'll stay at his then". Chris' parents apparently do not object to them sleeping together. Well that's all fine and fucking dandy.

Welcome to my new home

Greetings gentle reader, and welcome to my new home. For (almost) three years I have been blogging my rather frustrating existence, charting the highs and lows of my blood pressure as I have undertaken daily battle with the world and all the annoyances that it contains. There have been some good times and quite a few bad ones, but predominantly there has been an awful lot of stress and frustration. If you are new to this blog, let me introduce you to some of the people in it:

DK: that's me. Its not my real name. In fact, its not even my real initials, but what the heck.

OD: this is my delightful fifteen year old daughter who, despite having trashed my house earlier this year (including setting fire to my garden), now lives with me. You will soon realise that since her relocation in June of this year, my blog is now pretty much dominated by my dealings with her.

YD: this is my lovely twelve year old daughter. She lives with her Mum in NW2 and stays with me most weekends.

The Beast of Willesden Green: this is the Mother of my children. I gave her this nickname when we first split about twelve years ago. Actually I feel a bit mean about still calling her it, but what the heck - she deserved it at the time.

The Wing Commander: friend and drummer in my band [yeah, I know; I'm too old to have a band. Ahhhh.. shuddupppp!]

The Dame: friend and guitarist in my band.

BotS: Small ginger ex-girlfriend.

Matron, Zeph, Cookie, The Chingford Massive: other friends who will undoubtedly crop up from time to time

I could go on but I'm already bored myself. Let the blogging commence!