all about, to be honest – something to do with me having to be the first person to come into the house in the New Year because I’ve got the darkest hair in our family. Sounds like a load of old cobblers to me, but it made her happy so I went along with it. Honestly, when I’m a grown-up I am NEVER going to make my kids do stupid things like that!
Last night I cried for Smokey and nobody knew. It was really sad, just lying in the dark and sobbing on my own. If I do ever get a new guinea pig I will call it Blackberry. Or maybe Mungo.
I check the date of the diary again, just to make sure I’ve got it right. But yes, sadly, my mother really
was
almost the same age as me when she wrote this. In fact, she was actually a little bit older than I am. I get that she was sad about the guinea pig dying, but she certainly seems to be going on about it a bit. She’s always saying that kids grow up faster these days. I think that must be true, cos there’s no way that I’d write something like this in my diary. If I had one. Which I don’t, cos I don’t trust Mum not to read it and then go totally ballistic when she reads something she doesn’t like. Anyway, who has time to write a diary these days?
Had to wash my hair ready for school tomorrow – yuck! Hate doing it cos Mum INSISTS that I have to rinse it until every bit squeaks and we’ve always run out of hot water well before that happens. Please let somebody ask me out this year. This year I’m gonna be thirteen! Definitely old enough for a boyfriend, surely?
I’m gonna work really hard this year to make Mum proud of me. I’ve decided to write some rules for myself – here they are:
Be nice and friendly to family, especially Leah.
Work harder at school, particularly in stupid maths.
Pass grade 3 on flute.
Eat more (and not whinge at Mum’s cooking, even when it IS gross).
NOT get spots.
Have more baths.
Try to not be sad about Smokey.
Try to love another guinea pig.
Get a boyfriend – if I don’t get one this year then I never will.
Hey, it’ll be a miracle if I can do all that in ONE year!
Bye
Rachel
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
OK, this is a bit more interesting! If I ignore the fact that my teenage mother seems to be equally obsessed with guinea pigs as she is with boys, then I suppose some of what she’s written makes sense to me. I definitely know how she feels about wanting a boyfriend, that’s for sure. Everyone else
in my year at school has had at least one boyfriend – even Alice went out with dopey Pete for about two hours at the school disco. Nothing actually happened and they didn’t even really speak to each other, but at least everyone knows that someone fancied her.
Maybe I’m a late developer and I’ve inherited it from Mum. She’s already confessed that she passed her rubbishness at maths on to me so that’d be about right. Now I’ll have to keep on reading her diaries to see how she solved the problem – perhaps she’s right and there
are
some good rules in here. Maybe I’ll get some top tips for how to let Ben know I’m interested in him.
I am loving her list of rules – she was obviously obsessed with rules even back then! Got to admire her confidence. I too would like not to get spots and to find a boyfriend. Who knew that you just had to make it a life rule! Number 4 is a bit ironic, though. I used to love Granny’s cooking – it was definitely an improvement on Mum’s, that’s for sure. Actually, it feels a bit weird seeing Mum write about Granny. She died when I was nine and it was so sad that I tried for ages not to really think about her – and I suppose I kind of got into the habit of forgetting, so that I didn’t feel unhappy.
I’m wondering whether to delve further when I hear the front door slam. A few moments later I hear the sound of Mum coming upstairs. I get ready to brandish the diary at her and make her laugh by reminding her of her long-lost love for Smokey the guinea pig and her obvious reluctance to keep
Last night I cried for Smokey and nobody knew. It was really sad, just lying in the dark and sobbing on my own. If I do ever get a new guinea pig I will call it Blackberry. Or maybe Mungo.
I check the date of the diary again, just to make sure I’ve got it right. But yes, sadly, my mother really
was
almost the same age as me when she wrote this. In fact, she was actually a little bit older than I am. I get that she was sad about the guinea pig dying, but she certainly seems to be going on about it a bit. She’s always saying that kids grow up faster these days. I think that must be true, cos there’s no way that I’d write something like this in my diary. If I had one. Which I don’t, cos I don’t trust Mum not to read it and then go totally ballistic when she reads something she doesn’t like. Anyway, who has time to write a diary these days?
Had to wash my hair ready for school tomorrow – yuck! Hate doing it cos Mum INSISTS that I have to rinse it until every bit squeaks and we’ve always run out of hot water well before that happens. Please let somebody ask me out this year. This year I’m gonna be thirteen! Definitely old enough for a boyfriend, surely?
I’m gonna work really hard this year to make Mum proud of me. I’ve decided to write some rules for myself – here they are:
Be nice and friendly to family, especially Leah.
Work harder at school, particularly in stupid maths.
Pass grade 3 on flute.
Eat more (and not whinge at Mum’s cooking, even when it IS gross).
NOT get spots.
Have more baths.
Try to not be sad about Smokey.
Try to love another guinea pig.
Get a boyfriend – if I don’t get one this year then I never will.
Hey, it’ll be a miracle if I can do all that in ONE year!
Bye
Rachel
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
OK, this is a bit more interesting! If I ignore the fact that my teenage mother seems to be equally obsessed with guinea pigs as she is with boys, then I suppose some of what she’s written makes sense to me. I definitely know how she feels about wanting a boyfriend, that’s for sure. Everyone else
in my year at school has had at least one boyfriend – even Alice went out with dopey Pete for about two hours at the school disco. Nothing actually happened and they didn’t even really speak to each other, but at least everyone knows that someone fancied her.
Maybe I’m a late developer and I’ve inherited it from Mum. She’s already confessed that she passed her rubbishness at maths on to me so that’d be about right. Now I’ll have to keep on reading her diaries to see how she solved the problem – perhaps she’s right and there
are
some good rules in here. Maybe I’ll get some top tips for how to let Ben know I’m interested in him.
I am loving her list of rules – she was obviously obsessed with rules even back then! Got to admire her confidence. I too would like not to get spots and to find a boyfriend. Who knew that you just had to make it a life rule! Number 4 is a bit ironic, though. I used to love Granny’s cooking – it was definitely an improvement on Mum’s, that’s for sure. Actually, it feels a bit weird seeing Mum write about Granny. She died when I was nine and it was so sad that I tried for ages not to really think about her – and I suppose I kind of got into the habit of forgetting, so that I didn’t feel unhappy.
I’m wondering whether to delve further when I hear the front door slam. A few moments later I hear the sound of Mum coming upstairs. I get ready to brandish the diary at her and make her laugh by reminding her of her long-lost love for Smokey the guinea pig and her obvious reluctance to keep
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