Insanity

is hereditary. You get it from your kids, says the mildly amusing fridge magnet industry.

I was one of the mildly amused. Until my own kids began to drive my own, only recently stabilised, mind far off the edge of normality and into into a screaming red pit of what the fuckness.

I thought I knew the worst of what teens could get up to, having personally lived those years and watched over those of three younger siblings. I thought I was prepared, that I'd laid the right foundations for my own offspring. I thought I could handle it.

I was so, very, wrong.

Today - day 1 of college Spring Break hence day 1 of my latest work experience stint - today alone I have had a call from the police to tell me that Babygirl (12 last week) was witness to an assault on her (very good school-)friend and was needed to make a statement. The (vgschool-)friend that's in foster care. The assault committed by (vgs-)friend's junkie dad in town centre broad daylight.

Meanwhile, Babyboy is on hourly alert duty to his dad whenever he's out of the house, ostensibly so we know where he is and what he's up to. His dad is thinking this will stop him smoking and coming home later than agreed. I'm juggling my relief that someone else is finally sharing the minute-by-minute responsibility reality of parenting with angst that I'm losing control and feeling that his dad places far too much reliance on a mere text message for peace of mind. I'm a clown, not a juggler. Balls are dropping all over the show.

And then, at 11.35 tonight, I get a call from No 1 Son's ex-boss to say he'd been prank called about shop fires and burglaries then seen a familiar figure running away when he rushed to the scene. I don't know what embarrassed me most; that he'd done it at all, that he'd hoodwinked me into believing he was out for a meal with his mates or that he'd been so arrogant and hence stupid enough to be caught out behaving so knob-like. Oh, hang on - I do know what embarrassed me most. The thought of completing the rest of my work experience placement in the shop right next door to the bloke that I completely resent for swearing at his staff but now have very little high ground to preach at him from cos my extremely intelligent son is absolutely numb-brained with testosterone!!

On confronting him I found myself faced with my most hated kind of man. The 'deny everything until you absolutely have to' kind. The kind often heard telling the wife that finally voices their suspicions of affairs, 'you're bloody mad, woman'. I had to go into ranting cockney muvva mode in order to be heard and I really didn't enjoy it. I wanted to do things differently, I wanted my children to be different. I must have been bloody mad to think it could happen like that.

I love my children so much, I just wish I could like them again.