My kids are experts in manipulating me, particularly when parenting solo

I’VE been parenting solo for the weekend whilst Himself swanned off to London for the rugby. He went on Friday morning and wasn’t back till Monday night. ‘Did he go via Scotland or something?’ quipped a friend. He could have been in Thailand for all I know.

To be honest, I was quite looking forward to the prospect of being the only adult in the house. No one haranguing me to go out and get some fresh air, or looking for a proper dinner, or forcing me to watch sport all day, every day. Nope I was free to do whatever I wanted for four whole days.

Granted the children needed to be supervised to a certain degree. I’m not totally irresponsible but sure there’s no minding on them really, any more. Or so I thought, fool that I am.

My kids are experts in the art of manipulation.They have this way of sidling up to me and buttering me up to get exactly what they want and they know exactly how

I SAID YES BEFORE EVEN ASKING HIM WHERE HEWAS GOING. MAJOR PARENTING FAIL! YOU’D THINK I’D BE USED TO THIS GAME BY NOW

to play me. Himself wouldn’t fall for it in a million years. But I’m a gobshite. Tell me my hair is nice and I’m the best mother in the world and you can probably be guaranteed I’ll say yes to whatever it is you request.

After making me a cup of tea and telling me I didn’t look my age (always a sure-fire winner) The Almost 18 year old went in for the kill. ‘Can I go into town tomorrow night?’ I said yes before even asking him where he was going. Major Parenting Fail! You’d think I’d be used to this game by now.

It turns out he wanted to go to the local nightclub with all his mates. ‘Don’t you have to be over 18?’ I asked. Yes, he replied but ‘all the lads’ had been going for months and were getting in no bother.

I looked at him. He’s three months away from being 18. He looks about 12. Unless the bouncers were blind, he hadn’t a hope of getting in. So I let him go on the basis that he had to text me if he didn’t get in and I’d collect him.

Either the bouncers WERE blind or he aged several months in the fifteen minutes it took him to get into town because he did get in. Not only did he get in but he didn’t come home till 3.30 am to be exact whilst I, his fool of a mother, lay wide awake in bed thinking he’d been murdered down some alleyway.

The next morning I read him the riot act, warning him about the dangers of drink and staying out late. Basically all the things I did when I was his age. He eyed me ranting like a lunatic with a certain degree of scepticism but had enough cop on to keep his mouth shut. Thank God he inherited some of his father’s traits.

‘Eh, maybe it would be a good idea not to mention this to dad,’ he suggests.

What goes on tour, stays on tour, isn’t that what they say?