Diary of a Parent Trainer

by Jennifer Smith

  “Hannah, have you been practicing with your hand??!!” cried Loops. Loops and me started rolling around, laughing. My stomach was actually aching. Hannah looked hurt.

  “So are you the experts, then?” she said sarcastically.

  “Honestly, I haven’t a clue.” Which made us all laugh even more. Hannah and Loops know that when I was supposed to be going out with Thomas Finch, we were rarely in the same room. In fact, it’s a bit of a running joke—my non-relationship. Sometimes I wonder if we ever did actually go out with each other, or if I just imagined it.

  “I’ve had a proper kiss,” said Loops casually.

  “What? And you never told us?” said Hannah, sitting bolt upright, outraged.

  “It was only last week.” Loops smiled to herself. “And I needed some time … to think about it all.”

  I rolled over and pointed an imaginary gun to her head. “Well, go on, who was it? If you don’t tell us, we’ll have to kill you!”

  “It was with Jonathan Elliott!” said Loops. “I met him at the park and we sat in the teenagers’ shelter for ages. He was telling me about the universe and how small Earth is. Apparently Earth is like this tiny, microscopic speck compared to our sun, and our sun is this even more microscopic dot compared to some other sun called Antares!”

  “It sounds fascinating …,” I couldn’t resist saying. I must stop being so sarcastic.

  “SHUT UP! Let her finish!” shouted Hannah, who was unreasonably excited.

  “It’s odd,” said Loops, “but what he said about how microscopic Earth is and how we’re like this speck of dust in this huge universe freaked me out big-time. So he put his arm round me and said he was sorry if he’d upset me. I thought he was being nice, but suddenly he started kissing me!”

  “You didn’t want him to?” I said, ready to be enormously indignant on her behalf.

  “I did, but I didn’t expect him to do a big French kiss straightaway. I thought we might do some smaller ones first. I think he did lots of kissing with some girl he met last summer on holiday, so he definitely knows how.”

  “Did you like it?” asked Hannah.

  “Sort of. I think I’d get used to it,” said Loops, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful.

  “So, are you going out with him?” I asked.

  “No. He asked me if we could meet up again, but I said no. I like him, but I think he’s too experienced for me. It made me feel like a beginner.”

  “Well, he’s a huge know-it-all about everything else!” I said. “He’s probably got a book at home called Advanced Kissing Techniques.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Loops, still looking slightly wistful. “I just don’t think I’m ready right now. I told him to ask me out again in a few months.”

  So Loops has been kissed!!! I wonder who’ll be next. Part of me thinks it’s all pretty disgusting. Maybe that’s because of Jack. His definition of kissing is “when teenagers lick the insides of each other’s mouths.” Now, that’s enough to put anyone off for life.

  When you think of it that way, being a bald, toothless, bearded nun in the Himalayas with only a donkey for a friend is suddenly quite appealing.

  Got sunburned, and despite buckets of after-sun lotion, my nose is bright red. I look so hideously mutant, I guarantee that tomorrow I will bump into the person I “Fancy the Pants Off”—Ben Clayden.

  Wednesday, August 19: 2:05 p.m.

  ANGRY MODE

  Angry Mode is pretty self-explanatory. Be aware that if your Grown-Up is in Stressed or Grumpy Mode, they can easily switch to Angry Mode with hardly any intervention from you. Avoiding your Grown-Up until they have cooled down is the only option you should consider. Any other courses of action are dangerous.

  WARNING

  Angry Mode can lead (if you push your Grown-Up to extremes) to short-circuiting and in some cases complete meltdown. This should be avoided, as it can seriously impair function.

  Mum went into Angry Mode this morning, which is not at all like her. Yet again, this shows how unpredictable she’s becoming. I blame Stuart. Not for any good reason; I just feel like it.

  We were at the minimart doing our big weekly shop, so she was being hassled like always. I was moaning loudly about my red sunburned nose, while Mandy and Jack were trying to get her to buy them magazines. It was a normal shopping trip, not something that would have ever tipped her into Angry Mode before.

  As usual, Mum told Mandy and Jack in no uncertain terms that magazines were not part of our grocery budget. Nan was behind the counter nearby, serving customers. She shouted over, “Quite right, Alison. Don’t give in, they’re trying it on!”

  Then Auntie Sarah (one of Mum’s cousins—the one who’s married to Scary Uncle Alan from the Gregg family) walked in with my Archenemy, Leanne, and her older sister, Shannon, who is like Leanne but worse. Leanne and Shannon went straight over to the magazines and Auntie Sarah let them each get one.

  SAD BUT TRUE FACT

  Some Grown-Ups say yes more easily than others.

  “Mu-um, Auntie Sarah’s letting them get their magazines as part of their grocery shop!” shouted Jack. He’d already spent his pocket money on sweets, but he was so greedily desperate to get a Doctor Who magazine he was willing to try anything.

  “Well, I’m not Auntie Sarah!” said Mum, who was starting to display signs of Stressed Mode.

  “What do you mean by that?” said Auntie Sarah, who may only be a Gregg by marriage but has most of the Gregg-like scary qualities.

  “What I mean by that,” said Mum, “is they’ve spent their pocket money and I don’t get them magazines, that’s all. Do you have a problem or something?”

  Mum is not one who is easily bullied.

  “It sounded like you were making a point—‘I’m not Auntie Sarah.’ ” Auntie Sarah was nose to nose with Mum by this point. Both Mandy and Jack had flung their magazines back on the shelves and were trying to avoid the smug “I’ve got a magazine and you don’t” stares from Leanne and Shannon. For once I was off the hook. I was hiding behind the potato chip rack.

  “Take it like that if you want,” said Mum, “I’ve got enough on my plate.”

  “So I hear,” said Auntie Sarah with a sniff.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” We could see Mum bristling.

  “Your new boyfriend,” said Auntie Sarah. “It must be using up a lot of your energy, dragging up your kids and going out with a boy toy.”

  There was a horrible, horrible silence. Part of me was annoyed on Mum’s behalf, but I have to admit that another part was thinking, This is just what Mum needs to hear! This is how people see her and Stuart.

  Over at the counter, Nan was holding a bag of sugar in the air, suspended between where she’d scanned it and the shopping bag it was supposed to go in.

  I came out from behind the crisps rack and saw, to my absolute horror, that Ben Clayden was in the doorway of the shop and had heard everything. Not only that, he also saw my luminous neon-red clown’s nose.

  This had to be the worst day of my life. Leanne and Shannon sniggered nastily.

  “Look,” said Leanne, pointing at me, “Christmas must be coming early. Rudolph’s here!”

  “Come on, you lot,” said Mum, now in full Angry Mode and pushing past Auntie Sarah, “we haven’t got all day to listen to people talking rubbish.”

  We went round the shop in record time, throwing stuff into the shopping cart. This is how we shop normally, to be honest, Mum does not enjoy shopping—well, not the boring shopping for food and essentials anyway.

  I ran behind Mum and the trolley with my head down, hoping I wouldn’t have to see Ben Clayden again. Of course I saw him again at least twice, and each time ducked my head even lower. Jack’s always going on about wishing he had an invisibility cloak like Harry Potter. Now I understand what he means.

  There’s usually a long line in the morning. Everyone in our town seems to like to grocery shop mid-week. By the time we got to the front, Auntie Sar
ah and Leanne and Shannon had joined the end of it.

  “Are you all right, Alison?” Nan said as she loaded up the two big cotton bags Stuart’s given Mum so we won’t waste plastic bags. They have Save the Environment printed on the side. Another daily reminder of his interfering do-goodery.

  “Fine,” said Mum through gritted teeth. I knew she was very angry because her knuckles were white from where she was gripping her purse.

  Nan winked.

  “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Mum loudly, “you’re absolutely right there!”

  Auntie Sarah drew in her breath as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Nobody messes with Nan. I laughed. Leanne glared straight at me. I’ll pay for it when we go back to school, but right then I couldn’t have cared less.

  When we left the shop, Mum was still mad. I could tell we would be in for a bad day if we didn’t get her out of Angry Mode quick. I was racking my brains to think of what I could do or say, when Jack solved the problem. He said exactly the right thing.

  “You know how we’ve been studying animals of Africa at school, Mum? Well, when I saw the picture of a warthog I thought, That’s Auntie Sarah!”

  “Jack!” said Mum. “You mustn’t say such rude things about people.”

  But I could see that she was pleased.

  4:15 p.m.

  It normally takes a lot for Mum to switch to Angry Mode, or to overheat. And she’s always easy to switch out of it. The secret is to make her laugh, and Dad was an expert at that.

  I remember the time Dad went to a work colleague’s bachelor party and did not come home all night. He stayed over at Uncle Kevin’s but didn’t phone to tell Mum. Mum was only able to stay angry till teatime the next day, when Dad went and sat in Rascal’s tiny dog basket with a very funny sad expression on his face. When he stood up, the basket was wedged onto his bum, so of course she couldn’t help laughing.

  We haven’t seen Stuart angry yet. I’ve only ever seen him being happy. It would be great if it turns out that he’s got a rage problem and becomes a monster. Then Mum would dump him double quick because she’s not the type to put up with that.

  I wonder if he’d get angry if we did something environmentally unfriendly. It would be great for Mum to see an unpleasant side to perfect Stuart. A reality check, if you like.

  It’s important to know what Grown-Ups are like when they get angry; it tells you a lot about them. Will Stuart wave his hands about and shout? Or will he go quiet? We’ll have to find out. He can’t stay happy forever, not if he’s got anything to do with our family. Got to go now to ask Mandy.

  5:05 p.m.

  I’ve just had a conversation with Mandy about the doing-something-environmentally-unfriendly idea. She thinks it’s a great plan, so when Stuart is over next we’re going to abuse the new recycling system he set up for Mum. Instead of putting paper and plastic in the green recycling bin, we’ll put it in the trash bin like we used to. That’ll show him!

  11:34 p.m.

  Mum decided to stay in tonight with us! It was just like old times—snuggled up on the sofa, watching TV and chatting. Obviously Auntie Sarah’s words hit a nerve. She helped me put tons of calamine lotion on my nose—it stinks. It had better work. Otherwise my nose will be in Angry Mode all week.

  Sunday, August 23

  DOING SOMETHING NICE MODE

  Most Grown-Ups periodically switch into Doing Something Nice Mode, mainly when they feel that they need to add some luxury or excitement or variety to their dull and hopeless lives. Usually this involves them planning something, making an effort and finally enjoying whatever it is they planned and made an effort for. The more planning and making an effort involved, the more determined the Grown-Ups will be to enjoy themselves.

  Mum’s been in Doing Something Nice Mode all day. I don’t think it’s because she wants to add excitement or variety to her life—I think it’s more to do with her feeling bad about neglecting us for her new boyfriend. So not only did she stay in with us last night, today she’s decided to cook us all a “lovely meal.” Doing Something Nice Mode is always Mum’s way of saying sorry. Of course, she’s spoiling it by inviting the very person we don’t want around.

  To make matters worse, there’s the small matter of Mum’s cooking.…

  COOKING MODE

  One of the main purposes and functions of Grown-Ups is to keep you fed. We’re already at their mercy when it comes to stuff like pocket money and lifts to places. Grown-Ups control the quality of your diet, which is fundamental to your health, but it’s potluck whether you get healthy food or junk food packed with killer fats. Which is quite serious, actually, when you think about it.

  If your Grown-Up has a malfunction in their Cooking Mode there’s not much you can do except:

  1) Eat their cooking and risk death.

  2) Learn to cook yourself by watching one of the twenty thousand shows on TV that tell you how.

  3) Live on takeout, doughnuts and crisps and end up on a documentary called FAT BRITAIN: PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO BE LIFTED OUT OF THEIR HOUSES WITH CRANES.

  Dad used to do the cooking in our house—proper meals like shepherd’s pie and roast dinners, since Mum wasn’t very interested and he enjoyed it. When Mum had to take over after he died, it was difficult for her. She’d be in the kitchen slaving away for hours to make these horrible meals. Nobody had the heart to tell her how disgusting her food was. In fact, we’d all try to cheer her up by telling her that what she’d made was delicious.

  The problem is we were too enthusiastic and we’ve made her think she’s actually good at it. And that has made things a hundred times worse, because now she’s decided she’s far too brilliant to have to follow recipes. Which is why, half an hour ago, me and Mandy offered to take over. But Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She believes that she has talent in the kitchen, thanks to our Filthy Dirty Lying.

  SAD BUT TRUE FACT

  If you tell a Grown-Up that they are good at something, even if they are not, they will believe it. This applies to cooking, dancing, singing and many other things. Be careful what you tell them. You know those talentless Grown-Ups who appear on the early auditions of televised talent shows? Somebody out there, probably their children, told them that they were fantastic.

  Regarding this cooking business, I have to admit that I have totally and miserably failed in the operation of my Grown-Up. I still don’t have the heart to tell Mum the truth and neither does Mandy, who is actually a big softie under her “couldn’t care less” exterior. Maybe one day we’ll find the courage.

  So that’s why right now Mum is concocting something out of various tins and packets and Jack is setting the table nicely. See? Another change—normally we eat in front of the TV!

  Stuart is bound to show up soon, and then he’ll probably stay all evening. You know my masterstroke of getting Mum to stay in more by cranking up the guilt about Jack? Well, it’s backfired, because now they’re both staying in. He’s been coming round LOADS and is a permanent fixture in my usual spot on the sofa next to Mum!

  And guess what? Rascal has proved himself to be a MAJOR traitor! He jumps up on Stuart’s lap and snuggles up to him! It’s a bit upsetting, really, because he used to do that with Dad. Dad picked Rascal out from the animal shelter when I was five. And this is how Rascal thanks him, by betraying his memory!

  Rascal’s judgment is obviously just as bad as Mum’s.

  11:32 p.m.

  I wish I could say that the “Doing Something Nice” was actually nice. Unfortunately, it was about as far from it as you can imagine. It was a disaster.

  Stuart got here at about five o’clock, and Mum served up one of her famous “Oh My God What Is This” stews.

  We sat down and—like soldiers going to war—battled our way through our dinner. It was particularly disgusting. I’m not sure what it was, but I think there were raisins in it. Stuart had brought a bottle of red wine. He certainly needed it, to wash down h
er horrible food. He must really like her, to stick around and eat what she serves up.

  I got out the bread so I could fill up on bread and butter, as usual.

  Halfway through the meal, Mum cleared her throat and looked around at all of us, with a big bright smile on her face. This gave away the fact that she was nervous about what she was going to say.

  “I’ve got some news!” she said. “Stuart and I are thinking of going on a mini-break!”

  We looked at her blankly. Then—as the awful truth sank in—I realized that Mum wasn’t in Doing Something Nice Mode for us at all. She didn’t feel bad about neglecting us. She wasn’t even sorry. This whole cooking a special meal was just to butter us up so we’d be fine about her doing something nice with Yellow Tie Man! Not that what she’s planning is nice. Far from it.

  SAD BUT TRUE FACT

  A mini-break is a weekend away for Grown-Ups where they do lots of cuddling.

  I know this sad but true fact because I’ve seen this film called Bridget Jones’s Diary. In fact, I watched it with Mum. And here she was boasting about planning one, in front of her children.

  Mandy’s face was clouding over. I know that look, and it’s not good. It means she could switch to full-on Angry Mode at any moment. Mum saw it too, but she carried on.

  “We’re thinking of going to Barcelona! Stuart is going to show me the architecture. It’s supposed to be spectacular!”

  Jack looked confused.

  “So you’re going all that way to look at an architecture?” he asked. “What’s an architecture?”

  “Architecture is the way different buildings are designed—” began Stuart enthusiastically.

  “Yes, Jack,” interrupted Mandy sarcastically, “that’s all they will be doing from first thing in the morning to last thing at night. Walking round Barcelona for three days looking at buildings … over and over and over again.”