My baby is all grown up now. He is now eighteen years old, and we had a big old party yesterday evening with his parents at the beginning of the evening and for Stephen and some friends at a pub later. Although I thought I’d be too broken down after all the tests, we had a fun time.

I suppose that I should now call him Mister, and defer to his superior age and status… Nah, to hell with that, I’m still going to sneak up on him and tickle him when he least suspects it. He makes such a funny snorting followed by a girlish shriek and laughter when I do.

His birthday was actually last week, on the seventeenth, but we saved celebrating it until his parents came yesterday. Well, we saved the big celebration for yesterday.

Or could my ambition in that respect reflect my juvenile status in regards to his new-found status as a genuine adult?


Speaking of turning eighteen. Since it’s two months until it’s my turn, Dad has been more active lately trying to drum into my head the need for being responsible with money. When I’m eighteen, I get control of the savings that my parents have made – and while my dad will still manage all that crap, I’ll be the one that has control of it all. So, he’s trying to knock some sense into me before the happy day.

He’s rung me like three times in just a week about it, and it’s driving me flipping insane. I’m not really a numbers person, not in that way. Talking accounting with dad is such a weird experience, and I don’t understand half of the concepts he’s trying to make me understand. This is why he should handle everything, and why I signed all those papers before. He’s good at this sort of thing while I’m indifferent about it.

Mum and dad also confirmed that they’re coming here for my eighteenth, so unfortunately I probably can’t do what you’re supposed to in that situation: head for the pub and then crawl home singing in the gutter. At least that’s what they say you should do. The most likely scenario is, since I fail at being a teenager, is that we’ll probably eat dinner with my parents, and then go home and watch the telly and feed the dogs. Sigh.


I had a battery of tests yesterday. They went well. I know this because the tests were fairly easy, and I’m quite confident in my answers. I don’t see how I did anything wrong – but of course I won’t know until I get the results back, months from now. But I almost thought school would be closed. It was closed on Monday, and I lay there at night willing it to be closed on Tuesday as well. πŸ™‚ Alas, it wasn’t.

I thought the tests would be harder because all the tests were in the morning, and I was really reluctant about the whole idea of going to the pub. But it was actually more relaxing than bothersome, and since it was Mark we just had Stephen and two others there.

My man is not one for the big crowds, as I’ve said before.