The thing about a blog is that you can pretend. You can make your life seem as perfect as you want. Your house can be clean, your children cherubic. But in reality, we all have our fugly bits.
The caravan served us well. First as a shelter and cup-of-tea making place when we first owned the land. Later it became a storage shed when we moved out here. But now (finally) it has been emptied and all that's left is a mark on the ground. Next spring there won't even be that.
In that caravan was a whole pile of junk, lots of stuff that has already been shipped off to the op shop and a few boxes of memories. I've spent the weekend periodically immersing myself in my teenage years. The above picture was my sixth form ball photo. Taken in about 1995. Can you guess which one is me?
I've burnt the scary love letters, thrown out all the really terrible photos and the birthday cards from people I can't even remember anymore, but there is still more to sift through. So much of it makes me cringe - as a teenager I was boy crazy, incredibly self-centered and terribly superior. I really wonder how my parents put up with me.
On TV recently there has been an advert for a program about parenting teenagers. The psychologist says,"Teenagers - they're not right in the head! And judging by my diaries and letters, I'd have to agree.
Consequently, I've also been spending a bit of time this weekend watching my kids and imagining them as teenagers. If karma has anything to do with it, then in a few years I'm in for a rough ride. I'm guessing that there will be plenty of fugly moments. Wish me luck!